Discourse 2.

0
Georgetown University Round Table on Languages and Linguistics Series
Selected Titles

Crosslinguistic Research in Syntax and Semantics: Negation Tense and

Clausal Architecture
RAFFAELLA ZANUTTINI, HÉCTOR CAMPOS, ELENA HERBURGER,
PAUL H. PORTNER, EDITORS

Discourse and Technology: Multimodal Discourse Analysis

PHILIP LEVINE AND RON SCOLLON, EDITORS

Educating for Advanced Foreign Language Capacities: Constructs,

Curriculum, Instruction, Assessment
HEIDI BYRNES, HEATHER D. WEGER-GUNTHARP, AND KATHERINE A. SPRANG,
EDITORS

Implicit and Explicit Language Learning: Conditions, Processes, and

Knowledge in SLA and Bilingualism
CRISTINA SANZ AND RONALD P. LEOW, EDITORS

Language in Use: Cognitive and Discourse Perspectives on Language and

Language Learning
ANDREA E. TYLER, MARI TAKADA, YIYOUNG KIM, AND
DIANA MARINOVA, EDITORS

Little Words: Their History, Phonology, Syntax, Semantics, Pragmatics,

and Acquisition
RONALD P. LEOW, HÉCTOR CAMPOS, AND DONNA LARDIERE, EDITORS

Sustaining Linguistic Diversity: Endangered and Minority Languages and

Language Varieties
KENDALL A. KING, NATALIE SCHILLING-ESTES, LYN WRIGHT FOGLE, JIA JACKIE
LOU, AND BARBARA SOUKUP, EDITORS

Telling Stories: Language, Narrative, and Social Life

DEBORAH SCHIFFRIN, ANNA DE FINA, AND ANASTASIA NYLUND, EDITORS
DISCOURSE 2.0
Language and New Media

Deborah Tannen and Anna Marie Trester, Editors

GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY PRESS

Washington, DC
© 2013 Georgetown University Press. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without
permission in writing from the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Discourse 2.0 : language and new media / Deborah Tannen and Anna Marie Trester, editors.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-58901-954-6 (pbk. : alk. paper)
1. Discourse analysis--Social aspects. 2. Mass media and language. 3. Social media. 4.
Digital media. 5. Conversation analysis. 6. Sociolinguistics. I. Tannen, Deborah. II. Trester,
Anna Marie. III. Title: Discourse two.
P302.84.D54 2012
401'.41--dc23 2012016626

! This book is printed on acid-free paper meeting the requirements of the American National
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Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Acknowledgments viii

Introduction ix
Deborah Tannen and Anna Marie Trester, Georgetown University

Chapter 1. Discourse in Web 2.0: Familiar, Reconfigured, and Emergent 1

Susan C. Herring, Indiana University Bloomington

Chapter 2. Polities and Politics of Ongoing Assessments: Evidence from

Video-Gaming and Blogging 27
Hervé Varenne, Gillian “Gus” Andrews, Aaron Chia-Yuan Hung, and
Sarah Wessler, Teachers College, Columbia University

Chapter 3. Participatory Culture and Metalinguistic Discourse: Performing and

Negotiating German Dialects on YouTube 47
Jannis Androutsopoulos, University of Hamburg

Chapter 4. “My English Is So Poor . . . So I Take Photos”: Metalinguistic Discourses

about English on Flickr 73
Carmen Lee, Chinese University of Hong Kong

Chapter 5. “Their Lives Are So Much Better Than Ours!” The Ritual (Re)construction
of Social Identity in Holiday Cards 85
Jenna Mahay, Concordia University Chicago

Chapter 6. The Medium Is the Metamessage: Conversational Style in New Media

Interaction 99
Deborah Tannen, Georgetown University

Chapter 7. Bringing Mobiles into the Conversation: Applying a Conversation

Analytic Approach to the Study of Mobiles in Co-present Interaction 119
Stephen M. DiDomenico, Rutgers University, and Jeffrey Boase,
Ryerson University

Chapter 8. Facework on Facebook: Conversations on Social Media 133

Laura West and Anna Marie Trester, Georgetown University
vi Contents

Chapter 9. Mock Performatives in Online Discussion Boards: Toward a Discourse-

Pragmatic Model of Computer-Mediated Communication 155
Tuija Virtanen, Åbo Akademi University

Chapter 10. Re- and Pre-authoring Experiences in Email Supervision: Creating and
Revising Professional Meanings in an Asynchronous Medium 167
Cynthia Gordon and Melissa Luke, Syracuse University

Chapter 11. Blogs: A Medium for Intellectual Engagement with Course Readings
and Participants 183
Marianna Ryshina-Pankova and Jens Kugele, Georgetown University

Chapter 12. Reading in Print or Onscreen: Better, Worse, or About the Same? 201
Naomi S. Baron, American University

Chapter 13. Fakebook: Synthetic Media, Pseudo-sociality, and the Rhetorics

of Web 2.0 225
Crispin Thurlow, University of Washington

Index 251
Acknowledgments

The chapters in this volume are drawn from the nearly two hundred presentations given
and workshops conducted at the 2011 Georgetown University Round Table on Lan-
guages and Linguistics (GURT), “Discourse 2.0: Language and New Media.” Given
the constraints of space inherent in a volume of this sort, it was necessary to reject
many worthy papers. We are grateful to all those who submitted their papers for con-
sideration, and to all those who were involved in the conference. To all who partici-
pated, we continue to be inspired by your work. Finally, for invaluable assistance in
preparing the manuscript for publication, we are deeply grateful to Gwynne Mapes.

vii
This page intentionally left blank
Introduction
D E B O R A H TA N N E N A N D A N NA M A R I E T R E S T E R
Georgetown University

OUR LIVES NOW, in ways we are only beginning to understand, are lived with and
through electronic media: We get news on the internet, read books on Kindle, find
old friends on Facebook and new loves on OKCupid and Match.com. We network
on LinkedIn, and create, enhance, and share images with Instagram; we “tweet,”
“friend,” and “follow”; “post,” “pin” and “like”; and sometimes “#fail.” As we seek
to understand these new ways of using language in our lives, the new worlds of
words they entail in turn provide new means of understanding who we are and how
we connect through language.
The chapters in this volume are drawn from the sixty-third annual meeting of
the Georgetown University Round Table on Languages and Linguistics (GURT),
“Discourse 2.0: Language and New Media,” which is also the title of this volume.
Included here are the five plenary addresses as well as selected papers by workshop
leaders, panel organizers, and paper presenters, all of whom turn the attention of dis-
course analysis, broadly defined, to emerging and rapidly evolving new media plat-
forms for interpersonal interaction. In this introduction we suggest some connections
among the chapters as well as some focal themes of the volume.
In chapter 1, Susan Herring sets the stage for the volume by defining and de-
scribing Web 2.0, placing it in the historical context of computer-mediated discourse
analysis (CMDA) and showing that it can be understood through the lens of the tri-
partite classification suggested in her title, “Discourse in Web 2.0: Familiar, Recon-
figured, and Emergent.” Considering a wealth of data sources such as Second Life,
YouTube, Twitter, wikis, games, Skype, and texting, she outlines her CMDA toolkit,
providing a set of methods grounded in discourse analysis, which may be used to un-
cover patterns of structure and meaning in networked communications.
The chapters that follow begin to provide the range of research that Herring calls
for in her conclusion. In chapter 2, “Polities and Politics of Ongoing Assessments:
Evidence from Video-Gaming and Blogging,” Hervé Varenne, Gillian “Gus” An-
drews, Aaron Chia-Yuan Hung, and Sarah Wessler develop and integrate the notion
of “assessment” from the disparate fields of education, mental health, and conversa-
tion analysis, by exploring three examples of the phenomenon as played out in elec-
tronic discourse: first, an interaction at a video-game design camp in which an expert
child takes over the controls from an incompetent adult; next, a group of four young
Chinese friends playing video games in New York City, wherein three of the young
men were expert, but the fourth, a young woman, was a novice; and, finally, a series
of multiparty exchanges in which a number of people mistakenly tried to cancel AOL

ix
x Deborah Tannen and Anna Marie Trester

accounts by posting messages to the blog of an individual who had written humor-
ously about difficulties encountered when attempting to cancel an AOL account. In
all of these contexts, the authors examine the linguistic means by which incompe-
tence or expertise is assessed by participants in the interactions, considering how such
“indexical propositions and their interpretation” are shaped by synchronicity (in face-
to-face encounters), or in the asynchronicity exemplified in the blog data.
In chapter 3, “Participatory Culture and Metalinguistic Discourse: Performing
and Negotiating German Dialects on YouTube,” Jannis Androutsopoulos considers the
asynchronous interactive nature of Web 2.0 discourse in a very different context:
videos on YouTube that feature the Berlin dialect. Adopting a discourse-as-social-prac-
tice perspective, he proposes the concept of “participatory spectacle” to focus on the
relationship between the videos and the viewers who comment on them, zeroing in
on the ways that Web 2.0 discourse combines unique capabilities of video spectacle
with the ability of viewers to voice reactions.
Chapter 4 shares concerns with the preceding chapters while focusing on yet an-
other very different electronic platform. In “‘My English Is So Poor . . . So I Take
Photos’: Metalinguistic Discourses about English on Flickr,” Carmen Lee examines
the self-assessments of their linguistic ability by nonnative speakers of English who
use the language on Flickr, the photosharing website. She then examines the assump-
tions about and attitudes toward English, and toward its role in web discourse, that
their comments reveal.
Visual images are also at the heart of chapter 5, “‘Their Lives Are So Much Bet-
ter Than Ours!’The Ritual (Re)construction of Social Identity in Holiday Cards.” This
chapter contributes to an understanding of meaning-making in popular culture by ex-
ploring how a website and its use reflect and affect social forces in contemporary so-
ciety. The holiday cards that are the focus of Jenna Mahay’s analysis are samples
available on two websites that allow individuals to order personalized yet profession-
ally printed holiday cards by uploading their own family photos to the website and
selecting from a range of designs and greeting options provided. Mahay explores what
one might identify, using Androutsopoulos’s term the “participatory spectacle,” by
which the individuals create their own social identities, especially with respect to class
and status, while reinforcing an idealized image of family happiness based on a het-
erosexual, two-parent family with young children.
Chapters 6–13 examine the use of electronic media in interpersonal interaction.
In chapter 6, “The Medium Is the Metamessage: Conversational Style in New Me-
dia Interaction,” Deborah Tannen reminds us that the concept of “discourse” is in-
valuable as a “corrective to the tendency to think of spoken and written language as
separate and fundamentally different.” She presents examples of (written) new me-
dia discourse in the form of email, Facebook, instant messaging, and text message
exchanges among family and friends. She suggests that use of such conventions as
capitalization, emphatic punctuation, repetition, and speed of reply constitute new me-
dia analogs to conversational style features in spoken conversation, with analogous
risks of miscommunication and mutual misjudgment in interaction among women and
men, as well as among members of different age groups. She also suggests that, given
the availability of multiple potential media, the choice of medium itself carries mean-
INTRODUCTION xi

ing (in her terms, sends metamessages), and that the risk of miscommunication is
sometimes built into the mechanics of a given medium, such as a tag line automati-
cally appended to text messages that is visible to the receiver but not to the sender.
In chapter 7, “Bringing Mobiles into the Conversation: Applying a Conversation
Analytic Approach to the Study of Mobiles in Co-present Interaction,” Stephen M.
DiDomenico and Jeffrey Boase examine a segment of a video recording of a natu-
rally occurring social gathering among three women friends in which the participants
oscillated between attention to the people in the room and attention to their mobile
devices. In their first example, drawing on Gibson’s concept of “technological affor-
dance,” the authors demonstrate the importance of the asynchronous nature of text-
ing in relation to the turn-taking organization of the face-to-face interaction. Their
second example illustrates the blurring of boundaries between the two attention foci,
as two of the participants become effective bystanders to an interaction between the
third participant and the sender of a text message who is not in the room. This study
thus demonstrates how new media discourse is integrated into face-to-face interac-
tion, exemplifying how norms about such use are interactionally negotiated.
Continuing the exploration of interactional norms in chapter 8, “Facework on
Facebook: Conversations on Social Media,” Laura West and Anna Marie Trester ex-
amine interaction on Facebook to uncover how politeness norms are negotiated.
Specifically, the authors explore the discursive means by which participants manage
what Brown and Levinson characterize in their politeness schema as face-threaten-
ing acts (FTAs). Drawing from an ongoing ethnography, the authors contrast, on the
one hand, fake Facebook interactions that create humor by featuring FTAs that vio-
late politeness norms, with, on the other hand, naturally occurring Facebook interac-
tions collected from users’ walls, in which FTAs are largely avoided. With particular
focus on how intertextuality is implicated in facework, the authors focus on the core
practices of friending, posting, and replying, as well as some of the conversational
rituals that Facebook has sought to operationalize: issuing invitations and sending
birthday greetings. The authors thus consider how users navigate the balancing of face
needs in this medium. Beginning and ending the discussion with the playful negoti-
ation of norms surrounding one of the newer features on the site (tagging), this chap-
ter sets the stage for the one that follows; together, the chapters demonstrate that ludic
discursive practices are critical to the creation and navigation of interactional mean-
ing in online contexts.
Whereas the chapters thus far have applied theoretical and methodical frame-
works of anthropology (chapter 2), sociology (chapters 5 and 7), interactional soci-
olinguistics (chapter 6), and politeness theory (chapter 8), in chapter 9, “Mock
Performatives in Online Discussion Boards: Toward a Discourse-Pragmatic Model of
Computer-Mediated Communication,” Tuija Virtanen applies and contributes to the se-
mantic theory of performativity by examining the use of the word “hereby” in what
she characterizes as “mock performatives” on a discussion board devoted to beauty
and fashion. She introduces the term “discourse transformer” to highlight the way that
these mock performatives signal a shift into a “play mode” by referencing a familiar
institutional script. She ends by suggesting that her analysis provides a discourse prag-
matic model for the study of performativity in computer-mediated communication.
xii Deborah Tannen and Anna Marie Trester

Chapter 10, “Re- and Pre-authoring Experiences in Email Supervision: Creating

and Revising Professional Meanings in an Asynchronous Medium,” by Cynthia Gor-
don and Melissa Luke, focuses on the commonly practiced but little studied use of
email in exchanges between student interns and their supervisors in a counselor edu-
cation and training program. Drawing on and developing Bakhtin’s notion of dialogue,
the authors show that supervisors’ “reinforcement” and “reframing” of interns’ dis-
course constitutes a kind of “re-authorship,” while their practice of advice giving con-
stitutes a kind of “pre-authorship.” The authors’ analysis identifies the linguistic devices
by which these goals are accomplished, thereby documenting how email is used in the
development of professional identity within this educational environment.
An educational context is also the subject of chapter 11, “Blogs: A Medium for
Intellectual Engagement with Course Readings and Participants,” by Marianna
Ryshina-Pankova and Jens Kugele. The data for this chapter are blog entries written
by students in a college course as part of an online discussion of course readings. The
authors apply the systemic-functional framework of ENGAGEMENT to identify the
linguistic strategies the students use, and the extent to which these strategies evidence
learning—that is, knowledge construction and sharing. The Bakhtinian concept of di-
alogicality enables them to provide insight into how students use interactive blogs to
account for their positions, establish authority, integrate information from various
sources in intersubjective stancetaking, and accomplish tasks and activities that the
authors identify as being essential to academic learning and knowledge construction.
This chapter thus illustrates how interactive blogs can function in a college course,
and offers evidence for their efficacy as a vehicle for learning.
Chapter 12, “Reading in Print or Onscreen: Better, Worse, or About the Same?”
is the third to focus on an educational context. Naomi Baron begins with a survey
and discussion of print culture, then examines how electronic books change one’s con-
ception as well as use of written texts. She then describes and presents the results of
a pilot study she conducted to compare college students’ reading in these two media,
in order to answer the question posed by her title: What respective advantages and
disadvantages do the students report with regard to reading on paper and on screens?
She concludes with a discussion of how the frequent use of electronic reading mate-
rial is transforming students’ attitudes toward and assumptions about texts as well as
their tendencies to multitask. In exploring the effects of the internet upon cognition,
Baron’s chapter thus addresses issues of global import to individuals’ lives and to so-
ciety at large.
That broader perspective characterizes the final chapter as well. In chapter 13,
“Fakebook: Synthetic Media, Pseudo-sociality, and the Rhetorics of Web 2.0,” Crispin
Thurlow offers a global word of caution about the “often hyperbolic claims about ‘so-
cial media’ made in the context of education, the media, commerce, and politics.”
Aligning himself with the subfield of critical discourse studies and other approaches
that address the role of language in societal power relations, Thurlow shows that en-
tities with institutional power and commercial motives, such as advertisers, corpora-
tions, and politicians, invoke “highly stylized, commoditized notions of language
and communication” to create a false impression of sociality. Much as Baron cau-
tions about some negative effects of reading online, Thurlow concludes by caution-
INTRODUCTION xiii

ing that the institutional use of discourse that mimics the social functions of talk in
interpersonal interaction threatens to blur distinctions between “the public and pri-
vate, the personal and institutional, and the corporate and social.”
To bring this overview full circle, we conclude by observing that, taken together,
the chapters in this volume, like the many papers presented at GURT 2011, support
Susan Herring’s observation that if this work “demonstrates only one thing, it should
be that Discourse 2.0 offers a rich field of investigation for discourse analysts”—and,
we might add, that the field of discourse analysis offers a rich source of insight into
the language of new media and the way it is shaping human lives.
This page intentionally left blank
1
Discourse in Web 2.0: Familiar, Reconfigured,
and Emergent
SUSAN C. HERRING
Indiana University Bloomington

Introduction

FROM CONTROVERSIAL BEGINNINGS, the term Web 2.0 has become associated with a fairly
well-defined set of popular web-based platforms characterized by social interac-
tion and user-generated content. Most of the content on such sites is human discourse,
via text, audio, video, and static images. It is therefore, in principle, of theoretical
and practical interest to scholars of computer-mediated discourse. Yet although dis-
course-focused studies of individual Web 2.0 environments such as Facebook, Flickr,
Twitter, and YouTube are starting to appear (see, for example, the chapters in Thur-
low and Mroczek 2011), systematic consideration of the implications of Web 2.0 for
computer-mediated discourse analysis (CMDA) as a whole is lacking. Does discourse
in these new environments call for new methods of analysis? New classificatory ap-
paratuses? New theoretical understandings? In this chapter I attempt to address these
questions.
After defining Web 2.0 and reviewing its development over the past decade, the
CMDA paradigm developed by the author (Herring 2004) is briefly reviewed, with the
ultimate goal of determining whether—and if so, in what ways—it needs to be revised
in light of Web 2.0. As a heuristic to address this goal, I introduce a three-part classi-
fication of Web 2.0 discourse phenomena: phenomena familiar from older computer-
mediated discourse (CMD) modes such as email, chat, and discussion forums that
appear to carry over into Web 2.0 environments with minimal differences; CMD phe-
nomena that adapt to and are reconfigured by Web 2.0 environments; and new or
emergent phenomena that did not exist—or if they did exist, did not rise to the level
of public awareness—prior to the era of Web 2.0. This classification is loosely inspired
by Crowston and Williams’s (2000) broad classification of web pages into “repro-
duced” versus “emergent” genres, but with a focus on discourse, rather than genre.
I suggest that this three-way classification can provide insight into why particu-
lar discourse phenomena persist, adapt, or arise anew in technologically mediated en-
vironments over time. In so doing, I invoke technological factors such as
multimodality and media convergence, social factors at both the situational and cul-
tural levels, and inherent differences among linguistic phenomena that make them

1
2 Susan C. Herring

variably sensitive to technological and social effects. Suggestions are also made of
practical ways in which the classification might guide researchers to frame their stud-
ies and select certain methods of analysis. While the reconfigured and emergent cat-
egories are especially attractive in that they present new phenomena and raise special
challenges for analysts of CMD, I argue that researchers should not neglect what ap-
pears familiar in favor of pursuing newness or novelty: all three categories merit re-
search attention, for different reasons.

Background
The World Wide Web itself is not new. It was pitched as a concept by physicist Tim
Berners-Lee to his employers at the European Organization for Nuclear Research
(CERN) in 1990, implemented by 1991, and attracted widespread attention after the
first graphical browser, Mosaic, was launched in 1993.1 The early websites of the mid-
1990s tended to be single-authored, fairly static documents; they included personal
homepages, lists of frequently asked questions (FAQs), and ecommerce sites. The late
1990s saw a shift toward more dynamic, interactive websites, however: notably blogs
(Herring et al. 2004) and online newssites (Kutz and Herring 2005), the content of
which could be—and often was—updated frequently and which allowed users to leave
comments on the site. These sites foreshadowed what later came to be called Web 2.0.

What Is Web 2.0?

The term “Web 2.0” was first used in 2004 when Tim O’Reilly, a web entrepreneur
in California, decided to call a conference he was organizing for “leaders of the In-
ternet Economy [to] gather to debate and determine business strategy” the “Web
2.0 Conference” (Battelle and O’Reilly 2010; O’Reilly 2005). At the time, the
meaning of the term was vague—more aspirational and inspirational than descrip-
tive. As a business strategy, Web 2.0 was supposed to involve viral marketing rather
than advertising and a focus on services over products. One of O’Reilly’s mantras
is “Applications get better the more people use them” (Linden 2006). Today the term
refers, according to Wikipedia (2011b) and other online sources, to changing trends
in, and new uses of, web technology and web design, especially involving partici-
patory information sharing; user-generated content; an ethic of collaboration; and
use of the web as a social platform. The term may also refer to the types of sites
that manifest these uses, such as blogs, wikis, social network sites, and media-shar-
ing sites.
From the outset, the notion of Web 2.0 was controversial. Critics claimed that it
was just a marketing buzzword, or perhaps a meme—an idea that is passed electron-
ically from one internet user to another—rather than a true revolution in web content
and use as its proponents claimed. They questioned whether the web was qualitatively
different in recent years than it had been before, and whether the applications grouped
under the label Web 2.0—including such diverse phenomena as online auction sites,
photosharing sites, collaboratively authored encyclopedias, social bookmarking sites,
news aggregators, and microblogs—formed a coherent set. Tim Berners-Lee’s answer
to these questions was no—for the inventor of the web, the term suffered from ex-
cessive hype and lack of definition (Anderson 2006).
DISCOURSE IN WEB 2.0 3

Table 1.1
Web 2.0 vs. Web 1.0 phenomena (adapted from O’Reilly 2005)
Web 1.0 Web 2.0
Personal websites Blogging
Publishing Participation
Britannica Online Wikipedia
Content-management systems Wikis
Stickiness Syndication
Directories (taxonomies) Tagging (folksonomies)

In response to such criticisms, O’Reilly (2005) provided a chart to illustrate the

differences between Web 2.0 and what he retroactively labeled “Web 1.0.” This is
shown in modified and simplified form in table 1.1. The phenomena in the second
column are intended to be the Web 2.0 analogs of the phenomena in the first column.
This is no more than a list, however; it does not provide a principled way to de-
termine what should or should not be included as “Web 2.0.” An alternative approach
to conceptualizing Web 2.0 is from a temporal perspective. Most Web 2.0 phenom-
ena emerged over the last decade; indeed, one criticism of the concept is that it seems
to mean nothing more than “recent websites”—paving the way for “Web 3.0,” Web
4.0,” etc., to describe ever-newer web-based phenomena in the future. Figure 1.1 sit-
uates phenomena that exhibit characteristics of “Web 2.0” along a timeline for roughly
the first decade of the twenty-first century. The phenomena included in the figure are
not intended to be exhaustive in any sense; however, an attempt has been made to in-
clude important exemplars of a range of phenomena. In the figure, applications that
run on a platform other than the web but otherwise have characteristics of Web 2.0
are indicated in lighter text; Web 2.0 sites that were launched before O’Reilly coined
the term in 2004 are indicated in black type; and Web 2.0 sites launched since 2004
are in bold type.2

Figure 1.1 Web 2.0 timeline (selective).

4 Susan C. Herring

The most recent decade of collaborative communicative technologies is not a per-

fect match with Web 2.0 in the strict sense. Not all of the applications mentioned in
figure 1.1 are based in the web—for example, Second Life (a three-dimensional graph-
ical world) and Skype (a form of internet telephony) are applications that run on the
internet but not on the web, and Instagram, a recently introduced photosharing appli-
cation, runs on mobile phones (although it can share with web-based social network
sites). Moreover, a number of sites commonly considered to be Web 2.0 were launched
before 2004, and some—such as eBay, blog-hosting sites (such as LiveJournal), and
online dating sites—go back to the 1990s. Nonetheless, with these exceptions, and to-
gether with the characteristics of the sites themselves, the timeline suggests some con-
ceptual coherence that can be attributed to these phenomena. Thus, for the purpose of
this chapter, the following redefinition of Web 2.0 is proposed: web-based platforms
that emerged as popular in the first decade of the twenty-first century, and that incor-
porate user-generated content and social interaction, often alongside or in response to
structures or (multimedia) content provided by the sites themselves.

Computer-Mediated Discourse Analysis, Media Convergence,

and “Discourse 2.0”
The second key background component of this chapter is discourse analysis and,
specifically, the approach to analyzing online discourse that I have developed over
the past seventeen years, CMDA. CMDA is an approach to the analysis of computer-
mediated communication (CMC) focused on language and language use; it is also a
set of methods (a toolkit) grounded in linguistic discourse analysis for mining net-
worked communication for patterns of structure and meaning, broadly construed
(Herring 2004).3
The term “computer-mediated discourse analysis” was first used as the name of
a GURT workshop I organized in 1994. Since then it has evolved into a model or-
ganized around four levels of CMDA: structure, meaning, interaction management,
and social phenomena (Herring 2004). The organizational principle of the CMDA
toolkit is fairly simple: The basic idea is to adapt existing methods, primarily from
linguistics (but in principle from any relevant discipline that analyzes discourse), to
the properties of digital communication media. The methods and the phenomena,
along with broader issues they address, are then loosely mapped onto four levels of
hierarchy, from the microlinguistic, more context-independent level of structure to
the macrolevel of contextualized social phenomena, as summarized in table 1.2. (A
nonlinguistic level—participation—is sometimes included as well.)
However, in the time since the CMDA approach was originally conceptualized,
CMC itself has been undergoing a shift, from occurrence in stand-alone clients such
as emailers and instant messaging programs to juxtaposition with other content, often
of an information or entertainment nature, in converged media platforms, where it is
typically secondary, by design, to other information or entertainment-related activi-
ties (Herring 2009; Zelenkauskaite and Herring 2008). This phenomenon, which I re-
fer to as convergent media computer-mediated communication (CMCMC), is
especially common on Web 2.0 sites. Examples include text comments on photo-
sharing sites; text (and video) responses to YouTube videos; text (and voice) chat dur-
DISCOURSE IN WEB 2.0 5

Table 1.2
Four levels of CMDA (adapted from Herring 2004)
Levels Issues Phenomena Methods
Structure Orality, formality, Typography, orthography, Structural/descriptive
complexity, efficiency, morphology, syntax, linguistics, text
expressivity, genre discourse schemata, analysis, stylistics
characteristics, etc. formatting conventions, etc.
Meaning What is intended, Meaning of words, Semantics, pragmatics
what is communicated, utterances (speech
what is accomplished acts), exchanges, etc.
Interaction Interactivity, timing, Turns, sequences, Conversation analysis,
management coherence, repair, exchanges, threads, etc. ethnomethodology
interaction as
co-constructed, etc.
Social Social dynamics, Linguistic expressions Interactional
phenomena power, influence, of status, conflict, sociolinguistics,
identity, community, negotiation, face- critical discourse
cultural differences, etc. management, play, analysis, ethnography
discourse styles/lects, etc. of communication

ing multiplayer online games; and text messages from mobile phones posted to inter-
active TV programs. Less prototypically (because it involves the convergence of text
with text rather than the convergence of text with another mode), CMCMC is also il-
lustrated by reader comments on news stories; “talk” pages associated with Wikipedia
articles; status updates and comments (and for that matter, chat and inbox exchanges)
on Facebook profiles; and interpersonal and group exchanges on Twitter.4
In fact, the overlap between CMCMC and Web 2.0 is considerable. Almost all
so-called Web 2.0 sites feature CMCMC, and almost all CMCMC applications are
on the web. An exception to the former is social bookmarking sites such as del.icio.us,
which do not contain CMC; an exception to the latter is text chat in multiplayer on-
line games such as World of Warcraft, which are not hosted on the web. However, the
trend is for increasing convergence, and it would not be surprising if these distinc-
tions disappeared in the future. In what follows, it is assumed that Web 2.0 generally
involves CMCMC.
The discourse in these new environments—what we might call convergent me-
dia computer-mediated discourse (CMCMD) or Discourse 2.0—raises many issues
for CMDA. There are new types of content to be analyzed: status updates, text an-
notations on video, tags on social bookmarking sites, and edits on wikis. New con-
texts must also be considered—for example, social network sites based on geographic
location—as well as new (mass media) audiences, including in other languages and
cultures. (Facebook, for example, now exists in localized versions in well over one
hundred languages [Lenihan 2011].) Discourse 2.0 manifests new usage patterns, as
well, such as media coactivity, or near-simultaneous multiple activities on a single
platform (Herring et al. 2009) and multiauthorship, or joint discourse production (An-
droutsopoulos 2011; Nishimura 2011). The above reflect, in part, new affordances
6 Susan C. Herring

made available by new communication technologies: text chat in multiplayer online

games (MOGs); collaboratively editable environments such as wikis; friending and
friend circles on social network sites; social tagging and recommender systems; and
so forth. Last but not least, Discourse 2.0 includes user adaptations to circumvent
the constraints of Web 2.0 environments, such as interactive uses of @ and #, as well
as retweeting, on Twitter (boyd, Golder, and Lotan 2010; Honeycutt and Herring
2009) and performed interactivity on what are, in essence, monologic blogs (Peter-
son 2011; Puschmann 2013). Each of these issues deserves attention, and some are
starting to be addressed, but on a case-by-case, rather than a systemic, basis.
In the face of so many apparently new phenomena, one might question whether
Discourse 2.0 should continue to be called CMD. The term “computer-mediated” orig-
inally referenced the term “computer-mediated communication,” which is still pre-
ferred by communication scholars. But communication technologies are increasingly
moving beyond computers. Mobile phones can be considered honorary computers, but
voice calls, for example, challenge that characterization, as does television-mediated
conversation via text messages (Zelenkauskaite and Herring 2008). Some recent dis-
course-focused publications use such alternative terms as “digital media” and “new me-
dia” discourse. However, the term “new media” is lacking in historical perspective, and
“digital media” is too broad, referring as it does to video games as well as communica-
tion devices, although “digital discourse” (Thurlow and Mroczek 2011) makes clear that
discourse is in focus. Conversely, the term “keyboard-to-screen communication” pro-
posed by Jucker and Dürscheid (2012) is too narrow, in that it excludes communication
input via audio and video technologies. It well may be that in the coming years, the dust
will settle and a descriptive term that is neither too narrow nor too broad will emerge
as the obvious candidate. For now, CMD and CMDA still seem useful terms, in that they
make the link to CMC transparent and are based on established tradition, so they will
continue to be used in the remainder of this chapter.

Discourse in Web 2.0: An Organizational Lens

As a conceptual aid to making sense of Discourse 2.0 on a larger scale, I propose a
three-part organizational lens, a broad categorization scheme according to which dis-
course in Web 2.0 environments can be classified. This scheme challenges the prima
facie assumption that all phenomena that seem new actually are new, classifying
them instead in relation to their antecendents (or lack of antecedents) as familiar, re-
configured, or emergent. At first blush, the scheme may appear simply to reproduce
chronology—older phenomena might be expected to be familiar, and new ones to be
emergent—but in fact it does not. As the discussion below shows, the reverse pattern
sometimes holds.

Web Genre Classification

The Discourse 2.0 classification scheme proposed here was inspired by Crowston and
Williams (2000), who in the mid-1990s were among the first scholars to attempt to
classify genres of web pages. They proposed a simple, two-way classification—re-
produced versus emergent—but noted that some pages could be classified as adap-
tations of reproduced genres.
DISCOURSE IN WEB 2.0 7

The following are examples of Crowston and Williams’s categories applied to

traditional web content. Reproduced content (sometimes referred to as “shovelware”)
includes course syllabi, scholarly articles, and meeting minutes, which in the early
years of the web (and sometimes still) were often created with word processing soft-
ware offline and simply uploaded to the web. Adapted genres include news sites, ge-
nealogy sites, and ejournals, which have tended to preserve the basic genre
conventions of their offline precursors—but with adaptations, such as user comment-
ing and hyperlinking, that leverage the affordances of the web. As examples of emer-
gent genres, Crowston and Williams mention hotlists of links and personal
homepages; blogs and wikis have also been claimed to be indigenous to the web
(Blood 2002; Wagner 2004). In the case of blogs, however, several scholars (Herring
et al. 2004; Miller and Shepherd 2004) have pointed out the continuities between pa-
per diary writing, for example, and blogging—such that nowadays most blog re-
searchers would consider blogs to be an adapted genre. As this last case illustrates,
there is a general ahistoricity that characterizes much new media research and a ten-
dency to claim newness when historical precedents in fact exist; this is a risk asso-
ciated with applying Crowston and Williams’s classification. The scheme can also be
somewhat subjective, depending on what facets of a web genre one chooses to focus
on and the familiarity of the researcher with previous genres. Nonetheless, the clas-
sification can lead to interesting insights.
One such insight is that there appears to be a trend over time for web genres to
shift along a continuum from reproduced to adapted to emergent, with the seemingly
paradoxical effect that as genres age, they move along the continuum in the direction
of “emergence.” An example is online news sites, which tended to be reproduced from
print newspapers in the early days but have become increasingly adapted to the web
with the inclusion of user comments, multimedia, hyperlinks, and other interactivity
and navigation features (Eriksen and Ihlström 2000). Similarly, the social network
site Facebook initially combined the format of “face books” from Harvard Univer-
sity dormitories with web-based features such as commenting (Wikipedia 2011c) and
was thus adapted, but over time it has added and combined so many features (includ-
ing embedded graphics, games, polls, and various modes of CMC) that it can now
arguably be considered emergent. This is not just because of the number of features,
but because the whole is qualitatively different from the sum of its parts, and it has
no single offline or online precedent.
This trend is consistent with the observation in media studies that new informa-
tion and communication technologies (ICTs) are first put mainly to old uses, and uses
that take advantage of the full potential of the technologies emerge only later, if at
all (Winston 1998). In the case of web genres, the mechanisms underlying this shift
are, on the one hand, the incorporation of new media affordances into familiar text
types, and on the other hand, increasing media convergence. When familiar media
combine, they often do so in ways that result in qualitatively different phenomena
that can be considered new or emergent.
In the present classification scheme, the term “familiar” is used rather than “re-
produced” to suggest continuities in (rather than copies of earlier) discourse phenom-
ena. Familiar patterns are presumed to have manifested more or less continuously on
8 Susan C. Herring

the web from the 1990s until the present, albeit not necessarily on the same sites. The
term “reconfigured,” rather than “adapted,” is used to highlight the structural reshap-
ing of some discourse phenomena that takes place in Web 2.0 environments. To be
sure, users adapt to changes in ICTs, but their adaptations are only relevant to CMDA
when they manifest in tangible discourse behaviors. However, the term “emergent”
is preserved from Crowston and Williams (2000), in that new web genres and dis-
course phenomena can equally be described as emerging—that is, becoming evident
where previously there was no general awareness of their existence.

A Three-Part Classification Scheme

In the following sections the proposed rubric of familiar-reconfigured-emergent is ap-
plied to classify examples of Web 2.0 discourse phenomena, with discussion of some
of the challenges each category raises for CMDA.

Contrary to the impression conveyed by much new me-

Familiar Aspects of Web 2.0 Discourse
dia research that almost everything on the web today is new and different, a great
deal—and perhaps the majority—of Web 2.0 discourse phenomena are familiar. For
one thing, text remains the predominant channel of communication among web users,
whether in blogs, microblogs, wikis, comments on news sites, or web discussion fo-
rums. The latter, in particular, remain very popular and illustrate many of the same
kinds of phenomena as did asynchronous online forums in the 1990s. These include
nonstandard typography and orthography, code switching, gender differences, flam-
ing, and email hoaxes and scams.5
Contemporary practices, especially when situated in new environments, may not
seem familiar at first blush. Vaisman (2011) recently documented a creative typo-
graphic practice among Israeli preteen girl bloggers that she calls “Fakatsa” style
(fakatsa means a silly, fashion-conscious girl), in which letters of the Hebrew alpha-
bet are replaced by characters of similar appearance, including numbers, symbols,
and letters from the roman alphabet. Vaisman gives the following example, the user
ID of one of the bloggers, which translates as “Gal [a Hebrew name] the hot babe”:

In standard Hebrew typography, this name would be written . The sec-

tion symbol (§) in the Fakatsa version replaces the Hebrew letter that resembles (in
this font) a small O, the cent symbol (¢) replaces the Hebrew letter that looks like a
backward C, and the Arabic numeral 5 substitutes for the Hebrew letter lamed ( );
these substitutions are based loosely on graphical resemblance. Moreover, the Fakatsa
version of the word includes extra symbols—such as a tilde (!) in two places and the
dots on the right—that are purely decorative.
On the face of it, Fakatsa writing appears novel and exotic. Although nonstandard
typography and orthography are familiar characteristics of CMC (netspeak expressions
such as “ur gr8” [You’re great] themselves have antecedents in offline writing [Crystal
2008]), Fakatsa seems to take this practice to a new level, including requiring norms of
DISCOURSE IN WEB 2.0 9

reading that differ from those for netspeak. Yet as Vaisman points out, Fakatsa shows
many parallels with leetspeak or leet, an English subcultural variety that originated with
computer hackers in the 1980s. Leet replaces letters from the roman alphabet with non-
alphabetic characters and symbols based on visual resemblance, similar to Fakatsa, as
illustrated in the following example: “1 k4n 7¥p3 1337” (I can type leet). The similar-
ities between the two varieties do not appear to be due to any direct contact between
them; rather, they share a common generative principle that appears to have been ex-
ploited spontaneously in the two different writing systems (for further examples of
graphic-based substitutions in computer-mediated Arabic and Greek typography, see
Danet and Herring 2007). This example illustrates the first level of CMDA: structure.
Historical continuities in CMD are also evident on the broader level of social in-
teraction. Gender differences in discourse style were documented in public online dis-
cussion forums and chat rooms throughout the 1990s that showed males to be more
assertive, insulting, sarcastic, and profane, and females to be more accommodating,
supportive, affectionate, and upbeat (Cherny 1994; Herring 1993, 2003a). These pat-
terns reproduced gender styles in spoken conversation as described by Tannen (1990).
Moreover, despite a tendency of scholars and lay people alike to imagine that such
stylistic differences reflect outmoded gender role differences that have tended to dis-
appear over time, a recent study of teen chat sites (Kapidzic and Herring 2011a) found
similar differences in message tone: In 2011, males were still significantly more ag-
gressive and flirtatious and tended to be more sexual, whereas females were signifi-
cantly more friendly in their chat messages. Girls also still used more emoticons,
especially those representing smiles and laughter, than boys did (Kapidzic and Her-
ring 2011b), as shown in figure 1.3. Similar to the findings of earlier research (such
as Wolf 2000), the only emoticon that boys used more was the winking face, which
is associated with both sarcasm and flirtation.

12

10

Male
8
Female
6

0
:) :D ;) :P <3 :( <.<
Figure 1.3 Emoticon use in teen chat by gender per 1000 words (Kapidzic and Herring 2011b).
10 Susan C. Herring

Familiar Discourse 2.0 phenomena lend themselves readily to CMDA in its cur-
rent form, since they are the kinds of phenomena the paradigm was designed to ad-
dress. The challenges they pose mainly concern identification: familiar phenomena
may be mistaken for new (as a researcher unfamiliar with leet might be tempted to
do with Fakatsa) or assumed to be different by virtue of the passage of time (as in
the case of online gender styles). There is a need to trace relevant antecedents to gain
perspective where familiar online discourse phenomena are concerned, in order to do
conscientious research. This, in turn, requires some familiarity with earlier CMDA
research. Alternatively, familiar phenomena may simply be passed over by researchers
in favor of newer, more exotic CMD phenomena.

Although Discourse 2.0 may not be as different as popular

Reconfigured Aspects of Web 2.0 Discourse
belief holds, changes have taken place in both technology and communicative prac-
tices. These have resulted in the reconfiguration or reshaping of a number of aspects
of CMD. Examples include personal status messages, quoting others’ messages, small
stories,6 and customized advertising spam—which might on the surface appear new
but have traceable online antecedents—as well as reconfigurations of such familiar phe-
nomena as topical coherence, turn-taking, threading, and intertextuality.
As a first illustration, let us consider personal status updates of the sort that have
been popularized on Facebook and Twitter, in response to a generic prompt such as
“What are you doing?” “What’s on your mind?” or “What’s happening?” The issues
raised by the analysis of status updates involve the CMDA levels of structure (syn-
tax), meaning (semantics and pragmatics), and interaction management. Lee (2011)
provides the following examples in her study of Hong Kong users of Facebook, which
compares the communicative functions of status updates produced before and after
Facebook changed the default response format from “[Name] is” (with the third-per-
son singular form of the verb “to be”) to simply “[Name]”:
1. Amy is in a good mood.
2. Snow is “I’ve seen you in the shadow.”
3. Kenneth quitting facebook.
4. Ariel thinks that no news is good news.
5. Katy: ?
Example 1 is a grammatical sentence formed from the prompt “Amy [name of user]
is.” Example 2 is also built on the “name is” prompt, but what follows (“I’ve seen you
in the shadow”) is a song lyric; the result is not a grammatical sentence. Status update
3 (“Kenneth quitting facebook”) is also ungrammatical, but for a different reason: it
lacks the auxiliary verb “is,” which by this time had been omitted from the default
Facebook prompt. The presence, explicit or implicit, of “is” in the Facebook response
format thus results in some status descriptions that are syntactically nonstandard.
The update in 4 (“Ariel thinks that no news is good news”), in contrast, is syntac-
tically well formed, but pragmatically appropriate in the simple present tense only if
Ariel’s thinking is generally true, which is not the most likely interpretation in this con-
text (it is more likely that Ariel is responding to some specific news, or lack thereof).
DISCOURSE IN WEB 2.0 11

This use of simple present tense is presumably a carryover of the simple present tense
of the former “is” in the prompt. Its use in place of, say, the present progressive lends
the utterance a performative feel, as if Ariel performs the act of thinking that no news
is good news by typing it. Finally, if Katy’s status update in 5—consisting of only a ques-
tion mark (presumably to indicate that she is confused or does not know what to say)—
is treated as an utterance, it is both syntactically and pragmatically ill formed.7
In fact, these kinds of utterances have characterized CMC since the early days of
Internet Relay Chat (IRC [Werry 1996]) and MUDs and MOOs (text-based virtual re-
ality environments [Cherny 1994, 1995, 1999]). Those chat environments made avail-
able special commands (called “action descriptions” on IRC and “emotes” on MUDs
and MOOs) that produced third-person present tense descriptions of first-person ac-
tions and states, such as “Chris is in a bad mood” and “Lynn waves.” These often had
a performative flavor, especially when used to describe actions rather than states (for
further discussion of performativity in CMD, see Virtanen (2013) and chapter 9, this
volume. Utterances that play with the convention itself, analogous to example 5 above,
were also common in early chat environments (in a perfect parallel, Cherny 1999 gives
examples of MOO utterances consisting solely of “[Name] ?” as well as “null-emotes,”
emotes left intentionally blank such that only the username appears).
However, status updates do not simply reproduce these earlier practices. Rather,
they have been structurally and functionally reconfigured in comparison to action de-
scriptions and emotes. Syntactically, the inclusion of “is” in an earlier version of Face-
book has led to a greater use of “is” constructions, even when these are not
prescriptively correct. One of my Facebook friends has continued to start each of his
updates with “[Name] is,” inserting the “is” as a stylistic affectation even when an-
other finite verb is present in the utterance, e.g., “[Name] is has a headache.” Func-
tionally, status updates on Twitter and Facebook serve as prompts that trigger comment
threads, unlike the earlier constructions, which were single utterances.
The second example of a reconfigured phenomenon also involves interaction
management—specifically, repeating parts of another participant’s message in one’s
own message to create cross-message coherence. “Retweeting” on Twitter is the in-
clusion of a previous message (“tweet”) in a new message, sometimes with a com-
ment added. boyd, Golder, and Lotan (2010) give the following typical example:
RT @StopAhmadi Bring down Khomeini’s website
Here, the (unidentified) user makes use of the abbreviation RT to retweet wholesale
a tweet that was originally addressed to StopAhmadi (on the uses of @ as an addres-
sivity marker, see Honeycutt and Herring 2009). Presumably the retweeter does this
for the purpose of spreading further the sentiment expressed in the original tweet,
Bring down Khomeini’s website.
Another example of retweeting given by boyd, Golder, and Lotan is more com-
plex, in that it contains multiple levels of embedding:
@AndreaJarrell: Via @mStonerblog: RT @zephoria: new blog post “Is
Facebook for old people?” socioecon and race are most interesting here
http://bit.ly/v0aPS.
12 Susan C. Herring

In this tweet the user is addressing to AndreaJarrell a message originally received from
mStonerblog, who in turn retweeted a message from zephoria (“new blog post ‘Is
Facebook for old people?’ http://bit.ly/v0aPS”). (The latter two instances of @ con-
ventionally signal that what follows is a Twitter username and can effectively be ig-
nored for the purposes of understanding this tweet.) To complicate the message
further, the user inserts a comment of his or her own (“socioecon and race are most
interesting here”) before zephoria’s link.
On the face of it, retweeting might seem a prime example of a discourse phe-
nomenon that is new and that has arisen in response to the novel affordances and con-
straints of Twitter. In fact, retweeting is a modern form of the older practice in textual
CMC of “quoting” in asynchronous messages (Severinson Eklundh 2010; Severin-
son Eklundh and Macdonald 1994). Quoted and retweeted segments are both flagged
by a conventional symbol (an angle bracket [>] preceding each quoted line in Usenet,
where the convention originated; RT in Twitter). Both incorporate the words of oth-
ers in one’s own message (intertextuality, to establish context), and embedded quo-
tations such as those in Twitter example 2 above can occur in both CMC modes. The
following schematic from Severinson Eklundh (2010) illustrates multiple embed-
dings in a traditional asynchronous system (fig. 1.4).
Although some systems include quoted text automatically when the user re-
sponds using the reply function, users can also set the default such that quoted text
is not included or edit the quoted text selectively. Evidence of the latter can be seen
in the message in figure 1.4, especially where B had previously responded to A point
by point, interleaving his text (at two levels of embedding) with text by A (at three
levels of embedding).

text by B.
greeting by B.
pointer to A.
> greeting by A.
> text by A.
> greeting by A.
> pointer to B.
> > pointer to A.
> > > text by A.
> > text by B.
> > > text by A.
> > text by B.
> > greeting by B.
>

Figure 1.4 Schematic structure of a message received by A with three levels of quotation (Severinson
Eklundh 2010).
DISCOURSE IN WEB 2.0 13

As the figure suggests, in quoting the repeated material is set off on a separate
line, whereas on Twitter, because of the character limit on tweets, quoted and non-
quoted material appear together without line breaks, giving the two practices differ-
ent surface appearances. Retweeting can thus be considered a form of quoting that
is adapted to, and reconfigured by, the Twitter environment. The reconfiguration in-
volves condensing quoted content to fit within 140 characters, including omitting in-
formation and reducing URLs to abbreviated bit.ly links, and using new
(user-generated) conventions for referring or attributing, resulting in a visually very
different format (that includes a small image of the sender, as well) but with a simi-
lar underlying function.
The third and last example of a reconfigured phenomenon also involves inter-
action management, this time with a focus on topical coherence. Conversational ex-
changes on many Web 2.0 platforms tend to be prompt focused—that is, comments
respond to an initial prompt, such as a news story, a photo, or a video, more often
than to other users’ responses. Although this pattern was attested in older CMD,
notably in online learning contexts in which students responded to an instructor’s
prompt, it was not common in public discourse on the internet. Rather, patterns of
topical development tended to involve stepwise digression away from the original
topic in multiparty exchanges in chat rooms (Herring 1999) and discussion forums
(Lambiase 2010). These differing patterns are illustrated in figure 1.5 using the Vi-
sual DTA (Dynamic Topic Analysis) tool developed by Herring and Kurtz (2006).
The diagram on the left, showing the prompt-focused pattern, represents a Flickr
(photosharing site) community comment thread in response to a photograph of a
dog in a party hat (Herring 2009), and the diagram on the right, showing stepwise
topical digression, represents a conversation on a recreational IRC channel (Her-
ring 2003b). In the diagrams, messages are numbered in chronological order along
the y axis, and the x axis represents cumulative semantic distance from the initiat-
ing message.
Both diagrams illustrate thematically coherent patterns of interaction involving
multiple participants that begin with an initial prompt, but in the Flickr comment
thread (and much other Discourse 2.0) responses are mostly directed to the prompt
throughout, resulting in limited topical development, whereas in the IRC example
the topic shifts progressively from the upper left to the lower right through interac-
tion among participants. The former pattern can be considered an adaptation of top-
ical coherence to CMCMC environments in which entertainment and news content
is presented for users to consume and comment on. As a consequence of this adap-
tation, patterns of interaction are reconfigured not just at the individual level but at
the group level.
Because they may appear quite different on the surface, reconfigured phenom-
ena are at an even greater risk than familiar phenomena of being mistaken for
emergent CMD, with consequent loss of comparative insight. An additional
challenge posed by reconfigured phenomena for CMDA is the need to abstract
common structures, functions, or social dynamics across different media affor-
dances in order to identify what they are reconfigured from and the reasons for the
reconfigurations.
14 Susan C. Herring

Figure 1.5 Two patterns of topical development. Left: prompt focused (Flickr comment thread [Herring
2009]). Right: stepwise progression (Internet Relay Chat [Herring 2003b]).

Given that much of what has been claimed to be un-

Emergent Aspects of Web 2.0 Discourse
precedented on the web has been found, upon deeper examination, to have online or
offline antecedents (or both), caution must be exercised in asserting that any phenom-
enon is entirely new. This section tentatively identifies several Web 2.0 discourse phe-
nomena that appear to be emergent and unprecedented, at least as common practices.8
These include the dynamic collaborative discourse that takes place on wikis, along
with conversational video exchanges, conversational exchanges via image texts, and
multimodal conversation more generally. In the domain of non-bona fide discourse,
the phenomena of sock puppets and link building are also mentioned.
DISCOURSE IN WEB 2.0 15

Collaborative text production of the sort that takes place on Wikipedia represents
a new kind of online discourse. It is democratic and anarchic: There is no central or-
ganization, and anyone can contribute to any part of a text. It is massively multi-
authored by internet users who usually do not know one another. It leaves a manifest
trace both front stage, in article pages, and backstage (Goffman 1959) in talk and user
pages. Moreover, every addition, deletion, or alteration of the text is preserved in his-
tory pages, which in themselves constitute a new kind of text. It is process focused
rather than product focused (Wagner 2004); even its most stable content, articles, are
dynamic documents subject to frequent updating. To be sure, texts such as group re-
ports are sometimes constructed collaboratively in offline contexts, but typically each
person is responsible for one part; the number of contributors is limited; their talk
about the task is ephemeral; the tasks are centrally coordinated; and at some point,
the product is deemed complete and no further editing takes place. The anarchic na-
ture of contribution to Wikipedia, in combination with the platform’s ease of updat-
ing and technical affordances that make process visible, results in a discourse context
that seems qualitatively unprecedented.
Interestingly, despite being arrived at by entirely different means, the text of
Wikipedia articles can be strikingly similar to that of traditional print encyclope-
dias, both in quality of content (Giles 2005) and in style (Emigh and Herring 2005).
In a corpus-based analysis of structural markers of formality and informality in
fifteen articles in four corpora—Wikipedia, Everything2 (an online knowledge
repository in which articles are individually authored), a traditional print encyclo-
pedia, and Wikipedia talk pages—Emigh and Herring found that the degree of for-
mality in Wikipedia and the traditional encyclopedia was statistically identical,
whereas Everything2 and the talk pages were significantly less formal. As an ex-
planation for this counterintuitive result, Emigh and Herring suggested that
Wikipedia contributors have internalized cultural norms of encyclopedic style,
which includes formality. However, this does not explain how the collaborative ed-
iting process takes place over time, or how hundreds of strangers come to an ap-
parent consensus. A tool for visualizing the creation of Wikipedia articles over time
has been developed by Viégas, Wattenberg, and Dave (2004), but it has yet to be
applied by discourse analysts.
Another emergent Discourse 2.0 phenomenon is the use of channels other than
text, and semiotic systems other than verbal language, to carry on conversational ex-
changes. Exchanges in which the turn unit is a video created by an individual and
uploaded to a website have been analyzed by Pihlaja (2011) for YouTube, with a fo-
cus on verbal metaphor development; and by Kendall (2007) for a user-created ani-
mation sharing site, with a focus on the role of visual themes in creating cross-video
coherence. McDonald (2007) analyzed conversational exchanges of still webcam im-
ages on a graphical community blog, describing four strategies used to create coher-
ence across images: positional play (for example, showing a picture in which a person
is pointing to another picture on the site that is outside the picture frame), animation,
text-in-image, and image quotes. In image quotes, a picture or part of a picture posted
by a previous contributor is used, sometimes with modification, in a response, as il-
lustrated in the sequence in figure 1.6 (from McDonald 2007).
16 Susan C. Herring

In the first image in this sequence, user Butah

P. wishes luck to Valrik, who is leaving a web com-
munity to form his own. Valrik (“Val”) thanks Bu-
tah in the following image, showing himself holding
up a screen with a cartoonish drawing of himself
over the URL of his new website. Image (c) from
user Dana wishes Valrik luck and says, via text, that
they will miss him. The latter idea is taken up and
exaggerated in image (d) from Runz with Sizzerrs,
who took the cartoon image of Valrik’s head from
image (b) and photoshopped it over a tombstone,
implying that Valrik has died. In the last image of the
sequence, Val denies this by photoshopping in Runz
with Sizzerrs’s entire image and superimposing the
red “no” circle over it; he also adds the text, “I’m not
dead! I’ve just moved to [new URL].” In this series
of exchanges, the cartoon image of Valrik serves as
a reference object that is repeated and transformed
dynamically through group interaction. Image
quotes are also a key feature of discourse in image
boards (image-based online discussion boards) such
as 4chan (Bernstein et al. 2011) where they often
“meme,” or spread virally.9
In the pre-internet era, videos (or films) were
sometimes made that responded to other videos (or
films), but this practice was restricted mostly to artis-
tic contexts due to the cost and special equipment re-
Figure 1.6 A conversation with image quired. Video is now cheaper and easier to create,
quotes from a community blog (Mc-
Donald 2007).
enabling qualitatively different kinds of communi-
cation to take place. And although images with text
have been around since the first illuminated manuscripts and include such familiar
genres as comics and children’s books, dynamic image texts that develop collabora-
tively, as in figure 1.6, appear to be a recent phenomenon—one enabled by popular
access to drawing and photo modification software.
Media convergence is also resulting in a trend for multiple modes of verbal com-
munication to coexist in the same platform. For example, an individual may respond
(asynchronously) to a YouTube video either via text comments or video; may chat
(synchronously) while playing World of Warcraft via text or voice; and may send
text messages (either synchronous or asynchronous, depending on whether the ad-
dressee is logged on at the same time) and speak (synchronously) to an interlocutor
over Skype. On these platforms the mode options are accessed somewhat differently
and tend to be used for different communicative purposes (Newon 2011; Pihlaja
2011; Sindoni 2011), although they may be used contemporaneously. On the mul-
timodal discussion site voicethread.com, in contrast, asynchronous conversations
 DISCOURSE IN WEB 2.0 17

(“VoiceThreads”) take place in

which comments via text, audio,
and video are fully integrated
within a single interface display, as
shown in figure 1.7. In the figure,
the three modes of commenting
are displayed as they appear when
each type of message is played
back in the VoiceThread interface.
The case in point involves discus-
sion of a video (in the center of the
screen) about the dangers of
speeding as part of a high school
driver education class (from Her-
ring and Demarest 2011).
The contents of the three com-
ments in figure 1.7 are as follows.
AUDIO [teacher]: Hey ya’ guys,
welcome to . . . VoiceThread. I
want you to watch this video
clip and give your feedback,
either through a video
recording or a voice recording.
It’s a short clip on speeding,
and I’m interested to hear your
thoughts.
VIDEO [teacher]: Hey hey! It’s not
actually Steve Perry, it’s just Figure 1.7 An audio comment (top), a video comment (mid-
me . . . checking this thing dle), and a text comment (bottom) in a VoiceThread (Her-
ring and Demarest 2011).
out. Uh, this video clip . . . is
pretty neat, I think . . . I
especially enjoy his Australian accent, and I know it’s Australian bec- for a few
reasons, uh . . . the biggest one of them obviously being that the car’s steering
wheel . . . is on the right hand side of the car! So. Another cool thing that I . . .
liked about this video, other than the information in it, was the special effects
they used, he—he’s sorta walked out in front of the car, uh which . . . I wouldn’t
think anybody would normally do, but he did it! And, uh, Steve Perry—come
back for us all, please!
TEXT [student]: People may think that they have a quick reaction time but in fact it
doesn’t matter whether you can break fast or you have good breaks [sic] on the
car its what speed you are going before you notice something that either has run
out on the road or that you are about to hit something. . . . Be aware on the
surroundings and do the speed limit or this could be you!!!
18 Susan C. Herring

Herring and Demarest argue that voicethread.com provides an unprecedented,

authentic environment for research into mode choice, and they profit from it to
analyze the effects of mode on participation by gender, expression of positive or
negative attitude, and use of metadiscourse to index social awareness, all of which
are found to vary according to mode. Audio and video comments in VoiceThreads
are made more often by males than by females and contain more self-reference
than text comments, whereas the text comments use more negative language than
audio and video comments.
Some Web 2.0 sites take the trend towards convergence further by allowing
users to embed text directly into video. An example is collaborative video anno-
tations on YouTube, an innovation that came about when some users discovered
that the URL to the interface that allows the person who uploads a video to add
textual annonations to it could be shared with other users.10 Howard (2011) ana-
lyzed the referents, tenor, and functional moves performed through such textual
annotations posted by education students on videos of teachers teaching a class
(see fig. 1.8), with the aim of determining the effectiveness of the environment in
fostering critical discussion. His findings were mixed; critical moves were evident,
but contributors made little reference to each others’ comments, hence the dis-
course was not very interactive.

Figure 1.8 Collaborative text annotation on a YouTube video (Howard 2011).

DISCOURSE IN WEB 2.0 19

Finally, in the domain of non-bona fide communication, artificial intelligence (AI)

agents (or bots) have been present in online chat spaces since the early days of the
public internet, and they have occasionally succeeded in fooling some people into
thinking they were human (Turkle 1995). But recent developments have largely by-
passed sophisticated AI, creating fraudulent participants in online forums through the
manipulation, computational or otherwise, of simpler notions such as frequency and
timing of participation. For example, multiple fake online personas called “sock pup-
pets” are generated automatically and, posing as real people, made to join online fo-
rums for various purposes, including posting comments to create the illusion of
consensus on controversial issues (Romm 2011). Another practice, link building, in-
volves unobtrusively inserting links to a company in web forums in order to boost
the company’s search engine ranking. One strategy for doing this is to infiltrate a fo-
rum and post messages, and after the discussion has moved on to another topic (and
the forum moderator is presumably no longer paying attention), edit one’s posts to
include the links (Haltom 2011). These practices raise the question of how the dis-
course of non-bona fide participants (including and in addition to their participation
patterns) differs from that of real participants, a question that CMD analysts are well
qualified to address, and one that has practical implications for fraud detection.
With the exception of the articles cited above, however, little analysis of these
new discourse phenomena has been conducted. A general challenge for emergent me-
dia environments is that they need to be analyzed descriptively first before more so-
phisticated, theoretically informed analyses can be carried out; this often results in a
lag between the emergence of new environments and scholarly understanding of
them. The discourse that takes place in emergent environments also raises numerous
challenges for the CMDA paradigm. Non-bona fide discourse participants call for new
ways of understanding participation. Wikis call for new conceptual understandings
of what constitutes a text, what can be data for analysis, and what authorship means.
Finally, multimodal discourse requires the analyst to devise new analytical methods
and to draw from theoretical frameworks outside linguistics (such as visual semiotics).
This last point leads to the question of whether multimodal discourse requires a new
level of analysis in the CMDA toolkit, or whether it can be accommodated within the
existing paradigm with the addition of semiotic methods to address each level. If the
latter, at what level does integrative analysis of the meanings and functions of the com-
plex whole take place, and what theories and methods exist to guide it? Table 1.3 sug-
gests one possible format for incorporating multimodal discourse into the existing
CMDA paradigm, as a new level.
Practically speaking, there is also a need to devise parallel transcription and vi-
sualization displays for textual and nontextual communication, which differ in a num-
ber of respects, including temporality. (Newon [2011] offers one approach to this in
her study of text and voice chat in World of Warcraft.) Such displays should include
the representation of silences, and the new norms and meanings surrounding them,
in multimodal environments. Finally, it is likely that some apparently emergent phe-
nomena will have antecedents that one is not aware of. Given the inherent difficulty
of supporting a claim (of newness) that requires negative evidence, researchers need
to be circumspect in making such claims.
20 Susan C. Herring

Table 1.3
Multimodal communication as an additional level of CMDA
Level Issues Phenomena Methods
Multimodal Mode effects, cross- Mode choice, Social semiotics, visual
communication mode coherence, text-in-image, image content analysis, film
reference and address quotes, spatial and studies (?)
management, generation temporal positionality
and spread of graphical and deixis, animation,
meaning units, media etc.
coactivity, etc.

Implications
The tripartite familiar–reconfigured–emergent classification presented above raises
questions that have the potential to lead to new theoretical insight. Why, for exam-
ple, do some discourse phenomena persist, others adapt, and others arise anew in tech-
nologically mediated environments?
I have previously (Herring 2007) emphasized the importance of taking into ac-
count facets of the technological medium and the social context in analyzing CMD.
In the case of Discourse 2.0, technological facets that are especially relevant are me-
dia convergence and multimodality, including use of images and channel choice. So-
cial facets that continue to be especially relevant include number of participants,
anonymity, communicative setting, and cultural context. To these two faceted dimen-
sions I propose adding a linguistic dimension, based on the observation that differ-
ent linguistic phenomena appear to be variably sensitive to technological and social
effects. One tentative generalization that follows from the examples presented above
is that social phenomena such as gender styles (level 4 of CMDA) seem most resist-
ant to technological reshaping, perhaps because they exist at a higher level of abstrac-
tion and their expression is not bound to a specific communicative modality. In
contrast, interactional phenomena (level 2 of CMDA) seem most likely to be recon-
figured. This is understandable, in that changes in system design often affect turn-
taking, yet conversational exchanges persist even on platforms not primarily designed
to support them (Herring 2009; Herring et al. 2009; Kendall 2007; Zelenkauskaite
and Herring 2008), necessitating reconfigured strategies of interaction.11 However,
emergent phenomena do not appear to be associated with any particular linguistic
level; the analyses cited above involve all four CMDA levels: structure (such as for-
mality markers), meaning (such as functional moves), interactional coherence (such
as cross-turn reference), and social phenomena (such as expressions of sociability and
negativity), as well as the nonlinguistic level of participation. Even if a new level is
posited for CMDA to capture the semiotics of multimodal communication, as in
table 1.2, discourse constructed collaboratively through online multimodal systems
is only emergent at the present time; in the future it will be familiar or perhaps re-
configured by newer multimodal systems. Thus it is difficult to link emergence with
any specific aspect of language use; rather, in the examples presented here, emergence
is tied to technological developments.
DISCOURSE IN WEB 2.0 21

Classifying online discourse phenomena in terms of their novelty can make explicit
what phenomena are new and in need of basic descriptive research; these low-hanging
fruit can be attractive objects of study. Reconfigured phenomena can suggest interesting
comparative studies that shed light on the effects of technological change on online dis-
course. Familiar phenomena can be rewarding to analyze, too, especially when familiar
patterns are thought to no longer exist or when they are incorrectly labeled as new. Rec-
ognizing what is familiar or reconfigured as such is an important antidote to the tendency
towards ahistoricity in new media studies. The three-way classification scheme also has
other practical benefits. Once a topic for research has been selected, the scheme can be
used to frame a research study, select literature for review, determine appropriate meth-
ods of analysis, and make interpretive comparisons. However, the scheme should not be
applied too strictly; it is coarse grained and intended as a first-pass classification of dis-
course phenomena, subject to refinement from further investigation.

Summary and Conclusion

Discourse in Web 2.0 environments is mostly CMCMD; that is, it occurs on converged
media platforms. CMCMD still has a strong textual component, and many CMD phe-
nomena carry over into CMCMD. At the same time, CMCMD increasingly co-occurs
with information in other semiotic, especially graphical, modes, leading to the emer-
gence of new converged CMD phenomena. These differences notwithstanding, and al-
though multimodal online discourse presents special challenges, CMDA remains a
useful lens through which to analyze new social media.
This last point becomes more evident when discourse-focused approaches to con-
temporary web phenomena are contrasted with Web 2.0 approaches. Each is a lens
with a central focus and a periphery, and certain phenomena are outside the scope of
each. Web 2.0 as a lens has centrally in its sights phenomena such as user-created
content, user control of content, collaborative processes, and folksonomies. Social in-
teraction and communication are on the periphery, and CMD in contexts other than
Web 2.0 sites lies outside its scope. In contrast, CMCMD as a lens focuses on lan-
guage, communication, conversation, social interaction, and media coactivity as they
occur anywhere online (including via mobile phones), with collaboration on the pe-
riphery; noninteractive content is outside its scope. Each lens is valuable, but CM-
CMD focuses more squarely on phenomena of interest to discourse analysts. At the
same time, it overlaps considerably with Web 2.0 and thus remains a timely lens
through which to examine online communicative content.
If this chapter demonstrates one thing, it is that Discourse 2.0 offers a rich field
of investigation for discourse analysts. Especially urgently needed in future research
is integrated multimodal analysis. Longitudinal analysis is also needed, and it is in-
creasingly feasible given the preservation of digital records and computer-assisted cor-
pus analysis methods. Finally, large-scale automated analysis can and should coexist,
in my view, with ethnographic case studies. Indeed, it seems likely that in the short
term, integrated analyses of multimodal communication will be qualitative and
ethnographic in nature, at least until the interplay of different semiotic systems in on-
line environments is understood well enough to distill parameters that can be sub-
jected to systematic, quantitative analysis.
22 Susan C. Herring

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am grateful to Deborah Tannen and Anna Marie Trester for their helpful comments on an earlier version
of this chapter. Any shortcomings that remain are my responsibility alone.

NOTES
1. On the creation of the web, see Wikipedia (2011a).
2. With the possible exception of WikiLeaks, which is the most recent, all of these sites (and many more)
can be found in lists of Web 2.0 sites available online (see, e.g., www.sacredcowdung.com
/archives/2006/03/all_things_web.html and edudemic.com/2011/11/best-web-tools).
3. For some proposed expansions to CMDA methodology, see the articles in Androutsopoulos and
Bießwenger (2008).
4. These are considered to be CMCMC environments because in each case, the site’s original purpose
was something other than conversational exchange.
5. Herring (2001) provides an overview of many of these practices in the CMD of the 1990s. For dis-
cussion of the offline historical predecessors of English-language CMC, see Baron (2000).
6. Small stories are nontraditional narratives and are often personal rather than fictionalized. In Web
2.0 environments they are reconfigured from their offline antecedents in that they tend to be inter-
active, hypertextual, and collaborative (see Georgakopoulou 2013).
7. It is syntactically ill formed because “Katy: ?” is not a grammatical sentence, and pragmatically ill
formed because the default expectation of a Facebook status update is that it provide information
about what the user is doing or thinking.
8. These examples are advanced with the caveat that more astute researchers may find plausible an-
tecedents to them. Some could be argued to have antecedents in specialized offline contexts; how-
ever, to the best of my knowledge, none have previously existed as common communicative practices
online or offline.
9. An example of this is “lolcat” images—photographs of cats with text superimposed (in misspelled
and ungrammatical English [e.g., “I can haz cheezburger”])—which originated on 4chan and spread
subsequently to other online environments (Bernstein et al. 2011).
10. Craig Howard, email communication, January 8, 2012.
11. Numerous examples of this can be found in the CMD literature (e.g., Cherny 1999; Herring 1999).
For an extreme example of reconfigured turn-taking in a synchronous chat system, see Anderson,
Beard, and Walther (2010).

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_Wide_Web.
———. 2011b. Web 2.0. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Web_2.0.
———. 2011c. Facebook. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/.
Winston, Brian. 1998. Media, technology, and society, a history: From the telegraph to the internet. Lon-
don: Routledge.
Wolf, Alecia. 2000. Emotional expression online: Gender differences in emoticon use. CyberPsychology
and Behavior 3:827–33.
Zelenkauskaite, Asta, and Susan C. Herring. 2008. Television-mediated conversation: Coherence in Ital-
ian iTV SMS chat. In Proceedings of the 41st Hawaii International Conference on System Sciences,
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2
Polities and Politics of Ongoing Assessments:
Evidence from Video-Gaming and Blogging
H E RV É VA R E N N E , G I L L I A N “ G U S ” A N D R E W S , A A R O N C H I A - Y UA N
HUNG, AND SARAH WESSLER
Teachers College, Columbia University

Prologue
But the point is that between what Ryle calls the “thin description” of what the
rehearser (parodist, winker, twitcher . . .) is doing (“rapidly contracting his right
eyelids”) and the “thick description” of what he is doing (“practicing a burlesque of a
friend faking a wink to deceive an innocent into thinking a conspiracy is in motion”)
lies the object of ethnography: a stratified hierarchy of meaningful structures in terms
of which twitches, winks, fake-winks, parodies, rehearsals of parodies are produced,
perceived, and interpreted, and without which they would not (not even the zero-form
twitches, which, as a cultural category, are as much nonwinks as winks are
nontwitches) in fact exist, no matter what anyone did or didn’t do with his eyelids.
(Geertz 1973, 7)

THIS MOST FAMOUS of Geertz’s flights of anthropological writing introduces what he la-
bels an “interpretive theory of culture.” It eventually led him and many of his stu-
dents to radical skepticism about the possibility of anthropology, and—he would
have added—sociology, linguistics, conversational analysis. At about the same time
Garfinkel, Sacks, and others argued that social life with its twitches and winks is “dis-
coverable . . . not imaginable” (Garfinkel 2002, 96). The analyst need not interpret
because, in the real life of sheep raids, school classrooms, and video game playing,
a muscular event around the eye is always twitch or wink, for these people, at this
time, and for this political purpose. Anyone who follows the publicizing of this event
will know how it was taken if only because of the controversy, or lack thereof, about
the event.
No spasms occur without the consequences of the ongoing assessment of
the spasm.

27
28 Hervé Varenne, Gillian “Gus” Andrews, Aaron Chia-Yuan Hung, and Sarah Wessler

Introduction
The term “assessment” has several histories. We consider three, given our desire to
build more robust analytic tools to identify what we call the emerging polities of any
assessment. In everyday life, people continually find themselves establishing the
practical import of earlier statements or moves (or discovering that some thing has
happened). They find themselves meting out consequences or living with conse-
quences others are meting out. And then everyone has to deal with what has hap-
pened.1 We are thus also concerned with the politics of any assessment. As it happens,
new technologies offer interesting cases for exploring these classical issues.2 The af-
fordances of video games and blogging both expand and disrupt interactional
processes in ways that may help us trace more carefully how the distant, in time and
place, enters into the here and now, as well as how the here and now can transform,
or not, the distant.
The several speech communities or, in our vocabulary, “speech polities” that have
made their history around the term “assessment” are quite distinct. The term appears
extensively in the discursive traditions of schooling, mental health, and conversational
analysis. There is little overlap in the literatures that trace the development, uses, and
controversies surrounding the term. But all three address the issue of figuring out what
happened to allow an act or a person to be identified as this or that. They are all in
the business of assessing whether a spasm was a twitch or a wink, of fitting this as-
sessment within a political process of significance for a particular polity, and then of
justifying consequences. But the differences in the placing of assessment in each
tradition bring out fundamental matters. In the worlds of clinical psychology and
schooling, the concern with assessing a child individually can be traced, among other
sources, and somewhat ironically to John Dewey’s belief that “the child’s own instincts
and powers furnish . . . the starting point for all education” (1959, 20). This leads to
the question that keeps moving clinical psychology and schooling: How do we fig-
ure out what those instincts and powers might be?
In conversational analysis and ethnomethodology, the term “assessment” may
have first appeared in a paper by Harvey Sacks on “police assessment of moral
character” (1972) which had been titled, when it was first written in 1965, “Meth-
ods in Use for the Production of a Social Order” (1972, 280). Sacks’s paper, for
many, showed a way that might allow us to trace how instincts and powers are iden-
tified but with no concern as to whether these are real outside the settings in
which they are identified, or for other purposes than those constituted by the ac-
tivities of the participants in the settings. These methodological strictures have
made conversational analysis of limited value for clinical and school assessors.
Their task is not analytic but political. They are responsible for producing assess-
ments so powerful that a person’s career may be changed. To fulfill this political
task, assessors must do it in just such a way as to establish that the assessment is
independent of setting or assessor—as the particular polities who might challenge
the assessment understand “independence.” This political responsibility, of course,
places clinical and school assessors in a kind of Catch-22: they must produce so-
cial orders that abstract their own social characteristics as they discriminate in the
technical, statistical sense.
POLITIES AND POLITICS OF ONGOING ASSESSMENTS 29

Various social scientific traditions in anthropology and sociology have established

that abstracting the social to reach the real is fundamentally impossible. But few be-
fore Sacks—and Garfinkel, of course—had systematically looked at the methods by
which routine assessments are made in the daily life of any profession and then used
their findings as a way to address the classical issues. In 1973 Geertz was rather typ-
ical in his reaction to the evidence that classifications of actions and people, as well
as the related consequences, were indefinitely multiple—the occasion for contro-
versy, debate, power plays, if not violence (symbolic or otherwise). Anthropologists
in general were altogether convinced, as they continue to be, that it would be impos-
sible to reach universally valid classifications of people or acts, or to invent methods
for producing these. As Lévi-Strauss said, “natural species are not chosen [as totems]
because they are ‘good to eat’ but because they are ‘good to think’” (1966, 89). This
would apply, as he argued in his next work (Lévi-Strauss 1966), to all classifications,
including, of course, the classification of psychological “instincts and powers.”3
But Geertz did not trust any of the then-extant methods to establish how any as-
sessment, anywhere, is done, and Lévi-Strauss does not appear to have been much
interested in the matter.4 Sociologists documented how social consequences are dis-
tributed in ways that correlate with any number of classifications (including social
class, race, ethnicity, gender). But the exact way these correlations are produced, in
the details of everyday lives, remained obscure.
In contrast, Sacks, Garfinkel, their colleagues and students (Pomerantz 1984;
Goodwin and Goodwin 1987, 1992), as well as those who were inspired by their work,
started giving us a sense of how, for example, a child becomes known as “not know-
ing how to read” or as “having” or “being with” this or that clinical label (McDer-
mott 1993; Mehan 1996; Mehan, Hertwerk, and Meihls 1986). We seek to continue
this work by exploring the linkages between routine assessments and the extraordi-
nary ones that may transform a person’s status and her relationships. We are concerned,
to paraphrase Garfinkel (1956), with “successful” (de)gradation moments when a
spasm is determined to be a twitch, a wink, or a sign that the performer is sick, funny,
dangerous, or any thing else. Conversational analysis and ethnomethodology have of-
ten been criticized for their apparent failure to address significant social processes
affecting masses rather than the immediate participants in a local event (Bourdieu
1990; Gellner 1975; Hanks 1996). Many researchers in these fields have demonstrated
otherwise, if not quite convincingly. Given the methodological strictures for conver-
sational analysis, it can be difficult to show the linkages between a particular con-
versational exchange and the general conditions that make it this kind of exchange
rather than another. It can be even more difficult to link the exchange to its conse-
quences. It can be particularly hard to specify the people, or polity, who have partic-
ipated in setting the conditions or in meting out consequences.
The set of research projects on which we report here were designed to contribute
to the further development of the analytic tools needed to help us trace, in detail, how
people get entangled into large-scale historical processes. We start the chapter with
a brief illustration of our concerns by reporting on an expert child taking over the
controls of a video game from an incompetent adult. We continue with a more de-
tailed analysis of a similar case, in which a group of four video game players han-
30 Hervé Varenne, Gillian “Gus” Andrews, Aaron Chia-Yuan Hung, and Sarah Wessler

dles the incompetence of one of them. Our goal is to move away from a concern with
differentiated individual competence so that the focus can be placed instead on the
host of others who set the stage for the particular issues about which the person might
then be assessed as being either expert or incompetent. The third case study traces
the sequencing of apparent errors in blog comments. By exploring various indices
internal to the technologies, we demonstrate that gaming and blogging are interac-
tional processes that bring together people from various walks of life. Whatever their
personal or professional interests, these people must, however briefly, live with what
each has created and with the consequences. In conclusion, we suggest that a simi-
lar approach would help us understand what can happen when assessments, in school
or clinics, are not matters of game.

“Marta Can’t Play”: Assessments and Consequences

The setting for the first case study is that of a video game design camp for children
and adolescents. In her pilot research, Wessler was present when a competitive game
was played between two teams in different parts of the country. Each team had to in-
clude both children and adults. In this instance Marta—the adult, and one of the teach-
ers—had never played the game Counter-Strike: Source. This game is a first-person
multiplayer shooting game and Marta was altogether uncomfortable with the genre.5
But she had to be one of the players. This meant that her body had to face the mon-
itor and her hands had to control keyboard and mouse. She did have a child advisor,
Brad, sitting at her side. Brad was heavily invested in winning the game and kept
telling her, “Click,” “Move left,” or “Shoot!” As the game progressed, telling became
yelling as more and more of the adult’s moves were assessed by the child as being
“wrong.” In fact, and as their team began to lose, little by little the child took over
mouse and keyboard and the adult sat back and watched.
Things came to a head toward the end of the game. The team was down 2–0 and—
partially because of her incompetence—Marta was still alive and all but one of the
other players had died. It was her job to protect the other player, but she did not know
that. At that point, at least four other students were now watching Marta, instructing
her, and assessing what should be done next.6
8 ROMA: [to Marta] Now look to your right, look to your right!
9 FEFFER: [to Marta] Turn your mouse to your right
10 ROMA: [to Marta] Turn your mouse to the right
11 MR. AWESOME: Your right
12 FEFFER: A little bit more Marta!
13 ROMA: Marta turn your mouse! Turn your mouse!
14 MUNCHKIN: Turn!
15 MR. AWESOME: Turn right!
16 ROMA: Your mouse! [Laughs]
17 FEFFER: Turn your mouse to turn Marta!
18 MR. AWESOME: Yeah!
POLITIES AND POLITICS OF ONGOING ASSESSMENTS 31

19 MARTA: Where?
20 MR. AWESOME: Go!
21 ROMA: Yo someone should totally [quietly] go play for Marta
[Laughs].
22 MR. AWESOME: [Claps Hands] Ooooh! [Groans in frustration].

The team lost.

Formally the event, as it progressed, involved two kinds of assessments. The first
consisted of assessments of the two previous statements in a sequence of (1) “game
as it has progressed so far” (S1), (2) “keyboard move in response to S1” (S2), and
(3) “instruction on how to move next” (S3). The second type of assessment was a to-
talizing one summarizing all the moves-so-far and leading to a change in social or-
ganization: the adult is incompetent and cannot be trusted to win the game; she
should be replaced. The first kind of assessments could be discussed in terms of turn-
taking and adjacency pairs. These are the assessments that concerned Mehan in his
work on classroom lessons (1979). The second kind of assessments takes us on to
matters like those Sacks investigated in his paper on a joke’s telling (1974). We are
concerned with the game’s playing, but with a twist. We are looking at what can hap-
pen after it has been assessed that the joke was told incorrectly, or a game was played
badly. Sacks did not explore this latter stage specifically. But we can imagine that in
joking as in gaming, one’s authority to “joke/play next” may change as one’s capa-
bilities are assessed for this new purpose and this polity.
Formally, we have observed these assessments thus far:
1. The previous move was wrong and next move should be this; and
2. The player is incompetent and the next game should be played by another
player.
But, in the instance Wessler studied, there actually is a third level of assessment that
encompasses these narrower assessments. At a summer camp that is for these in-
tents and purposes a School, a teacher’s incompetence at playing video games has
no consequences on her status as Teacher.7 Some might find it strange that a teacher
in a technology camp should be so incompetent in comparison to the students.8 Our
own concern is to explore the implications of two types of assessments that identify
performance within whole ritualized sequences as this rather than that. There are
assessments that, possibly temporarily, indicate a participant is, say, incompetent,
but are of little consequence in terms of future participation. And there are other as-
sessments that reconstitute much earlier assessments that, say, a person is now
Teacher for certain intents and purposes. In such cases the local participants have
little power to change the relationship that may make some teachers and some stu-
dents. In such cases even the assessment that a particular teacher was incompetent
may be surprising precisely because the person was, is, and will be a Teacher—for
all relevant intents and purposes.9 But, of course, at other times, within other poli-
ties, under different circumstances, a person might lose the status of Teacher if she
were to be fired from her position.
32 Hervé Varenne, Gillian “Gus” Andrews, Aaron Chia-Yuan Hung, and Sarah Wessler

Not-So-Personal Assessing Instructions

Our second case study builds on Aaron Hung’s recent work (Hung 2011). The case
is that of four youths from Cantonese- and Mandarin-speaking areas of China play-
ing various video games in New York City. Hung made a three-and-one-half-hour
video recording of their playing. During one of the games, Super Smash Brothers
Melee, the four organized themselves into two competing teams. There was a prob-
lem, however. Three of the four (Andrew, Jason, and Kevin) were expert players, and
were boys. The fourth (Li) had never played the game, was a girl, and often com-
plained that the boys were not playing fair. She was also primarily a Mandarin speaker,
and the boys were primarily Cantonese speakers. She and one of the boys seemed to
be in the early stages of some kind of relationship. At the time the status of their re-
lationship was not clearly stated, but it may explain why she was present on that day.
Still, her main attribute, for the purpose of game playing, may have been that she could
serve as the needed fourth player. The three boys would just have to make do with
her other characteristics.
Making do, of course, revealed which of the characteristics made what kind of
difference. As they played, all four also assessed what was going wrong and at-
tempted to correct it so that they could continue playing. At certain times the char-
acteristic that mattered was the Cantonese-Mandarin divide. This one appears to have
been dealt with easily enough.10 Most bothersome was the girl’s lack of expertise and
the moves she was making, or failing to make. We focus on the latter and particu-
larly on the organization of the assessments and instructions that the other players
gave her. In brief, the three boys shifted from expressions of dismay to a delegation
of instructional duties. After a while, one of the boys took it upon himself to be the
chief instructor when the need arose. As he did so, two subsidiary issues appeared to
make the most difference. One had to do with the manipulation of the buttons on the
controller. The other had to do with the interpretation of the heads-up displays on the
screen. It took the boys a while, for example, to figure out that the girl interpreted an
increase in one of the indices as a sign that she was winning when just the opposite
was the case:
LI: Damn! I went from 130 something to 0!
ANDREW: It is not good to have a higher number. (Hung 2011, 100)11
Figure 2.2 is a screenshot taken while the game was being played. There are four
numbers at the bottom, presented as percentages. Even expert players are not quite
sure what they are percentages of, or what is the range (given that it can go over 100
percent). These matters may be explained somewhere in the manual, but knowing
them does not appear to have an impact on the game. What does have an impact is
figuring out which of the four figures represent one’s performance, whether an in-
crease is good or bad, and whether the other players are doing better or worse than
oneself. Expert players do track all four figures. Li had not yet figured it all out. For
observers, what is most noteworthy here is that the numbers are not a matter of in-
terpretation or negotiation as far as playing this game is concerned.12 The girl had to
accept that this was the “it” she had to attend to. If she did not, then she was not play-
ing, and no playing could take place.
POLITIES AND POLITICS OF ONGOING ASSESSMENTS 33

Figure 2.2 Screenshot of Super Smash Brothers Melee (Hung 2011).

The scoring problem was solved by direct verbal instruction.13 The problems
posed by the controller (fig. 2.3) were more difficult to address. Here is one instance
in which the controller becomes the explicit focus:
LI: Wait, show me for a second what button you press.
ANDREW: Let me see what moves this character had
KEVIN: Let me teach you a move. . . . Come over here. I’ll teach you one
move.
LI: How do I use it?
KEVIN: I’ll teach you a move.
JASON: Jump up, and then press this button.
LI: Do you have to move this?
JASON: Jump up, press the up button, then the “B” button.
[about a minute passes]
JASON: This one? Press down.
LI: What are you doing?
JASON: Andrew, let me, let me, Andrew, let me show her a few moves.
Let me show her a few things. . . . Press the down button. (Hung
2011, 121–23)
In such cases, direct, discursive instruction did not quite work, partially because the
instructions had to be deictic and partially because they involved muscle control. In
34 Hervé Varenne, Gillian “Gus” Andrews, Aaron Chia-Yuan Hung, and Sarah Wessler

Figure 2.3 Game Controller (Wikipedia 2010).

order to fight adequately, one had always to press this rather than that button—with-
out looking at the controller or one’s hands.14 Given the pace of the game, one did
not have time to think about what one was doing, either. And yet there were times
when it was impossible not to shift to explicit instruction which revealed the host of
problems one has to face when playing such a game. One of the problems was rooted
partially in classic conversational difficulties related to the making of indexical propo-
sitions and their interpretation. Another problem was a matter of controller design
and muscle coordination. This can be said to be a matter of literally “embodying” a
cultural arbitrary and to be related to what Marcel Mauss called “techniques of the
body” (1979, 114–15). In a world of cyborgs, it can also be said to be a matter of the
so-called en-machining of a cultural arbitrary. In any event, habituating one’s thumbs
to various engineers’ design choices is not easy to teach or to do.
Bruno Latour (2005) is famous for stating boldly that things have agency. In our
case it would be more technically useful to say that things (controller design, screen
display, or programming decisions on the relationship between handling of the con-
troller and changes on the screen) are the mediating interface in an asynchronous in-
teraction between designers and users when neither can assess, and then possibly
correct, what the others are doing while they are doing it. A player can try to teach
the other player something he discovers she cannot do, but he cannot report his dis-
coveries back to the designers.15
This asynchronicity between the actors of far-flung and heavily differentiated poli-
ties is of course what makes the task of designers intractable to simple rationalism. The
users must imagine what the engineers might have intended, but they will never meet
them. The engineers must imagine what users might do, but they cannot meet all of
them. As Garfinkel has argued (2002, chapter 6) regarding the writing of instruction
manuals, the engineers’ task, if it is presented as building universally accessible ma-
chines, is impossible in principle; engineers cannot imagine all the possible settings and
POLITIES AND POLITICS OF ONGOING ASSESSMENTS 35

participants that might use the machine. Thus machines as things have a similar rela-
tionship to future action as any verbal statement. Machines suggest particular possibil-
ities while remaining open to assessments that might transform the machines as
statement into literally some thing else. A machine, like a muscle spasm, can become
twitch or wink, and that is what it will be for the duration, and for the polity.
Suchman (2007) has extensively explored the peculiarities of human-machine
configurations. For our purposes we emphasize only that the crowd of people who
imagine, design an interface, program the whole, and eventually play the games in
real time, produce only one thing for future reference: the playing (well or not, and
satisfactorily or not) of this game rather than any other one. The earlier uncertainties
get resolved by a political process that produces not so much a consensus as a prac-
tical acknowledgment that future struggles will invoke the playing of that game that
day. The game that was played may not have been the game the designer envisioned.
For example, Hung’s corpus includes two of the expert players’ exploration of alter-
native games made possible by the design of Super Smash Brothers Melee (2011,
chapter 6). And, of course, personal relationships may be established or transformed.
In the process, new forms of political-arbitrary (in Bourdieu’s sense) get produced
for all those who will find themselves involved: two boys can now say, “We are now
playing this (alternative to the) game,” or a boy and a girl can say, “We are now a cou-
ple” and make it a reality to all who care about either of them.
In other words, at all stages, history gets made through the assessment that this
happened for the intents and purposes of people who emerge as a polity to each other
because of their engagement with the assessment. Mutual engagement, it must be em-
phasized again, is not at all equivalent to acceptance of an assessment as the only
possible one, or even to a recognition or agreement that one now finds oneself in the
same polity. The most reluctant participant may actually be the most aware of the ar-
bitrariness, if not symbolic violence (Bourdieu and Passeron 1977) that faced her and
within which she was caught.

The Politics of Getting Caught in Complex Polities

The preceding case studies illustrate how new technologies, as they enter everyday
life, can reveal classical processes in a new light. Wessler and Hung showed partic-
ipants in very local politics. They also showed how the peculiar affordances of video
games linked the ostensible participants to many others. Determining the boundaries
of a polity is not an easy task for either the analyst or the actors.16 The ethnomethod-
ological tradition has made it plain that analysts should follow the actors for guid-
ance. As Garfinkel put it, “It is the working of the phenomenon that exhibits among
its other details the population that staffs it” (2002, 93). The principle is simple, but
not easy to use—particularly when the actors are as confused as the analysts as to
who is participating and to what effect. The problem was once dramatized in the movie
Taxi Driver, in which Robert de Niro famously asks, “You talkin’ to me? . . . Well,
I’m the only one here. Who the f——do you think you’re talking to?” Who, indeed
is talking to whom when four youths play a video game? In Taxi Driver, the irony
lies in the character being shown alone in his room, talking to his image in a mirror.
Actually, it would be more ethnographically exact to answer that we see an actor
36 Hervé Varenne, Gillian “Gus” Andrews, Aaron Chia-Yuan Hung, and Sarah Wessler

talking to a camera and, thus, to some audience in a movie theater. But even this an-
swer is inadequate in that it does not mention the director, the maker of the camera,
or the corporations that fund the film and distribute it.
Our concern now is with the determination of the “here,” “who,” and “what” when
none is self-evident or when it appears that people are alone, writing for invisible au-
diences that they hope are accessible and might help them accomplish a practical task,
or just having fun. In Andrews’s setting (2010), blogging, the here would appear
readily apparent: it is the web page one has opened. Who would appear to be the
owner, identified someplace more or less prominently. What is sometimes specified
by formal statements, or by the apparent implicature of opening posts. But all this
may not be quite as clear as it seems. The markings of where one has been directed,
who is the author of the page, and what it is about can be difficult to assess. Look,
for example, at figure 2.4, a screenshot of the blog we treat in this case study:17
It is only by clicking on the seventh tab (“info”) in the list of words on the sec-
ond line that we find Jonathan Coulton introducing himself:
My name is Jonathan Coulton and I’m a musician, a singer-songwriter and an
internet superstar. This site is chock full of music, news and me-related
merchandise—if you’re not that familiar with who I am and what I do you can
use the links above to get started. (Coulton 2006)
But many, when first arriving on a page suggested by some search engine, will not
then look for an info page. This may be the most proximate reason for the common
complaint of expert bloggers that people regularly post responses or comments which
appear to imply that they are constructing another what for the blog, or another kind

Figure 2.4 Screenshot of Jonathan Coulton’s blog including the original post and one of the latter com-
ments (#51).
POLITIES AND POLITICS OF ONGOING ASSESSMENTS 37

of person than the info page attempts to describe. Whether the posting of such com-
ments is a symptom of ignorance or of design error is a matter of continuing debate
among the expert bloggers themselves. Andrews focuses instead on the peculiar af-
fordances of blogging, as well as of the search engines that lead people to a here that
is not the one they were trying to reach, and that get them to interact with people
with whom they have no interest in interacting.
Of all textual genres, blogging seems closest to essay writing. Like this chapter, a
comment on a blog has a specified author or authors and various stylistic means to place
the comment within a discursive tradition and its polities. Yet blogging, like essay writ-
ing, is concretely performed away from members of these polities in both time and place.
Such genres (which also include letter writing and email) are interactionally asynchro-
nous. Synchronicity (in face-to-face or telephone conversations) allows for ongoing as-
sessments (feedback) of the relative efficacy of the stylistic means to establish that the
text is actually being heard or read, that it is decipherable, that it does address an earlier
statement in a conversation or discursive tradition, or that it does contribute something
that other members of the polities might wish to criticize. In face-to-face conversation
all this can be done on the fly and in parallel to the statement. At the other extreme, in
book publishing, for example, assessments might come weeks, months, or years after
publication (when the text is made public). Book authors may never learn what these
assessments are, including what else might have been done with their text that they could
not have imagined and that might have dismayed them.
It is on this last matter that blogging is interestingly different from other forms
of text-making. Readers of blogs are encouraged by the software and the authors to
comment and to have these comments made public. Consider this statement that ap-
peared on Jonathan Coulton’s blog. The entry that started the thread is titled “Please
Please Cancel My Account” and is dated June 13, 2006:
Here’s a recording (if that link’s swamped, here’s a mirror) of a guy trying to
cancel his AOL account. Now THAT is funny. Thanks Dr. Smith . . .
Among the next statements some suggest familiarity with the contexts indexed in the
post (“if that link’s swamped . . .”):
Glenn
June 13, 2006 at 3:24 pm
Tried the mirror first, got bandwidth exceeded. Sigh. First link seems to work,
although slow.
[Comment #2]
Other comments expand on the first post in the same spirit:
Carol
June 14, 2006 at 4:44 pm
I attempted twice to cancel AOL on speakerphone at work, just so my co-
workers could laugh at their ridiculous antics with me. It was fun and annoying
at the same time.
[Comment #5]
38 Hervé Varenne, Gillian “Gus” Andrews, Aaron Chia-Yuan Hung, and Sarah Wessler

Then the stream went quiet, but after a few months other comments appeared. They
were of a different kind:
Zach
October 17, 2006 at 12:58 am
i wnt my aol account cancelled completely
[Comment #15]
Zach repeated his request six minutes later. This was followed within the hour by
Diana
November 7, 2006 at 1:26 am
I need to put my account on hold. I am moving but not into my new address
until mid December. What do I do?
[Comment #15]
Fourteen other people made similar requests over the months that followed. In other
words some, and eventually quite a lot of, people appeared to believe that they could
cancel their AOL account by posting a request to Coulton’s blog. Coulton himself
eventually assessed these requests as being wrong:
Jonathan Coulton » Blog Archive » Funny Google Thing
May 11, 2007 at 5:55 am
. . . I have been watching with some amusement the growing number of
comments at this old post of mine (about the recording of that guy trying to
cancel his AOL account) from people who are actually trying to cancel some
kind of account. I guess I can see how you could make that mistake if you were
really not an internet person, but I really couldn’t figure out how everyone was
finding their way to that post. But this morning I googled “cancel my account”
and guess what’s the number one result? Thanks Google. . . .
[Comment #32]
This last comment is written as if addressed to a generalized audience. It could be
either “you who are really an internet person” or, ironically, “Google” (although
Coulton, as an “internet person,” would know that Google does not attend to such
comments). This particular comment did not stop the stream of requests, but it did
start a new stream affirming, developing, and playing with the making of these re-
quests. For example, the next comment, made two hours after Coulton’s, reads thus:
Brett
May 11, 2007 at 7:35 am
Hey JC, looks like you might have the making of a new internet business on
your hands here. Global Account Cancellation Services. So when you’re not
busy writing new songs and performing all over the country, you can hang
around on the phone cancelling accounts for other people.
[Comment #33]
POLITIES AND POLITICS OF ONGOING ASSESSMENTS 39

The last comment in the thread dates from July 2010—three years later—when
Domingo requests, “please cancel my playboy account thanks [Comment #80].”18
The eighty comments as read in summer 2011 make quite an interesting (post-
modern?) text. It looks like a transcript of a strange conversation. But it is of course
not a single conversation but a partial record of multiple conversations that interfere
with each other. We have evidence of the way Coulton and his ostensible polity no-
ticed the interference and played with it. We have little evidence of the conversations
that led Zach, Diana, and Domingo to post their requests on Coulton’s blog. We have
no direct evidence of their assessment of the (lack of) response by Coulton, or who-
ever they imagined they were addressing. We do have some textual evidence that re-
quest comments were part of complex sequences. For example, these three statements
were posted within three minutes of each other (with no other comment interfering)
on the same day:19

dr.smith
December 1, 2007 at 11:17 am
sorry but i am really really a girl i am 14 years old it was a mistake that i
signed male instead of female please delete my hi5 account.my name is
raniquw deadra carroll. it will be very helpfull if you delete my account off
hi5.thank you very much.sir/madam.
[Comment #53]

ranique
December 1, 2007 at 11:18 am
my name is ranique
[Comment #54]

ranique
December 1, 2007 at 11:20 am
sorry about puttin your name there.
[Comment #55]
That it was wrong to post these comments on this blog is not exactly a problem
for the writers—except to the extent that it will not achieve what they wish to accom-
plish. We have evidence that some felt that something was wrong. As one commenter
shouted:

cjohnson
November 14, 2007 at 12:43 am
OH GOD HOW DID I GET HERE I AM NOT GOOD WITH THE
COMPUTER
[Comment # 51]
40 Hervé Varenne, Gillian “Gus” Andrews, Aaron Chia-Yuan Hung, and Sarah Wessler

In another paper on this and other such threads, Andrews and Varenne (2011)
pointed that such practical mistakes, when they are sequenced within an overall
search, can also be seen as evidence for everyday ongoing education about one’s
actual world. Here we want only to emphasize the vagueness of the markers that
indicate to which polity a blog belongs, the complicity of search engines
amplifying this vagueness, and the vagaries of the actual design of the visual in-
terfaces provided by the blogging software. As is true of video games, the crowd
of engineers and programmers that produce all this—whether or not they are aware
of the difficulties they are making for expert users as well as newbies—are them-
selves limited by their own position and the affordances of their materials.20 And
yet, in this complex network, in Latour’s sense, this is “it” for some purpose: a
place to laugh at AOL making it difficult to cancel an account, a place to cancel
the account, or a place where one is judged to be ignorant—but perhaps without
serious consequences.

In, Temporary, Conclusion

The attention we gave to people trying to cancel their AOL account may seem to have
taken us far from our starting point—playing with the other traditions in which the
term “assessment” has currency. Assessments of being “wrong,” or “in error,” or “ig-
norant” in the worlds of video gaming or blogging may be embarrassing, but they
generally do not threaten one’s career. This is quite different from what can happen
at the end of a testing sequence for certain high-stakes assessments. In those cases
one’s life can radically change in the course of the behavioral event; although mak-
ing a pencil mark on a piece of paper may not be much different from pushing a but-
ton on a controller, or posting a brief request on a blog, or twitching. But we are
concerned with tracing the differences in the consequentialities of assessments pro-
duced by complex polities for political purposes. Assessments do not constitute sim-
ply what is happening in the present. They also produce a new future in terms of the
polities that make this or that event and its assessment politically consequential—and
to what extent. The original act, be it a twitch of the muscles around the eyes, a
squeeze of the fingers, or a mark on a test, may be long over when the assessment is
made—and the consequences may be even farther reaching.
Many have looked retrospectively at historical conditions and noted that the
meting of such consequences does happen and it can be unfair and hurtful. But
we are not interested in retrospective explanation or archeologies of the past. Our
call is for a recentering of social analyses from a concern with deconstruction to
a concern with the ongoing production of emergent futures. Tracing the history of
any assessment can be interesting, but that alone is not sufficient. Geertz led the
way when he talked about thick descriptions but gave little guidance on how to do
this, and his conclusion about the usefulness of such descriptions introduced what
became his pessimism about anthropology. “The vocation of anthropology” can-
not, in his words, simply be “making available to us answers that others, guard-
ing other sheep in other valleys, have given, and thus to include them in the
consultable record of what man has said” (1973, 30). It has to be the identifica-
tion of what is involved in the giving of answers.
POLITIES AND POLITICS OF ONGOING ASSESSMENTS 41

More precisely, the vocation of anthropology, we dare say, is carefully investi-

gating temporal sequences to figure out what happens between the earlier and later
parts of the sequence as they concern the placement of the participants and what they
will be known for having done. In schools, doctors’ offices, and psychological clin-
ics, we know that ultimately winks are winks and twitches are twitches whose intents
and purposes can have long-lasting consequences. When a polity plays deeply (to ex-
pand on Geertz), the rewards can be great, but the risks are just as great. High-stakes
assessments thus cannot fail to become the focus of political activity, and not only at
the national level. At the most local of levels, where anthropologists are best at the
work of discovery, the politics are just as intense—yet they operate in ways that can-
not quite be imagined. As an assessment approaches, and then recedes, a polity gets
established; in the world of schooling, for example, parents, children, teachers, and
administrators find themselves struggling with inescapable regulations and tools cre-
ated by people far away. Their world is not quite a stage; and they play what is, after
all, not a game. And yet, as Shakespeare intuited, examining stages and games can
illuminate when people are assessed and some are found to be experts, whereas oth-
ers are told they cannot play anymore.
We are starting to get research reports that give us a sense of what can be gained
by pursuing this route (Eyal et al. 2010; Koyama 2010). We need more.

:-)
Epilogue
In September 1982, people at the Carnegie Mellon School of Computer Science
found themselves faced with a problem of their own making when some of them sent
a message about a fire in the elevator. The authors wrote it as a joke. Some of the re-
cipients took it literally. Scott Fahlman suggested a solution that made history:
19-Sep-82 11:44 Scott E Fahlman :-)
From: Scott E Fahlman <Fahlman at Cmu-20c>
I propose that [sic] the following character sequence for joke markers:
:-)
Read it sideways. Actually, it is probably more economical to mark things that
are NOT jokes, given current trends. For this, use
:-(
(Fahlman 1982)
This was posted as a comment on a thread after a joking comment had been inter-
preted as a threat. This was a problem that had to be resolved given the affordances
of early versions of software that would become current blogging software. Then, as
always, one had to be able to distinguish between messages to be taken at face value
and messages to be taken as joking commentary that might have been accompanied
with a wink had the statement been made face to face. For there are times when winks
must be taken as just that. Either there is a fire in the elevator or there is not. On the
42 Hervé Varenne, Gillian “Gus” Andrews, Aaron Chia-Yuan Hung, and Sarah Wessler

anniversary of Fahlman’s history-making suggestion, commentator Garrison Keillor

summarized the thread as follows:
The following day, after the rumor had finally been put to rest, someone wrote,
“Maybe we should adopt a convention of putting a star (*) in the subject field
of any notice that is to be taken as a joke.” It is, of course, impossible to know
whether the writer intended this post as a legitimate course of action or as a
joke. Regardless, numerous people chimed in with various suggestions, the
earnestness of which was, again, difficult to determine. Was the poster who
recommended using the percent sign instead of the asterisk sincere? Possibly.
The one who proclaimed that the ampersand looks “like a jolly fat man in
convulsions of laughter”? Probably not. The one who developed a complete
taxonomy and scale of joke types and values, complete with a coding schema?
These were computer scientists, after all. (Keillor 2011)
We should certainly celebrate the power of social processes to give us occasions
to laugh.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
We wish to thank the people who let us observe them. We are also indebted to the students and colleagues
who participated in the seminars of the Study Group on Everyday Education at Teachers College, Colum-
bia University, from 2007 to 2010.

NOTES
1. This chapter is part of a sequence of essays on education and the politics of productive ignorance
(Varenne 2007a, 2007b, 2008, 2009, 2011).
2. Note that this is true of any technology that is new to a population. See research on the introduction
of snowmobiles and GPS navigation among the Inuit (Aporta and Higgs 2005; Pelto 1973).
3. Foucault, of course, developed this much further into a political critique of our dominant polities as
the classify to discipline and punish (1970, 1979).
4. We will not discuss the complex debate between structuralists and symbolists on the matter of the
relationship of classifications to meaning or the mind. Our work suggests that this debate was off
target and confused the fundamental issues.
5. This description is commonly used in the industry. How the underlying classificatory scheme has
been produced is a matter for historical investigation and is a matter of ongoing discussion (Juul 2005;
Newman and Oram 2006).
6. They could do that from their own terminals elsewhere in the room.
7. As we did elsewhere (Varenne and McDermott 1998), we capitalize School and Teacher when in-
dexing institutions and roles rather than particular schools or individual teachers.
8. Others, inspired by Rancière (1999), might see here the glory of the ignorant schoolmaster letting
their pupils discover for themselves what they are interested in learning, including who can best help
them (and who cannot).
9. The situation is comparable but radically different from the moments when a teacher, following the
kind of assessment current school reformers advocate, is to be fired for not being able to improve
student scores.
10. All participants could handle either language well enough for strictly game-related moves. The boys
did a lot of code switching, but mostly about metacommunicational matters. Sometimes they made
fun of Li’s speech, or shifted into Cantonese when they discussed her moves or planned further play.
11. The quotations included in this chapter are a summary of the published analysis. There the transcript
is done according to the usual conversational analysis (CA) strictures and includes the original Can-
tonese or Mandarin.
POLITIES AND POLITICS OF ONGOING ASSESSMENTS 43

12. One of the players considered briefly whether to make up an alternate version of the game in which
the point would be to increase the number: How high would it go? What would have to be done in
order to increase it? Two of the boys later played yet another alternate version of the game.
13. In this game, the problem is actually quite complex since none of the numbers are scores in the
naïve sense. They are stated as percentages and are supposed to give the player information about
his state and his progress towards death. This ambiguity was actually built into this particular
game by its designers.
14. Adding to the confusion is the fact that half the buttons on the controller do nothing and must be ac-
tively ignored.
15. Various message boards provide forums in which users vent their frustrations. Whether these com-
ments affect designers, or how designers filter these comments, is something that remains to be
investigated.
16. The classic text should be Robert Redfield’s altogether forgotten The Little Community (1960), which
summarized a quarter century of work struggling with the issues surrounding whether and how a
community is a community, to whom, and for what purposes. As the currency of the word “commu-
nity” has been reconstituted in such phrases as “communities of practice” or “participatory struc-
tures,” the issues remain.
17. All statements are from a stream of eighty comments to the initial one (Coulton 2006). Note that we
are treating Jonathan Coulton as a published author, not as an informant.
18. We do not have evidence that this was indeed the last comment, since Coulton may have decided to
delete further comments.
19. The name above the time stamp on the comments should, in the blog designer’s view, be the name
of the comment writer. The blog designer expects the commenter to see the field labeled “name” on
the comment submission form and enter his or her own name. The blog software then posts this data
to indicate authorship of the comment. It appears that this writer constructed this box as a place for
the name of the addressee, which she took to be “dr.smith”—the only person named in the original
post (see fig. 2.4). Within a minute the writer noticed the error and, two minutes later, apologized
for what was actually the wrong error.
20. Newbies, in netspeak, are referred to as “n00bs.”

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3
Participatory Culture and Metalinguistic
Discourse: Performing and Negotiating
German Dialects on YouTube
JA N N I S A N D R O U T S O P O U L O S
University of Hamburg

Introduction

DRAWING ON DISCOURSE THEORY, sociolinguistics and social semiotics, this chapter uses the
notion of discourse as social practice for the study of metalinguistic discourse on-
line. Based on two years of ethnographic observation and a mixed-methods approach,
it explores the representation of German dialects on YouTube, thereby examining the
multimodal performance of dialect in videos and the negotiation of these perform-
ances in audience comments. The discussion starts by introducing the notion of dis-
course as social practice and YouTube as a site of online participatory culture. It then
introduces the concept of “participatory spectacle,” which focuses on the relation be-
tween a video and its audience responses, thereby emphasizing the collaborative
character of discourse on YouTube. The representation of German dialects in the
mass media and on the internet is then briefly reviewed. An analytic framework that
draws on performance, stylization, and multimodality is outlined, and the data is pre-
sented. The findings are divided into a discussion of video genres and audience re-
sponses across dialect regions, and a contrastive analysis of two vernacular spectacles
that engage with the Berlin city dialect. The chapter concludes with a discussion of
the ways in which dialect-tagged videos and their comments diversify and destabi-
lize the public representation of dialects in the German-speaking context.

Reframing Discourse in the Study of

Computer-Mediated Discourse
Most research on language on the internet proceeds from a concept of discourse that
originates in pragmatics and the study of spoken language. Discourse is defined as
language in use or naturally occurring spoken language in social context, and jux-
taposed either to text or to a structuralist approach to language that stops at the sen-
tence level. In this vein, computer-mediated discourse (CMD) refers to naturally
occurring written language in human-to-human communication via computer net-
works (Herring 2001, 2004). I focus on a second understanding of discourse in lin-
guistics, that of discourse as social practice. A well-known juxtaposition between
the two can be found in Gee (2005), who distinguishes between “(lower case) dis-
course,” meaning “language-in-use or stretches of language,” and what he terms

47
48 Jannis Androutsopoulos

“capital D discourse,” which he defines as “ways of doing and being an X” (Gee

2005, 26–27). According to Gee, discourses are “ways of combining and integrat-
ing language, actions, interactions, ways of thinking, believing, valuing and using
various symbols, tools, and objects to enact a particular sort of socially recogniza-
ble identity” (2005, 21).
Gee’s notion of (“capital D”) Discourse is inspired by the work of French philoso-
pher Michel Foucault, whose ideas have had tremendous influence across humani-
ties and social sciences since the 1980s (Mills 2004). Following up on Foucault,
researchers in fields such as critical linguistics and critical discourse analysis defined
discourse as socially situated and institutionally regulated language practice with a
reality-constructing capacity (Fairclough and Wodak 1997; van Dijk 2008). This un-
derstanding of discourse is captured in Foucault’s seminal definition of discourse as
“practices that systematically form the objects of which they speak” (Mills 2004, 17).
Critical discourse scholars posit that discourse produces social knowledge, and they
study how linguistic and semiotic choices contribute to representations and interac-
tions within discourse. To that end, toolkits of analysis are developed, which include
categories such as conceptual metaphor, syntactic constructions, lexical choice, rhetor-
ical figures, argumentation patterns, and text-image relationships.
To date, this approach to discourse has been peripheral in CMD studies, just as
critical discourse analysis has focused on mass media rather than new media. But in-
tersections do exist—especially in European research, which includes work on pub-
lic participation in political or therapeutic discourse (Wodak and Wright 2007;
Stommel 2009); power relations in the editing of Wikipedia entries (Fraas and Pent-
zold 2008); the multimodal discourse analysis of websites (Meier 2008); and not least
on metalinguistic discourse, notably the construction of new media language itself
(Thurlow 2006; see also Squires 2010; Thurlow and Mroczek 2011a). Looking at
CMD from a discourse-as-social-practice perspective entails a shift of focus: rather
than language in the new media as such, a key question is how discourse in the new
media shapes the production of knowledge and the negotiations of power relations
among participants in public online encounters.
In this chapter I argue that discourse as social practice offers a window to the
linguistic study of online participatory culture. Focusing on discourses on dialect, I
ask how people use the opportunities offered by participatory digital media in order
to engage with representations of dialect. I examine how YouTube becomes a stage
for metalinguistic discourse jointly constructed by videos and audience responses,
which negotiate their understandings of German dialects by drawing on various
genres, remix techniques, and language styles.

YouTube: Participatory Culture and Participatory Spectacles

Henry Jenkins (2009a) outlines five defining features of online participatory culture:
relatively low barriers to artistic expression and civic engagement; support for cre-
ating and sharing one’s projects; informal mentorship; a belief that contributions
matter; and a sense of social connection. Of these the most relevant to my argument
is accessibility. Participatory culture is collectively and individually premised on low
entry requirements, or accessible means of participation, and YouTube is a prime ex-
PARTICIPATORY CULTURE AND METALINGUISTIC DISCOURSE 49

ample for this. Its low barriers and the user support it provides in terms of its inter-
face design facilitate “easy entry into the community and legitimate engagement
even at the periphery” (Chau 2010, 68). Depending on individual engagement, par-
ticipation can then become more regular, and leadership roles with regard to contribut-
ing to a YouTube community can emerge.
Also relevant to my argument is the contrast between YouTube’s low entry re-
quirements and the conditions of access to mainstream media discourse. In critical
discourse analysis, restricted access to the production of media discourse is funda-
mental to the theorization of discourse and power relationships (such as van Dijk 2008;
Fairclough 1995). Media corporations and public broadcast organizations control
public discourse in terms of both the selection and presentation of discourse objects;
therefore they have a crucial influence on its effects on audiences. Against this back-
drop, online participatory culture increases the chance that within a specific (say, po-
litical) discourse, contributions from below will be heard and potentially play a role
in the unfolding of discourse. YouTube in particular emerged as “a key site for the
production and distribution of grassroots media” (Jenkins 2006, 274). YouTube and
other social media are global resources for civic engagement, protest, and activism.
Recent examples include the role of social media in the “Arab Spring” (Hofheinz
2011) and the uncovering of a former German minister’s plagiarism of research for
his doctoral dissertation through evidence that was collaboratively documented on a
wiki.1
In these and other cases, online participatory culture weakens the power of mass
media in defining social reality and truth. Although alternative and countercultural
publics with their own niche media existed well before YouTube (Jenkins 2006,
2009b), contemporary spaces of online participation offer a much broader reach and
interfaces to mainstream mass media, which facilitate reciprocal appropriations of
content. Social media activities are regularly quoted and referenced by mass media,
just as mass media information is subjected to critique and scrutiny by bloggers and
other members of online participatory culture. Fringe media activities are gradually
being normalized (Jenkins 2006, 274–76), and patterns of circulation between main-
stream media and online participatory practices are becoming denser.
This political (in the broadest sense of the term) dimension of digital participa-
tory culture is one aspect of YouTube theorization in cultural and media studies. An-
other relevant aspect is its aesthetics, again in the broadest sense of the term. YouTube
is celebrated as a site of vernacular creativity in the digital age, characterized by prac-
tices of appropriation and remix (Burgess and Green 2009; Lovink and Niederer
2008; Snickars and Vonderau 2009). Lankshear and Knobel (2008) define remix as
the practice of taking cultural artifacts and combining and manipulating them into a
new kind of creative blend (see also Burgess and Green 2009, 25–26). YouTube users
can be viewed as intertextual operators at the interface of global and local cultures,
and remix can be used as a resource for engaging with and resisting dominant dis-
courses (Androutsopoulos 2010a).
From a language-centered perspective, remix is one aspect of the new discourse
practices that digital media and participatory platforms such as YouTube make possi-
ble. Computer-mediated communication (CMC) has evolved from a predominance of
50 Jannis Androutsopoulos

written language to a wealth of semiotic resources, and YouTube epitomizes the com-
plexity of modes and media that has by now become the new standard on the participa-
tory web. Although interactive written language remains part of that complexity, such
as in the form of audience comments (Jones and Schieffelin 2009; Chun and Walters
2011), the combinations of modes and media enabled by YouTube go beyond the tradi-
tional classificatory categories of CMD scholarship—that is to say, modes of commu-
nication defined by their degree of synchronicity and publicness. I therefore focus on
intertextuality (textual interconnectedness), multimodality (combinations of semiotic
modes), and heteroglossia (deployment of sociolinguistic difference) as defining char-
acteristics of online participatory environments (Androutsopoulos 2010a).
Every YouTube page consists of a video, its audience responses (comments and
video responses), and a hosting environment that includes a list of related videos and
other peripheral elements.2 Although each textual bit on a YouTube page can be
viewed as a distinct textual unit, videos and comments co-occur in a patterned way
and are interrelated in meaning making. I use the term “participatory spectacle” to
refer to this patterned co-occurrence (Androutsopoulos 2010a), thereby emphasizing
the collaborative production and visual character of YouTube content. Viewed as an
organic whole, participatory spectacles are multiauthored, multimodal, multimedia,
inherently dialogic, dynamically expanding, and open ended. They are multiauthored
in the sense that videos, comments, and surrounding elements come from different
actors; they are multimodal in that they consist of a variety of semiotic modes; and
they are multimedia in terms of their audiovisual structure, which brings film and writ-
ten language together. YouTube pages are dialogic not only in the obvious sense of
comments made in response to videos, but also in terms of relations among comments
and the intertextual qualities of many videos. And they are expanding and open ended
in that comments and video responses may be added at any time, while their surround-
ing textual bits—such as lists of related videos—are ever changing, depending on the
site’s algorithms. All of the above are relevant in terms of how people read and in-
teract with YouTube—whether by visiting a page, playing and replaying a video,
commenting, browsing through and rating others’ comments, forwarding and shar-
ing, or downloading and remixing.

Before YouTube: Dialect Discourses and Representations in

the Media
Dialect—that is, linguistic difference related to space—is a fundamental dimension
of linguistic differentiation, and discourse on dialect is nothing new.3 From a dis-
course-as-social-practice perspective, dialect discourses are not just reports or dis-
cussions about language in relation to local space, but rather practices that contribute
to shaping the meaning of the language they discuss.4 In CMD research, dialect
metalanguage has enjoyed little attention. Work on the discursive construction of in-
ternet language examines the metalinguistic representation of stereotypical netspeak
features such as acronyms, emoticons, brevity, or nonstandard orthography, whereas
work on sociolinguistic variation online has examined dialect use rather than dialect
discourse. But dialect use can be a part of dialect discourse, and this is particularly
obvious with performative uses of language in the media and popular culture.
PARTICIPATORY CULTURE AND METALINGUISTIC DISCOURSE 51

German is a pluricentric language (Clyne 1992), in which decentralized language

norms persist and local varieties of language are not generally stigmatized. Despite
ongoing dialect leveling, dialects are very much present in the sociolinguistics of Ger-
man-speaking countries, with north-south differences in terms of usage and prestige
(Barbour and Stevenson 1990). Popular and fictional representations of German di-
alects look back to a century-old tradition in art, culture, stage, and fiction (Niebaum
and Macha 2006). Before the emergence of standard German, dialects were used in
early-modern newspapers or manuscript writing as defaults. The restructuring of so-
ciolinguistic space that followed up on standardization positioned dialect in public
usage as a secondary choice, by which dialect is inserted into texts or performances
that are predominantly in the standard language. In the mass media era, German di-
alects are a resource for various patterns of contrastive usage, thereby evoking inter-
related indexical meaning (Androutsopoulos 2010b). Dialect is used primarily to
create localized meaning, or to index a speaker’s local origin or affiliation. Dialect
is also a resource for signifying social stratification, being relegated to less-educated
or less-mobile speakers and indexing lower status than that of other speakers in the
same text or performance. Dialect has also been used to index private, familiar, and
intimate domains of social life as opposed to public, institutional, or official settings.
These indexical and symbolic meanings of dialect are interrelated and co-occur across
various media, genres, and topics. For instance, German political caricature often
draws on dialect in order to stylize local, working-class voices that are staged as frank,
but provincial and narrow minded.
Such representations, in which dialect is not talked about but used in purpose-
ful, reflexive ways, contribute to shaping the social meaning of particular dialects
(such as Bavarian or Swabian) as much as dialect as an abstract entity juxtaposed with
an equally abstract standard language. There is change in these representations, and
new media are part of this change. Recent years have witnessed more media spaces
and niches in which local speech can be used as stylistic resource and staged as a
positively valued element of institutional identity (Birkner and Gilles 2008; Coup-
land 2009; Androutsopoulos 2010b). However, dialect use in the mass media is still
subject to the normative authority of media institutions and therefore to policing
practices which restrict its currency and value. Differences of media, genre, and topic
aside, dialect speakers in broadcasts are lay people more often than presenters or hosts,
or low-status or minor characters rather than protagonists. The occasional use of di-
alect by an authority figure such as a reporter or show host will often be double voiced,
jocular, or part of reported speech (Androutsopoulos 2010b, 753).
Practices of mediated dialect use are part of dialect discourse to the extent that
they rely on and reproduce sociolinguistic knowledge, which ascribes particular val-
ues and social positions to local speech. However, due to the historical depth of Ger-
man dialects, contemporary media discourse perpetuates and reproduces the social
place of dialect rather than constructing it anew. An illuminating case in point is the
discursive making of Pittsburghese, as studied by Johnstone (2010). Since the 1960s,
a number of discursive practices resulted in the widespread awareness of a Pittsburgh
city dialect despite the absence of prior academic description. Its typical features are
empirically evidenced in spoken language, but are not restricted to the city area; many
52 Jannis Androutsopoulos

features are lexically specific. Pittsburghese is constructed not just by feature selec-
tion but by being labeled and thematized in genres such as local radio contests, tourist
brochures, lay glossaries, Wikipedia entries, and forum discussions. Such online par-
ticipatory media as web discussion forums figure large among the stages on which
Pittsburghese is constructed.

German Dialects Online: From Internet Relay Chat to

YouTube
In the German context, dialect use and dialect discourse have been part of CMC since
its earliest days. Anecdotal evidence suggests that people have been using the web
since its inception in order to reflexively engage with the representation of dialects,
whether by producing unofficial, dialect-written home pages for their towns or by set-
ting up glossaries and digital archives of dialect words and phrases (Reershemius
2010). The (now-defunct) “Schwobifying Proxy,” a website that was active from 1998
to 2004, produced jocular dialect translations of other websites into mock Swabian
dialect.5 This tradition continues in the Web 2.0 era and benefits from its additional
opportunities. In Germany, anyone interested in dialect can access a Google map an-
notated with audio samples from various dialects (such as dialektkarte.de) or join a
variety of Facebook groups dedicated to dialects. Marketing campaigns reproduce tra-
ditional representations of (male, middle-aged, working-class) dialect speakers in vi-
ral videos (see selection 7, below) or invest in positive, youthful, dynamic
representations of dialect speakers. One example is a 2009 German-language cam-
paign by Microsoft’s email brand, Hotmail, featuring the slogan Sag’s besser per hot-
mail (“Better say it with Hotmail”). These observations set a background against
which to assess dialect representations on YouTube.
On YouTube, dialect discourses emerge by virtue of video titles and tags. Giv-
ing a video a title or tag that denotes a local dialect—say, Bairisch (“Bavarian”) or
Sächsisch (“Saxonian”)—makes that video retrievable through a keyword search.6 A
repeated examination of approximately twenty German dialect tags suggests that in
June 2011, their hits ranged from 6,870 for Schwäbisch (Swabian) to just 1 for
Ripuarisch (Ripuarian).7 Taken together, these dialect tags provide a YouTube dialect
map, a folksonomy of German dialects that is accessible to users and researchers.
Southern German dialects (such as Alemannisch, Fränkisch, or Pfälzisch) are featured
more frequently than northern and eastern ones (such as Sächsisch, Berlinerisch, or
Thüringisch), a distribution that reflects the higher vitality of southern German di-
alects and their more frequent presence in entertainment and popular culture. Some
dialect-tagged videos are highly popular, having received more than 2 million views
and a few thousand comments. These figures clearly suggest that there is an interest
in the representation and discussion of German dialects on YouTube.

The Social Semiotics of Participatory Spectacles: A Toolkit

for Analysis
My approach to this material integrates CMD studies, post-variationist sociolinguis-
tics, and social semiotics. In this section I introduce the concepts of performance and
stylization and discuss how they can be applied to the YouTube data. I also draw on
PARTICIPATORY CULTURE AND METALINGUISTIC DISCOURSE 53

the framework of social semiotics to address the multimodal nature of participatory

spectacles.
Looking at dialect as performance or stylization establishes a theoretical perspec-
tive that is juxtaposed to a structuralist understanding of language as “speaker be-
havior” (Coupland 2001). Performance is understood here to be a mode of speaking
characterized by orientation to an audience, attention to the form and materiality of
speaking, and reflexivity (see Bauman 1992; Coupland 2001; Bell and Gibson 2011;
Pennycook 2007; Scharloth 2009). Richard Bauman points out that in performance
“the act of communication is put on display, objectified, lifted to a degree from its
contextual surroundings, and opened up to scrutiny by an audience. Performance thus
calls forth attention to and heightened awareness of the act of communication” (1992,
44). Stylization, however, focuses more specifically on the representation of speaker
personae (Coupland 2001). In stylization, performers bring up images of so-called
typical dialect speakers, thereby relying on the cultural and sociolinguistic knowledge
they assume sharing with their audiences.
Dialect-tagged videos and their comments generally share characteristics of
staged performance: they are publicly available, bounded in space and time (rather
short films that are played in a video window on a web page), oriented to an audi-
ence, and reflexive of their own communicative properties. The very practice of di-
alect-tagging a video is reflexive insofar as users decide to associate their video
material with a regional dialect. Even if the subject matter of a video is in itself not
explicitly performative (as in the case of, say, a dialect speaker who is unaware he or
she is being recorded), its display on YouTube frames it as staged performance. More-
over, communicative reflexivity is a feature of most dialect-tagged videos: YouTube
videos and their comments do not just happen to use dialect. They explicitly orient
to dialect and showcase it for an imagined or assumed audience.
Dialect-tagged videos, then, in principle constitute dialect performances. Di-
alect stylization, on the other hand, establishes indexical links between dialect per-
formance and aspects of the speaker’s social identity, which are more or less explicitly
evoked. For instance, one of the videos discussed below (see example 6 in the ap-
pendix) shows a working-class Berliner, a tour bus driver, talking about Berlin while
driving his bus by some of Berlin’s iconic monuments. Here the performance of
Berlin dialect is part of the stylization of a typical Berlin dialect speaker, and styl-
ization is achieved through coordinated deployment of dialect use, visual setting, and
social activity. The pair of examples examined in section 8 provides two more styl-
izations of Berlin dialect speakers: a nightclub girl and a computer tutor. In all these
cases, dialect stylization is carried out in a fictional mode. However, in the YouTube
recitations of a traditional Berlin rhyme (see examples 9–10 in the appendix), the so-
cial identity of a typical dialect speaker is not made relevant: these videos focus on
voice and content rather than social features of the speaker.
A sociolinguistic study of YouTube dialect spectacles must take into account
their visual dimension and the ways in which remix practices create new condi-
tions for dialect performance and stylization, as I will now illustrate. In engaging
with dialect, YouTube users appropriate semiotic resources and assemble them
anew using media techniques such as separating and recombining video and
54 Jannis Androutsopoulos

audio tracks or layering footage with new audio tracks. Dialect performances of-
ten draw on different materials and remix them, thereby creating dissonance or in-
congruence that in turn may generate humor or challenge dialect stereotypes. In
order to account for the multimodal and multimedia nature of this material, I draw
on the four levels of analysis in the social semiotics framework proposed by van
Leeuwen (2005)—discourse, genre, style, and modality—adapting them to the
purposes of this research. I briefly outline them here, indicating how they shape
the following sections:
With regard to discourse, we focus on the metalinguistic knowledge with
which producers and audiences of a participatory spectacle engage. Here we
may ask the following: What are the topics of these videos in word and im-
age? How do videos and comments orient to metalinguistic discourse? What
semiotic resources do they use in order to thematize dialect? What attitudes to-
wards dialect and its speakers do they communicate? What other discourses
are evoked through intertextual and intermedia relations in a spectacle?
In considering genre, the focus shifts to the social activities in dialect-tagged
videos and their comments. What genres do dialect-tagged videos draw on,
and how do these genres frame various representations of dialect? What
genres do comments draw on in engaging with a reference video?
The dimension of style turns to the social identities that participants link to di-
alect and the linguistic and visual resources that videos and comments draw
on in order to index these identities. We may ask how the actors or (fictional)
characters in a video are stylized, and what dialect features are used to that
end. We may also ask how commenters engage with dialect identities, for ex-
ample, by identifying themselves as speakers of particular dialects or by ex-
pressing stances towards a video’s dialect performance.
In my treatment of mode I depart from van Leeuwen’s focus on modality and
turn to the semiotic modes and technological resources that are part of the pro-
duction of a video and therefore shape its representation of dialect. Aspects of
mode in this sense are the division of labor between language and moving im-
age in a video or the use of remix techniques such as dubbing or collage.
However, modality can also be brought to bear on the analysis as regards the
epistemic and interactional modalities that videos and comments express with
regard to dialect.

This Study
The remainder of this chapter is in two parts. The first discusses dialect discourse in
participatory spectacles based on analysis of 310 dialect-tagged videos from six re-
gions (from south to north, these are Bavarian, Swabian, Badenese, Palatinate, Berlin
city dialect, and Low German) and comments on selected videos from these regions.
All videos were initially coded for five features: (a) their production modes and (b)
genres (discussed below); (c) their dialect use (that is, whether the dialect indicated
in a video’s title or tag is indeed used in the video); (d) the occurrence of dialect meta-
language; and (e) their orientation to localness (whether the area related to a partic-
PARTICIPATORY CULTURE AND METALINGUISTIC DISCOURSE 55

ular dialect is thematized). This allowed me to filter out videos that engage with di-
alect only peripherally, and to select focus items for the subsequent qualitative part
of the analysis. A selection of 19 items is provided in the appendix. This part of the
analysis focuses on the genre orientations of the videos and common patterns of en-
gagement with dialect in the comments to these videos. The second part is a con-
trastive microanalysis of two videos tagged with Berlinerisch (Berlin city dialect). I
discuss first how the characters of these two videos perform the Berlin dialect and
stylize Berliner identities, focusing on six dialect features. All comments to these
videos were coded for their use of dialect features, their overt reference to Berlin di-
alect, cognitive and affective attitudes to dialect, and reference to commenters’ own
dialect usage. Qualitative analysis then identified their common and differing themes
of dialect discourse.

Performing and Negotiating German Dialects on YouTube

Drawing on the sample of dialect videos listed in the appendix, I examine how par-
ticipatory videos and audience comments engage in dialect discourse. Information
on video producers, audiences, and commenters was not collected systematically; this
is difficult to accomplish without a questionnaire. However, the findings suggest dis-
tinctions between various types of dialect-tagged content and their producers. Some
dialect-tagged videos are extracts of mass media content. Example 16 is a television
report on a rock band that uses Low German in their lyrics. Example 13 is a piece of
professionally filmed standup comedy, of the kind that is broadcast on late-night
German television shows. Example 6 is an instance of viral marketing—a covert com-
mercial that disguises its purpose until the relevant product is shown. The uploaders
of such videos may or may not be their actual producers and copyright owners. Other
dialect-tagged videos are outcomes of remix practices, by which users appropriate
and digitally modify mass media footage. Still other dialect-tagged videos are clearly
private material. Example 14 was shot at a family gathering and features a birthday
toast performed in the Palatinate dialect by the two sons of the woman celebrating
her birthday. Example 8 offers a sequence of dialect jokes, which are illustrated with
a variety of still and moving images. The sheer diversity of dialect-tagged videos con-
firms the suggestion by Burgess and Green that assuming a rigid boundary between
“mass media” and “user-created videos” is less useful than a continuum of various
hybridization practices. In any case, dialect-tagged videos are not just produced by
“ordinary” users (2009, 41–42). A distinct type of producer might be termed the “di-
alect activist,” by which I mean (nonacademic) individuals who contribute to the rep-
resentation of dialect on YouTube from a fact-oriented, documentary perspective. An
example is a series of more than twenty so-called dialect atlases produced and up-
loaded by one person, including examples 1 and 7. Another type of producer is the
media professional specializing in dialect redubs. Perhaps the best-known case is that
of “Dodokay,” an entertainer who started out by uploading his remixes on YouTube
and now runs a dedicated broadcast show. Example 18 is one of his remixes. Con-
cerning their audiences, dialect-tagged videos are overwhelmingly viewed within the
German-speaking area, a finding supported both by the language choice of com-
menters and the statistics that YouTube provides for each video.
56 Jannis Androutsopoulos

In light of the diverse origins and production modes of this material, I find it use-
ful to think of these videos not as having or belonging to a genre with rigid bound-
aries, but as orienting to particular—sometimes multiple—genre conventions, which
may be remixed or parodied. Genre is a useful analytic category in that it enables us
to link the social activities staged in a video to traditions of public representation of
dialects. Common genre orientations of German dialect-tagged videos include mu-
sic, theater and comedy, poetry, sermons, story- and joke-telling, media reports on
dialect, documenting dialect, learning dialect, and dialect dubbing.
Music, theater, and comedy represent traditional stages of dialect performance
in Germany. Folk music with dialect lyrics is at home in many German regions, and
the YouTube hits for some dialect tags are replete with folk music performances. Ex-
ample 5, tagged as Boarisch (“Bavarian”), features a folk song by a Bavarian band
that a fan visually remixed using photos of Bavarian landscapes. Standup comedy reg-
ularly exploits dialect stylizations, in which the link between language and localness
is explicitly raised. Example 14 is a comedy excerpt on Palatinate for outsiders. Ex-
amples 9 and 10 feature a traditional Berlin rhyme, “Ick sitze da und esse klops,”
which is offered in several versions on YouTube. Example 10 is recited by an older
man in front of the camera and example 9 features an animated line drawing. Ver-
nacular sermons such as example 15, an amateur video recording in a church, are spe-
cific to the Low German region. They are an obvious case of online participatory
culture documenting local traditions that are inextricably linked to local speech.
Storytelling and joke-telling videos are characteristic to the lay digital litera-
cies enabled by the participatory web. They include amateur footage shot at people’s
homes or at family gatherings, featuring people giving toasts (see example 13) or
telling stories in their local dialect. In example 8, the visual illustration of the di-
alect jokes includes material that references Berlin, such as a front page of a local
newspaper.
Learning and documenting dialect are two popular motives of YouTube dialect
performance across regions. Videos that may be termed dialect documentaries pre-
sent facts and figures about a particular dialect. The two dialect atlas videos in the
sample list, one Alemannic (example 1) and one on the Berlin city dialect (example
7), feature a compilation of narrative commentary, dialect speech samples, and ex-
pert opinion illustrated by a dialect map. Example 4 presents the Bavarian version of
Wikipedia, thereby mixing documentation and comedy. All dialect documentaries in
my data voice a positive attitude toward dialect, but some also express concern about
maintenance and loss. Example 1 presents the unique vocabulary of the Alemannic
dialect, discusses its nonintelligibility to outsiders, then points out that this lexis
might be in a process of loss.
Dialect learning is more often than not a source of comedy and humor. Since in-
stitutional dialect learning does not exist, participatory videos draw on the idea of
learning a vernacular variety of language and translate it into a range of social situ-
ations, creating humor out of its incongruence with institutional language learning.
Example 12 stages dialect learning in a Berlin nightclub. Example 17 features two
girls who deliver a mock dialect lesson. They translate standard German sentences
in Low German, and at one point devise a mock translation of a slang expression,
PARTICIPATORY CULTURE AND METALINGUISTIC DISCOURSE 57

commenting on the fact that youth slang has no counterpart in Low German. Such
videos draw on the motif of learning in order to raise awareness of issues of inter-
generational transmission and dialect loss as well as mobility and migration. In ex-
ample 12 the Berlin dialect is construed as a boundary between residents and
newcomers, its knowledge positioned as a requirement in order to participate effi-
ciently in the capital’s youth culture. Both learning and documenting are motives for
participatory dialect performance that can be used in order to voice social tensions
around the ownership of local space.
Dialect-dubbing videos, called synchros by German users (from Synchronisation,
the German term for dubbing), take dialect performance into remix culture. They ap-
propriate excerpts of television broadcast, popular movies, or pop music and substi-
tute their audio track through a dialect voice, which may or may not be semantically
equivalent to the original. The examples that follow illustrate a range of remix ap-
proaches and techniques. Hollywood movie excerpts are particularly popular targets
(examples 2, 19)—followed by American pop music (example 3), German broadcast
content (example 18), or corporate content (example 11). Hollywood movies are by
default dubbed in standard German, and YouTubers redub them in dialect. Star Wars
(example 19) is a movie that is redubbed across dialects, taking the form of a viral
series (Shifman 2012). The propositional content of synchros is sometimes nonsen-
sical or takes up local issues, whose contrast to the original content generates humor
or parody. In the dialect redub of the movie Full Metal Jacket (example 2), the re-
dubbed movie dialogue voices the longstanding conflict between the neighboring re-
gions of Baden and Swabia. Example 18 is a highly popular dialect dub of the
primetime news show, Tagesschau, in which German and foreign politicians are made
to declare absurdities in dialect; the newsreaders’ voices are cast in dialect as well.
Example 3 is a parody of the pop hit “Umbrella” by Rihanna. The song’s melody is
combined with new audio and a visual collage, both of which celebrate local prac-
tices of binge drinking (Androutsopoulos 2010a). Remixes that appropriate global ma-
terial in order to comment on local practices are celebrated by commenters. Beyond
their propositional content, dialect redubs have an additional layer of meaning that
emerges through code choice. Giving a dialect voice to media genres that are by de-
fault produced in standard German can be read as an implicit critique on the predom-
inance of standard language in the media, and as a hint to the suitability of vernaculars
for broadcasting.
Dialect discourse in participatory spectacles is an outcome of the interaction be-
tween videos and audience responses—particularly comments. Dialect-tagged videos
receive varying numbers of comments ranging from zero to a few thousand. On the
whole, videos clearly prompt dialect discourse among commenters. This is not triv-
ial or self-explanatory. In a largely unregulated discursive space such as YouTube, one
might have expected comments to be haphazard and incoherent, but this does not ap-
ply to the majority of comments. Instead, there are thematically coherent threads of
comments and even some sustained interactions among commenters. Comments on
(and often in) dialect are not posted simply because of dialect use in the videos ref-
erenced. Rather, dialect discourse among commenters is prompted by a video’s re-
flexive orientation to dialect. An example is the video Zu Hause (“At home”), a viral
58 Jannis Androutsopoulos

video tagged as Berlinerisch, whose character speaks in the Berlin dialect. The
speaker, story, and setting do not orient to dialect in any way—nor do any of its thirty-
three comments.
Commenters have different ways of engaging in dialect discourse. Some focus
on dialect performance in the reference video, others use that video as a mere occa-
sion to discuss a dialect. In the two Berlin videos analyzed below, comments on the
dialect itself outnumber those on its performance in the video.8 Some comments
share knowledge, others voice feelings about a dialect. Depending on region and video
genre, comments may discuss the reach of a dialect (such as where is it spoken or
what are the neighboring dialects), its distinctive features, and aspects of its history
or status; others debate the authenticity of dialect use in the reference video or take
up issues of dialect decline and dialect maintenance. Although negative and stigma-
tizing voices are not absent, an emphasis on the cultural value and community im-
portance of dialects prevails.
Comments may also use features of the dialect made relevant in the reference
video. In the analysis of two Berlin videos below, Berlin dialect features occur in 40
percent of comments on the dialect lesson (example 12) and 63 percent of comments
on the dialect tutorial (example 11). Commenters may use dialect features in their
own voice or as a voice quoted from the video, and dialect may predominate in a com-
ment or alternate with standard German. Dialect use in comments is clearly a choice.
As there is no dialect literacy instruction in Germany, dialect writing is always me-
diated through standard German orthography. Dialect writing in the comments often
does performative labor and identity work. Commenters may use dialect in order to
authenticate their own local or regional origin in the process of discussing the per-
formance of dialect in a video. Whenever commenters self-identify with a particular
region, they do so by drawing on dialect, however few and emblematic the dialect
features they draw on may be.
These general patterns of doing dialect in comments on dialect-tagged YouTube
videos are valid across regions and genres; however, differences with regard to re-
gions, genres, and themes exist as well. For example, comments that debate dialect
boundaries or emphasize the superiority of one’s own dialect to neighboring dialects
occur in some regions (such as Bavarian, Franconian, Alemannic, and Badian) but
not in others (notably Berlin), for reasons that are historical in nature. Discourses of
dialect maintenance and decline are characteristic of Low German in terms of region,
and for dialect documenting and learning videos in terms of genres. Comments that
voice tensions between newcomers and residents occur in response to videos from
Berlin, but not, for example, from Swabia. In addition to their commonalities across
regions, comments to dialect videos reproduce social, cultural, and political differ-
ences that historically shaped dialect discourse in the German-speaking area.

Stylizing and Negotiating Berlinerisch: A Comparison of

Two Participatory Spectacles
The second part of the analysis focuses on two participatory spectacles that engage
with the Berlin city dialect. Being well studied and recognizable by virtue of numer-
ous popular representations, the Berlin urban vernacular offers a useful descriptive
PARTICIPATORY CULTURE AND METALINGUISTIC DISCOURSE 59

backdrop (Dittmar and Schlobinski 1988; Schlobinski 1987). It has a number of dis-
tinctive and fairly stereotyped phonological, grammatical, and lexical features and is
associated with a distinctive speech style, the Berliner Schnauze—a loudmouth way
of talking deemed characteristic of the authentic Berliner. Video tags for the Berlin
city dialect include Berlinerisch, Berliner Schnauze, and Berlinisch (its academic la-
bel), and the videos thus tagged present a range of genres and topics.
The two videos analyzed in this section were selected based on popularity (num-
ber of views) and genre orientation. The first video (example 12 in the appendix) is
called “Rinjehaun—Berlinerisch für Anfänger” (See ya—Berlinerisch for beginners).
Although it has been removed from YouTube, it was part of a series of dialect-lesson
videos produced by a now-defunct, Berlin-based online magazine. The video stages
a three-minute fictional encounter between two girls, a local and a newcomer, in the
bathroom of a Berlin nightclub. We see the girls sitting in adjacent toilet stalls and
chatting across the partition. The local girl is a street-style, rough-speaking type. Her
narrative is interrupted by the posh and preppy newcomer girl, who does not under-
stand the local’s distinctive slang. This leads to a discussion of Berlin slang lexis and
its standard German equivalents, during which six word pairs are flashed on the
screen. The first few turns of this dialogue are shown in excerpt 1.
Excerpt 1. Rinjehaun—Berlinerisch für Anfänger (“See ya—Berlinerisch for be-
ginners”), 0:14–0:47
1 A Ey, Puppe! Wat jeht’n, Alter?
Hey doll! What’s up, mate?
2 B Hallo!
Hello!
3 A Ey, hast mal fünf Minuten Zeit, ick muss dir mal wat erzählen.
Hey, have you got five minutes? I’ve got to tell you something.
4 B Ja?
Yeah?
5 A Cool. Naja, jedenfalls war ick ja am Wochenende mit meen Atzen aus
der Hood erstmal im Freibad.
Cool. Well, over the weekend I went with my Atzen (mates) from the
hood to the open-air pool.
6 B Du warst mit deinen Eltern im Freibad?
You went with your parents to the pool?
7 A Oh man, man, doch nicht mit meinen Eltern. Mit meinen Atzen. Wo
kommst du denn her dass du det nicht kennst?
Oh, man. Not with my parents, with my Atzen. Where do you come
from if you don’t know that?
8 B Also ich komm aus der Lünebürger Heide, falls es dich interessiert.
Sonst noch Fragen?
Well, I come from Luneburg Heath if that is of any interest to you.
Any further questions?
60 Jannis Androutsopoulos

9 A Nee. Na det merkt man, wer Atze nicht kennt, kann nicht aus Berlin
sein.
Nope. You can tell that if people don’t know Atze, they can’t be from
Berlin.
10 B Naja, kann ich ja nicht wissen. gibt ja genügend Zugezogene in Berlin.
Well, how should I know that? There are a lot of newcomers in Berlin.
11 A Zujezogen bin ick höchstens.
A newcomer. Maybe that’s me.
The second video (example 11 in the appendix) is called MacBookAir auf
Berlinerisch (“MacBookAir in Berlinerisch”). This is a remix that uses an original
video tutorial for that product and substitutes its audio track with semantically equiv-
alent German copy, delivered in Berlin dialect. The video starts by displaying its own
artificiality and reflexively locating its wit in dialect choice. The producer introduces
this video by saying, “Here it comes in Berlinerisch,” and comments on the time-
consuming labor of lip synchronzation. An excerpt is shown in excerpt 2. In the re-
mainder of this chapter I use the terms “nightclub video” (excerpt 1) and “MacBook
video” (excerpt 2) for ease of reference.

Excerpt 2. MacBook Air auf Berlinerisch (“MacBookAir in Berlinerisch”), 2.0–2.27

1. Det Trackpad ist nicht nur besonders groß, sondern bietet ooch einije
2. Innovationen der Multitouchoberfläche des iPhone, die wir für det
3. MacBook Air anjepasst haben. Sie kennen sicher det Tippen mit zwee Fingern
4. fürn Sekundärklick und det Blättern mit zwee Fingern uff’m MacBook und
5. MacBook Pro. Uff dem MacBook Air können Sie mit einfachen
6. Fingerbewegungen noch effizienter im Programm navigieren.
7. Ick zeig Ihnen det mal.

1. The trackpad is not just quite large, it also offers some

2. innovations of the multi-touch surface of iPhone, which we
3. adapted for MacBook Air. You probably know the two-finger tap
4. for a secondary click and the two-finger scroll on MacBook and
5. MacBook Pro. On MacBook Air you can use simple
6. finger movements to navigate even more efficiently in the program.
7. I’ll show you that.

Berlin dialect features abound in both videos.

Dialect Features and Dialect Stylization in the Videos
A variation analysis of six phonological features suggests that dialect variants occur
either categorically or with some frequency. All six features are considered in the tran-
scripts above. The features and findings are as follows (see Barbour and Stevenson
1990, 112–25 for a full description of these features):
PARTICIPATORY CULTURE AND METALINGUISTIC DISCOURSE 61

1. (g) spirantization: A voiced velar plosive, /g/, is realized as glide or palatal ap-
proximant, [j], with variable distribution by phonological environment. Exam-
ples in the nightclub video include the verb forms jeht for geht (line 1) and
zujezogen for zugezogen (line 11), and an example in the MacBook video is
the adjective einije for einige (line 1). Analysis of one environment, the word-
initial syllable /gə/, shows that the Berlin variant occurs categorically in both
videos (total N"20).
2. (ai) monophthongization: The /ai/ diphthong is realized as long, close, mid-
front unrounded vowel [e:], as in eene for eine (“one”). Examples include
meen for mein (nightclub video, line 5) and zwee for zwei (MacBook video,
line 3). This dialect variant occurs categorically in the nightclub video and in
89 percent of tokens in the MacBook video (total N"12).
3. (au) monophthongization: The /au/ diphthong is realized as a long [o:], a com-
mon lexical item being ooch for auch (“also”). A token occurs in line 1 of the
MacBook video. This feature occurs categorically in the nightclub video and
in 86 percent of realizations in the MacBook video (total N"9).
4. (au) monophthongization: The preposition auf (on) is realized as uff with a
short [u] in Berlin dialect. This item occurs frequently in the tutorial, as the tu-
tor discusses things to do on the computer. This dialect variant scores 50 per-
cent in the nightclub, 88 percent in the MacBook video (total N"26).
5. Word-final /s/ is realized as [t] in a closed set of articles and pronouns, includ-
ing wat for was (“what”) and dat or det for das (“the, this”). Examples are in
lines 3, 7, 9 of the nightclub video and lines 2, 3, 4, 7 of the MacBook video.
Focusing on two common items, the dialect variant et for es is categorical in
both videos (N"12) and the variant dat or det for das is categorical in the
nightclub and occurs at 70 percent in the MacBook video (N"49).
6. Ick or icke is the Berlin variant of the personal pronoun I, which is ich /iç/ in
standard German, with the palatal fricative /ç/ replaced by a velar plosive. Ex-
amples occur in lines 3 and 5 of the nightclub video, and line 7 of the Mac-
Book video. This feature occurs categorically in the first and in 80 percent in
the second video (total N"29).

These six features are “well-established and well-known markers of Berlin

speech” (Barbour and Stevenson 1990, 115), and their high frequencies clearly mark
the two speakers as Berliners. However, this does not make their dialect performances
authentic in the eyes of some commenters, who assess authenticity based on the en-
tire performance rather than isolated dialect features. Moreover, the two videos link
dialect to different social domains and institutional discourses, and thereby offer two
strikingly different stylizations of Berlin speakers. They do so in terms of additional
aspects of dialect performance, notably lexis, and in terms of aspects of performance
that do not rely on dialect.
Although the delivery of the Berlin club girl evokes—at least in my reading—
working-class associations with her rough timbre and slang lexis, the dialect tu-
torial is striking for its complex syntax, technical vocabulary, and fluent delivery
62 Jannis Androutsopoulos

in a smooth instructional style. These features suggest that the tutorial was
scripted, rehearsed, and then read aloud. The two videos appropriate different in-
stitutional discourses and stylize Berlin identities in relation to these discourses.
The club girl’s Berlin dialect is positioned as unmarked, or even desirable, in the
nightclubbing context. The MacBook video alludes to the possibility of expert pro-
fessional advice being delivered in dialect. Both videos represent dialect usage in
prestigious domains, be it overt (digital technologies) or covert (nightclub) pres-
tige, and their empowering metamessage about dialect contrasts with, and implic-
itly challenges, traditional stereotypes of Berlin dialect speakers who are popularly
imagined as middle-aged, working class, and unrelated to either youth culture or
digital technologies. These stylizations can therefore be viewed as constructing new
types of Berlin dialect speakers.
In sum, the two videos are highly similar with regard to typical features of Berlin
dialect, but highly different in their sociolinguistic styling. Their lexical choices and
prosodic patterns index differing social styles and genres beyond the speakers’ re-
gional origin.

Both videos received relatively few comments during data

Audience Responses to the Videos
collection; there were ninety-six comments on the nightclub video and forty-two on
the MacBook video. This section discusses four common themes of dialect discourse
in these two sets of comments: liking and disliking dialect; debating the authenticity
of dialect features and speakers; locating dialect in urban space; and reflecting on the
conditions of dialect performance.
Example 1 illustrates a common pattern of affective response in my data: a
generic evaluation that is ambiguous in its reference to video, dialect use, or both.
Examples 2–6 show a range of affective responses—mostly positive ones (with the
exception of example 5), and some cast in a dialect voice throughout. Some of these
comments use dialect features discussed above, notably spirantization, the lexical vari-
ants wat, dat, and the personal pronoun icke (see examples 1, 2, and 6, below). Ex-
ample 2 also uses two Berlin vernacular expressions that are explained in the video:
knorke (“awesome”) and Broiler (“roast chicken”). Affective comments are typically
short and informal in tone. They often use dialect and features of informal digital writ-
ing such as emoticons (see also Chun and Walters 2011 for similar findings in YouTube
comments). Similar comments include Voll jut! (“Really good!”); Super besser jeths
nich :D (“Super! It just can’t get any better”); and ick finds knorke (“I find it awe-
some”). All include some of the dialect features discussed above—notably features
1 and 6—and Berlin lexis (knorke). English, used in example 4, is rare. Example 6
is a declaration of cross-regional attractiveness that indicates the covert prestige at-
tached to the Berlin city vernacular. Although the nightclub video prompts more pos-
itive and affective reactions overall, a few comments on the MacBook video point
out that the use of dialect in the tutorial makes the product more likeable (German:
sympathisch) to them.9
1. [MacBook video] UdvismH
dit is jut :D (This is good.)
PARTICIPATORY CULTURE AND METALINGUISTIC DISCOURSE 63

2. [Nightclub video] Evisu03

dit video find ick_ knorke, und nen broiler # pommes rot weiß jibs nur hier
(This video is awesome and you can only have roast chicken with fries here.)
3. [Nightclub video] choclatchip92
geil ;D berlinersich is so geil :D (Cool. Berlinerisch is so cool.)
4. [MacBook video] MMfanAZ
I just love that Berlinerisch. Very cool. Weiter machen! (Keep it up!)
5. [Nightclub video] KoRny1996
berlinerisch klingt doof! (Berlinerisch sounds stupid!)
6. [Nightclub video] xXMissLenaXxo
ick liebe diesen dialekt. komm zwar us hamburch, aba lern jerade berlina
schnauze :D (I love this dialect. I come from Hamburg, but I’m now learning
the Berlin lingo.)
Metalinguistic critique takes two paths—one focusing on dialect features, and the
other on speaker delivery. The nightclub video presents six words as part of the
Berlin vocabulary that are opaque to the incomer. All six are scrutinized by com-
menters with regard to their regional spread, current usage, and precise meaning, as
I will show using comments 7–9, in which three users discuss the lexical meaning
of Atze.
7. [Nightclub video] bireman
Atze ist eigentlich Bruder (Atze actually means brother.)
8. [Nightclub video] norayati
nee, is nich bruder, is kumpel. kommste aussa lüneburga heide oda wat?
(No—it’s mate, not brother. Are you from Luneburg Heath or what?)
9. [Nightclub video] stachebln
Also Atze ist definitiv Bruder, Freunde sind Kumpels. // Atze ist eigentlich
sogar der kleinere Bruder, Keule hingegen der große Bruder, und die Schwelle
ist die Schwester, also bei uns iss dett so, wa!
(Well, Atze definitely means brother; friends are called mates. // Atze is actu-
ally the younger brother, and Keule the older brother, and the sister is called
Schwelle. Well, that’s the way we do it, right!)
Consider how the author of 8 alludes to the nonlocal girl’s place of origin—
Luneburg Heath (see excerpt 1, line 8) in order to disqualify the explication proposed
by 7: The implication is that comment 7 could only have been offered by someone
from the province who is not familiar with the capital’s vernacular. The author of 9
provides examples from the lexical field of Atze and shifts into a dialect voice in the
last clause, thereby referring to the in-group of Berlin dialect speakers: Also bei uns
iss dett so, wa! (“Well, that’s the way we do it, right!”). In addition to the dialect pro-
noun dett, the tag-question wa is typical for the Berlin vernacular as well. Here met-
alinguistic knowledge and dialect use work together in authenticating the speaker’s
claims (see also Johnstone and Baumgardt 2004).
64 Jannis Androutsopoulos

In the audience responses to the MacBook video, several users call the authen-
ticity of the speaker into doubt. As illustrated by examples 10–12 and 14, the criti-
cism is on his delivery rather than dialect features. Consider how the first two
comments below adopt a dialect voice including several features, notably 1 (jut
jemacht), 4 (uff), 5 (dit), and 6 (ick).
10. [MacBook video] berlinerin09
na ick find dit nicht so jut jemacht, dit kommt nicht so orjinal rüber, ick finds
eher auswendig jelernt und uff gesacht
(Well, I don’t find it that well done; it doesn’t come across as original. To me
it feels rather learned by heart and delivered.)
11. [MacBook video] prochrisk
Boah ne, sorry, dit is aber ma so ja nich knorke! Da_ hatt er zwar die Voka-
beln jepaukt, aber . . . dit klingt so ja nich Original-Berlinerisch . . . keene
Stimmmelodie drin, weißte Keule!
(Oh, well, sorry, but this isn’t my thing at all! He did learn his lessons, but . . .
it doesn’t sound like original Berlinerisch, no vocal melody in there, is there,
mate?)
12. [MacBook video] dameisenmann
video_ is kacke // schlechter dialekt und hochdeutscher satzbau.
(Video is crap // bad dialect and High German syntax.)
These comments pick out the speaker’s prosody (“no vocal melody in there”) and
syntax (“High German syntax”) as not conforming to their notions of the original
Berlin dialect. Remarkably, these seem to characterize the instruction genre rather than
the Berlin dialect per se, and the scripted background of the delivery alluded to by
comment 10 (“rather learned by heart and delivered”) is also related to genre. Di-
alect stylization in the MacBook video clearly challenges dialect stereotypes, but it
also includes features that seem to conflict with people’s expectations of dialect au-
thenticity because they disrupt the traditional link of authenticity to particular types
of verbal performance, to which a computer tutorial clearly does not belong. Therein
lies the difference between the responses to the two videos: The Berlin girl’s style is
despised by some—criticized for being gekünstelt (“artificial”) or übertrieben (“ex-
aggerated”)—or deemed typical of East Berlin rather than the capital as a whole. But
she is not denied local origin or lack of dialect competence the way the speaker of
the MacBook tutorial is.
Instead of equating Berlinerisch to Berlin, comments negotiate links between di-
alect and urban space. Taking their cues from the video, commenters localize dialect
in subtle and nuanced ways. Viewers of the nightclub video focus on the tension be-
tween East and West Berlin, which originated in Berlin’s division after World War II
and led to social and cultural differences between the city’s two parts (Schlobinski
1987). This issue is not raised in the video itself but projected in the girl’s dialect per-
formance and read by commenters. In example 13 comments draw on dialect fea-
tures to authenticate their own claims of metalinguistic authority. The tension between
local Berliners and incomers is staged in the nightclub video and revoiced by com-
PARTICIPATORY CULTURE AND METALINGUISTIC DISCOURSE 65

menters who take a local stance and distance themselves from what one commenter
calls möchtegern-szene-berliner (“Wannabe-scene-Berliners by choice”). The speaker
of the MacBook video is repeatedly identified as an incomer who tries to imitate the
dialect. In example 14, the commenter supports their claims with a reference to di-
alect usage in two Berlin districts, and links dialect usage by incomers to the popu-
larity of the Berlin vernacular in television shows.

13. [Nightclub video] isimaus26

Sehr Ostlastig . . . wir im Westbalin reden anders! naja, aber schon janz nett!
(Quite heavy on the East . . . we in West Berlin speak differently! Well, still
nice!)
14. [MacBook video] Murkelrabe
Hört sich an, als ob ein sonst nur hochdeutsch sprechender Mensch versucht
zu berlinern. Leider verscuehn seit Krömer & Co viel zu viele Zugereiste zu
berlinern und das hört sich für Urberliner furchtbar an. In Ost-Berlin und den
Randgebieten Westberlins (Spandau und Co) sprach man im Alltag den
berliner Dialekt. Das Video ist leider “zugereist” und kein Berlinern.
(Sounds as though somebody who usually speaks High German would try to
speak the Berlin dialect. Unfortunately, since Krömer and Co. [broadcast com-
edy show hosts] far too many incomers try to speak the dialect, which sounds
awful for original Berliners. In East Berlin and the outer districts of West
Berlin (Spandau and Co.) people used to speak Berlin dialect in everyday life.
I’m afraid this video is by an “incomer” and not a Berliner.)

Overall, most comments seem to rely on an assumed shared understanding of a

so-called authentic dialect, to which video performances and stylizations are com-
pared. Only a few comments reflect on the conditions of participatory dialect per-
formance, discussing these videos in terms of performance choices rather than their
dialect accuracy or speaker competence. Example 15 is characteristic of such a read-
ing, insofar as it explicitly acknowledges the purposeful artificiality of the video per-
formance and explains its stylistic choices as an outcome of its audience design.
Remarkably, this comment makes its own style-shifting formally obvious. It starts with
a heavily marked dialect voice (including the spirantization feature, and the pronoun
variants dit and ick) and rounds it off by means of the notation [/berlinerisch], which
is derived from net usage. Likewise, the author of example (16) explicitly treats the
nightclub video as performance and does “dialect identity” by switching to dialect
(features 1, 5, and 6) in order to reflect on their dialect usage.

15. [MacBook video] N1trux1de

Also ick muss ma sajen, dit hat ma voll jefallen. [/berlinerisch] Hätte zwar
teilweise etwas “doller” ausfallen können, aber dann hätte das kein nicht-
Berliner mehr verstanden^^ Super Video!!!
(Well, I must say I did like it a lot. [/berlinerisch] It could have been somewhat
“fuller” but then no non-Berliner would probably have understood it^^ Super
video!!!)
66 Jannis Androutsopoulos

16. [Nightclub video] GerDrSeltsam

Mädels, geile Show, aber als Ossi respektive Sachse muss ich euch sagen,
Broiler und Semmel sind auch bei uns im Tal der Ahnungslosen ( Dresden )
gängige Begriffe. Ick denk ma ihr habt eure Schrippe verjessen, nu?!
Und nich über men Dialektmix wundern, ick bin fufschprozent Berlina und fuf-
schprozent Sachse, det is ne ganz feine Mischung!
(Girls: great show, but as an Easterner and Saxon I must say Broiler and Sem-
mel are also familiar to us in the valley of the ignorant [Dresden]. I guess
you’ve forgotten your Schrippe [bread roll] right? // And don’t wonder about
my dialect mix, I’m 50 percent Berliner and 50 percent Saxon; that’s quite a
fine mixture!)
Comment 16 resembles 14 in terms of the rich sociolinguistic background it
alludes to. The author refers to Schrippe, a typical Berlin word for “bread roll”;
she or he comments on the regional spread of two other words from the video; and
uses without further explanation the term Tal der Ahnungslosen (“valley of the ig-
norant”), a label for the area of Dresden that originated in the German Democra-
tic Republic. These and other comments offer fragments of linguistic and
sociolinguistic knowledge, which complement the video performances and enable
spectators to link the elements of a participatory spectacle together in a kind of
jointly produced sociolinguistic panorama. Commenters bring their own dialect
identity into play and underscore their normative claims by using the relevant di-
alect themselves.

Conclusions
Scollon and LeVine (2004) suggest two reasons to study relations of discourse and
technology: First, discourse is inherently multimodal, and multimodal discourse
analysis depends on technologies. Second, technologies facilitate new forms of dis-
course, notably on the internet. I suggest that the work presented in this chapter
demonstrates a third tier of relations: new forms of discourse enabled by digital tech-
nologies offer people opportunities to participate in (“capital D”) discourses—that
is, to contribute to and negotiate the social construction of knowledge. I summarize
the implications of these findings for the discursive construction of dialect in the new
media, and briefly consider how this study ties in with the state of linguistic schol-
arship on CMD.
To what extent do participatory spectacles make a difference to the public rep-
resentation of dialects in the German-speaking context? Based on the findings of
this study, their impact seems best captured by the notions of diversification and
destabilization. Specifically, dialect discourses on YouTube destabilize existing
mass-mediated regimes of dialect representation by pluralizing the performance
and stylization of dialects. Participatory dialect spectacles do not entirely break
with the tradition of so-called funny dialects; many dialect performances on
YouTube are still cast in an entertaining, jocular key. But they are diverse enough
to include voices and representations which differ markedly from traditional di-
alect stereotypes. Destabilization works at different levels. First, there is change
PARTICIPATORY CULTURE AND METALINGUISTIC DISCOURSE 67

at the level of dialect discourses, concerning the knowledge about dialect in its
social context that is negotiated by videos and comments. In part, these are long-
standing discourses of animosities between neighboring regions, and merely have
been transported to a new environment. But others are products of fairly recent
processes of political, economical, and cultural change—such as the tensions sur-
rounding the ownership of the Berlin dialect.
A second level of pluralization has to do with the unprecedented options for
audience participation offered by YouTube and other social media. The coexistence
of staged performance and audience responses within a participatory spectacle
means that every representation of dialect can be ratified or challenged by its
viewers, that its readings are visibly diverse, and that the authority to speak about
language becomes negotiable rather than being delimited from the outset. Third,
participatory dialect spectacles draw on new resources of representation with re-
gard to remix techniques and materials. The analysis of dialect redubs illustrates
how dialect discourse meets globally circulating popular culture, and how the in-
tersection of local tradition and cultural globalization may be as much a source of
humor as of implicit critique. These findings highlight both the popularity of
remix practices in German dialect discourses and the inherently linguistic charac-
ter of media remixing.
This study ties in with the four principles that Thurlow and Mroczek (2011b)
identify as pillars of a sociolinguistic approach to new media discourse: discourse,
technology, multimodality, and ideology. The framework outlined here entails a
nondeterministic approach to technology and a focus on language ideologies. This
study shows that research on participatory spectacles raises new challenges for
CMD studies. Having focused predominantly on written language, research now
needs to take the multimodal structure of online participatory environments into
account and examine the ways language becomes tied into multimodal configu-
rations of user-produced digital content. The concepts of multimodality, intertex-
tuality, and heteroglossia offer an adequate backdrop for the analysis of
participatory spectacles. Viewed as complex audiovisual configurations, partici-
patory spectacles incorporate written language and are tied together by intertex-
tual relations among their components as much as to various cultural discourses
and representations. Representations of dialect are embedded in heteroglossic con-
trasts within a spectacle (especially in relations of and shifts between dialect and
standard German) and at the interface of dialect spectacles and their wider digi-
tal environment. This chapter shows that the visual dimension of participatory
spectacles is central to their dialect performances, and suggests ways of dealing
with this without losing sight of language as both an object and a backbone of par-
ticipatory dialect discourse.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The research presented here was initiated in collaboration with Horst Simon (Free University Berlin). I
am grateful to my graduate students in Hamburg for their assistance with data collection; audiences in
Leipzig, London, Glasgow, Vaasa, and Washington, DC, for feedback; and Deborah Tannen and Anna Marie
Trester for their feedback and support. I am, of course, solely responsible for any shortcomings in this
chapter.
68 Jannis Androutsopoulos

NOTES
1. See the English-language Wikipedia entry for Karl Theodor zu Guttenberg (Wikipedia n.d.), and the
collaborative documentation of plagiarism (GuttenPlag Wiki n.d.).
2. The notion of participatory spectacle is applicable to all web platforms used by people to upload,
consume, and discuss user-created content—especially photography and music. YouTube is relevant
from a language perspective, because language in its multimodal context is a key resource for par-
ticipatory videos.
3. I use the term “dialect” as a cover and emic term, the way lay people use it on YouTube. Although
German dialectology distinguishes between deep dialects and regional varieties of language, on
YouTube dialect is part of a binary distinction and juxtaposed to standard German (Hochdeutsch).
In this usage, the term “dialect” includes phonological (accent) as well as grammatical and lexical
features.
4. Johnstone points out, “Dialect boundaries are not inscribed on the landscape, so the world does not
present itself to linguists with dialects waiting to be discovered. Just as languages are created in dis-
course, so are dialects” (2011, 3). Lay discourses on dialect enjoyed little attention in academic di-
alectology and social dialectology, which define and classify dialects from an etic rather than emic
perspective. The recent interest of perceptual dialectology in lay knowledge about dialect is part of
the broader sociolinguistic interest in metalanguage (see Milani and Johnson 2010; Jaworski,
Coupland, and Galasinski 2004).
5. Its successor website, The Burble, provides mock translation of web content into four German di-
alects (see www.burble.de). An English-language counterpart that has existed since 1998 is The Di-
alectizer, which offers dialectized versions of web content in popular dialects, including so-called
redneck and cockney (see www.rinkworks.com/dialect/).
6. Most designations of regional dialects in German are denominal adjectives, roughly equivalent to
English place names such as Bristolian, which can refer to a native of Bristol, England, or its dialect.
7. Here are the hits, as of June 7, 2011, for twenty dialect labels (with translations in English):
Schwäbisch (Swabian): 6,870; Kölsch (Cologne dialect): 6,600; Bayerisch (Bavarian): 5,390; Bayrisch
(Bavarian): 5,310; Sächsisch (Saxonian): 1,330; Boarisch (Bavarian): 1,100; Plattdeutsch (Low Ger-
man): 1,100; Alemannisch (Alemannic): 1,090; Hessisch (Hessian): 1,060; Fränkisch (Franconian):
698; Bairisch (Bavarian): 518; Badisch (Badenese): 415; Pfälzisch (Palatinate): 214; Niederdeutsch
(Low German): 177; Plattdütsch (Bavarian): 117; Berlinisch (Berlin dialect): 96; Berlinerisch (Berlin
dialect): 96; Thüringisch (Thuringian) 18; Mannheimerisch (Mannheim dialect) 4; Ripuarisch
(Ripuarian): 1. Note that Low German is officially a distinct regional language rather than a dialect,
and that some dialect labels come in two or more spelling variants, such as Bayerisch, Bayrisch, and
Boarisch for “Bavarian.”
8. In the nightclub video (example 12), 48 percent of comments discuss dialect use in the video and
74 percent discuss the Berlin city dialect as such. In the MacBook video (example 11), 23 percent
of the comments discuss dialect use in the video and 40 percent discuss the Berlin dialect as such.
Both topics can coincide in a single comment. (Based on all forty-two comments on example 11 and
a sample of fifty comments on example 12.)
9. Original screen names are maintained. A label indicating the reference video has been added. A dou-
ble slash (i.e., //) indicates a line break in the original. English translations attempt to maintain as-
pects of the original idiomatic style. Emoticons are not repeated in the translation.

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Appendix: List of YouTube Videos

(Paste video ID into the YouTube search bar or add to www.youtube.com/watch?v=)
Alemannic
1. Dialektatlas #101—Alemannisch 1/2 (“Dialect atlas #101: Alemannic 1/2”)
Video ID: L_eTpWs-NyY
2. Full Metal Jacket auf Badisch Alemannisch (“Full Metal Jacket in Badenese Alemannic”):, currently
banned
Video ID: FXZNVvxxeHQ
PARTICIPATORY CULTURE AND METALINGUISTIC DISCOURSE 71

Bavarian
3. Schwappe Productions—An Preller (“Schwappe Productions: A hangover”)
Video ID: icmraBAN4ZE
4. Wikipedia auf Boarisch 1/3 (“Wikipedia in Bavarian 1/3”)
Video ID: eWiNV_2BFAA
5. So schee war da somma—Oache Brothers (“Summer was so nice: Oache brothers”)
Video ID: qSAOfSUKkRo
Berlin City Dialect
6. Berliner-Schnauze . . . Stadtrundfahrten (Kostprobe) (“Berlin loudmouth . . . City Tours [Sample])”
Video ID: NbgMqW-Qj8s
7. Dialektatlas #107—Berlinerisch (“Dialect atlas #107: Berlinerisch”)
Video ID: jI8YpXrZog
8. Geile Witze—mit Berliner Schnauze (“Cool jokes: Berlin loudmouth style”)
Video ID: QzSkJfUAxo
9. Ick sitze da und esse Klops (“I’m sitting there eating meatballs”)
Video ID: xuSqhddzXl4
10. Ick sitze hier und esse Klops (“I’m sitting here eating meatballs”)
Video ID: XCGgeVLIJCE
11. MacBook Air auf Berlinerisch (“MacBookAir in Berlinerisch”)
Video ID: jg7L9PX8lrY
12. Rinjehaun-Berlinerisch für Anfänger (“See ya! Berlinerisch for beginners”)
Video ID: UxPSz54l3ps, no longer available.
Palatinate
13. Christian Chako Habekost: Pfälzisch für Außergewärdische (“Palatinate for outsiders”)
Video ID: Ab_ZAcHJQKE
14. Marcel und Björn zum 50. von Mama Gisela (“Marcel and Björn on the fiftieth birthday of Mama
Gisela”)
Video ID: T0OUmNEH4fo
Low German
15. Bernhard Busemann: Plattdeutsche Predigt über Lukas 12 (“Bernhard Busemann: Low German ser-
mon on Lukas 12”)
Video ID: ylOUc_OtXnI
16. De fofftig Penns bi Gooden Abend RTL (“De fofftig Penns on Good Evening RTL”)
Video ID: YSOocW73UMk
17. Learning Plattdeutsch mit uns ! (“Learning Low German with us!”)
Video ID: pS4qN5Zm0KI
Swabian
18. Die ARD Tagesschau auf Schwäbisch—dodokay SWR (“ARD News of the day in Swabian”)
Video ID: IOXvvnMetII
19. star-wars-auf-schwaebisch (“Star Wars in Swabian”)
Video ID: UOxY2lRcII4
This page intentionally left blank
4
“My English Is So Poor . . . So I Take Photos”
Metalinguistic Discourses about English on FlickR

CARMEN LEE
Chinese University of Hong Kong

FLICKR (www.flickr.com) is a photosharing site that allows people to upload, display,

and share photos. Although photographs are often perceived to be the central element
of Flickr, members of Flickr also interact in various writing spaces; they provide ti-
tles, captions, and tags (or keywords) for their photos as well as comment on one an-
other’s photos. These writing spaces form a cross-modal cohesive tie between the
posted photos and surrounding text. Each Flickr member also has a profile page, on
which many people write short autobiographies detailing where they come from, what

Figure 4.1 A Flickr photo page with bilingual writing.1

73
74 CARMEN LEE

cameras and lenses they use, and their passion for photography. Flickr is basically a
public and global online platform (although users can control access to their photos),
so its users vary geographically, culturally, and linguistically. Users who do not use
English as their dominant language in their offline lives may still choose to create
written content in English in addition to their native language. Figure 4.1 shows a
page by a Chinese-speaking user, with a bilingual title “autumnter ,” and
tags in Chinese and English, surrounding the uploaded photo.
This chapter draws upon data collected as part of a larger study of the multilingual
literacy practices associated with Flickr. The broader study (Lee and Barton 2011) fo-
cuses on the ways in which people creatively deploy their language resources in new
online spaces and how these practices shed light on current understanding of vernacu-
lar literacies (Barton and Lee 2012). Although the study originally sought to observe
and describe multilingual activities, the participants often revealed their attitudes toward
different languages without prompting. These metalinguistic attitudes about language,
collected from people’s self-generated contents on Flickr and follow-up email inter-
views, often centered on Flickr users’ perception of the functions of English and their
knowledge of the language in relation to their online participation. Many scholars have
acknowledged extensive use of languages other than English in web spaces (such as
Danet and Herring 2007; Herring et al. 2007), but the initial findings of ongoing re-
search on Flickr show that English is still seen as a common language by international
participants (Lee and Barton 2009), which is in line with traditional claims about the
dominant role of English online (such as Garland 2006; Luke, Luke, and Graham 2007).
The importance of English, especially to those whose primary language is not English,
is often reflected in the participants’ explicit self-evaluations of their English profi-
ciency level on their Flickr profile page, photo captions, and comments, as shown in the
following examples by two users from France and Germany, respectively.
Sorry to write in French but my English is too poor to express my feelings
(lefete, French)

My English is limited and not so well as it should be :(. (Berta, German)

It is these self-assessments of English on Flickr that inspired this study. This chap-
ter focuses on the ways in which metalinguistic discourses about English are con-
structed on Flickr and the social meanings associated with them, through addressing
three interrelated questions:
1. How do people who do not use English as their primary language talk about
their knowledge of English on Flickr?
2. What are the motivations behind such discourses?
3. What is the relationship between such discourses and participation on Flickr?
Drawing on a textual database of 1,292 statements of self-evaluation of English pro-
ficiency and interview data from ten participants, I identify various types of metalin-
guistic discourse about English on Flickr. In addition, I use data from online
interviews to explain why such discourses exist on Flickr. My understanding of the
“MY ENGLISH IS SO POOR . . . SO I TAKE PHOTOS” 75

data was mainly informed by the analytical framework of stancetaking (Jaffe 2009),
which is a useful approach to understanding how Flickr users’ attitudes regarding their
own linguistic skills are discursively constructed. Using Gee’s (2004) concept of
affinity spaces, I also show the ways in which such seemingly self-deprecatory com-
ments serve to encourage social networking, widen participation, and support infor-
mal learning.

Metalinguistic Discourse and Folk Linguistic Attitudes Online

Sociolinguists have long been interested in investigating nonlinguists’ beliefs, atti-
tudes, and theories of language—an area that is often referred to as folk linguistics
(Niedzielski and Preston 2000). Widely adopted in perceptual dialectology and re-
search on spoken language (for example, Preston 1996), folk linguistic attitudes have
not been researched extensively in the context of computer-mediated communication
(CMC). Among those studies that do deal with the folk linguistics of new media lan-
guage, many are concerned with the ways in which mass media discursively construct
young people and their online language use. A case in point is Thurlow’s (2007) analy-
sis of mass media representations of language online in a corpus of news articles, in
which moral panics about young people’s language standards and other language ide-
ologies are discursively constructed.
From an insider’s perspective, a growing amount of research begins to examine
media users’ self-reflection and comments on their own online language use. Squires’s
(2010) work presents a comprehensive analysis of the various labels given to inter-
net-based registers on different “sites of metadiscourse” (457), one of which is inter-
active online discussion, in which commenters express opinions about the register
used in their comment threads. Squires convincingly argues that metadiscourse about
online registers is largely shaped by standard language ideology and technological
determinism. In my ongoing research on Facebook status updates (Lee 2011), I also
make explicit reference to my participants’ own theories of language in understand-
ing their perceptions of the language used in their status updates. For example, to ex-
plain how he wrote his status updates on Facebook, an interviewee frequently referred
to grammar items as in “It depends on the aspect of the verb and the tense.” A num-
ber of new media scholars have given attention to metalinguistic discourses about dif-
ferent languages found in the commenting system of various Web 2.0 or social media
such as YouTube (Androutsopoulos 2011; Benson 2010). To date, however, no pub-
lished work has specifically focused on media users’ self-evaluation of their English
skills in relation to their internet participation. It is this emerging aspect of metalin-
guistic discourse online that interests me. In particular, this chapter discusses the ways
in which talking about one’s own English proficiency can serve meaningful social pur-
poses on one of the most popular Web 2.0 sites, Flickr.

Data and Methods

To understand how Flickr participants construct evaluative comments about their Eng-
lish-language proficiency, a textual database of sentences with explicit remarks about
one’s knowledge and competence in English was first collected from Flickr, with spe-
cific focus on photo descriptions, comments, tags, and user profiles. Although I am
76 CARMEN LEE

aware that Flickr users also express their opinions about other languages they know (for
example, “my Japanese is limited”), English is perceived to be the common language
on Flickr (Lee and Barton 2009), and is more frequently mentioned and evaluated than
other languages. Thus, the analysis presented in this chapter focuses on English only.
The initial stage of the research involved keyword searches of six expressions that
Flickr users commonly used to evaluate their proficiency in English. These six search
phrases derived initially from my active participation in Flickr, as well as observations de-
rived from the data in the broader study of multilingual practices on Flickr. Table 4.1 sum-
marizes the six key phrases and the number of examples collected in the keyword search.
The first five expressions deal with the participant’s own evaluation of or reflec-
tion on their knowledge of English. The last expression, “Your English is . . .” was
added in order to elicit other people’s responses to these self-evaluations. In the
searches, I focused on user profiles, descriptions (captions), tags, and comments. In
the corpus, participants’ screen names, current locations, and languages spoken were
noted, if such information was available.
This initial stage allowed me to collect a textual database of 1,292 examples of self-
evaluation of English and 325 examples of others’ responses. For the self-evaluations,
I carried out a basic meaning-based content analysis of the attitudes toward one’s own
English-language proficiency and the stance taken in constructing such discourses, thus
addressing the first research question about the types of self-evaluation. The immedi-
ate linguistic context of these expressions—that is, what the participant said before and
after the sentence collected—as well as other texts appearing on their photo pages, were
also taken into account when relevant. To further understand the motivations behind de-
scribing one’s English proficiency and how such comments affect levels of participa-
tion in Flickr, ten participants were chosen from the pool of writers identified in the
keyword searches to participate in interviews conducted via Flickr’s private email sys-
tem. The ten interviewees were selected because (1) they were active members (that is,
they posted photos regularly) and (2) English was not their primary language when they
were not using Flickr. I also selected people from a range of nationalities and native lan-

Table 4.1
Summary of text data
Search phrase Example No. of occurrences
“My English is __.” “My English is poor.” 730
“I don’t know English __.” “I’m from brazil, and i don’t know
english very well . . . lol” 72
“I don’t speak English __.” “i don’t speak english, i’m speak
french.” 156
“I don’t understand “I’m sorry I don’t understand English
English __.” well.” 64
“English is not my __.” “English is not my first language.” 270
“Your English is __.” “Your English is much better than
my German.” 325
“MY ENGLISH IS SO POOR . . . SO I TAKE PHOTOS” 77

guages: these included two German users from Germany, two Italian speakers from
Italy, and two Portuguese speakers from Brazil; the rest were from France, Finland, Ko-
rea, and Malaysia. The interview questions were designed to identify the motivations
behind the self-evaluation of English proficiency (research question 2) as well as to ex-
amine the relationship between such comments and participation in Flickr (research
question 3); topics covered included their reasons for discussing their knowledge of
English, and how doing so would affect their relationship with other Flickr members.
My analysis of metalinguistic discourse about English was informed by the no-
tion of stancetaking in discourse analysis (Du Bois 2007; Jaffe 2009). Stance is “a
public act by a social actor achieved dialogically through overt communicative means”
(Du Bois 2007, 163). According to Du Bois, stance is often expressed through posi-
tioning, evaluation, and alignment, thus forming what he calls a stance triangle (2007).
The two most commonly identified stances are epistemic stance, which refers to the
claiming of knowledge or belief toward a stance object; and affective stance, which
is expressed through feelings, mood, and emotion about a stance object (Jaffe 2009).
Stancetaking is thus a useful framework for analyzing the ways in which attitudes to-
ward English-language skills are constructed discursively. Understanding the ways
writers position themselves by talking about their English-language abilities also re-
veals how such metalinguistic discourse facilitates social networking and participa-
tion in the Flickr community.

Metalinguistic Discourse about English on Flickr

The self-evaluative comments of English collected were first categorized into seven
basic types, primarily according to their meaning. In the following, I provide descrip-
tions and examples for these types so as to provide a snapshot of the possible ways
of constructing self-evaluative discourses about English by the Flickr users in the pres-
ent study.
1. Perceived Knowledge of English: All of the expressions collected were neg-
ative evaluations of the writers’ English-language skills, and explicitly tell readers how
little English a given writer knows. These expressions convey writers’ affective stance
toward their own English with some typical adjectives of evaluation such as “good,”
“bad,” “terrible,” “poor,” or in terms of weakness and incompetence.
My English is poor/terrible/horrible
My weakest trait is my english ability . . .
2. Apologetic and Forgiveness Seeking: A great deal of the sentences collected
(235 sentences, 18 percent) are accompanied by apologies; users generally ask their
target readers to forgive possible grammatical and spelling errors in their English cap-
tions or comments. Some even apologize for not speaking English as a first language:
my english is not perfect, so excuse my grammar and occasional mistakes in
text :) (JV image, Czech)
Well, i’m sorry, my english is so shitty ugh because i’m french so sorry. (red-
dot, French)
78 CARMEN LEE

3. Native Speaker Norm as a Model of “Good” English: In this type of self-

evaluative comment, what people say about their English-language proficiency is of-
ten juxtaposed with the so-called native speaker norm. Within the corpus, a large
number of comments (340 sentences, 26 percent) made reference to native speakers
of English; 145 revealed negative attitudes about “not being native English speaker”
or being more likely to make mistakes in English.
Sorry for the grammar mistakes, english is not my mother language. (Camilo,
Spanish)
pity that english is not my mother language . . . otherwise i’d be glad to give
my point of view about the question. (wesley)
4. External Resources: Some Flickr members admitted to a limited knowledge
of English and explained what was supporting their English writing on Flickr. A small
number (31) of the statements collected referred to dictionaries, online translators such
as Google Translate, and other people in their lives who could act as literacy brokers
in their participation in Flickr.
My English is Google translator. . . . Mi español es el traductor de Google. . . .
Mon français est traducteur de Google . . . (Angelo, Italian)
I don’t understand english but I have got translation through this website, this
relpy wrote by my daughter, you can type english (pklam, Chinese)
5. Self-improvement: Although the previous types present quite negative attitudes
towards the writers’ English proficiency, as many as 104 examples expressed the
writer’s commitment to learning English and to self-improvement.
I’m really glad I found this site cause apart from sharing my pics I get to
practice my English a bit.” (Gabriel, Polish)
my English is poor. Therefore I want to make friends with foreigner, so that I
can improve my oral English skill. (Kaki Wong, Chinese)
6. Humor and Playfulness: A small number of the examples (23) collected dis-
cuss English-language proficiency in a lighthearted, playful, and humorous manner:
i don’t speak english . . . really . . . all i know how to say is . . .i don’t speak
english. (Pam)
My English is not perfect, so be kind if you’re the Shakespeare’s kind of person
or try to write like this in Spanish. (Kris001, Spanish)
7. Photography as the Lingua Franca: Although they perceive their English pro-
ficiency to be limited, for many language is secondary to photography on Flickr. Thus,
a small number of the statements (40) in the corpus more or less reflect people’s aware-
ness of the central role of photography on Flickr:
I don’t understand english very well, but this photo impress me. Sometimes the
image is enough. (Jean, Italian)
My English is so . . . poor! so, I take photos . . .
“MY ENGLISH IS SO POOR . . . SO I TAKE PHOTOS” 79

! (sigh. My Chinese isn’t good either!)

(I should stick to taking photos.) (Tian, Chinese)
This initial content analysis of the corpus also reveals participant stances regard-
ing the English they use on Flickr and their perceived knowledge of English in gen-
eral. The construction of these statements conforms to the two most common types
of stance mentioned earlier—epistemic and affective stances. These evaluations of
English skills are constructed epistemically by expressing knowledge of English (for
example, “I don’t know English”), or affectively, expressing feelings about their Eng-
lish using adjectives common in evaluations (for example, “My English is bad”). In
addition, these types of stances are expressed in similar linguistic structures: exten-
sive use of first-person singular pronouns “I” and “my”; and words that denote pos-
session, such as “my own English,” thus claiming ownership of their “poor” English.
These linguistic means also serve as means of self-positioning in such stance-taking
acts.

Motivations for Claiming Knowledge of English on Flickr

Although it was not my intention to judge a particular participant’s English, what
struck me in many instances was that a participant’s written English on Flickr was
indeed highly communicative, despite his or her negative self-evaluations. This was
taken up further in the email interviews. When interviewees were asked why they
made such explicit comments about their own English skills on Flickr, their responses
were quite divided. A number of them worried about possible communication break-
downs if their readers did not understand their English:
I scare I write something funny mistakes or peoples don’t understood me.
(digikid, Finnish)
By the same token, some considered the image that they might project to their
target audience if they did not use correct English. Thus, admitting to limited profi-
ciency in English (which may well be interpreted as being modest) is an act of po-
liteness, a request to others to accept their errors in English. This is illustrated by
Amilia’s explanation:
I think by telling people that my English is not good, so they can accept that;
“Oh, his English isn’t good enough, that’s why there is some grammar error in
his photo’s description/title.” when there is a grammar error in my photo’s
description or titles. (Amilia, Malaysian)
A similar idea is expressed by Celia, who pointed out that she could not tolerate er-
rors in her native language:
Warning people not to know English, because in Portuguese bother me much
spelling mistakes and grammatical serious!
For some users, by contrast, telling others how much English they know or do
not know projects a sense of self, in that knowledge of English is part of the identity
that they would like to project on Flickr:
80 CARMEN LEE

Well, I don’t think it’s so important to tell people how my english is. . . . my
poor english level is a part of me. So I thought it was right to notice this point.
(Mika, French)

These interview excerpts show that this self-deprecation is more than simply an
act of devaluing oneself or being modest. Telling others how much English one knows
or does not know serves a meaningful purpose on Flickr. From the limited set of in-
terview data collected, it is apparent at least that talking about their English-language
skills allows Flickr users to build rapport, to ensure mutual intelligibility, and to ne-
gotiate identity in the Flickr world.

Competence, Participation, and Learning in Affinity Spaces

These seemingly negative comments about English-language skills are indeed taken
by participants quite positively—and even playfully as demonstrated by type 6 of the
content analysis. For one thing, switching languages is certainly an indication of a
person’s readiness to communicate. Flickr members speaking different languages are
willing to write captions and comments in English because they view English as a
language common to all Flickr members, even though many participants said they
do not use English outside Flickr (Lee and Barton 2009).
The data are also evidence of people’s strong desire to participate and display
competence on Flickr. Competence broadly refers to expert skills and the knowledge
one needs in order to become a legitimate member of a given community (Lave and
Wenger 1991). For many Flickr participants, being competent in English is indeed
central to Flickr membership. They are also aware that linguistic competence can be
constantly negotiated. This is often achieved through the act of self-evaluation, as pre-
sented in this chapter. Evaluation is an act of alignment and positioning in discourse
(Du Bois 2007). Again using the concept of stance-taking, I argue that by reposition-
ing themselves as less-than-competent English speakers by making self-deprecatory
comments such as “My English is so poor,” people are negotiating their identities so
that they will be accepted by others as legitimate participants on Flickr. And these
negative self-evaluations are indeed a central discourse type in such negotiations.
In addition to negotiating membership, a great deal of social networking is also
initiated by explicitly declaring one’s own English-language abilities. A case in point
is a photo page that belongs to CB, a German speaker, that displays a picture of her
Japanese-style bento lunch. Underneath the photo, CB wrote her photo title and cap-
tion in English:

Bentolunch for tomorrow (Friday)

Today my new bentobox arrived! It’s a pretty bentobox with a little bunny on
the top.

Of course I had to use it, so I prepared my bento for tomorrow quickly ^.^

(Sorry, I know my English is so so bad! I definitly have to learn it better .. T.T

“MY ENGLISH IS SO POOR . . . SO I TAKE PHOTOS” 81

This photo description, although written in quite good English, contains what I have
called apologetic evaluation (type 2), written in parentheses: “Sorry, I know my Eng-
lish is so so so bad!!” This, however, brings CB a great deal of encouraging and sup-
portive comments from other Flickr users, who even praise her English. Here are three
of the six comments posted originally below the photo caption:
COMMENTER A: Pretty bento. And I think your English is good!
COMMENTER B: Trust me, your English is a lot better than the English of many
native speakers. ^_!
CB: thank you so much, [commenter A]. . . . I learned english for 5
years at school, but I think it isn’t good enough for that ><”
Hehe, nice to meet you, [commenter B]!! Your comment is so
nice ^.^
All of the comments (including the one written by CB herself) interestingly point to
CB’s remark about her English being “so so so bad,” instead of the actual content of
the image, or the description of the bento lunch underneath. In response to such
encouraging comments, CB, while expressing her gratitude, stresses again that her
English “isn’t good enough.” What seems to be a traditional compliment-giving-and-
response sequence serves to build solidarity between CB and her Flickr friends. This
short exchange clearly demonstrates how such seemingly negative metalinguistic dis-
course about English can shape social networks and widen participation on Flickr.
Apart from the standard apologetic type of discourse about her own English, my
attention was also drawn to CB’s commitment to learning. She says in the photo cap-
tion, “I definitly have to learn it better . . . T.T (crying emoticon).” Her commitment
to learning and self-improvement allows her to reposition herself as an active lan-
guage learner with a positive attitude. It seems that her perceived poor English is ac-
tually one of the strongest motivations behind her participation on Flickr. This kind
of self-improvement and learning discourse (type 5) is indeed very prominent in my
data; users often follow laments about their “poor English” with declarations of their
commitment to learning better English through active participation on Flickr. This
commitment to self-improvement is common discourse throughout Flickr (Barton
2012). Positive comments and feedback from other members also provide a friendly,
supportive, and relatively safe environment in which informal learning can take place
(see also Davies and Merchant 2009). This resonates with Gee’s (2004) notion of affin-
ity spaces, which helps to explain the presence of discourse about “learning better
English” on Flickr. Affinities are Gee’s response to the traditional notion of commu-
nities of practice (Lave and Wenger 1991). Unlike communities of practice, affini-
ties do not assume static group membership, but bring people of all backgrounds
together in pursuit of common interests and goals. Most importantly, in an affinity
space, all kinds of knowledge are welcomed and valued. Flickr is certainly one such
space. Even though Flickr users see English as the dominant language of interaction,
English, non-English, and even “poor English” are acknowledged and valued. After
all, this learning space is defined by the common endeavor of photography, and to a
lesser extent, social networking.
82 CARMEN LEE

Conclusions: Talking about Language on Web 2.0

This chapter reveals the ways in which English is discussed on one popular Web 2.0
site, and provides an overview of the possible types of discourse about English and
language learning on Flickr. A microexample of a photo page from one user (CB)
has been used to demonstrate how these discourses are embedded and situated in the
context of a Flickr photo page. My findings show that on Flickr, people, especially
those who do not speak English as their native language, often talk about English and
learning it; evaluate their own and others’ knowledge of English; are motivated Eng-
lish learners; and regularly reflect upon their folk linguistic theories (Niedzielski and
Preston 2000). Whereas my focus herein is English on Flickr, future research may
look into how online participants talk about other languages used in social media such
as YouTube (Androutsopoulos 2011; Benson 2010).
I also specifically demonstrate that seemingly negative evaluations of one’s own
English-language proficiency are not simply born of modesty or self-abasement; ex-
plicitly acknowledging one’s limited knowledge of English is indeed a powerful tool
on Flickr—it encourages social networking, widens participation, and supports in-
formal learning. The study also reveals the ways in which Flickr provides unique op-
portunities to create a collaborative, supportive environment for ordinary people to
express their vernacular and nonlinguistic theories of language through self-gener-
ated multimodal content, including images and the written word.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank Deborah Tannen and Anna Marie Trester for their insightful comments and editorial
suggestions. I thank David Barton for commenting on an earlier draft of this paper. I am also grateful to
participants at GURT 2011 who provided useful feedback on my presentation.

NOTE
1. Permissions have been sought from Flickr users to reproduce the screenshot (fig. 4.1) and the text
from CB’s photo page. All Flickr usernames in this chapter are pseudonyms.

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5
“Their Lives Are So Much Better Than Ours!”
The Ritual (Re)construction of Social Identity in Holiday Cards

J E N NA M A H AY
Concordia University Chicago

Introduction

TWO YEARS AGO I received one of those professionally printed holiday photo cards from
some close friends who had recently moved to France. It was a particularly nice one.
It was printed on heavy cardstock and opened up like a card you might buy at the
store—except that it had their own pictures on it. On the front were two photos of
their family of four, accompanied by the words “Joyeux Noel” and an elegant design.
It opened up to four more photos on the left-hand side of their two children having
fun in various leisure time activities, with a preprinted narrative of the highlights of
the past year on the right-hand side. My four-year old daughter looked at it, and upon
seeing the photos of her friends, asked me to read it to her. I had a feeling that some-
how this was not going to go well. I read to her about their wonderful new life in
France, the castles they had visited, how the kids loved their private school, and how
quickly they were picking up French. Their dog, Jack, was having a fine time chas-
ing birds in the vineyard behind their house. Sure enough, as soon as I finished read-
ing, my daughter burst into tears. “Their lives are so much better than ours!” And
then came, “I want to move somewhere. I feel like I’ve been here for a hundred years!”
While contemplating whether I should remind her that she had not yet been on this
earth even five years, I was struck by the clarity with which she recognized, and the
directness with which she articulated, the aspects of both status and elite mobility be-
ing conveyed in this card. Out of the mouths of babes . . .
The seeds of this analysis were actually planted quite a few years ago, when I
first started receiving holiday cards that had been created using the (then-new) digi-
tal technology in which the individual uploads his or her own photos to a website and
designs one’s own holiday card with them, selecting various designs and greetings
provided by the website. The card is then professionally printed by an internet-based
company and shipped back to the individual, who then sends them to everyone on
his or her list. I remember being somewhat surprised to see pictures of our friends
on top of Mount Kilimanjaro, on the beach, and in Sicily on their honeymoon printed
on the holiday cards they sent us. While dutifully hanging them on the wall, I won-

85
86 JENNA MAHAY

dered to myself, “What does this have to do with Christmas?” As I watched the hol-
iday photo card technology develop, it seemed that these cards became less about
wishing someone happy holidays, and more about something else. To be sure, holi-
day cards have always communicated something about the sender’s social identity and
status. But the introduction of the technology to create one’s own customized profes-
sional-quality holiday photo cards online has turned them into something more.
This study analyzes holiday photo cards on two of the leading high-end photo
card retail websites from a sociological perspective. The study systemically exam-
ines the images, text, and design of these cards, as well as how they are described on
the retail websites. I first briefly review the relevant literature on the performance and
construction of social identity, and then describe the data and methods, findings, and
conclusions of this study. My analysis shows that the availability of the digital tech-
nology that allows one to create one’s own customized holiday photo cards has turned
the holiday card tradition into a powerful medium for constructing and displaying
one’s own social identity in terms of class and status, but also in terms of member-
ship within the hegemonic family ideal. Further, this analysis finds that a powerful
part of what is ultimately communicated and reinforced through these holiday photo
cards is a normative ideal of happiness itself. And finally, the ability to create one’s
own professional quality holiday photo cards adds legitimacy and authority to one’s
constructed social identity and the ideals portrayed.

The (Re)construction of Social Identity

Holiday photo cards can be seen as an important aspect of one’s “performance” of
social identity from an interactionist perspective (Goffman 1959). Previous re-
search has examined other forms of sent communication, such as greeting cards
and vacation postcards, as a performance of social identity (West 2010; Thurlow
and Jaworski 2010), but holiday cards are somewhat different in that they are sent
on an annual basis to a wider social network and are infused and legitimated by the
wider social meanings of the holidays. For many, the holiday card is the only com-
munication they have with much of their extended social network, and is thus a pri-
mary means of performing the family’s social identity for a number of people.
Even for those with whom one does have regular contact, holiday photo cards are
powerful symbolic expressions, in crystallized form, of the sender’s self, sent on
an annual basis.
Goffman (1959) has noted that in American culture, status is one of the primary
things being communicated in any performance. The holiday photo card can signify
status in a number of ways, primarily through the cultural and economic capital rep-
resented in an elite holiday photo card. Bourdieu (1986) has theorized several differ-
ent aspects of cultural capital, the most relevant being embodied cultural capital,
which he defines as “long-lasting dispositions of the mind and body” to understand
and appreciate cultural goods, tastes, and styles that are validated and defined as pres-
tigious. Bourdieu also defines objectified cultural capital as the objects that require
this special knowledge to understand, use, and appreciate (Bourdieu 1986; see also
Mohr and DiMaggio 1995). To create elite holiday photo cards, one must have the
cultural knowledge of what constitutes prestigious design, quality materials, and aes-
“THEIR LIVES ARE SO MUCH BETTER THAN OURS!” 87

thetically pleasing photos. Additionally, one must possess all of the technical appa-
ratus and expertise to take the digital photo (or have it professionally taken), upload
it to the computer, then upload it to one of the more prestigious online retailers (one
must know which website to go to), and from there create one’s own distinctive card.
The holiday photo card also indexes the leisure time available to construct this
rather elaborate and time-consuming performance. Thus, in the making of holiday
photo cards, an objectified form of cultural capital, one demonstrates embodied cul-
tural capital. Because cultural capital is perceived as a combination of an “innate
property and the merits of acquisition,” it thus functions as symbolic capital—unrec-
ognized as capital and seen as “legitimate competence,” thereby translated into re-
spectability and honorability (Bourdieu 1984).
Cultural objects also gain meaning in their movement through social space. As
Jaffe remarks about greeting cards, although they are private, their journey from the
store to the purchaser’s home to being signed, addressed, stamped, mailed, and deliv-
ered adds a “layer of public declaration” to its meaning (1999, 137). Thus, Jaffe finds
that an anniversary card invokes not just the private details of the couple’s relation-
ship, but the public nature and meaning of marriage. Similarly, a holiday card can in-
voke not just good wishes from one particular family to another, but the public
meaning of family, happiness, and holidays.

Data and Methods

This study is based on qualitative analysis of holiday photo cards shown on two of
the leading high-end holiday photo card retail websites, Shutterfly and Tiny Prints. I
also conducted a quantitative analysis of the family forms represented on the 644 hol-
iday cards displayed on the larger of these websites, Shutterfly. The sample cards
shown on the websites can be seen as reflecting consumer behavior (demonstrating
who is likely to purchase the product and why); the websites themselves are a place
where interested individuals learn how these cards are supposed to look and who is
meant to put their photos on holiday cards.

Representations of Class and Status

Qualitative analysis reveals a number of ways in which holiday photo cards can com-
municate status. First, the aesthetics of the card signify elite status. Indeed, this is the
way cards are sold on the higher-end websites; leading retailers emphasize the style
that is being sent rather than the message:
Send a touch of the French countryside with this charming red and green holi-
day card. Personalize it with three favorite photos and a unique message.
(shutterfly.com, fig. 5.1)
Vintage elegance. Ornate flourishes in a sage-green hue and a cocoa-brown
border frames a favorite photo in this holiday card. Add your family’s name to
traditional season’s greetings. (shutterfly.com)
Simplify your holiday style in a refined and elegant way with this luxe mono-
grammed holiday photo card from Picturebook. This sophisticated design is
sure to impress with its sleek and timeless look. (tinyprints.com)
88 JENNA MAHAY

Figure 5.1 Figure captured from the Shutterfly website.

In all of these examples, it is the style that is foregrounded and most important,
rather than the message. In the first example, clearly what is being sent here is the
elite status signified by the “French countryside,” with the holiday wishes as an af-
terthought. In the second example, words such as “vintage,” “sage-green hue,” and
“cocoa-brown border” require a certain embodied cultural capital to identify it as sig-
nifying an elite aesthetic. In this example, the photos of one’s family are literally
placed inside the frame of one’s cultural capital and sent to everyone in one’s social
network. The third example, from Tiny Prints, uses words such as “refined,” “elegant,”
“sleek,” and “timeless” to signify the aesthetic of those with high cultural capital. In
this example, the card is also monogrammed with the family’s initial, another sign of
distinction. Both of the leading high-end websites allow consumers to choose from
a variety of different design collections by different named designers, much as one
would purchase couture clothing.
Similarly, West (2010) found that for those with higher cultural capital (mea-
sured by occupation and educational attainment), greeting cards are more an expres-
sion of taste than of sentiment. The style of representation takes priority, reflecting
those in the middle and upper classes who are divorced from the necessities and prac-
ticalities of everyday life. They do not focus on the usefulness of objects so much
as the form of objects and what they represent. West (2010) has also found that in
the selection of greeting cards, consumers with relatively high cultural capital pri-
oritize card design over written sentiment, and thereby perform exclusivity through
taste—even in the form of mass culture. The focus on the aesthetics of the card over
the message indexes the “leisure and education that result in the appreciation of ob-
jects and activities with complex codes” (365). Thus, the creation of these holiday
photo cards are a performance of embodied cultural capital—knowledge, taste, and
competence.
“THEIR LIVES ARE SO MUCH BETTER THAN OURS!” 89

Interestingly, the cards displayed on the retail websites also highlight the fact that
consumers can add their own unique message, reflecting the idea that those with high
cultural capital also typically seek greeting cards that “announce their separateness
from an industrialized mode of production” (West 2010, 368). They look for cards
that show uniqueness, individuality, and creativity so as to distinguish themselves from
the mass market. Thus, the ability to customize holiday photo cards online also pro-
vides a prime tool for the performance of cultural capital, and the retailers have
clearly tapped into this.
In addition to the ability to add one’s own unique message, another way of distin-
guishing oneself from the mass market is the complex, foldout designs of the cards
themselves. On their website, Tiny Prints writes, “Showcase your family’s sweet style
this season with a truly unique Tri-Fold Accordion Card from Petite Alma featuring an
eclectic design of inviting hues and a checkered format that will make your moments
even more delightful!” (emphasis mine). The “family’s sweet style” here is signified by
the unique form of the card itself, not just the message. Clearly, the consumer’s desire
for differentiation is reflected, and in the text quoted above, the retailer emphasizes that
this is how a family’s style is showcased in its performance for others.
One distinguishing feature of Tiny Prints that is informative for the cultural cap-
ital argument here is that Tiny Prints advertises that their “skilled designers” review
each holiday card that is created on their website to ensure the card makes the cor-
rect impression: “Skilled designers will review your tri-fold holiday card orders for
layout, spelling and etiquette to ensure that all of your tri-fold holiday cards are ex-
ceptional. Trust us with your photo holiday cards and you’ll be sure to excite every-
one on your photo holiday card list” (Tiny Prints n.d.). This highlights the fact that
these cards are intended to index cultural capital in terms of design and cultural
knowledge. Those who can afford to purchase their holiday cards on Tiny Prints are
assured that their card will achieve the desired effect. Yet because it is designed by
the consumer, the role of economic capital is hidden, and converted into a more le-
gitimate, seemingly meritocratic competency, or cultural capital.
As is true of all cards, the quality of materials signifies not only cultural capital
but also the price of the card, and therefore the economic capital of the sender. Cards
are advertised as being printed on “premium cardstock” (Shutterfly n.d.), and the web-
sites assume consumers possess sufficient technical knowledge about paper quality
to appreciate the cards’ “110 lb, 15 pt thickness” (Tiny Prints n.d.).
A new feature that these leading retailers offer is a more professionalized ver-
sion of the holiday newsletter that is often enclosed in the traditional store-bought
holiday card. Shutterfly now offers the “Story Card” (fig. 5.2), about which cus-
tomers are told: “Decorate their mantle with four lovely ribbon ornaments holding
four lovely photos. There’s room to tell your Christmas story with updates from sev-
eral months of the year. A delightfully dotted border frames this Christmas card”
(Shutterfly n.d.). The updates on this card feature middle- and upper-class activities
such as a piano recital and horseback riding lessons, another way in which the elite
“style of life” (Bourdieu 1984) of those with high cultural capital is indexed. The chil-
dren’s photos are literally turned into ornaments on this card. In addition, the web-
site invites customers to consider not only how their recipients will view the card, but
90 JENNA MAHAY

Figure 5.2 Figure captured from the Shutterfly website.

also how the card will look showcased in the recipients’ home (“Decorate their man-
tle”), thus expanding the card’s visibility to the recipient’s social networks.
The professional quality of the story card created on these websites also allows
the purported truth of the message on the card to be taken for granted, since the au-
thor’s hand becomes invisible. As Jaffe notes, there is a “kind of certainty embedded
in the card as commodity: freedom from the requirement to grapple with the contin-
gent, socially constructed nature of meaning” (1999, 133). The writer’s hand is back-
grounded, made invisible in these professionally printed photo holiday story cards.
The story is somehow legitimated and the meaning is in a sense publically declared.
Finally, let us consider what is actually shown in the photos themselves. Many
photos on the holiday cards analyzed herein show the family in various acts of con-
spicuous leisure, most commonly on the beach or at a ski resort (fig. 5.3). Holiday
cards featuring vacation photos reflect what Bauman (1998, 2000) and others have
described as the social inequality in spatial mobility. Holiday cards of the elite typi-
cally include images and narratives highlighting travel for tourism and leisure. As
noted by Thurlow and Jaworski (2010), being a global traveler is recognized as an
elite status and is aspired to in today’s world. Even more so is the global traveling
family, as this is an even more expensive and impressive endeavor. Vacation postcards
serve to provide evidence of where the tourist has been and what they have seen, ver-
ifying the authenticity of the tourist’s experience and thus identity as a tourist (Thur-
low and Jaworski 2010), but the holiday card goes one step further—showing the
family itself on the beach or other exotic location (rather than a generic card of the
“THEIR LIVES ARE SO MUCH BETTER THAN OURS!” 91

Figure 5.3 Figure captured from the Shutterfly website.

landscape bought off the rack). This unquestionably identifies the entire family as
members of the modern elite globalized community. The holiday card may be thought
of as a kind of membership card that must be renewed yearly, for this is an identity
that must be continually performed in order to maintain its veracity.
Writing travel into the annual holiday card is a way of weaving this elite mobility
into their social identity as a family, situating them in a particular socioeconomic strata.
Families are no longer just sending vacation postcards or showing pictures to others
upon returning from a trip. By printing these vacation photos on their annual holiday
cards, tourism is no longer a temporary performance, but literally written into their iden-
tity of who they are as a family and sent to every person in their social network. Although
the discourse of tourist postcards often refers to the transience of the touristic state and
demarcations of here (vacation) and there (back home [Thurlow and Jaworski 2010]),
printing vacation photos onto holiday cards blurs these boundaries. The extraordinary
experiences and alternate state of the touristic period—the escape from the daily
grind—are (re)constructed to represent the normal, so-called real, everyday life of the
family. Vacation photos are no longer relegated to the inside of a photo album, or even
to one’s social media website where they wait for others to look at them. By putting them
on a physical holiday card and sending them to everyone in one’s social network, oth-
ers are obligated not only to view but to display them in their own homes.
Thus, the images printed on holiday photo cards are a powerful way of communi-
cating meaning without having to state it outright. Jaffe argues that greeting cards are
socially useful because they “do interactional work that is delicate or difficult” (1999,
125). In this case, the images shown in photos, and the style of the card, communicate
meaning that is neither easy—nor socially acceptable—to put in words. Thus, the photo
holiday card may be one of the only socially acceptable ways to display status to per-
sons in one’s social network with whom one has little other interaction.

Holiday Cards, the Hegemonic Family Ideal, and Happiness

The holiday cards on the leading websites both reflect and reinforce the hegemonic ideal
of the first-time married heterosexual nuclear family with young children. The vast ma-
92 JENNA MAHAY

jority (82 percent) of holiday cards shown by the online holiday card retailers studied
here include two-parent families with children, most with more than one child. Accord-
ing to recent analyses, however, only 17 percent of US households consist of a married
couple with any children under the age of eighteen (White et al. 2011). In the holiday
cards shown on the online retail websites, if the parents are depicted with only one child,
that child is usually young, with the promise or expectation of more to come. Only rarely
is a couple shown with only one older child. Only 2 percent of the online retailer cards
analyzed show only a mother or father with the child, although this represents 5.6 per-
cent of all US households (White et al. 2011). However, in cards that do show only a
mother or father with the child, the other parent is still present in the text. All of the one-
parent cards shown on the websites listed the names of the individual people in the fam-
ily that it was sent from, and in each case the other parent was listed as well (see fig. 5.4).
In cards with only a couple (no children), the couple is almost always young, in
love, often at their wedding, and clearly a child is imminent. For example, the couples
without children are almost always portrayed in a private moment of romantic tender-
ness, and in one card featured on the website, the couple is actually pictured lying to-
gether on the bed in what one would imagine to be a postcoital moment. What we do
not see are pictures of older couples who have clearly chosen not to have children, or
older couples whose children have left the household. There were also no same-sex
couples or families represented; the cards show an entirely heterosexual world.

Figure 5.4 Figure captured from the Shutterfly website.

“THEIR LIVES ARE SO MUCH BETTER THAN OURS!” 93

Cards that feature multiple photos show various different socially valued dimen-
sions of the hegemonic family. One typical card (fig. 5.5) shows a picture of each of
the following dimensions of the family: (1) the whole family unit together, including
the mother, father, and two children; (2) the two children together in a moment of
sibling bonding; (3) each child individually, to celebrate the uniqueness of each; and
(4) the husband-and-wife couple bond. The last dimension is sometimes foregone,
perhaps again reflecting the primacy of children in the hegemonic family ideal.
In addition, all of the holiday cards shown on the websites depict families in
which every family member shares the same last name: for example, “Happy Holi-
days from the Horton Family.” The three words at the end of that sentence are a pow-
erful signifier of both the form of the hegemonic family ideal and the sender’s
accomplishment of it. Signing the card from the entire family that shares one last name
emphasizes the primacy of the family unit and the likelihood that this is a first mar-
riage. In families with children from a previous marriage, the children may have dif-
ferent last names and the family cannot sign the card in this way. In addition, women
who kept their own last names after marriage in order to maintain their individual
social identities cannot sign the card in this socially approved way. On rare occasions
only the first names of those in the family were printed on the cards, with no last
names; perhaps this is a way for different families to send holiday photo cards while
hiding the fact that they do not meet this hegemonic ideal of the family. This allows
families to save face and still represent themselves as part of this ideal even if they
have not lived up to it in reality. In no cases were different last names printed on a
holiday card shown on the retail websites. This implies that only those who have ac-
complished this hegemonic family ideal (or who [re]construct themselves as having
achieved this ideal) should put their photos on holiday cards.
Not only is the hegemonic family ideal communicated in these cards, but also the
very definition of happiness. This is accomplished in large part by the relationship be-
tween the messages printed on the cards and the images placed next to them. Many

Figure 5.5 Figure captured from the Tiny Prints website.

94 JENNA MAHAY

Figure 5.6 Figure captured from the Shutterfly website.

cards featured images of family togetherness among the sender’s family, with the mes-
sage, “May your holidays be filled with love and laughter.” The recipient is in a sense
forced not only to define “love and laughter” as shown by the images of joyful fam-
ily moments with young children behind the words, but also that this is what makes
holidays happy—that this is what one should wish for around the holidays. It also in-
vites the recipient to make a direct comparison between one’s own holiday family ex-
periences and those depicted in the carefully constructed images of the sender’s family.
Many cards shown on the websites simply had a picture of a young child or chil-
dren with the word “Joy” printed over it (figs. 5.6, 5.7). In fact, one common design

Figure 5.7 Figure captured from the Shutterfly website.

“THEIR LIVES ARE SO MUCH BETTER THAN OURS!” 95

Figure 5.8 Figure captured from the Shutterfly website.

features the word “Joy” with a picture of the child(ren) in the middle of the O, liter-
ally inserted into the middle of the word (fig. 5.8). Clearly, the child is the very def-
inition of happiness. Another card features a photo of three children together with
the words “Happy Everything” (fig. 5.9). According to the calculus of the photo cards
featured on the retail websites then, having one child defines joy, while having three
children defines everything that is happy.
Similarly, although with added moral weight, a card on Tiny Prints features a
photo of a young child with “Blessed” printed in large script over the bottom of the
image, with the words “so much to be grateful for this holiday season” printed un-
derneath (fig. 5.10). The metamessage is clearly that even being blessed means hav-
ing young children.

Figure 5.9 Figure captured from the Shutterfly website.

96 JENNA MAHAY

Figure 5.10 Figure captured from the Tiny Prints website.

Discussion
The availability of the technology to create one’s own professional-quality customized
photo card has transformed the annual holiday card ritual into an important project
of identity (re)construction. Through the holiday photo card, one displays both cul-
tural and economic capital to everyone in one’s extended network. The holiday photo
card requires extensive cultural capital in order to understand and use the technology
required, as well as to select the prestigious designs, colors, layouts, and paper qual-
ity. Images of both conspicuous leisure and elite mobility are also prominently dis-
played—and now printed within the card itself—giving it a legitimacy and authority
never before enjoyed.
In addition to class and status, however, the holiday photo card prominently dis-
plays the hegemonic family ideal. Taken together, the cards communicate powerful
messages about status, family, and even the definition of happiness (or being blessed)
through the combination of the images, text, and the physical qualities of the card.
The card’s messages are given added weight by the card’s construction and movement
through social space, as well as the cultural context (the holidays) in which the card
is sent. In all, recent advances in digital technology have created a privileged way of
displaying social identity in holiday photo cards that both reflects and reinforces eco-
nomic and social power through this annual ritual.

REFERENCES
Bauman, Zygmunt. 1998. Globalization: The human consequences. New York: Columbia University Press.
———. 2000. Liquid modernity. Cambridge: Polity.
Bourdieu, Pierre. 1984. Distinction: A social critique of the judgment of taste. Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press.
———. 1986. Forms of capital. In Handbook of theory and research for the sociology of education, ed.
John G. Richardson, 241–58. New York: Greenwood Press.
Goffman, Erving. 1959. The presentation of self in everyday life. New York: Doubleday.
“THEIR LIVES ARE SO MUCH BETTER THAN OURS!” 97

Jaffe, Alexandra. 1999. Packaged sentiments: The social meanings of greeting cards. Journal of Material
Culture 4:115–41.
Mohr, John, and Paul DiMaggio. 1995. The intergenerational transmission of cultural capital. Research in
Social Stratification and Mobility 14:167–99.
Shutterfly. n.d. shutterfly.com.
Thurlow, Crispin, and Adam Jaworski. 2010. Tourism discourse: Language and global mobility. London:
Palgrave Macmillan.
Tiny Prints. n.d. tinyprints.com.
West, Emily. 2010. A taste for greeting cards: Distinction within a denigrated cultural form. Journal of
Consumer Culture 10:362–82.
White, Jeremy, Ford Fessenden, Sergio Pecanha, and Matthew Ericson. 2011. How many households are
like yours? New York Times, June 17. www.nytimes.com/interactive/2011/06/19/nyregion/how-many-
households-are-like-yours.html.
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6
The Medium Is the Metamessage
Conversational Style in New Media Interaction

D E B O R A H TA N N E N
Georgetown University

Introduction

IN 1981 I ORGANIZED the Georgetown University Round Table on Languages and Lin-
guistics “Analyzing Discourse: Text and Talk.” In my introduction to that volume (Tan-
nen 1982a, ix) I explain that I regard “text” and “talk” not as two separate
entities—text as written language and talk as spoken—but rather as “overlapping as-
pects of a single entity”: discourse. I suggested, moreover, that the word “discourse”
is invaluable as a corrective to the tendency to think of spoken and written language
as separate and fundamentally different. Research by many of the participants in that
meeting supported this view. Bright (1982) showed that spoken discourse exhibits
verse markers like those associated with written poetry, and Chafe (1982) demon-
strated that spoken Seneca rituals contain many features of written language. In my
own research (for example, Tannen 1982b), while ostensibly focusing on spoken and
written discourse as well as on orality and literacy, I emphasize that the division is
illusory. I suggest that we think instead of oral and literate strategies that are found
in speaking or writing.
Another major thread of my research has been analyzing everyday conversation.
Early on I developed the notion of “conversational style,” whereby speakers think they
are simply saying what they mean and accomplishing interactional goals, but in do-
ing so they necessarily choose among many options for each of the full range of lin-
guistic phenomena such as pitch, amplitude, length of pauses, rate of speech,
intonational contours, relative directness versus indirectness, discourse structure, and
humor. These relatively automatic choices differ according to numerous cultural in-
fluences. I have tended to emphasize five primary influences: ethnicity, geographical
background, age, class, and gender, while noting that there are innumerable other in-
fluences on style, such as sexual orientation and profession. I have shown, further-
more, that features of conversational style function to communicate not only
messages—the meaning of words—but also metamessages—indications of how
speakers intend what they say and what they are trying to do by saying those words
in that way in that context.

99
100 Deborah Tannen

These two research threads—on one hand, examining spoken and written lan-
guage, and on the other, analyzing everyday conversation—converge in the dis-
course of new media.1 Email, texting, Gchat, IM, SMS, Facebook, and other types
of digital media discourse are widely understood to be written conversation. (For
support of this point see Herring 2010.) In this chapter I build on and reinforce this
view by demonstrating that the discourse of digital media interaction is character-
ized by written linguistic phenomena analogous to those I have identified as con-
stituting conversational style in spoken interaction. I show, furthermore, that
metamessages are conveyed in electronic interaction not only through the forms of
discourse used but also through the choice of medium itself. I hope thus to con-
tribute to an understanding of how new media interaction works, and how it affects
interpersonal relationships.
A subtext of my argument is a response to the widespread the-sky-is-falling
alarm with which many older Americans have responded to young people’s use of
social media. I join Thurlow (2006) and Crystal (2008), among others, in pointing
out that much of what is being done by young people using new media is not, as their
elders often perceive and fear, fundamentally different from what has always been
done with language in social interaction. But doing the same old thing in new ways
can also present new challenges. One such challenge posed by new media is that the
potential metamessages one must take into account increase as the number and type
of media platforms among which one must choose proliferate. Moreover, interpret-
ing new media metamessages is especially challenging because media ideologies, as
Gershon (2010) demonstrates, are emergent and continually evolving, and they tend
to vary greatly not only from one user group to another but also among users in os-
tensibly the same social groups.

Overview
In what follows I begin by defining the term “metamessage” and explaining how I
use it. I then explain and illustrate the linguistic phenomena that constitute conver-
sational style in spoken interaction, with emphasis on the contrast between what I
have dubbed “high-involvement” and “high-considerateness” styles. Next I explain
how I first came to see parallels between regional differences in spoken conversational
style and generational differences in digital discourse style, leading to the metaphoric
characterization of cross-generational new media interaction as a kind of cross-cul-
tural communication. With this as background, I introduce and illustrate social me-
dia analogs to conversational style, showing that differences tend to pattern not only
by generation but also by gender. I then describe an “enthusiasm constraint” charac-
teristic of cross-cultural and cross-regional spoken style. Examples of analogous phe-
nomena in text messages exchanged by women college students include exclamatory
punctuation, repetition, capitalization, and greater message length as unmarked dis-
plays of enthusiasm. The notion that these discursive practices are unmarked is cru-
cial: their use by young women in the examples presented does not signal literal
enthusiasm, but rather is necessary to avoid the impression of apathy or negativity. I
go on to present other digital analogs to metamessages in conversation. Indirectness
is seen in the brevity of text messages and in a link to a YouTube video. Next I con-
THE MEDIUM IS THE METAMESSAGE 101

sider digital analogs to the pacing and pausing of turn exchange in spoken conversa-
tion. Following that I present examples of metamessages communicated by the choice
of medium, including the use of multiple media to send the same message. I next con-
sider medium-related challenges posed by the proliferation of media options. My last
example is of a miscommunication that resulted from the mechanics built into the
digital platform used when sending text messages. In conclusion I suggest that the
alarm with which older adults have greeted young people’s new media practices re-
sembles not only the negativity that commonly accompanies cross-cultural differences
in conversational style but also the alarm that accompanied the introduction of a com-
munication technology that we now accept without question: the printing press.
All the examples I present and discuss are of naturally occurring electronic dis-
course exchanged among friends and family. They were provided by students in my
classes who gave permission for their use and who, along with the interlocutors in
their examples, are identified (or not) according to their preferences.

Metamessages
The concept of metamessages traces to Gregory Bateson’s essay “A Theory of Play
and Fantasy.” Bateson explains that “human verbal communication can operate and
always does at many contrasting levels of abstraction” (1972, 177–78). He illustrates
“the seemingly simple denotative level” with the sentence, “The cat is on the mat.”
He illustrates what he calls “the metacommunicative level” with the sentence, “My
telling you where to find the cat was friendly.”2 Bateson’s notion of metacommuni-
cation is key to his seminal concept of framing. He explains that during a visit to the
Fleishhacker Zoo in San Francisco, he observed monkeys at play and wondered how
a monkey knew that an obviously hostile move, such as a bite, should be interpreted
as play. He concluded that monkeys have a way of communicating the metamessage
“This is play,” thus allowing another monkey to correctly interpret the spirit in which
a bite was intended. In other words, the metamessage signaled the activity the mon-
keys were engaged in. Applying the concept of metamessage to human interaction,
Bateson further explains, “In these, the subject of discourse is the relationship be-
tween the speakers.” He notes that “the vast majority” of metacommunicative mes-
sages are implicit rather than explicit.
When I refer to messages and metamessages in spoken interaction, I am adapt-
ing Bateson’s framework to distinguish meaning at two levels of abstraction. I use
the term “messages” to refer to what Bateson described as the “seemingly simple de-
notative level,” that is, the meaning of the words as they would be decoded by a dic-
tionary and a grammar. My use of the term “metamessages” derives from his concept
of metacommunication, in which “the subject of discourse is the relationship between
the speakers” and is overwhelmingly implicit. That is, metamessages communicate
how a speaker intends a message, or how a hearer interprets a message—what it says
about the relationship that one utters these words in this way in this context.

Conversational Style in New Media Discourse

When the topic of conversation among my peers turns to new media use, especially
texting, I frequently hear comments expressing alarm, disapproval, and scorn toward
102 Deborah Tannen

young people’s tendency to send and receive text messages while engaging in face-
to-face interaction. Most of my peers consider it self-evident that an individual’s at-
tention is owed to the people present, and diverting attention to a handheld device is
self-evidently rude. I also frequently hear the parents of teenagers or young adults
express disapproval, incredulity, and distress because their children often fail to re-
turn phone calls promptly—or at all. Although I tend to be relatively neutral on these
topics, I understand, in an automatic, gut-level way, why parents and other older
adults respond as they do. I was surprised, however, to learn from the students in my
class that they and many of their peers react with incredulity to the suggestion that
exchanging text messages while in company might be rude—and further, that they
regard telephone calls as rude and intrusive, a notion that sparks parallel incredulity
among older adults. These contrasting views, and their association with older and
younger generations, respectively, are reflected in an article in The Washington Post
(Shapira 2010) that quotes a mother’s complaint about her teenage children: “None
of the kids call us back! They will not call you back.” The same article quotes a thirty-
year-old as saying, “There’s something confrontational about someone calling you.”
These mutual accusations and the mutual incredulity they evoke remind me of
a pattern at the heart of my research on cross-cultural differences in conversational
style: the tendency to view one’s own sense of what is rude and what is polite as self-
evident, while regarding differing views as illogical if not disingenuous. A paradig-
matic case of contrasting conversational styles that I have observed, and demonstrate
at length elsewhere (Tannen 2005), is the use of and attitudes toward interruption and
overlap in conversation. Those whose style I identified and described as “high-involve-
ment” often talk along with others as a display of enthusiastic listenership, whereas
those whose style I characterized as “high-considerateness” regard it as self-evident
that only one voice should be heard at a time, so anyone who begins speaking before
another has stopped is obviously—and rudely—interrupting. These contrasting con-
versational styles can be understood as reflecting Robin Lakoff’s (1973, 1975) and
Brown and Levinson’s (1987) politeness schemas. The notion that it is rude to vocal-
ize while another holds the floor corresponds to Brown and Levinson’s negative po-
liteness and Lakoff’s first rule of politeness, “Don’t impose.” The assumption that an
attentive listener should vocalize to show involvement corresponds to Brown and
Levinson’s positive politeness and Lakoff’s third rule of politeness, “Maintain cama-
raderie.” Everyone easily understands why people regard as rude what they perceive
to be interruptions. It may be somewhat less obvious to some that not talking along
can be equally unacceptable to high-involvement-style speakers. This perspective
was articulated by one such speaker to whom I was explaining that high-consider-
ateness style follows Lakoff ’s “Don’t impose” rule of politeness. She responded,
“But the not imposing is so offensive!”
Conversational style differences thus result in mutual accusations of rudeness
regarding overlapping speech: for one group of speakers it is rude to talk along,
whereas to another group it is rude for a listener to just sit there like a bump on a
log. These respective accusations are parallel to cross-generational attitudes toward
use of communication technology: for many members of one generation it is rude
not to return phone calls, whereas for many members of the other, it is rude to make
THE MEDIUM IS THE METAMESSAGE 103

phone calls in the first place. Similarly, whereas members of one group find it rude
to use a handheld device to text while in face-to-face interaction, members of the
other may not—and may, in fact, deem it rude to fail to respond immediately to a
text message, regardless of where they are and what they are doing when it arrives.
Moreover, members of each group regard their own assumptions about what is rude
as self-evident while reacting with disbelief—or worse—to the other group’s con-
trasting assumptions.
I will present one more new media example that struck me, early on, as similar
to patterns I had observed and characterized as cross-cultural differences in conver-
sational style. My student Maddie Howard reported to our class that her brother and
her boyfriend, in explaining why it is not rude to send or receive text messages while
engaged in face-to-face interaction, commented, “But it takes so little time.” This ex-
act explanation reminded me of high-involvement-style speakers’ reactions to the
judgment of high-considerateness-style speakers about a particular interactional prac-
tice. I experienced the practice I have in mind, and its geographic distribution, as a
native of Brooklyn, New York, living in California. Based on my experience grow-
ing up and living as an adult in New York City, I took for granted the appropriate-
ness of the following scenario: A customer in a department store wishes to ask a quick
question, such as “Where is the ladies’ room?” There is no unoccupied salesperson
in sight, so the customer approaches a salesperson who is serving another customer,
and hovers in a conventionalized way. The salesperson glances up, the customer
quickly posits the question, and the salesperson utters a cryptic reply, such as “sec-
ond floor.” The customer says, “Thank you,” and heads to the second floor while the
salesperson returns to the sales encounter. The kinesics of such an exchange are elo-
quent: by hovering at a short distance, the inquirer signals a respect for the primacy
of the ongoing sales encounter; the occupied salesperson maintains a physical orien-
tation to the customer being served, similarly signaling that their encounter is ongo-
ing. The exchange takes only a few seconds and is not perceived by anyone to be an
interruption. When I attempted to initiate an encounter of this type in California, how-
ever, I was stunned to be reprimanded by the salesperson: “I’m serving this customer
now. I’ll help you when I’m finished with her.” My reaction was exactly that expressed
by Maddie Howard’s brother and boyfriend: How could anyone mistake this for an
interruption? It takes so little time. In fact, isn’t it self-evidently rude to expect some-
one to wait a significant period of time—especially someone in need of a ladies’
room—to ask a question so fleeting that the answer could have been delivered in far
fewer words than the salesperson used to articulate the reprimand? I suspect that this
is the logic behind young people’s conviction that it is appropriate to send a brief text
message while in face-to-face interaction: not only does the exchange of text mes-
sages take too little time to constitute an interruption, but it would furthermore be
rude to keep the sender waiting for needed information when providing that infor-
mation takes so little time.
As a native of New York City and a high-involvement-style speaker, I continue
to see self-evident logic and advantage to the conversational routine I have just de-
scribed. As an analyst of conversational interaction, I can see the logic of both per-
spectives, and can understand why the same behavior can be seen as polite in one
104 Deborah Tannen

part of the country but rude in another. In the following sections I show that parallel
processes of contrasting interactional routines can characterize gender- and genera-
tion-related differences in new media discursive practices.

Markers of Enthusiasm and Intensity

Many aspects of social media discourse that tend to differ from one group to another
can be understood as associated with high-involvement as contrasted with high-con-
siderateness conversational style. In my previous work (Tannen 1986, 2005), I de-
scribe these different conversational styles with reference to geographic region and
ethnicity. Among users of new media, the differing uses—and contrasting interpre-
tations of those uses—tend to pattern by age and gender. I begin by exploring in more
depth the expression of enthusiasm and its relation to gender.
An element of high-involvement style in spoken conversation is what I call an
“enthusiasm constraint.” An example I examine elsewhere (Tannen 1986) was pro-
vided by a Greek woman. She recalled that when she was a young girl, if she asked
her father whether she could go somewhere, and he answered, “An thes, pas” (“If you
want, you can go”), she knew that she should not go, because his approval had been
unenthusiastic. If he had really approved, he would have said something more like
“Nai, na pas” (“Yes, you should go”). I also describe a cross-cultural difference with
regard to the enthusiasm constraint within an American family. A mother who had
been raised in New York City was raising her own children in Vermont. When they
told her of some event in their lives, she frequently responded with expressive lexical
and paralinguistic features such as, “Wow! Oh my god!” In her high-involvement
style, her word choice and emphatic voice quality showed enthusiastic interest and at-
tention. Her children, however, who had learned a relatively high-considerateness
style, would look around to see what had frightened their mother. When they realized
she was responding to them, they’d groan, “Oh, Mom! It’s not THAT big a deal!” They
were certain that her overreaction was a personality quirk unique to their mother.
These expectations with regard to the expression of enthusiasm vary by cultural
or regional background: Greek in my first example, and New York City compared with
New England in the second. Parallel patterns have been described by Baron (2004)
and Herring (2003) as characterizing gender-related expectations of expressiveness
in electronic exchanges, such as in young women’s greater use of emoticons. The stu-
dents in my classes have found similar patterns. Examples of text message and email
exchanges that they have gathered demonstrate that gender differences in the use of
new media conventions for the expression of emotion constitute a kind of cross-cul-
tural communication and potential miscommunication.

Example 1: Contrasting Expectations of

Enthusiasm Markers
A student in my class found evidence of a kind of cross-cultural miscommunication
in an instant message (IM) exchange she had with her younger brother, who was at-
tending a college situated midway between their hometown and Washington, DC,
where Georgetown University is located. The exchange began when she sent her
brother the following IM:
THE MEDIUM IS THE METAMESSAGE 105

Hey! So, I have an idea for President’s Day Weekend!

Her brother responded,
Oh God, you and your ideas . . . what is it?
The student did not react explicitly to her brother’s use of sarcasm, a rhetorical de-
vice identified by Herring (1995, 2003) as more common in men’s computer-medi-
ated communication than in women’s. She simply went on to explain her idea: to visit
him on her way home. (Her meaning was unambiguous, although she miswrote “on
the way back”):
I’m gonna go home from Saturday to Monday, but what do you think of me
coming to visit you on the way back? I can take the train and stay over
Thursday and Friday night. We can do something fun during the day on Friday,
it’s supposed to be really nice out!
Her brother replied,
Okay cool. Thursday is fine, but I have a club baseball tournament I’m leaving
for Friday.
Her next message said,
Oh . . . okay. Well we can get dinner and go out on Thursday then??
Her brother responded,
Dinner sounds good. I’ll pick you up at the station.
Her next response showed how she had been interpreting her brother’s messages thus
far. She, too, used sarcasm:
Wow . . . good thing you sound excited . . .
Her brother denied that he had intended to communicate indifference:
What? Sorry, sorry, I am. I am.
The sister reported that she had truly suspected that her brother was not thrilled with
the prospect of her visit, but she later encountered independent evidence that he was.
Not only had he repeated “sorry” and “I am” in his reassurances, but, more impor-
tant, his actions communicated enthusiasm, as he called her repeatedly on the phone
and talked about wanting her to meet his friends. Note the significance—the metames-
sage of enthusiasm—communicated by his choice of technology: the telephone rather
than email.
This example shows that the siblings shared certain assumptions about new me-
dia use, such as the enthusiasm entailed by making telephone calls, but they differed
in expectations of how enthusiasm should be communicated in digital discourse. The
sister, along with other class members, believed that differences regarding the display
of enthusiasm patterned by gender. This observation is supported by Herring and Ze-
lenkauskaite (2009), who found that women tend to use more nonstandard typography,
106 Deborah Tannen

including repeated letters and punctuation, and by Waseleski (2006), who found a sim-
ilar gender pattern in the use of exclamation points. In order to see what made this
young woman suspect that her brother was not enthusiastic about her proposed visit,
we can compare his responses to those of the young woman in the next example.

Example 2: Enthusiasm Markers as Shared Conventions

Example 1 illustrated cross-gender miscommunication due to stylistic differences re-
garding the display of enthusiasm in digital interaction. Example 2, provided by Kim-
berly Garity, demonstrates how an enthusiasm constraint operates in digital media
discourse among young women. It is a text message exchange between Kimberly and
her friend Jillian, who had previously lived in the same dormitory. Jillian wrote,
Hey so I haven’t seen you the ENTIRE week and I reeeally miss you!
What are you doing tonight/tomorrow for meals?
Sorry I had to miss lunch yesterday!
But really, this needs to change because I miss McCarthy 8
only because I can’t just stop by your room to chat!
Here is Kimberly’s response:
I miss you too!!!!!!!!
R you going to Justin and Lance’s tonight??
Slash wanna do din tomorrow??
I can’t wait to catch up on life!!
In analyzing this exchange, Kimberly noted a range of enthusiasm markers, includ-
ing multiple exclamation points (“I miss you too!!!!!!!!” and “I can’t wait to catch
up on life!!”). Even question marks were reduplicated (“R you going to Justin and
Lance’s tonight??” and “Slash wanna do din tomorrow??”). (The word “slash,” which
refers to the typed symbol [/], designates an option or a topic switch—a fascinating
example of how digital discourse represents spoken discourse, even if it means more
keystrokes.) Kimberly observed, however, that these markers of enthusiasm were not
meant literally. Rather, they are expected—unmarked in the linguistic sense. Had she
not used them, it would have been marked; that is, their absence would have carried
special meaning, and her friend might well have concluded that Kimberly was unen-
thusiastic about getting together.
When we discussed this example in class, several women commented that
they regularly repeat the final vowel in the salutation “Hi,” so it reads, for example,
“Hiiii.” A single-i “Hi,” they explained, comes across as cold, even sullen. One stu-
dent reported that she had to tell her mother to please add “i’s” to her salutation to
avoid this impression—even though she knew that her mother did not intend it. Be-
cause reduplicating word-final vowels is unmarked, single vowels in that position
take on negative metamessages for those who have become accustomed to letter rep-
etition as an enthusiasm constraint. As with all elements of conversational style, our
reactions to unexpected style features are emotional and automatic. In that sense,
the impression of coolness conveyed by her mother’s single-i salutation could be seen
as the result of cross-cultural miscommunication. Telling her mother to please add
THE MEDIUM IS THE METAMESSAGE 107

“i’s” is thus parallel to correcting the grammar or pronunciation of a nonnative lan-

guage speaker: the corrector knows what the speaker means, but the utterance does-
n’t sound right.3
A similar example in Arabic was provided by a student from Oman. She received
an email message from a friend with the subject line “Salaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam
sooha,” where “sooha” is a diminutive form of the recipient’s (pseudonymous) name,
and salam, the Arabic equivalent of “hi” rendered in English letters, is emphasized
by repetition—for a total of 23—of the vowel “a.”

Example 3: Volubility versus Taciturnity

If a young man’s omission of conventionalized enthusiasm markers could result in
the mistaken interpretation of negativity by his sister, in other cases the impression
of negativity can be intended. In the following example, which was provided by Lau-
ren Murray, a student (“Mary”—a pseudonym) initiated an IM exchange with a friend
with whom she had had an argument in order to see whether the friend was ready to
put the fight behind them. Here is how the exchange went:

MARY: Hey.
FRIEND: Hi.
MARY: Hey what’s going on? I haven’t talked to you in forever.
FRIEND: Nothing much.
MARY: Cool. How’s work going?
FRIEND: Good. Busy.
MARY: That sucks. Is it fun at all?
FRIEND: Not really.
MARY: Sweet. Have you met any new guys in the office?
FRIEND: Not really.
MARY: Oh, that sucks. Well, I’m sure you will. Ha.
FRIEND: Ha.
MARY: Omg. The other day I heard Pat dropped out of school and is definitely
not going back. I can’t believe it. It’s so terrible. You know?
FRIEND: Cool.
MARY: Oh, yeah. Did you find an apartment yet?
FRIEND: Nope.
MARY: Alrighty then. I guess I’m gonna go now.
FRIEND: Bye.

As this exchange unfolded, it became clear to Mary that her friend was still angry
at her, because all Mary’s attempts to get a conversation going were met with cryp-
tic, usually monosyllabic responses. Perhaps most striking is the reply “Cool” fol-
lowing Mary’s observation that a mutual acquaintance “dropped out of school” and
her evaluation of this news as both surprising (“I can’t believe it”) and regrettable
(“It’s so terrible”).
108 Deborah Tannen

To test whether this expectation of enthusiasm was gender related, Lauren Mur-
ray showed the exchange to seven women and five men and asked for their interpre-
tations. All five men attributed the friend’s short responses to her being busy or
indifferent but not angry. Six of the seven women said that the friend was angry. For
the women, at least, the enthusiasm constraint was at work: terse replies communi-
cated coolness.

Example 4: Repetition and Capitalization

In the next example, as in the preceding one, taciturnity is used to send a negative
metamessage. In addition, this example demonstrates a use of intensity markers that
is parallel to their use in service of the enthusiasm constraint. Example 4, provided
by Jacqueline Fogarty, illustrates the use of enthusiasm markers in the issuing of an
apology.
Jackie and a number of friends had gathered in order to go somewhere together.
As everyone in the group piled into taxis, only Jackie was left awaiting a last mem-
ber of the group, who had been delayed. Finding herself alone, Jackie sent the fol-
lowing (sarcastic) text message to a friend who was among the group:
Thanks for waiting for Melissa with me thats cool
The friend responded,
JACKIE I AM SO SO SO SORRY! I thought you were behind us in the cab
and then I saw you weren’t!!!!! I feel soooooooo bad! Catch another cab and ill
pay for it for youuuuu
The friend conveyed the sincerity and depth of her apology (either actual or repre-
sented—it is neither possible nor necessary to distinguish) by capitalization (“JACKIE
I AM SO SO SO SORRY!”), multiple exclamation points (“I saw you weren’t!!!!!”),
word repetition (“SO SO SO SORRY”), reduplication of word-final vowels (at the
end of “so” in “I feel soooooooo bad!” and at the end of “you” in “ill pay for it for
youuuuu”).
The repetition of the final vowel in “youuuuu” is particularly interesting, since
its impact is solely visual. When reading “soooooooo,” one can hear the word “so”
with the vowel sound elongated, as one imagines someone saying, “I feel soooooooo
bad!” But repeating the final “u” in “you” doesn’t work the same way. For one thing,
the vowel sound doesn’t reside in the letter “u” but in the double-digit “ou.” More
important, “hearing” the sentence in one’s mind with that sound elongated (“I’ll pay
for it for yooooooooo”) doesn’t sound like anything anyone would say for emphasis.
It seems instead that the reduplication of the word-final letter is a visual means to
provide emphasis and communicate sincerity and depth of emotion, much like the
previously discussed repetition of the final letter in the salutation “Hiiii.”
In reply to her friend’s message, Jackie texted,
no its fine we are walking
In this message, the lack of expressive markers, and the resultant impression of tac-
iturnity, indicated how less than fine it really was. Jackie’s friend then wrote,
THE MEDIUM IS THE METAMESSAGE 109

seriously Jackie please, get a cab, I feel so bad!!!

Here the friend’s repeated final exclamation points indicate the depth of her feelings
and hence the sincerity of her apology. But Jackie was not to be mollified. She replied,
we are walking there its fine.
Throughout this example, the friend uses expressive spelling, capitalization, repeti-
tion, and reduplicated punctuation to send a metamessage of intensity along with her
message of apology. And Jackie’s omission of these features indicates her continu-
ing displeasure and reluctance to let her friend off the hook.

Indirectness and Its Discontents

As far back as Lakoff’s (1973) early work on communicative style, linguists have fo-
cused a great deal of analysis on indirectness in conversation, with its powerful po-
tential to communicate as well as its risk of misinterpretation. Lakoff made clear that
indirectness is fundamental and pervasive in conversational interaction; it is simply
impossible for speakers to make explicit in every utterance all the assumptions, im-
plications, and metamessages intended or, in Goffman’s sense, “given off ”—that is,
communicated unintentionally. Indirectness is pervasive in new media interaction as
well; indeed, the opportunities and the liabilities of indirectness are enhanced by the
constraints of the media themselves.

Example 5: Brevity as Indirectness

The word “cryptic” suggests that brevity can be associated with unstated, even hid-
den, meaning. Thus brevity, which is commonly regarded as characteristic of text mes-
sages, frequently entails ambiguity. Example 5 shows the potential ambiguity inherent
in a one-word text message. Fiona Hanly wrote the following description of the com-
plex potential metamessages that she and her friends took into account when consid-
ering how to interpret a missive composed of a single word:
On Thursday evening, out to dinner with several friends, one of my friends,
Lauren, received a text from a boy she was interested in that read simply:
“Hey.” To which she wondered: what did he mean with “hey?” Did he really
mean just hey? Was he checking to see if she was busy? Was he actually
interested in her like she was interested in him? Was he bored? How should she
respond—should she assume that there was something implied by his text,
address the frame of the conversation, or just respond on the message level he
had set up?
Brevity is a common motivation for texting rather than telephoning: one does not have
to say, “Hello, how are you? Did I call at a bad time?” before getting to the content of
a message. Neither does one have to signal the end or take leave: no “Okay, I’ll talk to
you later” is required, nor even a fleeting “Take care.” This example demonstrates, how-
ever, that the brevity of the text message “Hey” means that the text message could be
interpreted in many different ways, each possible interpretation entailing indirect mean-
ings that could plausibly have been implied—and equally plausibly denied.
110 Deborah Tannen

Example 6: An Electronic Link as Indirectness

Greg Bennett provided another example of indirect meaning interpreted, and possi-
bly implied, by a common new media discursive practice: providing a link in the form
of a URL to be clicked on. The participants in this exchange, a young woman and
young man, were friends, but the woman was beginning to develop a romantic inter-
est in the man. One day, he posted a link on her Facebook wall to a YouTube video
that featured a song with rather romantic lyrics. Pleased that the video seemed to im-
ply that his interest in her was also becoming romantic, she sent him an SMS mes-
sage saying, “Saw the video. Were you trying to say something?” He replied,
“ummmm . . . i just thought it was a cool video. why?” This reply brought her back
down to earth with a thud. She concluded that she had misread his intent: he was not
romantically interested in her after all.
This example illustrates both the communicative potential and the inherent am-
biguity of posting a link to another medium or message, such as a YouTube video—
a form of indirect meaning that is particular to electronic interaction. The example
also parallels gender patterns in conversational style with respect to directness ver-
sus indirectness. In a discussion of conversational style differences regarding indi-
rectness (Tannen 1986, 79), I give the example of a man who had repeatedly asked
a woman coworker to join him for lunch, and was uncertain how literally to interpret
her repeated refusals, which were always accompanied by plausible explanations for
why she was unable rather than unwilling to accept. He tried to clear things up by
asking a direct question: “Do you really mean you can’t, or are you trying to tell me
you don’t want to have lunch with me so I shouldn’t ask again?” Even though the lat-
ter assumption was accurate, the woman could not bring herself to say, “I don’t want
to have lunch with you—ever,” so she said something like, “Oh, well, sure, you know,
it’s a really busy time for me.” His attempt to force her to be direct failed, because
indirectness was the only way she could refuse an invitation.
Looked at from the perspective of conversational style differences with regard
to indirectness, it is possible that the young man who posted the link to a YouTube
video really was developing a romantic interest in the young woman. However, by
posting a link, he was expressing it indirectly. By asking, “Were you trying to say
something?” the young woman was asking him to shift from indirect to direct com-
munication. His seemingly clueless “ummmm . . . i just thought it was a cool
video” might reflect, as she concluded, that she had been wrong to interpret the
link as an indirect expression of romantic interest. However, she might also have
been wrong in drawing this conclusion. It is possible that his response indicated
his discomfort with direct expression of romantic interest rather than a lack of such
interest.
Electronic links, then, can be seen as a form of indirectness that is particular to
and pervasive in electronic interaction.

Pacing and Pausing in Turn-Taking

A final linguistic feature of new media discourse that parallels conversational style in
spoken interaction is relative pacing in the exchange of turns. In spoken conversation,
everyone has a sense of how long a pause is normal within a turn before listeners get
the impression that a current speaker is finished so another is free—or obligated—to
THE MEDIUM IS THE METAMESSAGE 111

take the floor. Elsewhere I demonstrate at length (Tannen 2005) that there are cross-cul-
tural and cross-subcultural differences in pacing and pausing, and that these differences
lead to mutual negative evaluations and frequent misinterpretations. When interlocu-
tors have differing expectations regarding the length of interturn pauses, the one who
expects a shorter pause will get the impression that the other has finished when that other
is simply waiting for the length of pause that signals an open floor. The latter feels that
the former is interrupting and hogging the floor, while the former feels forced to do all
the interactional work with someone who either has nothing to say or is unwilling to say
anything. In both cases, the speed of response has led to interpretations—sometimes
valid, sometimes not—about interlocutors’ intentions and abilities.
In the exchange of electronic messages, it is clear when a sender’s turn has
ended, but interactants must still decide how quickly to respond to messages they re-
ceive, and speed of response carries metamessages with regard to intentions. My stu-
dents tell me that they frequently confer on the appropriate way to respond to
electronic messages, and have advised friends, “Don’t respond right away; you don’t
want to seem desperate.” This advice is predicated on the assumption that a speedy
reply indicates enthusiasm, and that when it comes to the delicate negotiations of ro-
mantic interest, too much enthusiasm equates with desperation. In the same spirit, a
lengthy response time could indicate a lack of enthusiasm. Furthermore, as with spo-
ken conversational style, interpretations can turn out to be mistaken. A student re-
ported that when her boyfriend did not respond quickly to a text message she sent,
she concluded that he was angry at her. It turned out that the reason was merely tech-
nological: his cell phone battery had run out. The interference of such purely techni-
cal phenomena—all electronic equipment can malfunction, break, or run out of
battery power—introduces the risk of unintended meaning that may be seen as a kind
of indirectness particular to electronic interaction.
The examples thus far have illustrated digital discourse analogs to elements of
conversational style in spoken discourse. I first showed that volubility versus tacitur-
nity, capitalization, repetition, and emphatic punctuation can be requisite, unmarked
markers of enthusiasm in digital discourse, particularly among young women. I then
suggested that brevity of text messages, the provision of electronic links, and the pac-
ing of turn exchange all constitute kinds of indirectness that are particular to digital
interaction. Like indirectness in conversation, these aspects of computer-mediated in-
teraction entail the sending and interpreting of unstated meaning, or metamessages.
In the next and final section, I turn to a phenomenon that is particular to new media
interaction: the metamessages communicated by the choice of medium.

The Medium Is the Metamessage

In the multiplatform environment of electronic discourse, the choice of medium it-
self sends metamessages. My use of the term “metamessage” in this context is par-
allel to Gershon’s (2010) notion of “second-order information.”
The mere use of a medium communicates meaning. For example, when Greg
Bennett told of a blog post he had written that was related to the topic of our course,
I asked him if he had received any responses, and he said, “It got thirty hits.” The lit-
eral answer to my question would have been, “No, the blog hasn’t received any re-
sponses.” But that would have indicated a lack of interest on the part of readers, or
112 Deborah Tannen

even a lack of readers, which would have been misleading. The level of reader inter-
est was better communicated by reporting the number of “hits”: on thirty separate
occasions, a reader had engaged with the blog. (We don’t know whether this was thirty
separate readers; a “hit” could represent a new reader or a return reader.) Enthusi-
asm or interest among readers was a metamessage indicated by their use of the
medium.

Example 7: Communicating Intensity by Using

Multiple Media
In example 4 Jacqueline Fogarty’s friend emphasized the sincerity of her apology by
repeating words and word-final vowels in text messages. In example 7 a college stu-
dent sends a metamessage of sincerity in an apology by a different sort of repetition:
using two different media to send the same message. Maddie Howard had been busy
studying when a friend interrupted to ask her a question. Soon after, the friend apol-
ogized for the interruption by sending both a text message and email. Here, first, is
the email message. (The phrase “app rising” refers to “Appalachia Rising,” a confer-
ence held at Georgetown to oppose mountaintop removal mining.)
great :) oh and sorry for barging into your study sesh last night! there were
some stranded app 2 rising folks and i was gonna see if i could drive them. :/
Maddie also received the following text message the same day:
Apologies for intruding on your homework time last night!
Each missive alone communicated the apology; sending two separate messages, each
by a different medium, added emphasis. It is worthy of note that the gravity of the
offense that instigated this apology is less than that in the previous example. Perhaps
that is why this email message includes only a single exclamation point (“last night!”),
although it does include two emoticons (the opening “:)” and the closing “:/”). This
seems fitting, as the inconvenience visited upon Maddie, having her homework ses-
sion briefly interrupted, is less than that experienced by Jackie, who was left stranded
by her friends. The emphasis by multiple media as compared with emphasis by cap-
italization and repetition seems, respectively, perfectly suited to the seriousness of the
respective offenses.

Metamessages in Medium Choice

Another example of a metamessage communicated by the choice of medium was re-
counted by Caitlin Sudman. Caitlin noticed that the Facebook status of a friend, Sue,
had changed from “in a relationship” to “single.” This status change alerted her Face-
book friends that Sue and her boyfriend had broken up. Predictably, many of those
friends posted messages of support and sympathy on Sue’s Facebook wall. Caitlin
noticed, however, that none of those messages were sent by Sue’s close friends. Caitlin
was certain that this did not mean that her close friends cared less about Sue than did
her Facebook friends. She surmised that Sue would have contacted her close friends
by another medium—a private one, such as email or telephone—before making the
information about her breakup available on the public medium of Facebook. Learn-
THE MEDIUM IS THE METAMESSAGE 113

ing an important development in a close friend’s life on Facebook would be distanc-

ing, even rejecting—a sign that one was not, in fact, a close friend.
Awareness that choice of medium sends metamessages is not a new phenom-
enon. Older adults can recall when we had to choose among several media to con-
vey information: face-to-face conversation, telephone, or letter. A letter,
furthermore, could be handwritten or typed. Today those same options are avail-
able, but so are many electronic options as well. The dilemma posed by sorting
through the potential metamessages associated with each medium was described
by a student in my class:

I recently had to contact someone for the potentially awkward purpose of

asking him to be my partner for an upcoming ballroom dancing competition.
The message I had to convey to him was to let me know ASAP because
registration had to be in, ideally at the end of the same day. He had earlier told
me he would let me know well ahead of time, but he didn’t. I had several steps
to take and decisions to make along the way in contacting him and they were
all tied to issues of which medium to use. The first step was to decide which
medium to use to contact him. The message needed to be prompt, but I also
wanted to avoid the face threatening act of contacting him by phone or in
person because that would make it harder for him to say no. I wanted to give
him an out if he wanted to decline. I rejected email as too formal. Such a tone
would have seemed odd and possibly demanding, even desperate. My
remaining choices were texting or Facebook. While texting would have been
ideal in terms of time and tone, I didn’t have his phone number. So, I turned to
Facebook. The first thing was to check whether he was on Facebook Chat.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t. I had to then decide whether I wanted to post my
question or subtle reminder about the deadline on his wall or in a private
message. A wall post would have better conveyed the idea that I was not being
pushy and was simply reminding him that he agreed to give me an answer
before the deadline. A private message would make it less awkward for both
parties involved if he preferred to dance with someone else. However, while
nowhere near the level of email, a private Facebook message is formal in the
context of the three, well four if you count the Status message pings, ways of
contacting someone by Facebook. I went to his profile page and saw a recent
exchange he had with someone else about how he and his actual partner, who
later told him she couldn’t go to the competition, were dancing together. But I
thought my message would look strange right above that one. So, I picked the
private message. But I had one final choice: what to fill in as the subject. Now,
this just may be me being weird, but I wasn’t sure where to proceed from there
because the subject is what introduces the reader to the message. It’s the first
thing he sees. It sets the tone. I solved the dilemma by getting right to the point
and asking about the competition in the title and adding the point about the
deadline in the body of the message. Since I was at my computer for a long
time after, I did check for a reply, but more than that, I checked to see if he was
on Facebook to see whether he had gotten the message.
114 Deborah Tannen

This eloquent articulation of the factors the writer had to take into account in choos-
ing a medium for her brief query dramatizes how each new medium entails both new
opportunities and new liabilities with regard to potential metamessages entailed in
the choice of medium.

Example 8: Pitfalls Built into the Technology

Sometimes miscommunication can result not from the choice of a medium but from
the mechanics built into it. My final example demonstrates such a liability. Example
8, provided by James Boyman, is a text exchange between James’s thirteen-year-old
sister Laura and his cousin Nick, who was also thirteen. Nick told James that it is
common practice among his peers to put a tagline on text messages as a personal sig-
nature, much like the signature that routinely appears at the bottom of many people’s
email messages. There is a difference, however: whereas the signature appended au-
tomatically to the end of an email message is visible to both sender and receiver, a
text message tagline automatically appended to every text message sent does not show
up on the screen of the sender’s handheld device. (In the following example, Nick’s
tagline, “saints suck,” refers to a football team, the New Orleans Saints.)
The exchange began when Laura initiated a text message to Nick:
hi wats up?
Nick’s reply appeared on Laura’s cell phone screen:
nothing much. Wats up with u?
saints suck
Responding to the second line of Nick’s text message, Laura wrote,
oh, ur upset about the football game
To this, Nick replied,
yeah I am
saints suck
Noticing the repetition of the final line, Laura replied to this by sending the message,
u already said that
Seemingly puzzled by this remark, Nick wrote,
wat do u mean?
saints suck
Laura, puzzled in turn, replied,
u said it again
Nick then wrote,
wat are u talking about?
saints suck
THE MEDIUM IS THE METAMESSAGE 115

At this point, Laura figured it out:

oh its ur signature
Nick, however, was still clueless:
wats my signature?
saints suck
At that point, Laura had to end the exchange. (Note that “g2g” is an abbreviation for
“got to go”):
nev mind. g2g moms here
Nick then took his leave as well—none the wiser about the role played by his tagline
in creating confusion:
bye
saints suck
The potential ambiguity of Nick’s signature, “saints suck,” is built into the medium.
For the receiver of the text messages, it is not immediately apparent—as it would be
with an email signature—what is preprogrammed and what is part of the specific mes-
sage. For the sender it is easy to forget about the signature, which is not visible on
his screen. If Laura does not know how the words “saints suck” were intended, Nick
is not aware that those words are there at all. The misunderstanding thus results from
a liability built into the medium.

Conclusion
The preceding example is a microcosm of a theme I mention at the outset: although
new media interaction poses new challenges, much of what happens in digital con-
versation is similar to what has always happened in spoken conversation. Implicit in
my illustrating a range of new media analogs to conversational style in spoken inter-
action is the plus ça change claim that new media interaction is not an entirely new
world, but a world in which many familiar interactional activities are being accom-
plished in new ways. In this spirit, it may be helpful to remember that what Crispin
Thurlow (2006) dubs “moral panic” has accompanied the introduction of all new me-
dia. Historian Elizabeth Eisenstein reminds us of Plato’s fear that the invention of writ-
ing would destroy memory. She further documents the mixed reaction sparked by the
invention of the printing press, as reflected in her title, Divine Art, Infernal Machine.
Reminiscent of ambivalent reactions to digital media, the printing press was hailed
as a potential solution to a vast array of problems but also railed against as the source
of an equally broad range of devastation, including the risk of political chaos result-
ing from widespread pamphleteering and information overload. Eisenstein provides
this example of such ambivalence:
Leibniz, when addressing Louis XIV in 1680, paid tribute to the way printing
duplicated books and thus made it possible “to preserve the greater part of our
knowledge.” But he also expressed alarm about the “horrible mass of books”
116 Deborah Tannen

that kept on growing. Unless contained and restrained, he advised, the increase
in output would result in intolerable disorder, and it would become “a disgrace
rather than an honor to be an author.” (2011, 87)
Contemporary readers are unlikely to have feared that the printing press risks render-
ing it a disgrace to write a book, yet Leibniz’s tone resembles the scorn often heard to-
day toward those who profligately disseminate their words in blogs and twitter feeds.
This spirit of scorn and moral panic with which members of older generations
have greeted younger generations’ uses of new media has led me to think of new me-
dia interaction as a kind of cross-cultural communication. The present study repre-
sents my elaboration of this metaphoric premise. In interpersonal interaction taking
place over new media, as in interpersonal conversation, meaning is communicated
on two levels of abstraction: message and metamessage. Whereas messages can be
understood by reference to the meaning of words and grammatical usage, metames-
sages are communicated by aspects of conversational style found in electronic dis-
course that resemble those in spoken interaction. The examples in this chapter include
the use of emphatic punctuation; capitalization; and repetition of words, letters, or
punctuation marks. These are parallel to the use of amplitude, intonation, and elon-
gation of sounds to create emphasis and emotional valence in speaking. I also sug-
gest that the brevity of text messages and the posting of electronic links as well as
metamessages communicated by the choice of medium are all forms of indirectness,
with corresponding potential for communication of unstated meaning as well as for
ambiguity and misinterpretation. Furthermore, metamessages communicated by the
speed of response are parallel to interpretations (and potential misinterpretations) of
pacing and pausing in spoken conversational turn exchange.
New media discourse, however, also entails unique vehicles for positive or neg-
ative and intended or unintended metamessages. Sending a message via two differ-
ent media is a way of communicating emphasis or intensity, and the choice of medium
itself sends metamessages—and such potential metamessages must be taken into ac-
count in making that choice. There are also liabilities built into the technology of elec-
tronic media, such as the potential for technological breakdowns and the automaticity
of a signature tagline that is visible to the recipient but not the sender. In sum, I have
identified some of the ways that new media discourse parallels phenomena in spo-
ken interaction, as well as some ways that it differs, in order to shed light on the dis-
course of digital social media and how the use of such media affects interpersonal
interaction.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I am grateful to all the students in my classes who helped me understand their own and their peers’ uses
of digital media in their personal interactions, especially those whose examples are cited herein. In addi-
tion to those named in connection with specific examples, I would also like to thank Isabella Janusz and
Sarah Mirabile. Finally, I am grateful to Susan Herring and Anna Marie Trester for helpful comments on
an earlier draft.

NOTES
1. Finding a term to refer to the topic of this chapter is problematic. As Susan Herring points out in her
chapter, “new media,” which is used here and in the title of the volume, “is lacking in historical per-
THE MEDIUM IS THE METAMESSAGE 117

spective”; the term “digital media” is too broad, as it includes video games; and computer-mediated
communication (CMC) is no longer descriptive, since handheld devices, for example, are not com-
puters. In this chapter I use “new media,” “social media,” “digital discourse,” “electronic communi-
cation,” and other related terms interchangeably, in order to refer collectively to the use in
interpersonal interaction of email, Gchat, IM, SMS, text messages, and Facebook.
2. Bateson also identifies a second type of meaning that operates on the same level of abstraction as
metacommunication: “metalinguistic,” in which “the subject of discourse is the language.” He illus-
trates that level with the example sentence, “The verbal sound ‘cat’ stands for any member of such
and such class of objects.”
3. Anna Marie Trester reminds me that the metaphoric parallel between native and nonnative speaker
is not entirely arbitrary but rather reminiscent of the common observation that young people are “na-
tive speakers” of new media discourse, whereas for older people it is a second language.

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7
Bringing Mobiles into the Conversation
Applying a Conversation Analytic Approach to the Study of Mobiles in
Co-present Interaction

STEPHEN M. DIDOMENICO
Rutgers University
J E F F R E Y B OA S E
Ryerson University

IN FOCUSING ON THE MUNDANE conduct of everyday life, Erving Goffman’s work drew at-
tention to the fundamental practices that define mutual co-presence. Now, in the so-
called digital age, we increasingly find ourselves having to reconcile new forms of
communication with Goffman’s chief domain of face-to-face interaction. Although
scholarly interest in new forms of mediated interaction has grown steadily, only re-
cently have scholars begun to consider how communication technologies—particu-
larly mobile devices—are woven into co-present interaction. It is the intersection of
these two domains, specifically co-present interaction and mobile usage, that is the
focus of this chapter.
This chapter summarizes a study involving a single instance of conversation
taken from a larger collection of videotaped naturally occurring interactions involv-
ing mobile phones. Using a conversation analytic approach, we draw on the concept
of technological affordance and Goffman’s distinction between primary and second-
ary involvement to provide a nuanced look at how mobiles become integrated into
co-present interaction. Three themes emerge from our data when mobiles are used
during co-present interaction: shifting between primary and secondary involvement
is highly dynamic, the shift to mobile use as a secondary involvement depends on
the speaking role that is being enacted during the co-present involvement, and the
distinction between primary and secondary involvement is blurred when reference to
mobile interactions is made during co-present interaction. In each case we argue that
these occurrences can be explained with reference to the time and space transcend-
ing affordances of mobiles.

Mobile Communication Studies and the Study of

Co-present Interaction
Although a substantial and growing body of research has focused on the implications
of mobile use for a variety of outcomes (see Campbell and Park 2008; Katz 2006, 2008,

119
120 Stephen M. DiDomenico and Jeffrey Boase

2011), only a handful of studies have directly examined mobiles in everyday social en-
counters. Ling (2008), for example, draws upon the ritual-centered theorizing of
Durkheim, Goffman, and Collins to discuss what he calls “mediated ritual interaction,”
interactions afforded by new communication technologies.1 Ling describes a “social
limbo” surrounding these mediated forms of talk, in which participants must balance
competing lines of activity while dealing with “the pressure to either be clearly in or
clearly outside a social interaction” (2008, 173). Humphreys (2005) offers a related ac-
count of how participants in public spaces respond to their interlocutors’ incoming mo-
bile calls. Using observations of public places and in-depth interviews, she identifies a
range of general themes. One theme, referred to as “dual front interaction,” occurs when
participants on the phone were observed to engage in various nonverbal behaviors to
maintain interaction with their co-present interlocutor (such as iconic illustrators or the
rolling of the eyes), unknown to the caller. This shows how mobile use may create sit-
uations in which participants must simultaneously manage their relations across mul-
tiple distinct speech events.2 One limitation to Humphreys’s study, however, is the
exclusive focus on mobile use to make voice calls as opposed to other functions such
as sending and receiving text messages. In this chapter we focus specifically on the oc-
currence of mobile texting during co-present interaction.
To frame our understanding of how mobiles are used in co-present interaction,
we draw on the concept of technological affordance. The concept originated from the
work of Gibson (1977), who posited that animals and humans have an innate ability
to recognize the opportunities that objects in their environments afford for particular
actions. The concept has been adopted more loosely by computer and social scientists
to refer to the idea that technology provides opportunities and constraints on human
action, without the assumption that these opportunities and constraints are innately
known by individuals (see Norman 1999). The concept has been used to strike a the-
oretical middle ground between technologically deterministic approaches that down-
play the role of human agency, and social constructionist approaches that ignore the
physical properties of technology (see Hutchby 2001). The concept is particularly
well suited to our purposes because we wish to acknowledge the opportunities that
mobile devices provide, while examining autonomous behavior of our participants out-
side of their use of this technology. As is discussed in our analysis, the affordances of
mobile devices to transcend time—that is, asynchronous communication—and space,
by permitting communication with distant others, are particularly relevant to under-
standing the behavior that emerges in our data.
To frame our understanding of the interactional dynamics of co-present conver-
sation, we draw on Goffman’s (1963) distinction between primary involvements and
secondary involvements: “Men as animals have a capacity to divide their attention
into main and side involvement. A main involvement is one that absorbs the major
part of an individual’s attention and interest, visibly forming the principal current de-
terminant of his actions. A side involvement is an activity that an individual can carry
on in an abstracted fashion without threatening or confusing simultaneous mainte-
nance of main involvement” (43).
Contemporary scholarship in the disciplines of linguistics and anthropology has
extended Goffman’s theorizing by examining the inherently multimodal nature of hu-
BRINGING MOBILES INTO THE CONVERSATION 121

man interaction (LeBaron and Streeck 1997; Norris 2004, 2011; Schegloff 1984;
Stivers and Sidnell 2005). Kendon (2004) and Goodwin (1986, 2000, 2003) have ex-
plored the semiotic dimensions of face-to-face encounters, including the array of lin-
guistic, material, and embodied aspects participants draw upon within the interactional
situation. Recent work has focused on the emergent negotiation of social action in
such diverse contexts and environments as a subway control room (Heath and Luff
2000), cars (Haddington and Keisanen 2009), airplane cockpits (Nevile 2005), and
beauty salons (Toerien and Kitzinger 2007). This chapter extends this work by ex-
amining the interactional resources used when negotiating mobile involvements dur-
ing ordinary conversation.

Data and Methods

We draw on the inductive methods of conversation analysis (for example, Atkinson
and Heritage 1984), where video or audio recordings of episodes of naturally occur-
ring interaction are reviewed closely in order to generate rich, detailed descriptions
of the interactional practices through which participants co-construct and interpret
social actions. In collecting the data, participants signed informed consent forms and
were asked to use a video camera to record a time when they would ordinarily be to-
gether. They were not explicitly told to use their mobiles during the interaction. The
recordings were then transcribed using a modified version of the standard Jefferso-
nian transcription conventions (see appendix) and analyzed to examine participants’
mobile-related actions.
We focus on a single instance of interaction to illustrate some of the trends that
emerge from our larger collection. This particular episode of interaction consists of
three female college students hanging out in the kitchen of one of their homes (see
fig. 7.1 below to better understand their initial body positions, which remain gener-
ally constant). As the conversation progresses we discover that one of the women is

Figure 7.1 The participants (from left to right): Amy, Brianne, and Caitlyn (Amy and Brianne’s phones
are circled in white).
122 Stephen M. DiDomenico and Jeffrey Boase

waiting for a male friend to join them. One of the women completed the video record-
ing with her two friends using a small digital video camera for the purposes of extra
credit in an undergraduate course on research methods. Her only instructions were
to capture a social activity that would have occurred regardless of whether it was be-
ing recorded. None of the women were encouraged to use mobile phones at any point
during the data collection process.

Analysis and Discussion

A consistent finding from our exploration was that participants continuously oscil-
late between attending to the co-present interaction as their primary involvement and
their mobiles as their secondary involvement. Although we do not have data on the
specific activity that occurred on the mobile devices—the video camera did not cap-
ture the screens of the devices—the mobile activity followed a consistent pattern that
is most clearly recognized as an exchange of text messages.
One way these back-and-forth shifts in involvement were prompted is through
the chimes that are emitted from mobile phones. Most mobile models today give
users the option of having the device produce a chime to indicate that a new text
message has been received. This feature is strikingly similar to Schegloff and
Sacks’s (1973) notion of the summons-answer adjacency pair, a pair of social ac-
tions in which a participant may be called (or summoned) by a ringing phone so
that he or she may engage in opening a conversation with the caller. The subsequent
response from the individual answering the phone (for example, “Hello?”) can be
understood to be a responding action to the opening summons initiated by the
caller (Schegloff 2007). However, unlike a voice call summons, a text message sum-
mons affords the possibility of establishing mobile side involvements without sus-
pending the co-present interaction. This is of great significance since participants’
monitoring of the turn-by-turn details of interaction (including syntactic and ges-
tural relevancies) is crucial for projecting and negotiating the availability of speak-
ing turns (Sacks, Schegloff, and Jefferson, 1974; see also Bolden 2003). The
following case illustrates how this affordance allows for dynamic switching between
primary and secondary involvements, and how this switching is dependent on the
situated organization of turn taking.

Case 1
In the following excerpt Amy and Caitlyn are discussing therapists while Brianne is
outside talking to a friend. Just prior to this excerpt, Amy has been telling a lengthy
story about her reasons for considering therapy:

Excerpt 1 [MIC1:314–321]

01 AMY: With my parents splitting

02 up and my mom staying no-
03 like yester- the other
04 day [she’s like ]
05 [((phone chimes)) ]
BRINGING MOBILES INTO THE CONVERSATION 123

Figure 7.2 “She’s like. . .” (line 04).

06 sh- like I heard it from

07 my family that they’ve
08 been talking about it
09 but from hearing it from
10 my mom like really like killed
11 me she was like it’s
12 your fault me and daddy
13 got split up. And I was
14 like What? And my mom
15 blames me for everything
16 because it’s just easier
17 to blame somebody el[se]
18 CAT: [ye]ah
19 of course."
20 AMY: "for something. So it was
21 just like always me like

At the beginning of this exchange (lines 01–04), Amy continues to hold the floor as
she reports further details about her family circumstances. Just as she is producing
the utterance “she’s like” (line 04, see fig. 7.2), her mobile chimes to indicate the re-
ceipt of a new text message. However, Amy does not shift her gaze toward the mo-
bile and maintains her primary involvement with Caitlyn as she continues with her
multiunit turn (lines 06–17, 20–21).
As we will see below in a segment occurring nearly four minutes later, Amy fi-
nally shifts her gaze to her mediated secondary involvement while Brianne reenters
the room:
124 Stephen M. DiDomenico and Jeffrey Boase

Excerpt 2 [MIC1:094–127]

094 AMY: I have- I don’t

095 think I have any
096 memories of my parents
097 being affectionate towards
098 each other,
099 (0.2)
100 AMY: That’s why I don’t understand
101 why I’m such like a mush.
102 I don’t know if it’s cause like"
103 CAT: "You yearn for it.
104 AMY: Yeah.
105 (0.3)
106 AMY: Cause like usually like
107 they say like if a kid is
108 like brought up into like,"
109 CAT: "Is he coming? ((to BRI))
110 BRI: He didn’t want to come in.
111 CAT: Why,
112 BRI: I don’t know. I told him about
113 the video and he didn’t want to.
114 AMY: ehh heh heh
115 BRI: You can put your foot there.

Figure 7.3 “You can put your foot there” (line 115).
BRINGING MOBILES INTO THE CONVERSATION 125

Figure 7.4 “seen them being affectionate” (lines 121–22).

116 CAT: O:h that’s okay.

117 (0.2)
118 CAT: So what were you saying Amy,
119 cause your parents aren’t
120 like (.) affectionate?
121 AMY: Yeah like I’ve never seen
122 them being affectionate
123 so I I’d thought that
124 I would like not
125 want affection? But
126 I feel like (.) I’m
127 the complete opposite.
Just after Caitlyn offers an assessment of Amy’s account making clear her need for
affection (lines 106–8; “you yearn for it”), Amy begins a new turn at talk. Next, be-
fore Amy can come to a point of possible completion, Caitlyn interrupts her (with
“Is he coming?”) in order to address Brianne, who just has just reentered the room.
Brianne provides a brief answer (“He didn’t want to come in”), followed by Caitlyn’s
pursuit of an account (“Why”) as to why the friend Brianne was visiting with outside
the house did not join the three of them inside. Brianne then provides a brief answer
(“He didn’t want to come in”; line 110) and account explaining why he did not join
them (“I told him about the video and he didn’t want to”; lines 112–13), which elic-
its laughter from Amy (line 114).
Immediately after the floor is taken from her, Amy shifts and holds her gaze
on her mobile and proceeds to type into it with both hands. This lack of gaze and
mutual orientation with Brianne and Caitlyn’s actions displays Amy’s lack of in-
126 Stephen M. DiDomenico and Jeffrey Boase

teractional availability to take the speaking floor. Caitlyn produces a question

(“So what were you saying Amy, cause your parents aren’t like (.) affectionate?”
lines 118–19) that is addressed to Amy and designed as an attempt to return to the
topic they had been discussing before it was interrupted by Brianne’s entrance into
the room. It is worth noting that her question is designed with an address term
(“Amy”), presumably as a means to explicitly select Amy to take the floor. This
reliance on explicit address (as opposed to pursuing mutual gaze) demonstrates
Caitlyn’s orientation to Amy’s lack of involvement with their co-present conver-
sation and her privileging of her secondary involvement with her mobile. Imme-
diately following, in line 121, Amy places her phone back on the table (see fig.
7.3) and takes the floor to respond to Caitlyn’s request for topic resumption (“Yeah
like I’ve never seen them being affectionate”; lines 121–27).
This case illustrates the importance of the time-transcending affordance of mo-
bile texting. The asynchronous nature of mobile texting allows Amy to make her
secondary mobile involvement dependent on the dynamics of her role in the local
turn taking organization of the primary co-present involvement. If the summons
had occurred through a synchronous voice call, Amy would have been forced to
choose between suspending her co-present interaction as a primary involvement
and switching to the voice call, or ignoring the voice call completely and reject-
ing the summons altogether.
This tolerance for response delay may also be explained through reference to
the space-transcending nature of mobile devices. A lack of shared place means that
nonpresent individuals are unaware of the extent to which the individual that they
texted is available for interaction. For these reasons, mobiles afford a less con-
strained set of expectations regarding the response time between the initiating
chime and the responding action. This allows Amy to carry on her co-present in-
teraction as a primary involvement, while meeting her obligation to respond to the
mobile summons when the time is right. Finally, one can also observe that Amy’s
opportunity to shift her gaze toward her phone is occasioned by Brianne’s reen-
tering into the room where she and Caitlyn were conversing. Such a shift in par-
ticipant structure—where Amy now has two interlocutors in the immediate, local
context—provides an opportunity for Amy to redistribute her attention between
the co-present and mobile involvements.

Case 2
This case shows how participants may attempt to blur the boundaries that exist be-
tween their secondary mobile and primary co-present involvements. In the following
excerpt the women are just coming to the end of a series of tellings related to sub-
stance addiction:

Excerpt 3 [MIC1:790–828]

42 CAT: "Like his friend that

43 just got out of rehab
44 three months ago, he’s
BRINGING MOBILES INTO THE CONVERSATION 127

45 in law school.
46 AMY: ((drops her mouth))
47 CAT: Like (.) how
48 [does that like (.)
49 that’s crazy. ]
50 [((Amy picks up phone)) ]
51 (0.5)
52 CAT: °Like° I
53 [dunno it’s
54 just (.) nuts.]
55 [((Amy begins
56 typing into phone)) ]
57 (1.2)
58 BRI: [((yawns)) ]
59 [(0.9) ]
60 AMY: Trish says she thinks
61 Tom just read my text
62 message.
63 (0.2)
64 AMY: Cause I was like (.) she
65 was like (.) um (0.3) she
66 was like um (.) she was
67 like (dislike) Tom question
68 mark? and I was like no

Figure 7.5 Bri yawns during silence (line 58).

128 Stephen M. DiDomenico and Jeffrey Boase

Figure 7.6 “Tom just read my text message” (lines 61–62).

69 just upset with him and

70 I was like that wouldn’t
71 have been nice of him I
72 was like he’s hurting my
73 baby and she was like
74 (0.2) she was like I
75 think he just read your
76 message and I was li:ke
77 (0.2) I was like why do
78 you say that and she goes
79 because he opened my
80 phone saying oh you have
81 three messages like with
82 an attitude? and I was
83 like s:o? I didn’t say
84 anything wrong I’m just
85 stating the truth,
86 (2.0)
87 CAT: Drama drama drama
88 drama drama hhhheh-heh
Starting in lines 42–45, Caitlyn produces a multiunit turn built upon their prior dis-
cussion of substance addiction (“Like his friend that just got out of rehab three
months ago, he’s in law school.”). Amy then produces an embodied assessment by
BRINGING MOBILES INTO THE CONVERSATION 129

dropping her jaw as a display of disbelief in response to Caitlyn’s telling. Possibly as

an attempt to elicit a proper response from Brianne, Caitlyn recompletes her telling
and provides her own assessment (“that’s crazy”; lines 47–48). Simultaneous with
Caitlyn’s recompletion, Amy picks up her mobile (line 50), directs her gaze toward
it, and begins typing into it (lines 55–56). No visible or aural sign of uptake to Cait-
lyn’s concurrent actions is displayed. Thus, up to this point, Amy has managed both
the co-present and mediated involvements as distinct from one another.
Next, after a noticeable silence (and yawn from Brianne) where a story response
was still relevant (lines 57–59), Amy takes the floor to present a summative report
(“Trish says she thinks Tom just read my text message”; lines 60–62), presumably
related to her current text message exchange (see figs. 7.5 and 7.6). Following this,
Amy goes on to produce a story about her text exchange (“Cause I was like . . .”;
lines 64–85), complete with several uses of the English quotative “like” (Dailey-
O’Cain 2000; see also Golato 2000) presumably to mark the reporting of the indi-
vidual text messages that made up the exchange (see related work on reported speech
in conversation, such as Tannen 1995; Holt and Clift 2007). It is unclear what Amy
refers to when she says, “he’s hurting my baby . . .” (lines 72–73) or “I’m just stat-
ing the truth” (lines 84–85), but for our purposes understanding the meaning of these
remarks is secondary to our analysis. As a result of Amy’s actions, what may have
previously been considered a secondary involvement through the mobile phone has
now been explicitly acknowledged in the co-present interaction and made into a le-
gitimate topic of conversation (essentially spoken into the here-and-now context of
the encounter). Furthermore, Brianne and Caitlyn are both granted greater epistemic
access to Amy’s mobile-bound communicative activities (via her report that “Trish
says she thinks . . .”), thus reconfiguring the previously independent nature of the two
interactions.
In this case, the affordance of the mobile device to transcend space is particu-
larly relevant to explaining this behavior. Here the interlocutors have only visual or
aural access, effectively positioning them as a type of bystander (or unratified partic-
ipant) in the participation structure of the mobile-related side involvement (Goodwin
and Goodwin 2004). Because of this constraint on Brianne and Caitlyn’s involvement
in the mobile exchange, Amy was afforded the opportunity to refer to the text ex-
change in the co-present conversation, thereby blurring the boundary between her sec-
ondary and primary involvement. If the individual with whom Amy had the text
exchange was co-present, such a blurring would have been unlikely, if not impossi-
ble, since any interaction between Amy and the individual would have been a primary
rather than secondary involvement.

Conclusion
Our study has at least two implications for the study of discourse and new media tech-
nologies. First, at the theoretical level, we show how the concept of primary and sec-
ondary involvement is relevant to understanding the dynamic switching and blurring
that takes place when mobile texting occurs during co-present interaction. We fur-
ther show the relationship between this switching and the local management of con-
versational turn-taking. This may point to emerging social norms regarding mobile
130 Stephen M. DiDomenico and Jeffrey Boase

usage among friends or peers, but further research is necessary to support this pos-
sibility. Second, we show how a conversation analytic approach can be used to un-
derstand the increasingly technologically rich nature of social encounters. Using such
an approach we demonstrate how mobiles are woven into the various linguistic and
embodied resources that participants draw upon to produce social actions.
This study points to at least two areas of future work. This study is exploratory
in nature and would benefit from the use of a larger collection of instances of inter-
actions to enhance the rigor of our findings. Our analysis does not incorporate the
actual content of the text messages that were sent and received during the conversa-
tion. Researchers would do well to consider how the study of everyday discourse can
be extended to examine both of these mediums as they unfold concurrently in situ-
ated context.

APPENDIX: TRANSCRIPTION KEY

. indicates falling intonation (not necessarily end of sentence)
(0.5) indicates amount of silence, in tenths of seconds
__ underlining shows a sound that is stressed
: indicates that the preceding sound is extended or stretched
(h) indicates laughter incorporated into a word
? indicates rising intonation (not necessarily a question)
[] marks the beginning and ending of overlap
hhh marks an audible outbreath
° encloses speech that is produced quietly
- indicates a cutoff in the course of production
" indicates no interval between two utterances (that is, they are
latched together)

NOTES
Special thanks go to Galina Bolden, Jenny Mandelbaum, Cynthia Gordon, and Deborah Tannen for their
helpful suggestions and comments.
1. Ling ultimately argues that these forms of interaction should not be excluded from having the po-
tential to create and maintain the social solidarity often associated exclusively with co-present ritu-
als. Collins (2004) takes the opposing position. Although he acknowledges the possibility of mediated
rituals, Collins concludes that such forms of interaction are incapable of generating the type of emo-
tional energy characteristic of co-present ritual interaction.
2. Humphreys further acknowledges cases where the participants across both interactions converge to
create “three-way interactions,” or when the participant on the phone serves as a type of mediator
between the co-present and nonpresent interlocutors (2005, 821–22). Although we hope to explore
this type of interactional event in future research, we do not pursue it in this chapter.

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8
Facework on Facebook
Conversations on Social Media

L AU R A W E S T A N D A N NA M A R I E T R E S T E R
Georgetown University

Introduction

AS ERVING GOFFMAN TELLS US, there is no such thing as faceless communication. This ob-
servation—no less true in the world of social media than it is in the world of so-
called face-to-face interaction—is palpably present in Facebook. Face, in this sense,
is the part of us that both requires and is vulnerable in social interaction. On Face-
book, social interaction takes place when members provide other members with
something they can respond to, comment on, and approve of, and in turn when they
acknowledge other members through updates and posts. In this investigation we fo-
cus on the back-and-forths this creates on users’ walls with an eye to identifying
norms about politeness that these reveal and the linguistic strategies used to accom-
plish such moves.
When linguists first entered computer-mediated communication (CMC) research,
they adopted the foci that researchers from other fields had outlined: characterizing
online language as being more like written or spoken communication, and describ-
ing the various features and genres present in texts on the web. But in a special issue
of the Journal of Sociolinguistics, Jannis Androutsopoulos (2006) called for re-
searchers to shift to more ethnographically grounded user-related approaches to so-
cial media. In the same issue, Georgakopoulou writes, “it is pleasing to see how
ethnography, the champion of the irreducibility of lived experience and of situated
understandings, is finding its way into CMC” (2006, 551). Finally, she challenges
these ethnographies of CMC spaces, more specifically, to capture the way participa-
tion takes place on particular sites and “the expectations and norms about what is li-
censed, encouraged or prohibited” there (552).
This investigation heeds this call, as well as that issued by Herring (in the present
volume), by considering the expectations and norms surrounding facework on the so-
cial networking site Facebook, drawing from an ongoing ethnography involving sixty
Facebook users as participants. Our analysis makes use of interactional sociolinguis-
tics “combining wider contextual knowledge with linguistic and conversational analy-
sis to illuminate the interpretive processes of interaction” (Sarangi and Roberts 1999,
13), and intertextuality, the process of referring to, drawing upon, or reshaping earlier

133
134 Laura West and Anna Marie Trester

texts within the context of a later one, to consider the basic social moves of the site (post-
ing, “friending,” liking, commenting, and tagging). We explore how face-threatening
acts (FTAs) are avoided and how facework is accomplished through intertextual links
that allow conversations to take place online. Our contextualized understanding of the
interactional norms surrounding intertextuality on this social networking site is
grounded in observations of our participants’linguistic practices as well as in semistruc-
tured individual and group interviews and discussions including those conducted as part
of a workshop we held on this topic at the Georgetown University Round Table on Lan-
guages and Linguistics (GURT) in March 2011. Additionally, we draw insight (specif-
ically about norms violations) from jokes about Facebook created on the site
fakebook.com and recently published in a Washington Post blog entry (Petri 2011).

Overview
We begin by providing three types of background to the investigation: an overview of
the theoretical concepts of face and intertextuality and how they work in the context of
our analysis; a brief review of the literature done by linguists on online social interac-
tion generally and on Facebook in particular; and a description of the study and review
some of the key Facebook practices and terminology. We then explore how the need to
present something for others to acknowledge seems to be the driving impulse behind
many posts on the site (as evidenced both in the content of the posts and in voiced frus-
tration with friends who fail to give this acknowledgment), and that both the poster and
the potential respondents seem to be expected to do some intertextual work to tie texts
together on the site. Thus we show how the concepts of face and intertextuality are built
into the norms shaping main activities of the site: (1) friending, (2) self-presentation,
(3) replying and responding, and (4) issuing birthday wishes and event invitations.
Regarding friending, we find that the act of requesting and accepting friends on
the site requires maintenance of the relationship in the form of noticing friends’ self-
presentation (performing positive facework toward the hearer). We then demonstrate
how self presentation, or accomplishing positive facework toward the self, can be
tricky in that it must avoid appearing overly self-congratulatory. Next we explore some
of the meanings signaled by liking something, and some of the expectations about
responding, beginning and ending our investigation with the navigation of norms sur-
rounding the new feature of tagging.
Observing that only friends can perform face threats toward one another and be
perceived as joking, and that awareness of facework norms can be manipulated by
members to playfully tease one another to signal friendship, we consider how inter-
textuality becomes implicated in facework on this site. Being a friend on Facebook
may involve doing a significant amount of intertextual work when commenting, by
responding to the post in a similar tone (often playful or casual), and sometimes re-
peating language and building on the original text and sometimes driving the inter-
action forward by drawing on outside cultural texts.

Background
Facework and intertextuality are two analytical concepts borrowed from sociology and
literary theory, respectively, that have proved invaluable to the study of social inter-
FACEWORK ON FACEBOOK 135

actions. Here we provide readers with a brief overview of the concepts and demon-
strate how combining them can create an analytical framework for understanding the
communicative norms of an online network.

Facework and Intertextuality

Erving Goffman proposed the notion of face as a theoretical concept informed by the
Chinese idea of saving face. He defines the concept as “an image of self delineated
in terms of approved social attributes.” This, he explains, is constructed through “the
pattern of verbal and nonverbal acts by which [the speaker] expresses his view of the
situation and . . . his evaluation of the participants, especially himself ” (1955, 213).
Lakoff (1973) treated politeness in terms of pragmatics, building on Grice’s
(1967) rules of conversation to create rules of politeness: “1) don’t impose; 2) give
options; and 3) make addressee feel good—be friendly” (298). The first two rules ad-
dress what Brown and Levinson, drawing from Goffman’s concept, later refer to as
negative face, which they define as a “basic want to maintain claims of territory and
self-determination”—put more simply, the desire to be free from social obligations
(1987, 70). Lakoff’s third rule is similar to what Brown and Levinson define as pos-
itive face, or a “desire to be ratified, understood, approved of, liked or admired”
(Brown and Levinson 1987, 62).
The basic premise of Brown and Levinson’s politeness theory is that everyone
has two faces that become vulnerable in interactions: a positive face and a negative
face. They claim that face is what drives peoples’ decisions during interactions, guard-
ing against what Brown and Levinson (1987) later termed FTAs, which can threaten
either a person’s positive or negative face. Actions that threaten the negative face of
the hearer, for example, are those that indicate that the speaker does not intend to re-
spect the hearer’s desire to remain unimpeded, and instead, intends to impose by
pressuring the hearer to do a certain task or respond or react a certain way.
The way to avoid these face threats is to anoint the face of another, highlighting
the speaker’s awareness of the hearer’s face needs and indicating a certain respect for
these. For instance, a speaker may perform positive facework toward the hearer (also
referred to as “positive politeness”) by suggesting that they like the hearer as a per-
son or share the same likes and desires, or by indicating that they view the hearer as
part of an in-group with the speaker. Facework toward the hearer’s negative face oc-
curs when social actions, which might otherwise be face threatening, are done with
hedging, being indirect or giving the hearer an out. In short, face and politeness the-
ory concern how social interactants relate to one another.
Intertextuality, on the other hand, deals with relationships among texts. Kristeva
(1980) first introduced the term, drawing from scholarship of the literary theorist M.
M. Bakhtin (1981, 1984, 1986) on dialogism. Through the work of Becker (1994)
and Bauman and Briggs (1990), we adopt a process orientation to intertextuality, view-
ing it as a process of referring to, drawing upon, or reshaping earlier texts within the
context of a later one. Linguists have long used the concept of intertextuality to make
sense of relationships among texts and, more recently, to understand the web of so-
cial texts created online. For example, Baym (2006) draws from a two-year ethno-
graphic study of an online discussion group centered around soap operas to
136 Laura West and Anna Marie Trester

demonstrate that the “solidarity of computer-mediated groups can be enhanced

through references to common knowledge,” in the form of well-known cultural texts
and to “the group’s previous discourse” (2006, under “Humor and the Establishment
of Group Solidarity and Identity in CMC”).
Researchers have shown that one of the key ways in which members of any group
use intertextuality to accomplish facework is by creating common ground through
jokes and a “self-deprecating style of humor” (Bury 2005, 157). Norrick, in his writ-
ing on intertextuality and humor, asserts that “joke telling counts as positive polite-
ness (Lakoff 1973; Brown and Levinson, 1978, 1987), as an invitation to demonstrate
membership and solidarity” (1989, 118). Although ours is the first study of which we
are aware to consider facework-oriented intertextuality on Facebook (considering the
social meaning of responding to and anticipating posts, texts, and images), it is cer-
tainly not the first study to consider norms regarding face online generally or within
the Facebook community in particular, as we will now review.

Previous Research on Politeness in Online Interaction

In one of the earliest studies that examined how politeness and FTAs were affected
by lack of verbal context, Simmons (1994) looked at postings to an online bulletin
board system, revealing that because replies and responses were occurring in a pub-
lic space, this upped the degree of threat to members’ faces. Several participants in
the study noted that face threats, such as ridicule, that took place in a public setting
tended to create much more impassioned responses than those made in private mes-
sages (20). He predicts that over time, CMC discourse will show a greater use of pos-
itive face strategies as people adjust to their “faceless voices” (45)—a prediction that
was borne out in studies such as Morand and Ocker (2002), which showed that in-
teractants in CMC often adorn messages with indices of positive politeness, such as
emoticons and acronyms such as “jk” (for “just kidding”).
Similarly, Graham’s (2007) ethnography of a group called ChurchList looked at
expectations about politeness in an online community of practice, finding that a suc-
cessful member of an online group must be aware of politeness norms and be con-
vincing in their knowledge of and respect for the community’s expectations. Graham
found that something is more likely to be interpreted as impolite by a hearer when
the speaker is perceived to have intended to attack the face of the hearer. For instance,
Graham describes a woman who criticized a message in the LISTSERV, addressing
the original poster using the distancing referent “the gentleman who posted earlier”
and then referring to “people” who think the same way. The community interpreted
her comments as being very inappropriate, which Graham claims is due to their in-
terpretation of this act as “the equivalent of talking about someone in his/her pres-
ence as if s/he were not there,” which would be considered a face threat in most
circumstances (750). The woman claimed that she did not know that the original poster
would read her comment, but this ignorance about the medium was not deemed ac-
ceptable by the other members. In Graham’s words, “If one is not proficient in meet-
ing the demands of the computer medium . . . then one may be more likely to be
interpreted as having attacked another’s face with intent” (756). Our exploration of
Facebook norms involving face reveals a high degree of positive facework and Face-
FACEWORK ON FACEBOOK 137

book-specific communication practices, which speaks to users’ awareness of their

posts’ vulnerability to interpretations of impoliteness.
On the other side of the coin, in a study that looked at how successful Facebook
users were at projecting the positive image of themselves that they thought they were
projecting, Barash, Ducheneaut, Isaacs, and Bellotti (2010) found that although many
times members succeeded in conveying a sense of themselves as “cool” and “enter-
taining” (two of the most desired qualities of the young Facebook community), some
posts were rated (by one hundred Facebook users) as going “too far” and projecting
“a self-aggrandizing image that clashes with the light-hearted tone” expected of most
social networking posts (210). In other words, doing positive facework in posts is a
bit of a balancing act; it can easily tip into a threat to a member’s positive face—paint-
ing them as a braggart—if done incorrectly.
In another study of Facebook, Viswanath et al. (2009) used a specific network
on the New Orleans regional network site to observe over 60,000 members and
800,000 interactions and how their activity on the social site evolved. The study
found that interactions among users who interacted infrequently were often in re-
sponse to prompts by Facebook, such as birthday reminders. They also found that in-
teractions between users decrease over time, “implying that most activity links die
out” (37), although some relationships demonstrated this trend to a lesser degree.
These activity links are created by acknowledging one another’s texts. This study re-
veals that it requires effort to perform positive facework toward so many friends
(users have an average of 120 friends on the site), so they either stop doing so in many
cases or take the easy way out (responding only to Facebook reminders).
Finally, the architecture of the space in which online communication occurs is
also important to understand as influencing the social behaviors that occur there. Pa-
pacharissi explored three social networks and compared various aspects of the on-
line social spaces that might be influencing the interactions taking place therein. She
claims that social networks are “fostering interaction that is primarily interpersonal
and founded upon norms of everyday interaction adapted to the online setting”
(2009, 202). Specifically, she concludes that Facebook members may “project more
carefully crafted presentations of the self ” (215) mostly due to the informal nature
of the site, which Papacharissi terms a “loose” community, based on Goffman’s no-
tion. She explains that a loose community or network is one in which a wider vari-
ety of behaviors might be observed due to fewer restrictions on the type of
interactions that can occur. She claims, again following Goffman, that these loose
networks “require users to be more mindful of interaction, looking for cues to ad-
just their behavior and providing cues for others to adapt theirs” (214). Such care-
ful creations of show and tell and mindfulness of others’ signals create a large
amount of work for members trying to respect both their own positive and negative
face wants and those of other members.

Data and Description of Facebook Practices and

Terminology
Since 2009 we have been conducting an ethnography—or netnography—of the
Facebook community, a study that now includes sixty participants. Following
138 Laura West and Anna Marie Trester

Kozinets in remembering that we are studying “not texts online, but people’s inter-
actions through various technologically-mediated means” (2009, 113), our netnog-
raphy involves reflective field notes, in which we record “observations regarding
subtexts, pretexts, contingencies, conditions, and personal emotions” during our
time online in order to “decipher the reasons behind cultural actions” (114). Re-
cruitment for the present study was done via Facebook by creating an events page
that explained the project and asked people to respond if they agreed to allow the
researchers to collect data from their walls. We also asked that friends invite more
friends to participate so that we could capture interactions featuring back-and-forth
conversation between two or more project participants. Although we have changed
the names and removed the photos, all of the verbatim posts and comments that we
present here involve people who have consented to participate in research. If an in-
teraction includes a participant from whom we did not have explicit permission to
collect data, we do not include their actual words and instead provide a summary
of their part in the interaction.
For ease of reference, the important Facebook terms relevant to this discus-
sion are defined and summarized in table 8.1, below, and will be contextualized
in the discussion to follow. On Facebook, every member has a profile page on
which their wall appears. Posts, in addition to appearing on walls, are blasted to
friends via the newsfeed, which automatically distributes news among users’ net-
works, choosing which data to feed each member’s homepage according to an al-
gorithm based on that member’s traffic patterns on the site. In this way, when a
user logs onto Facebook, they immediately see a list of friends’ recent activity with-
out having to visit each of their walls to see what has been posted since their last
visit to the site. Members then interact with each other by liking or commenting
on these texts, which our investigation will consider as a form of intertextuality
implicated in facework.

Table 8.1
A summary of Facebook practices and terminology
Facebook term Description
Profile The Facebook page that is unique to each member where they enter
identifying information.
Friend A member who is connected with another member on the site through
either requesting or accepting the connection.
Wall A member’s profile space where he or she can post updates and where
friends can type messages.
Update A semipublic text placed on a member’s wall and to the newsfeed. It may
take the form of bits of news, hyperlinks, videos, or photos. These can be
typed and posted from a member’s phone in addition to his or her
computer.
Comment A reply to a post made by the original poster or by another member.
Like A clickable response device located under a post signaling
acknowledgment and approval of the content.
FACEWORK ON FACEBOOK 139

Data Analysis
Thus far we have discussed the analytical terms and described the basics of the Face-
book communicative context. We now turn to the data to demonstrate how the above
concepts shed light on particular Facebook practices and the discursive expectations
of the site. The data come from two separate sources: actual interactions we observed
on Facebook, and joke interactions from the Washington Post blog entry about Face-
book interactions. We argue that these jokes ring true precisely because they identify
expectations about norms of interaction. By matching up joke examples with collected
examples from our participants, we point out the potential face-threatening events
highlighted in the jokes about Facebook, which are often deftly avoided in real Face-
book interactions.

Tagging on Facebook: An Example

To illustrate how face and intertextuality are mutually implicated in Facebook interac-
tions, we will begin with an example drawn from our GURT workshop. When we
opened the floor for discussion of face in Facebook, the conversation turned immedi-
ately to an FTA involving peoples’ literal faces: the process of tagging photos. Using
the tag feature, people can put up photographs of themselves and others, and by label-
ing them with a member’s name, link them to a profile page, such that they appear in
a running border across the top of the named member’s homepage. Because tagging in
Facebook is a relatively recent (within the past few years) intertextual development,
users are still figuring out what all of its implications are. Group discussion about this
practice veered immediately to the pitfalls, and included comments such as this:
What if someone puts a picture that is unflattering of me because I don’t look
particularly good on that particular day or because they have captured me
doing something that I would not necessarily want to show the world that I do?
Fears such as these speak to perceived threats to the tagged member’s positive face.
That person’s desire to be ratified, understood, approved of, liked, or admired is in
danger if someone else—who is not as protective of these face wants—is the one re-
sponsible for establishing textual links, in this case photos, on Facebook. Because peo-
ple are most sensitive to their own face wants, it is possible that a picture of someone
else might appear fine to the poster, but that the person in the photo may feel they
look fat or tired, or that they are engaged in activities that might detract from the pos-
itive image of themselves that they have been carefully crafting on Facebook thus far
(by posting photos that make them look thin, attractive, or fun).
But then the workshop discussion turned to the threats to both speaker and
hearer’s positive face if the tagged member removed the tag. If they choose to undo
the intertextuality by removing the link to their profile, essentially disowning the im-
age in the photo, they run the risk of damaging the friendship because the owner of
the photograph may think the objections to the image are different than they actually
are. Participants imagined their friends wondering,
Did my friend object to being pictured with me?
Why did they not accept my overture of friendship?
140 Laura West and Anna Marie Trester

Figure 8.1 Tagging photos (joke data).

We then introduced an intertextual reference to face threats in tagging from some joke
examples we took from Petri’s Washington Post blog entry. Laughter from the audi-
ence cued us to the recognition of the flouting of Facebook norms in the interaction
presented as figure 8.1, which humorously explores the practice of photo tagging of
YourFriendWithACamera (aka Carl). The creator of this joke has chosen to highlight
one of the potential face threats of photo tagging; by posting these unflattering pho-
tos, Carl gives the appearance of someone who does not care about maintaining his
friends’ positive faces or protecting their negative faces. By linking unflattering pho-
tos to their profiles, he is harming the desirable image that they wish to present on
Facebook. Further, by constraining their future actions for approximately six hours
(the exaggerated time that they will have to spend untagging these photos to repair
and satisfy their positive face wants), he threatens their negative faces and does dam-
age to the presentation of his own positive face, for which “you” sanction him by sar-
castically observing, “glad you’re putting in the effort.” In referencing the widely
recognized, ongoing navigation of norms surrounding the practice of tagging, humor
comes from the fact that real interactants on Facebook largely avoid these face-threat-
ening acts. Thus, the joke sets the stage for exploring the ways that users actually nav-
igate these face threats linguistically.

Being a Friend on Facebook

When friendliness is emphasized, as is the case on this social networking site, “the
reflex of social closeness is, generally, the reciprocal giving and receiving of positive
face” (Brown and Levinson 1987, 77). “S (speaker) should take notice of aspects of
H’s (hearer) condition (noticeable changes, remarkable possessions, anything which
looks as though H would want S to notice and approve of it)” (103). And, of course,
whenever someone posts something on his or her wall, it is precisely so that others
will notice it. This, then, creates texts that form the foundation of social interaction
on the site.
The creators of Facebook have structured the social site to facilitate intertextu-
ality, encouraging members to acknowledge and respond to texts that have been pre-
sented by other members: each post has a clickable like feature below it, a commenting
option allowing others to react to and remark on a post, and a share option for re-
posting the message on their own wall. Figure 8.2 is what appears at the top of every
user’s home, or profile, page, where they create communicative content.
Thus, when someone creates a profile and relays messages in the world of this
social networking site, a version of him- or herself is presented that becomes imme-
FACEWORK ON FACEBOOK 141

Figure 8.2 Facebook text box.

diately vulnerable to social interaction, and the myriad motivations and possible pit-
falls therein. In short, the stage is set for the social act of facework. One of the pri-
mary means of engaging in such facework on Facebook is posting, which we
characterize as an intertextual practice because fundamentally it involves the act of
sharing texts in the form of short messages (or status updates), photos, links, or
videos.
Again, the structure of the site itself contributes to intertextuality. Because Face-
book stacks the replies and responses in chronological order underneath the initial
post, a sort of heading is made which gives comments context and keeps the initial
post in the consciousness of participants, allowing future readers to have what Chafe
calls the same “activation states” of information in their minds while interpreting the
conversation (1994, 54). Months later someone can read the comments and look
back at what the starting topic was and how the conversation progressed. This for-
mat often prompts people to make use of explicit intertextuality, reusing and recy-
cling wording and framing from previous statements or texts. Facebook users are, in
fact, expected to interact regularly with the space and with other members (their
friends) in this way.
A source of insight into the expectations concerning such practices may be found
in the groups that members form on Facebook, for example, the open group “If you
don’t write on my wall then WHY did you friend request me?” that was created in
late December 2010, and which members of the public can join, like, and comment
on. Discussion on the group’s wall speaks to the “unspoken oddities about the rule
of friendship on Facebook” including, as one member described it, “when someone
who never spoke to me in HS (high school) friend requests me.” The very creation
of the group and the conversational activity on it highlight the importance of paying
attention to members’ positive faces, as does its self-description:
This [group] is for the people who get random friend requests by others who
apparently add them for the sole purpose of raising their “friend” quotient.
They never write on your wall, comment on your post/pics, “like” anything,
message you OR respond to you when you do any of the above for them.
Owing to the strong desire that members have for attention from others in the
community, a member who friends someone for their own positive face gains (to in-
crease their number of friends) without further acknowledging that friend is seen to
be neglecting their facework obligations toward that friend. The act of friending, ac-
cording to this group, should be to show a genuine interest and recognition of aspects
of another person (positive facework) in the form of posting, commenting, liking, or
sending and responding to messages. But when someone does not explicitly notice
142 Laura West and Anna Marie Trester

the other member by engaging in these intertextual linguistic practices, this is felt by
some to be disregarding a norm to perform positive facework toward one’s Facebook
friends. And this lack of approval by those who can see a member’s updates is seen
as a positive face threat.
The rule is to engage with the community by noticing the positive self-image
members present and make one’s awareness and appreciation of them known, or suf-
fer the social consequences, such as “the FB boot.” As the creator of the group de-
scribed above posts, “I just deleted 88 people and feel so much better after doing so!
How many people can you find who need the FB boot?” As these comments speak-
ing to the violations of the norms suggest, this “bald-on-record face threatening act”
(Brown and Levinson 1987, 95)—deleting people from a member’s list of friends—
seems to be a just reaction to the friends’ prior face threat to them (not acknowledg-
ing their self-presentation texts). As we see then, the practices of introducing and
responding to texts as a means for avoiding face threats and demonstrating facework
are central to Facebook. Intertextuality is thus implicated in many of the other core
organizing activities central to the site and built in to accomplishing facework in the
practice of friending, maintaining friendships, and in a variety of other contexts.

Self-Presentation on Facebook
Evidence of the dangers inherent in sharing about oneself on Facebook can be found
in our joke examples. Figure 8.3 highlights the type of post that attempts, unsuccess-
fully, to accomplish positive facework toward the poster, provoking instead an unde-
sirable and disapproving reaction. Rather than impressing others and having them
admire her, “I am achieving considerable professional success” causes readers to re-
spond negatively, expressing dislike and even hatred toward their friend (wanting to
“suffocate” her). The claim to success prompted by her positive face need to be ad-
mired is perhaps too blatant in that it makes others reexamine their own worth, threat-
ening both the positive face of the poster and the positive and negative faces of the
readers, who are forced to compare their own professional status with the poster’s ideal
position. This is why actual Facebook members don’t usually post in this way (and why

Figure 8.3 The dangers of bragging (joke data).

FACEWORK ON FACEBOOK 143

Figure 8.4 Positive face mitigated (ethnographic data).

the joke is funny); instead, people are more careful about performing positive facework
toward themselves through posts, mitigating their claims with emoticons, punctuation,
etc. as demonstrated in the next example of an actual Facebook interaction.
Figure 8.4 is an excerpt from our Facebook ethnography data, and reveals how
users present their positive faces while playing down or padding their claims. When
Jane explicitly performs positive facework by talking about “the beauty of being me”
and loving herself, we refer to her implied self-confidence and suggested love-of-life
personality as the post’s metamessage—a term first used in discourse analysis by Tan-
nen (2005). Jane doesn’t explicitly make these claims. Instead, she doctors the text
so that readers won’t picture her typing or saying this with a haughty sincerity. The
emoticon :D represents an open-mouthed smile and gives a contextualization cue
(Gumperz 1982) for readers to interpret Jane as expressing, “I don’t take myself too
seriously.” Dresner and Herring (2010) have observed in a detailed analysis of emoti-
cons that they may be used to “downgrade the utterance to a less face-threatening
speech act” (9).
The time stamps are also illuminating here in drawing informed conclusions
about the intentions of the poster. Observe that an hour later, Jane intertextually en-
gages with her own post, perhaps feeling upon rereading her original statement that
it might be misinterpreted, so she does another downgrade by explicitly claiming to
be feeling “silly” and using another popular online tactic to signal a good sense of
humor: “lol.” The “laughing out loud” abbreviation paints another picture for read-
ers of how Jane might be saying this; it makes up for the lack of paralinguistic con-
text cues. She might have successfully performed a self-confident air and avoided the
potential face threat of misinterpretation by hearers by laughing or smiling a certain
way in a face-to-face interaction, but uses the keyboard to save face in an online in-
teraction.
Figure 8.5 presents another interaction, which begins with a potentially face-
threatening brag downgraded with “lol,” which prompts potential face-threatening
back-and-forths consistently padded with “lol” and typed laughter. Nina shares the
fact that she does not have to go to school. The punctuation and “lol” mark this as a
happy bit of news, rather than what might be read as a brag (by friends who still have
to go to school that day—including those who may live at a distance from Nina in
144 Laura West and Anna Marie Trester

Figure 8.5 No school today! (ethnographic data).

geographic locations that do not share the same weather conditions and as such do
not get the day off due to snow). Lisa responds by teasing Nina for not realizing
until “just now” that she did not have to go to school, implying that she should have
known earlier because of the “smow and roads being closed.” The play frame is cued
again by Lisa’s use of “lol,” which is familiar to social media users and, perhaps, an
intertextual reference to Nina’s original post. Had Lisa not conveyed a sense of jok-
ing, it could have been a serious threat to Nina’s positive face, since it implies that
Nina is slow to comprehend the obvious. However, since it was done so blatantly and
with laughter, seen in the informal context of Facebook it is most easily interpreted
as friendly banter. Such moves are read in the context of Facebook as being playful.
Only friends can perform face threats toward one another and be perceived as jok-
ing, and such palling around online requires experience in the specific community to
learn how to properly employ intertextual practices to create these friendly interac-
tions on the site.
Nina then threatens Lisa’s positive face right back, but also pads it with typed
laugher (“haha”), by pointing out that Lisa’s “just now” is not correct in the context,
since the original post was created “two hours ago.” Lisa responds by continuing the
conversation along the lines of padded face threats and ignoring the previous one to
her own positive face; she asks Nina how she could doubt school being canceled given
the weather (again, suggesting that Lisa did not see the obvious, although the “lol”
cues the joking frame and serves to diminish this implied face threat as friendly teas-
ing). Nina continues to poke fun at Lisa’s lack of proficiency with the medium, first
her apparent unawareness of time stamps, and second her disfluency in her typing
(“smow” for “snow”), which is also padded with laughter (“jajaj”). Responding to
Lisa’s unmeant gesture (the misspelling of a word) with laughter is a polite move, as
pointed out by Goffman who claims that “one way of handling inadvertent disrup-
tions is for the interactants to laugh at them” (1959, 53).
Using previous posts as subject matter for new posts and for creating jokes and
a self- or, in this case, other-deprecating style of humor, friends stay connected as
Facebook friends through these short exchanges. Lisa continues to respond to the
FACEWORK ON FACEBOOK 145

“just” plus the content of the first post; Nina replies by teasing Lisa about the form
of her responses. Both participants use intertextuality, recycling ideas and linguistic
tactics, and referring back to previous texts to create new ones—exemplifying one
way that conversations are created, and friendships maintained, on the social site.
In capturing some playful teasing around how posts and comments should go,
this example now moves our discussion from posts to reactions to posts. All poten-
tial Facebook interactions begin with a post. We have already considered the poten-
tial face threat that a post may never be responded to or expanded upon (a threat so
severe it merits giving the boot), but when someone does respond, the coveted re-
sponse is one that accomplishes positive facework, showing involvement in the life
of the poster by demonstrating that the hearer is also interested in things that are in-
teresting to the speaker, whether in a play frame and teasingly or in other keys, ne-
gotiated by the participants.

Responding to Facebook Posts: Liking and Commenting

Facebook provides two options for demonstrating interest (responding to posts) to in-
tertextually perform positive facework. Rather than writing a comment that engages
with the post in some meaningful way, users may simply click the like button to in-
dicate having noticed and appreciated a friend’s post, and in so doing accomplish face-
work for both parties’ positive faces. In addition, by clicking like neither interactant
(poster or responder) is committed to any future action, thus protecting both partic-
ipants’ negative faces. However, if clicking the like button is a way to demonstrate
interest without making a huge effort, it might also carry the metamessage of being
a minimal effort response.
The following joke exploits such a metamessage for the purposes of humor. In
this interaction “Somebody” has posted a link to an article, demonstrating mild en-
thusiasm for it and leaving “You” to decide how to respond.
The creators of Facebook have given members an easy way to meet this need of
the poster, and the name of the feature is loaded with intertextual ties to the familiar
social act of expressing approval toward something presented by a speaker. However,
does simply clicking like fully combat the possible face threats noted above? It seems
to constitute going on record with positive politeness, but does it “[assure] the ad-
dressee that the Speaker considers himself to be ‘of the same kind,’” that he “wants his
wants?” (Brown and Levinson, 1987, 71–72). Can it really assure the hearer that the
speaker likes him? After all, since a choice to like can be a choice not to say anything
more about it, like can embed the very choice of having chosen not to comment.

Figure 8.6 What like really means on Facebook (joke data).

146 Laura West and Anna Marie Trester

As the joke points out, responding presupposes that the hearer has cared
enough about the speaker to read what he or she posted, but simply clicking like
can actually hide whether or not this was indeed done. Interactional research into
the process of intertextuality can help us understand how this works. By posting
an article that he is not particularly excited about, “Somebody” may be understood
to have failed to adhere to the interactional norms surrounding intertextuality in
this context, because “You” are not brought into engagement with this text either.
It is precisely through communicating, negotiating, and coming to share such ori-
entations that participants do facework through intertextuality in this online con-
text; thus, it is not sufficient simply to acknowledge THAT you engage with a
text—to bring your fellow interactants into the process, you must also share HOW
you engage with it and WHY. Such negotiation of shared orientations to prior texts
is, as Trester (2012) claims, one of the primary functions, the why of intertextual-
ity. Because as Becker has observed, “social groups seem to be bound primarily by
a shared repertoire of prior texts” (1994, 165), texts provide opportunities to do “be-
ing a community” by negotiating shared orientations to texts and to each other. Thus,
in the joke example, if “Somebody” does not demonstrate having made the effort
to do the interactional work, clicking like may be one way of responding that takes
the same half-hearted tone.
Of course, in the joke example, the respondent is relaying his thoughts about
clicking like (ironically, by commenting), and it is the fact that he has admittedly only
liked the post to avoid any real engagement with the text that is the source of the hu-
mor. Whereas liking can be a sort of back channeling, and a quick way to save the
poster from the face threat of having an unacknowledged post existing publicly for
a stretch of time, commenting can involve intertextual engagement with the other
through the text.
Figure 8.7, taken from an actual interaction we captured on Facebook, exempli-
fies the more frequently observed pattern: interactions begin with one or two inter-
actants liking a post, after which the interaction is typically moved forward by
comments. Meredith posts a description of a bird that has been tapping on her win-
dowsill. Several of her friends (Amy, Lauren, and Jane) join in on the conversation
by means of comments that offer playful explanations for the bird’s sudden appear-
ance. Later, when Meredith appears to be annoyed at his continued presence, observ-
ing “oh my gosh . . . he’s tapping again,” her friends begin offering tongue-in-cheek
solutions for solving the perceived problem, displaying orientation to the now entex-
tualized bird text in a variety of ways.
As the conversation unfolds over the course of the day (as indicated by the time-
stamps), we may observe that Meredith’s friends find a variety of ways to intertextu-
ally engage with her original post, and their comments on her post flatter Meredith’s
positive face by showing involvement in her life. By bringing in other texts that the
bird text reminds them of, they demonstrate HOW they are interested in things that
are interesting to her (in this case, the sudden appearance and erratic behavior of
birds). For example, Jane’s comment “All MY cats are present and accounted for” at
the sudden disappearance of the bird can of course only be interpreted by reference
back to her earlier playful offer “Want me to send you a kitty?” as a means of remov-
FACEWORK ON FACEBOOK 147

Figure 8.7 A bird tapping at the window (ethnographic data).

ing the source of perceived annoyance. This local text of the proffered cat then be-
comes a resource with which to create shared experiences and accessible cultural ref-
erents for playful exchanges; when the bird finally disappears, Jane jokingly asserts
that all her cats are accounted for, continuing the conversation by both responding to
Meredith’s update about the bird being gone and creating textual coherence by link-
ing her current response to her earlier offer to send a kitty.
Intertextuality allows us to systematically unpack how facework is being done
when we consider Jane’s humorous intertextual reference to the film Failure to
Launch. By saying, “There’s a hilarious scene about a girl & a bird who is driving
her crazy. Better than the main story line in fact,” she invites her friends to share
in her repertoire of prior texts (providing context for those who may not recognize
the name of the film alone). Moreover, by showing her orientation to the text she
invites Meredith into her view of the text and to draw a parallel to the current con-
text (and thus her choice to recontextualize it) to convey that she finds Meredith
fun and funny as well. Thus, she has used intertextuality two ways here—to index
a shared repertoire of texts, then using these texts to accomplish positive facework
148 Laura West and Anna Marie Trester

toward Meredith by finding parallels in her orientation to the text to admirable char-
acteristics in her friend. It is the latter piece of intertextual engagement that is nec-
essarily absent when like is used. Thus, to like is to make intertextual reference both
to the now widely recognized practice of providing quick online positive feedback
and the familiar social act of expressing approval, but liking may carry the inter-
actional risk of being a missed opportunity for intertextually accomplishing face-
work. Another practice that also offers a potentially low facework return is the act
of being one of dozens of friends wishing someone a simple “Happy Birthday” on
Facebook.

What “Happy Birthday” Means on Facebook

As users of the site well know, Facebook sends reminders when a friend is celebrat-
ing his or her birthday, thus potentially diminishing the significance of the act of re-
membering friends’ birthdays. The act of remembering is an act of friendship because
it is an opportunity to anoint positive face, but also because it requires an effort on a
friend’s part (precisely because it presents a negative face threat when the friend whose
birthday it is expects this effort). We begin by considering one of the joke examples.
Presented as figure 8.8, a joke interaction from Petri’s blog entry presents “You”
wishing your friend Carl a happy birthday by means of a Facebook post. Like our other
joke examples, this example carries the face-threatening possibility to the extreme,
demonstrated through such sarcastic comments as “We must be really close friends.”
However, a recent study found that “over 54% of the interactions between the infre-
quently interacting user pairs [in their data] can be directly attributed to Facebook’s
birthday reminder feature” (Viswanath et al. 2009, 1), so it seems possible that this act
may be becoming cliché and devoid of much potential for positive facework.
In fact, even as she was writing this section, Trester took a quick break to dip
into her email only to find herself being reminded by Facebook that today is the birth-
day of one of her friends. She dutifully jumped over to that person’s wall to come up
with some interesting and unique way to say “Happy Birthday,” as birthday facework
on Facebook seems to now be more about crafting text that includes more than the
simple phrase, adorned with expressive punctuation or textual reference to knowl-
edge shared with that member. It is nigh impossible to be the first birthday wisher
nowadays and given that each message is sandwiched in between dozens of other
“Happy Birthdays,” the only way to do positive politeness here indeed seems to in-
volve coming up with an entirely novel or uniquely personal way of issuing this wish.

Figure 8.8 Happy Birthday (joke data).

FACEWORK ON FACEBOOK 149

Figure 8.9 Happy Birthday (ethnographic data).

Our next example is taken from a Facebook interaction collected as part of our
ethnography focusing on new members to Facebook of the Baby Boomer generation,
which considers how they learned to manage their membership on the social network-
ing site. Jill, a Facebook user over the age of fifty, who had been a member less than
two years at the time of the data collection, responds to birthday wishes. Although
younger users who have been members longer often do something along the lines of
a single post on their wall at the end of the day saying simply, “Thank you everyone
for the well wishes,” Jane responds individually to each poster, a considerable threat
to her negative face in being a huge investment of time.
This data highlights a gap between new members’ assumptions or impulses as
compared to the more frequently observed established norms. Offline a person is usu-
ally expected to acknowledge a verbal birthday greeting or a written card individu-
ally, but the Facebook community seems to have adopted a norm to lessen the negative
face threat that receiving dozens (or even hundreds) of birthday wishes would other-
wise cause. Such false expectations about what being a Facebook member requires
of someone is one of the reasons older generations may be reluctant to join the site.

Defining and Reacting to FTAs: Returning to Tagging

The seeds of this project were sown when a colleague of ours told us about her
mother’s tearful reaction to being invited to Facebook. When we tried to understand
this emotional response by asking her daughter why her mother felt such a strong re-
action, our colleague told us that her mother felt overwhelmed by the perceived de-
mands of having to keep up with so many friends, and her expectations about how
this would be accomplished in this context. Moreover, the invitation itself was an-
other threat to her face, since she now felt that she was obligated to respond in some
way, and did not want to appear rude by declining the invitation.
Although tears seem an extreme reaction to an invitation to join Facebook, this
reaction pointed to something essential about the importance of facework in this con-
text and led us to realize we did not always share an opinion about the realities of
navigating the face rituals within the site. As users of Facebook ourselves, we found
150 Laura West and Anna Marie Trester

that one determining factor in how we each oriented to face rituals on the site was
owing in large part to when in our lives we began to engage with the site. Trester
shared a higher level of awareness of the FTAs inherent to Facebook, which also
seemed to be supported in discussion playback sessions that we used to explore some
of the thinking about the site’s social and interactional norms. These discussions re-
vealed a divide in practices falling along the line of those who used Facebook as part
of their high school and college experience and those who did not. Those who are
currently twenty-eight to thirty-two years of age now seem to serve as the boundary
between two ways of using new media, although a great deal more research must be
done to support an age-based explanation of perception of face threats.
To illuminate the room for interpretation that exists, figure 8.10 is a Facebook in-
teraction that we collected that illustrates a negotiation involving a newer practice on
the site resulting from the addition of the tagging feature. Mark uses a wall post to an-
nounce that he is going to New York and invite his friends there to hang out. In issu-
ing this invitation, he tags the addressees such that not only are these friends directly
addressed, but everyone can see everyone else who was included in the message.
Both authors reacted differently to this data. Although Trester found this to be a
blatant negative face threat to the tagged parties (in constraining their future courses
of action by saddling them with the work of organizing his social plans), not to men-
tion the positive face threat involved for both speaker and hearer for any friends who
were not included, West thought this to be an efficient and low-stakes way for Mark
to contact friends and inform them of his visit—one that somewhat elegantly mini-
mally threatened negative face for not constraining future courses of action by not
obligating anyone to respond.

Figure 8.10 Coming to New York (ethnographic data).

FACEWORK ON FACEBOOK 151

We may begin by considering how Mark’s invitation is different from an invita-

tion issued in another medium, such as a mass email message. Using a Facebook post
reflects a choice on his part to issue his invitation in a more public way, which some
may perceive as entailing less of an obligation to respond (as opposed to being in-
vited by email, phone, or text, which might make one feel more directly put on the
spot), thus possibly mitigating the negative FTA toward the invitees. Conversely, is-
suing the invitation in this way might be perceived as more public than an email mes-
sage. And by employing the tagging feature rather than using a message or simply
posting this on his wall, Mark may be perceived as inviting a degree of public scrutiny
on this invitation, including who was invited and how those who have been invited
choose to respond or whether they respond at all.
Mark pads the FTA by his linguistic choices, for example using “NYCple” as
a playful term for people living in New York, and its creative and colloquial sense
makes the request informal. Moreover, he also plays with mixing registers in his
post, using “Attention,” which is a more formal and even institutional lexical
choice, with “NYCple,” and then returning to formal register with “please, kindly
consider,” thus framing the post as a request. Humor is suggested in the command
that immediately follows the formal, hyper-polite language: “then do it.” Given
that Mark is in his mid-twenties and a longtime user of Facebook, the creativity
of the language and the odd appearance of a formal register on Facebook suggests
a casualness about the invitation. He has framed his post as a lighthearted request,
padding both the threat to his positive face (and the tagged friends’ negative faces)
in case no one accepted.
Mark’s initial request to hang out is (on the surface quite face threateningly) im-
mediately countered by Friend 1, who reveals that he is also going to New York then
and calls dibs on the right to hang out with several of the friends that Mark had listed.
To further his prior claim, Friend 1 gives Mark permission “to join,” usurping the po-
sition of being the inviter and the reason for the gathering—which, if communicated
with malice, would be a definite face threat to Mark, who has been publicly put in a
less important position. However, Mark playfully negates the face threat by denying
Friend 1’s right to make such a conversational move (“no dibsies!”) and counters with
a more specific plan for the event he is proposing: “Maybe we should find somewhere
easy to get to on Friday night and make everyone come to us.” He playfully indexes
his shared rights to claims on his friends by casting them as audience to his conver-
sation with Friend 1 about what they can make them do, thus putting them on equal
footing and creating a we—accomplishing positive facework to them as a pair and
building solidarity through intertextuality and humor.
Although Mark’s response has upped the ante in terms of face threats (from a
request or invitation to hang out to talk of “making” the friends come), several friends
in succession show an affirmative response, signaling that they have likely interpreted
this in jest. Interestingly, each friend finds a unique way to express that they are
amenable, as was observed in the variant happy birthday wishes: Friend 2 writes
“word” (a very colloquial way of signaling agreement), Friend 3 writes, “yes,” Friend
4 gives his phone number (in a way that will presumably not be recognized by a com-
puter spammer), and Friend 5 says, “im in.”
152 Laura West and Anna Marie Trester

The invitation may be said to have been ultimately successful because several
friends do respond in the affirmative about hanging out with Mark but the exact de-
tails of where and when and who are not present, so they must have been negotiated
in another medium (if at all). We may also observe that not everyone who was in-
vited was tagged, nor did all of those who were tagged respond. It may be argued that
Mark’s invitation does not seem to have been read as a negative face threat to those
invited, since they did not feel obligated to respond. Or it is possible that those who
could hang out with Mark wanted to say so publicly to do positive facework toward
Mark, but those who would not be able to chose to respond in a more private way to
avoid a possible threat to Mark’s positive face.
Beginning and ending our discussion with the negotiation of norms surrounding
this newer feature, we wish to show how Facebook provides a new terrain for map-
ping media ideologies, “beliefs about how a medium communicates and structures
communication,” paying attention to what Gershon calls the second-order informa-
tion that tells us how this message should be interpreted, what a user interprets this
message to mean because of how it was communicated (2010, 19). Every interaction
on Facebook can itself be a seen as a site of ongoing negotiation, because the cre-
ation of these norms and practices is ongoing and emergent.

Conclusions
We draw from an ethnographic exploration of how members of this online space lin-
guistically accomplish facework through practices of friending, posting, and replying,
as well as rituals such as issuing invitations and wishing happy birthday, which we
characterize as intertextual. Thus, linking intertextuality to the concept of face can pro-
vide a new means for understanding some of the site’s central organizing practices.
Although there are recognizable norms and expectations on Facebook—revealed
by the fact that we can laugh at situations that overtly violate them—members may dif-
fer in their understanding of what is actually face threatening and are creative in how
they linguistically navigate the possible FTAs that they do recognize. By looking first
at purposely constructed humorous interactions flouting the expectations surrounding
face, and then at actual interactions driven by these expectations, we hope to have shown
how speakers maneuver social demands in these media and how users’ linguistic be-
haviors reflect their awareness of the obligations surrounding face in this context. We
have suggested that the need to present something for others to acknowledge seems to
be the driving impulse for many posts on the site (as evidenced both in the content of
the posts and in the Facebook group discussed earlier that voices frustration with friends
who fail to give this acknowledgment), and that both the poster and the potential respon-
dents seem to be expected to do some intertextual work to tie texts together on the site.
The social practices that occur on Facebook, and indeed in any online medium,
according to Baym (2006) are more complicated than nonmediated interactions, since
they lack facial, body, and prosodic cues; thus we have followed the advice and ex-
ample of Baym, Androutsopoulous, Georgakopoulou, some of the major figures in
CMC research, and grounded our study and explanation of the data in an ethnographic
study of the site. This has enabled us to bolster our claims about Facebook exchanges
in evidence outside the individual excerpts we present above.
FACEWORK ON FACEBOOK 153

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
We thank the participants in our study and audience members of our workshop at GURT 2011 for their
input and feedback. In addition, we greatly appreciate the careful reading of our chapter and comments
and suggestions that we received from Deborah Tannen.

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9
Mock Performatives in Online Discussion
Boards
Toward a Discourse-Pragmatic Model of Computer-Mediated Communication

T U I JA V I RTA N E N
Åbo Akademi University

Introduction

PERFORMATIVES (Austin 1962) have received little attention in online environments. Yet the
formal performative marker “hereby” appears on personal websites, discussion boards,
and, to some extent, blogs—in contexts of informal computer-mediated communica-
tion (CMC). This chapter accounts for the motivations and communicative success of
explicit performatives including the formal marker, by investigating their forms and dis-
course-pragmatic functions in data from discussion boards on beauty and fashion. For
example, a user expressing regret over the sums of money that she has recently spent
on makeup gets the response “I hereby grant you permission to blow cash on how you
look.” More specifically, this chapter contributes to the study of text-based CMC by
proposing two terms, “mock performative” and “discourse transformer,” and devising
a discourse-pragmatic model for the analysis of online performativity.
Unlike performativity, the notion of performance—users performing social ac-
tion through discourse—has been the subject of several studies, concerning, for in-
stance, “cyberplay” (Danet 2001), the social processes of “doing genre” online
(Giltrow in press), online narrativity (Georgakopoulou in press), and performance
through the enactment of stereotyped offline scripts (Herring 2000). Rather than per-
formance at large—the making of the action performed through discourse—this
chapter deals with the phenomenon of performativity in text-based CMC—the do-
ing of an action by typing it in, its self-referential enactment in a virtual reality (for
a discussion of the making and doing of personal narrative, see Peterson and Langel-
lier 2006).

Overview
The chapter explores explicit performatives incorporating the marker “hereby” in text-
based CMC, using data from US-based discussion boards on beauty and fashion. These
performatives have their roots in institutional discourse but are put to use in informal
conversations between interlocutors of equal status who participate in the interaction
of their own free will. I propose the term “mock performative” for such instances as

155
156 Tuija Virtanen

that described above. Although mock performatives may appear both offline and on-
line, their use in text-based CMC is of particular interest to linguists because (1) they
allow users to “do things with words,” in the Austinian sense, solely by typing in the
performative; (2) they are noncancelable; and (3) they bring change to a virtual reality
under construction. Mock performatives evoke Austin’s notion of etiolation, a shifting
or weakening of one or more aspects of the performative speech act (such as authority
or address) without turning the speech act into a nonact. CMC-sensitive approaches to
performatives grapple with the construction of multiple worlds, real and virtual, and
thus adapt to an open-ended pluralism of what there may be.
Another important impetus for the study of mock performatives in CMC is pro-
vided by their ability to initiate joint play sequences in the discussion thread. I pro-
pose the term “discourse transformer” to characterize the work that mock
performatives do in signaling a shift to a play mode. Because of their status as dis-
course transformers, the dispreferred response to mock performatives is textual si-
lence. In these forums users generally express alignment to license the play mode.
They do so by juggling institutional scripts that are to be shared. Furthermore, the
playfulness of mock performatives allows users to assume authority over other par-
ticipants. Mock performatives usually appear as responses to previous contributions.
A discourse-pragmatic model is devised to capture the effects of the mock per-
formatives in the forums. The model draws parallels between the linguistic domains
of (1) form, content, and style; (2) discourse functions; (3) the situated microprag-
matics; and (4) the sociocultural macropragmatics. The impact of mock performa-
tives on each of them is examined through the lenses of five major
discourse-pragmatic phenomena: (1) structuring; (2) highlighting; (3) constructing;
(4) linking; and (5) authenticating. The model is proposed as a point of departure for
the study of performativity in text-based CMC.
After the literature review, I present the methods and materials of the study.
When mock performatives are introduced, the concern is with their form, content,
and stylistic fit in the online discussions. Joint juggling of scripts originating in court-
room discourse and awards ceremonies, focusing on the participant roles involved in
their playful use; the function of mock performatives as discourse transformers; and
mock performatives in terms of five discourse-pragmatic phenomena, resulting in a
model of computer-mediated discourse, complete the chapter.

Literature Review
Searle defines performative utterances as follows:
[S]ome illocutionary acts can be performed by uttering a sentence containing
an expression that names the type of speech act, as in for example, “I order you
to leave the room.” These utterances, and only these, are correctly described as
performative utterances. On my usage, the only performatives are what Austin
called “explicit performatives.” Thus, though every utterance is indeed a
performance, only a very restricted class are performatives. (1989, 536)
Explicit performatives can incorporate the formal marker “hereby,”—for example, the
meeting is (hereby) adjourned, and I (hereby) apologize. Searle paraphrases the per-
MOCK PERFORMATIVES IN ONLINE DISCUSSION BOARDS 157

formative marker as “by-this-here-very-utterance,” “here” being the self-referential

part and “by” the executive part (1989, 552). The verb is in the dramatic present: its
utterance is simultaneous with the act being performed. The source of authority is
typically institutionalized, as in the first example, creating the extralinguistic fact of
an adjournment. But language itself is an institution that empowers people to per-
form linguistic declarations, such as the apology of the second example, creating a
linguistic fact (Searle 1989).
The explicit performatives under investigation forcefully evoke Austin’s (1962)
notion of etiolation as a fundamental dimension of language use, albeit not in focus
in his own work. Etiolation refers to the shifting or weakening of one or several as-
pects of individual speech acts without turning the speech act into a nonact. Austin’s
examples include the shifting of speech-act authority in quotation, that of address in
soliloquy, and both of them in acting; further, in joking, etiolation affects sense, and
in fiction, reference (Austin 1962, 22; Sbisà 2007, 469). It is important to note that
the speech act thus etiolated will still be a speech act in its own right. The use of per-
formatives in computer-mediated discourse (CMD) strongly suggests a need for de-
veloping performative theory to incorporate fully “the doctrine of the etiolations of
language” (Austin 1962, 22)—or, in Sbisà’s terms, “ontological pluralism” (put sim-
ply, the open-ended pluralism of what there may be [2007, 471])—in order to come
to grips with the existence of several different (virtual) realities to which users adapt
and which they help construct and alter through CMC. Such virtual realities are rem-
iniscent of text worlds and universes of discourse, which are regularly construed by
interlocutors for the purposes of textual interpretability (for these notions, see Enkvist
1989). The two main characteristics of performativity in text-based CMC—doing
things by typing them in, and constructing virtual realities through them—warrant
investigations of this classic pragmatic phenomenon in a new light. Online perfor-
matives, too, are noncancelable, and they bring change to the virtual world under con-
struction (and sometimes also to participants’ so-called real worlds).
Studies of online performativity include investigations of particular speech acts,
such as apologies in email (Harrison and Allton in press), which have real-life force.
Further, the CMC-specific phenomenon of emoting has been subject to early study
(on emotes, see Cherny 1995; Kolko 1995; Werry 1996; on the differences between
emotes and an expanding category of performative predications, see Herring in press).
Actions in a virtual world can be performed by typing in constructions that refer to
the user’s online character in the third person, such as “*wipes away a tear*” in ex-
ample 2, below. The increasing popularity of such typographically marked construc-
tions across modes of text-based CMC, including texting in mobile phones, raises
the issue of the limits of the traditional concept of performative utterance. Although
they are beyond the scope of this chapter, emotes are touched upon when they ac-
company explicit performatives, which appear in the messages as “said,” not as
“emoted” (for further discussion, see Virtanen in press).
The inferencing work that is necessary for interlocutors to be able to commu-
nicate has been approached, for instance, through reference to concepts such as
“frames” (Minsky 1975) and “scripts” (Schank and Abelson 1977). Although these
and related terms have many uses in the literature, a simple example might be the
158 Tuija Virtanen

kinds of entities and steps that can be taken for granted in a given cultural context
by mentioning the word “bus.” Buses are expected to have drivers and passengers,
a large number of seats, timetables, and many other characteristics that can be sub-
sumed under the umbrella of a “bus frame.” Scripts are dynamic and involve tem-
poral succession, so a “bus script” could include the culture-specific steps of, say,
consulting the timetable, waiting for the bus at a bus stop, getting on the bus when
it arrives, paying the fare, finding a seat, and getting off at another stop—perhaps
through the back door. When a particular frame or script is activated in discourse,
it will not be necessary to explain the commonplaces related to them. Shared
frames and scripts thus function as shorthand in communication. But when inter-
locutors’ tacit assumptions do not conform with particular stereotyped frames and
scripts, there is the risk of misunderstanding. Tannen (1979) defines frames and
scripts as “structures of expectation.” In the analysis that follows, the term “script”
is used to refer to the dynamic, stereotyped sequences of actions and events that
are activated through performatives.
Also of interest is Goffman’s (1974) notion of framing, referring to interlocutors
signaling what they do in conversation, such as joking. This, in turn, invites expres-
sions of alignment, by which interlocutors negotiate situated interpersonal relationships
(Goffman 1981). Tannen (1993a) views this kind of interaction-oriented framing in
terms of people’s metamessages about what is going on in the talk. Exploring interac-
tive frames of interpretation in the activities that interlocutors think they are engaged
in, Tannen and Wallat (1987) devise an analytic framework for integrating this sense
of the notion with an understanding of frames as structures of expectation (these lat-
ter being concomitant, for instance, with Minskyan knowledge frames). The performa-
tives under investigation serve as discourse transformers by signaling shifts to a play
mode (play frame) in the interaction. In so doing, they trigger responses of resistance
to or acceptance of the act, which manifest same-script or other-script discourse. In her
analysis of cyberplay, Danet (2001) makes a distinction between play and playfulness:
whereas users occasionally engage in virtual play (such as a virtual performance of a
birthday party, or of Hamlet), playfulness is an inherent characteristic of CMC of many
kinds. The performatives index playfulness, and they succeed in initiating play se-
quences in the interaction when other users align with the activated play mode.

Methods and Materials

To detect explicit performatives in informal text-based CMC, in September 2006
searches were conducted for the keyword “hereby” in all messages across the pub-
licly available English-language discussion boards on a US-based website, on which
participants review beauty products and discuss makeup and fashion. The members
were predominantly females of all ages, and mainly located in the United States,
Canada, United Kingdom, and Australia. Instances of the word “hereby” were found
in twenty-nine asynchronous threads in five different discussion boards. The data were
not collected for quantitative purposes; instead, the threads were studied using
discourse-analytic methods.
The examples are anonymized as concerns (1) product placement, (2) temporal
pointers, and (3) nicknames. The temporal distance between the actual times of the
MOCK PERFORMATIVES IN ONLINE DISCUSSION BOARDS 159

posts has been kept intact to show their chronology in a threading system that occa-
sionally deviates from temporal sequentiality. Nicknames are replaced by common
female first names and numbered consecutively for ease of reference. The pace of
communication is at times very rapid, and users type their messages directly on the
subject line rather than in the message box provided; hence, the abbreviation “r/o”
in example 4, below, is an instruction to read on in the message box.

Mock Performatives
The explicit hereby performatives in the corpus can be labeled mock performatives.
Users playfully adopt the role of a powerful figure in religious, royal, judicial, or man-
agerial scripts, which are expected to be familiar to the members of the virtual com-
munity. In other instances mock performatives carry allusions to institutional
authorities in stereotyped situations such as awarding prizes and certificates, crown-
ing beauty queens, giving permission, or making declarations of consequence. Con-
sider the following examples:
I hereby sentence you to . . .
arrest you for . . .
recruit you to . . .
appoint you to . . .
crown you . . .
award you . . .
grant you permission to . . .
declare you . . .
I hereby declare that . . .
You are hereby excommunicated
sentenced to a lifetime of . . .
banished from this kingdom
The mock performatives are anchored to identifiable stereotyped scripts with the
formal beginning “I hereby,” followed by a verb in the dramatic present naming the
action that is thus performed. The passive is less usual. The verb can be institution-
alized or an ordinary, everyday verb. Adverbials such as “officially” or “solemnly”
are sometimes used to reinforce the mock performative when the verb is not part of
the stereotype, as in “I hereby and officially transfer my ice cream and hot fudge al-
lowance to you.” Users react to off-topic discussion (conveniently abbreviated OT),
and this example, from a fragrance board, is a playful response to someone who cheek-
ily suggests ice cream and hot fudge as discussion topics.
The conspicuous style shift from informal to formal at the outset of the explicit
performative is immediately followed by another style shift in the verb phrase, or in
the subsequent cotext, of the performative construction. This second shift from for-
mal to informal serves to adjust the mock performative to the style of the discussion
in order to give it an optimal stylistic fit.
Users occasionally extend authority over themselves, as in “I am hereby banned
from purchasing any more of the following: r/o” (see Virtanen in press). However, most
of the mock performatives in the forums involve authority over other interlocutors.
160 Tuija Virtanen

Mock performatives can be directed to a particular interlocutor (“you”), in the pres-

ence of a secondary audience, as in examples 1, 2, and 3, below, or jointly to all users
of the virtual community at hand, as in example 4. Let us explore in more detail some
of the scripts mediated by mock performatives.

Juggling Scripts
Many of the mock performatives found in the data are grounded in a courtroom
script. Example 1 illustrates the activation of such scripts in a makeup board. In line
3, the user Mary1 first assumes the role of the accused (“guilty as charged”), only to
turn into a judge after another participant, Linda3, appears on the scene to plead guilty
through alignment: “me tooo.” The discourse marker “well” (see, for example, Jucker
1993) signals disruption in the construction of the appropriate virtual felicity condi-
tions, while the contingency of the courtroom script being enacted is assured by an-
other explicit performative: “you are hereby sentenced to . . .” The hierarchy of roles
is thereafter maintained, even as the user sentenced to “a lifetime of addiction, plus
time already served,” Linda3, is transformed into a negotiator successfully striking a
deal with Mary1.
Example 1
Couldn’t you use the [Brand] lip stains on your cheeks as well? Mary1 1:44
PM
• ohh it’s your blush addiction!! Patricia2 1:45 PM
• guilty as charged Mary1 1:51 PM
o me tooo. Linda3 1:52 PM
" well, you are hereby sentenced to a lifetime of addiction, plus

time already served Mary1 1:53 PM

" I’ll take it . . . as long as I get my blush too! heh. Linda3

1:56 PM
• deal Mary1 1:57 PM
The juggling of scripts indexes playfulness and creativity; yet the scripts acti-
vated cannot be considered brand new. The institutional or official character of the
performative is crucial, its recognition thus demanding some degree of stereotyping.
The roles adopted involve absolute or great power, and high agentivity. But this ex-
ample shows that the opposite can sometimes be true: witness the affected role of the
accused pleading guilty, which imbues other users with authority. Authority is cru-
cial, irrespective of whether it is overt, covert, assumed, or assigned to another user.
Apart from the primary roles of the agent and the affected, there are also audience
responses to the explicit performatives such as applause, laughter, expressions of
agreement, and seconding of motions. Moreover, there are some signs of convention-
alization in audience response, including “ita” (“I totally agree”); “2nd” (“I second
the motion”).
Another popular script that is associated on these discussion boards with mock
performatives is an award-ceremony script. Hence, in line 3 in example 2, below, Eliz-
abeth5 assumes the authority of awarding Barbara4 the “Master Makeup Artist’s cer-
MOCK PERFORMATIVES IN ONLINE DISCUSSION BOARDS 161

tificate” through a mock performative, motivating the decision by a brief evaluation

of Barbara4’s “smokey eye tutorial” including the picture that she has posted in the
forum. Three responses appear immediately. Jennifer6 types in “agreed!” and Maria7
emotes applause (as shown in the last line). The receiver of the certificate, Barbara4,
reacts twice, first with a textual display of great emotion and gratefulness (“awww.
that is soooo sweeeet!”), reinforced by the stereotyped wiping away of a tear—en-
acted by typing what looks like an emote, but would, in Herring’s (in press) terms,
be a performative predication—a smiley, and another emote (or performative predi-
cation), this time an expository noun: “*tears of joy*.” Barbara4 adopts another voice
in a parody of award winners’ speeches in a televised gala for her second response,
made two minutes later. The bestower of the award, Elizabeth5, types in laughter, in
capital letters for high intensity.
Example 2
Alright . . . smokey eye tutorial . . . PIC HEAVY!!! Barbara4 12:24 AM
o [many responses, several with side sequences]
o I hereby award you the *Master MA* certificate! That is excellently done
and shown! Elizabeth5 12:30 AM
" agreed! Jennifer6 12:31 AM

" awww. that is soooo sweeeet! *wipes away a tear* : ) *tears of joy*

Barbara4 12:31 AM
" *Oh my goodness! this is such an honor to recieve this award. I

would like to thank all those little people that i had to step on to
get to this place . . . .and i would like to thank my producers,
and . . . .* Barbara4 12:33 AM
• LOL Elizabeth5 12:39 AM
" **applauds** Maria7 12:31 AM

Mock performatives allow users to assume authority playfully. Responses vary

from acceptance to resistance. The activated script can be negotiated, and users tend
to engage in joint play by producing same-script or other-script discourse. A discus-
sion of the ability of mock performatives to initiate play sequences in the interaction
is thus in order.

Mock Performatives as Discourse Transformers

The mock performatives under investigation predominantly function as discourse
transformers, switching the generally playful discussion of topics related to beauty and
fashion into an explicit play mode (play frame). Interlocutors readily engage in the me-
diated script by making (1) a verbal acknowledgment, (2) another same-script or other-
script performative, (3) an emote (or performative predication), or (4) a combination
of an emote or performative predication and another explicit performative. The dispre-
ferred response is silence, as in example 3 from the middle of a long discussion of fash-
ion products that users find (un)attractive. By pursuing the discussion along previous
lines, the interlocutors textually ignore the discourse transformer typed in by Carol9.
Textual silence, too, may be revelatory of the effects of a particular performative on a
162 Tuija Virtanen

virtual world under construction. Yet its dispreferred nature at this point lies in the fact
that other users do not explicitly opt for a joint play sequence at the invitation conveyed
by the mock performative. This particular mock performative may, however, still
function in the interaction as a playful expression of disagreement. Moreover, this ex-
ample illustrates the use of emoting to construct virtual felicity conditions: the user
adopting the role of a king chooses to reinforce the activated script by waving the
scepter.

Example 3
I love my [Brand] Donna8 9:30 PM
• I hereby banish you from this kingdom!!!!!!!!!!! *waves septer* Carol9
9:31 PM
Even when met with textual silence, performative acts are noncancelable once they
have been typed in, except perhaps by the same user repairing the contribution (see the
discussions in Cherny 1995; Kolko 1995; see also Herring 2001). Yet in these forums
the play mode triggered by the mock performative needs to be licensed by the virtual
community for joint construction of the virtual world thus created or altered. Otherwise
the mock performative remains an act of byplay, in a similar fashion as that of much of
the inherently playful discourse emerging in CMC contexts, including emoting.
Example 4 illustrates a play sequence culminating the discussion. The discourse
transforming mock performative, starting from line five, is prefaced by “ok,” which in-
dicates an attempt to conclude the discussion. The wide repertoire of scripts manifest
in the series of responses to this mock performative might be hypothesized to be evoked
by the ritual underspecification of a mere declaration (as compared to the ritualistically
richer acts of sentencing users to a particular punishment, bestowing awards on them,
and banishing them from a virtual kingdom). Two abbreviations appear in the example:
“SO,” on the first line, refers to “significant other”; “r/o” is discussed above.

Example 4
On a break with SO—I deserve a mini-haul . . . . right?? ;-) Margaret10 9:43
PM
• [a series of short responses expressing empathy, between 9:43–9:49 PM]
• The very best medicine there is! Who needs men when there’s makeup? :P
Dorothy11 9:47 PM
o Ok. I, Lisa12, hereby do declare that any and all problems,
breakups, breaks, r/o arguments, or any other “situations” with
any SO be it man or woman, totally warrant, deserve, and indeed
require splurges, hauls and indulgences of any kind.
Lisa12 9:51 PM
" You are CORRECT! :) Nancy13 10:21 PM

" SO HELP ME GOD. Karen14 10:07 PM

" here, here! :D Betty15 9:53 PM

" I second the motion! Helen16 9:52 PM

" thirded. Motion passes. Sandra17 9:55 PM

MOCK PERFORMATIVES IN ONLINE DISCUSSION BOARDS 163

To sum up, mock performatives serve to transform the discourse into a play mode,
inviting user alignments. Play sequences manifest same-script or other-script dis-
course. When met with textual silence, mock performatives still contribute to the play-
fulness of the interaction as instances of byplay. Their effects can be negotiated,
discussed, or textually ignored, but the performative act itself cannot be denied: the
change that mock performatives bring to virtual reality takes place simply when users
type them in.

Exploring Mock Performatives across Linguistic Domains

toward a Discourse-Pragmatic Model
To devise a CMC-sensitive model of performativity, this section explores the impact
of mock performatives across linguistic domains by investigating their contributions
to five different discourse-pragmatic phenomena: (1) structuring, (2) highlighting, (3)
constructing, (4) linking, and (5) authenticating. The linguistic domains considered
relate to (1) the form, content, and style of the mock performatives; (2) their discourse
functions; contributions to (3) the situational micropragmatics; and to (4) the socio-
cultural macropragmatics of the interaction.
Mock performatives adopt a particular shape and predominantly appear in the
active voice. They contribute to topic management, and discourse structuring at
large, by providing playful responses to previous contributions. Most importantly,
however, the mock performatives under attention function as discourse transform-
ers: they indicate a shift into a play mode, which may be sustained by other users
over a sequence of contributions (see examples 2 and 4). One instance of the per-
formative marker “hereby” suffices per play sequence. Frequent audience responses
to mock performatives may turn into abbreviations (ita; 2nd). In terms of microprag-
matics, mock performatives serve mitigation and thus help realize the convention-
alized politeness structure of the interaction (see examples 1 and 3). As concerns
macropragmatics, mock performatives may contribute to ritualization within a par-
ticular virtual community.
Mock performatives function in the service of highlighting. The formal perfor-
mative construction deviates from the structural iconicity of the default informal in-
teraction, even though a sequence of performatives may bring local parallelism into
the text. Moreover, mock performatives can initiate the culmination of the discussion,
thus also contributing to the creation of a “peak profile” in the discourse through the
play sequence (Longacre 1983). This is the case in example 4. In pragmatic terms,
mock performatives add to the expression of involvement and affect, and ultimately
contribute to bonding within the virtual community. Switching into a play mode al-
lows users to take time off from their main concerns, the discussion of beauty and
fashion, without abandoning them altogether (there is a separate forum for OT dis-
cussions). Like the rest of the interaction included in the data, the play sequences ap-
pear to be socially gratifying as they display feelings and attitudes in the text (see the
discussion of female CMC in Herring 2003). However, these mock performatives
allow for a shared sense of unpredictability concerning the effects of play on the vir-
tual reality at hand. The negotiation of this reality through interlocutors’ responses
serves to join them into what Beeman calls “the performance loop,” joint participa-
164 Tuija Virtanen

tion in “reinforced feedback,” whereby also “the actions of the performer are . . . af-
fected and changed” (2010, 121).
Mock performatives contribute to the task of constructing entities and states of
affairs for virtual worlds. They allow for high agentivity in the semantic roles adopted
by users. The text worlds built by interlocutors contribute to the creation and alter-
ation, through discourse, of shared virtual realities. Mock performatives are also par-
tial to identity construction through the projection of user personae, as well as the
construction of group identity for the virtual community.
The ritualistic beginning of mock performatives—generally consisting of a first-
person reference, the performative marker, and possibly an institutional verb or ad-
verb—links it to a recognizable prototype. And the playful intertextuality invokes
stereotyped scripts. In micropragmatic terms, mock performatives constitute the main
means for participants to adopt roles of great authority in the interaction, and imbue
others with concomitant roles through their audience design (usually roles of less
power than themselves). In macropragmatic terms, mock performatives serve as
metapragmatic links, facilitating mock institutionalization through the (inter)media-
tion of stereotyped scripts. The juggling of scripts manifests users’ metapragmatic
awareness of linguistic variation, their assumptions about what is shared by interlocu-
tors in terms of cultural knowledge, and a tolerance for flexibility in the interpreta-
tion of the participant roles involved, resulting in same-script and other-script
responses within play sequences.
Finally, mock performatives contribute to the authentication work that interlocu-
tors engage in through the recontextualization process. The stylistic fit of the con-
struction is assured through style shifting: first a switch from informal to formal style
and then back again to informal discourse, which is the default in the forums. Mock
performatives involve authentication in discourse, allowing interlocutors to recognize
the mediated institutionalized stereotype. But they also involve de-authentication, sig-
naling detachment from such a context and freeing the users from the full implica-
tions of the official or institutionalized discourse. This process, in turn, constitutes
an avenue to authenticity of a new kind, creating CMD that is situated, unique, per-
sonal and in some sense “genuine” for the interlocutors (Gill 2008, in press). Thus,
a balance between the stereotype and its de-authentication is critical to a successful
recontextualization.

Conclusion
This chapter explores explicit performatives incorporating the marker “hereby” in
informal CMD by investigating their forms and discourse-pragmatic functions in data
from online discussion boards on beauty and fashion. Two terms are coined to ex-
plain their use in text-based CMC: the performative constructions under investiga-
tion were labeled mock performatives, and their function of shifting the discourse
into a play mode motivated their characterization as discourse transformers. Al-
though uptake can be assumed to be regular due to the persistence of the written
record (unlike in the Austinian example, in which a warning shouted to others in a
gale may not be heard), responses to mock performatives are investigated to under-
stand their preferred and dispreferred nature and the character of the play sequence
MOCK PERFORMATIVES IN ONLINE DISCUSSION BOARDS 165

thus created. The effects of mock performatives are analyzed in terms of a dis-
course-pragmatic model. The model is based on the identification of five discourse-
pragmatic phenomena which run across the linguistic domains of (1) form, content,
and style; (2) discourse; (3) micropragmatics; and (4) macropragmatics. These five
discourse-pragmatic phenomena are (1) structuring, (2) highlighting, (3) construct-
ing, (4) linking, and (5) authenticating. In order to come to grips with multiple re-
alities, performative theory needs to incorporate the kinds of discourse-pragmatic
work that users do by typing mock performatives into their texts. The two concepts
this chapter proposes, mock performative and discourse transformer, as well as the
discourse-pragmatic model, may contribute to this end.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am grateful to Loukia Lindholm for collecting the data for this study. Due thanks also go to the editors
of the volume for constructive and insightful comments, as well as to participants of the GURT 2011 con-
ference. I am especially indebted to Susan Herring for useful suggestions and rewarding discussions of
performativity in CMC. I have also benefited from personal communication with Martin Gill on authen-
ticity and Yrsa Neuman on ontological pluralism. Needless to say, all errors and shortcomings are my re-
sponsibility.

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10
Re- and Pre-authoring Experiences in Email
Supervision
Creating and Revising Professional Meanings in an Asynchronous Medium

CYNTHIA GORDON AND MELISSA LUKE

Syracuse University

Introduction

THIS ANALYSIS RESULTS from a collaborative, interdisciplinary research project undertaken

by a communication scholar (Gordon) and a scholar in counselor education (Luke)
to investigate the discourse of email supervisory communication in the context of stu-
dent internships required as part of counselor education and training. Master’s-level
students enrolled in counseling programs complete internships at varying sites ac-
cording to academic program (for instance, school counseling students intern in lo-
cal schools, whereas mental health counseling students intern in community agencies,
hospitals, or residential organizations). In addition to participating in onsite and in-
class group experiences, interns also communicate with a supervising professor via
a weekly email exchange. In these emails, interns describe their internship experi-
ences, and share and reflect upon their thoughts and feelings regarding these experi-
ences. The purpose of the supervisory exchanges is to track the internship activities
and interns’ development as counselors, and to facilitate interns’ reflectivity, or their
ability to critically analyze and consider their own professional performance. In re-
sponding to interns’ emails, then, supervisors aim to provide opportunities for them
to explore and expand their knowledge and skills so that they are better able to meet
their professional responsibilities. Email supervision is thus a means of helping su-
pervisees through their internships, but also a way of socializing them into profes-
sional identities and practices.
Our interest in email supervision is motivated broadly by two general issues.
First, although supervision is a discursive phenomenon and a fundamental part of
professional development, there is only a relatively small body of discourse analytic
research examining this communication, especially in the context of counseling su-
pervision. Second, although supervision via email is now a common practice, it re-
mains understudied.
Our analysis is specifically motivated by our interest in a phenomenon related to
the concept of “authorship,” previously identified by Vásquez (2007) in her analysis
of face-to-face supervision of language teachers. Analyzing narratives that novice

167
168 Cynthia Gordon and Melissa Luke

teachers told to their supervisors following a teaching observation, Vásquez found

that supervisors at times “destabilized” and “reformulated”—or re-authored—
novices’ accounts as a means of facilitating development of professional competence
and identities. For example, one supervisor reevaluates a novice teacher’s perspec-
tive on events, likely to facilitate the apprentice’s creation of a positive self-image
(Vásquez 2007, 664). We found a similar phenomenon in our data.
We develop the concept of re-authorship by drawing on Bakhtin’s (1981, 1986)
notion of dialogue, and by examining different forms of re-authorship in the asyn-
chronous context of email. We also extend the concept of re-authorship beyond re-
vising narrative discourse, and beyond communication about actual internship
behaviors. Our analysis identifies two primary forms of re-authorship—reinforcement
and reframing—and one related form, advice giving, which we understand to be pre-
authorship, stemming from Bakhtin’s perspective on utterances as oriented to both
past discourse and anticipated future discourse. Key linguistic devices in these col-
lective processes of co-authorship include uses of adjectives and adverbs, professional
jargon, first-person-plural pronouns, repetition, discourse markers, and speech acts,
especially praising, agreeing, and encouraging or suggesting. We suggest that re- and
pre-authorship together serve as productive means of accomplishing widely recog-
nized supervision goals in the context of email. These goals pertain to socializing in-
ternship (counseling) behaviors, professional thought processes, and appropriate
supervisory communication behaviors (in this case, email communication behav-
iors).
In what follows we review previous research in two areas: the discourse analy-
sis of expert-novice interaction and Bakhtinian understandings of authorship. We
then introduce our dataset and analytic methods and we turn to our analysis, wherein
we delineate and give examples of the three forms of co-authorship we identified,
demonstrating how each one functions in the context of supervisory communication,
in particular regarding socialization. We show how supervisors reinforce (and thereby
re- or co-author) supervisees’ email communication behaviors (such as their selec-
tion of message topic), professional counseling behaviors (such as how they interact
with clients), and emotional responses to their internship experiences. We demonstrate
how, through reframing, supervisors attempt to reshape and adjust, and in particular
expand, interns’ understandings of their professional experiences and practices. We
suggest that supervisors’ advice giving is usefully conceptualized as pre-authorship,
and serves as a means of directing interns’ future professional discourse and behav-
iors. We conclude by summarizing our findings regarding co-authorship in the con-
text of supervisory email discourse, and discuss their implications in relation to the
fields of counseling and supervision, and the discourse analysis of computer-medi-
ated communication (CMC).

Background
Our analysis is grounded in previous discourse analytic work on expert-novice com-
munication and in theorizing related to the notion of authorship. There is a small but
rich body of research in discourse analysis examining the details of expert-novice
communication in what can be described as supervisory contexts. These include in-
RE- AND PRE-AUTHORING EXPERIENCES IN EMAIL SUPERVISION 169

teractions between experienced and novice medical practitioners (Atkinson 1999; Er-
ickson 1999); MA and PhD students and their thesis and research advisors (Chiang
2009; Goodwin 1994; Vehviläinen 2009); and expert and novice teachers, including
teaching assistants (Burdelski 2004; Vásquez 2004, 2007; Vásquez and Urzúa 2009;
Waite 1992, 1993). These studies focus on a variety of issues, most notably how the
asymmetry inherent in such encounters affects the production of speech acts such as
assessments and directives by experts and how expert-novice socialization occurs.
They collectively take the broad perspective we do—that supervision cannot produc-
tively be analyzed as a “one-way phenomenon” because both parties are responsible
for co-constructing the encounter (Waite 1993, 697).
Two studies are especially relevant for our research. First, Burdelski’s (2004)
analysis of supervisor-teaching assistant weekly meetings examines narratives that
teaching assistants wrote in their teaching journals and how supervisors responded
in face-to-face meetings. He observes that teaching assistants wrote open-ended nar-
ratives; supervisors used closed-ended narratives to assign meanings to assistants’ sto-
ries, advise them as to future courses of action, and justify their own positions.
Supervisors thus contributed substantially to assigning meanings to teaching assis-
tants’ experiences. Second, Vásquez (2007) analyzes novice teachers’ oral narratives
that were recorded in nineteen post-teaching observation meetings. She finds that
novice teachers tell two primary types of narratives—“reflective” narratives, which
focus on internal states (thoughts and feelings) of the teacher, and “relational” nar-
ratives, which concentrate on interaction between individuals in the story. In both nar-
rative types the novice teachers tended to formulate their “moral stance” (Ochs and
Capps 2001) in uncertain terms. Most important for our purposes, Vásquez (2007)
demonstrates that the supervisors play a pivotal role in shaping novices’ accounts,
sometimes challenging and re-authoring novices’ narratives. For example, one teacher,
in telling a narrative about an in-class activity she conducted, evaluates her own per-
formance negatively throughout, including in her coda: “So at that point in time I fi-
nally—I realized this [the activity] isn’t—this isn’t gonna wrap up that well, I don’t
think.” Her supervisor disagrees: “No it did,” and explains why, reconstructing the
story’s resolution in a way that affirms the teacher’s competence. As Vásquez explains,
the teacher’s “perspective on and evaluation of the same events are revised, or ‘re-au-
thored’” by the supervisor (2007, 664).
Although neither Burdelski nor Vásquez explicitly draws on Mikhail Bakhtin’s
theories in their work, they are fundamental to our analysis. Bakhtin’s (1981, 1986)
dialogic view of language highlights the “already-spoken-about” quality of utter-
ances (Morson and Emerson 1990, 136–39); this means, as Morson and Emerson ex-
plain, “Every time we speak, we respond to something spoken before and we take a
stand in relation to earlier utterances about that topic” (137). O’Connor and Michaels’s
(1993, 1996) analysis of “revoicing” in teacher-student classroom interactions draws
on this perspective: teachers reformulate what students say to accomplish tasks such
as clarifying and explicating students’ contributions, crediting students with ideas,
and advancing class discussion. Applying Bakhtin’s thinking to Vásquez’s findings
on re-authorship would yield a related understanding: When supervisors revisit novice
teachers’ prior discourse, they “take a stand” toward this discourse; in other words,
170 Cynthia Gordon and Melissa Luke

they lend their voices to—and re-author—its content and meaning while also accom-
plishing the supervisory task of socialization.
Re-authorship is closely related to Tannen’s (2007) analysis of repetition in dis-
course and her reconceptualization of reported speech as “constructed dialogue”:
speakers draw on others’ words for their own purposes, and in recreating and recon-
textualizing them, construct new meanings (they do not merely report). Our under-
standing of re-authorship is also connected to Duranti’s (1986) broader
understanding of co-authorship in interaction and in particular to the notion of au-
dience as co-author. (Both Tannen and Duranti explicitly draw on Bakhtin in their
theorization.) We adopt the overarching idea that revisiting a topic is a kind of rep-
etition that enables participants to share authorship of others’ words and actions, and
to reshape them retrospectively (see also Erickson’s 1986 discussion of retrospec-
tive and prospective recipient design). As Tannen (2007) explains, repetition funda-
mentally alters the meaning of the “original,” and “old” language thus becomes
something new, and multivoiced.
We likewise build on Bakhtin’s observation that utterances not only always re-
spond to prior utterances, but also metaphorically “look forward” to others. As Bakhtin
(1986, 94) explains, a speaker constructs an utterance “while taking into account pos-
sible responsive actions, for whose sake, in essence, it is actually created.” Thus, we
also consider how the email messages anticipate future messages and other actions;
each email can be thought of as a “link” in “the chain of speech communication”
(Bakhtin 1986, 94). A similar understanding of supervisor-supervisee face-to-face in-
teraction has been proposed: Oliver, Nelson, and Ybañez conceptualize it as a dia-
logic co-construction, noting that “interaction among supervisor and supervisees
impacts each of the people in the room, which then impacts the next interaction, which
then impacts each of the people in the room and so on” (2010, 61).
Oliver, Nelson, and Ybañez’s (2010) research also points to a wider phenome-
non in the research on expert supervision of novices: it examines face-to-face encoun-
ters. However, email is increasingly used for supervisory communication; it remains
understudied generally, but especially within discourse analysis. Recent exceptions
are Crossouard and Pryor (2008, 2009) and a pilot study we conducted (Gordon and
Luke 2012; Luke and Gordon 2011). Crossouard and Pryor (2008, 2009) use discourse
analysis to examine email messages exchanged between a cohort of first-year pro-
fessional doctorate students and their supervisor (a “doctoral tutor” who provided
them assessment and feedback). Their 2008 study emphasizes how students are en-
couraged to conceptualize learning as entailing the development of researcher iden-
tities; the 2009 analysis focuses on how the tutor’s feedback moves between different
levels of authority (such as directly criticizing versus making suggestions), and be-
tween addressing program requirements and students’ priorities.
Our previous research (Gordon and Luke 2012; Luke and Gordon 2011) inves-
tigates email messages exchanged between eight school counseling interns and their
supervising professor (these data have been integrated into the current study’s larger
database). An assumption within the counseling and supervision literature is that su-
pervision works to develop professional identities of interns (Auxier, Hughes, and
Kline 2003); Luke and Gordon (2011) show how this identity development is facil-
RE- AND PRE-AUTHORING EXPERIENCES IN EMAIL SUPERVISION 171

itated linguistically through supervisors’ and interns’ uses of repetition, pronouns, and
labeling. Gordon and Luke (2012) expand these findings by conceptualizing profes-
sional identity development as mutual negotiation of interns’ “face” (Goffman 1967):
We explore the construction of interns’ knowledge and competence, as well as the
establishment of their connections to and autonomy from others in their “community
of practice” (Lave and Wenger 1991). In so doing, we highlight how uses of repeti-
tion, pronouns, discourse markers, and “constructed dialogue” (Tannen 2007) accom-
plish the facework that we suggest underlies professional identity development.
We build on this previous research while addressing re-authorship in email su-
pervision. In the spirit of Herring’s (2004) computer-mediated discourse analysis
(CMDA), we consider the asynchronous, text-based context of email in our investi-
gation, while also viewing “online behavior through the lens of language” (339).

Data
Our data were collected from students enrolled in their capstone internship of a mas-
ter of science counseling program at a university in the northeastern United States.
Students were informed that the parameters of the internship course required email
supervision, but participation in our study was optional. Twenty-three students en-
rolled in five different internship classes over three semesters agreed to participate.
They were supervised by one of three supervisors: a professor (Luke), or one of two
advanced PhD students who also agreed to participate in our study.
Of the twenty-three participating students, eighteen were women and five were
men. Ages of interns ranged between twenty-four and fifty-two years old; nineteen
interns identified as Caucasian domestic students, and four identified as international
students of color. The first supervisor (Supervisor A) self-identifies as an African
American, female, PhD student with two years of experience. Supervisor B self-iden-
tifies as a white, female professor; at the time of the study she had eight years of su-
pervisory experience. Supervisor C self-identifies as a gay, white, male PhD student
with four years of supervisory experience.
Students received the following instructions regarding communication with their
supervisor:
You are required to send one email per week to your email supervisor. Your
email can address any part of your school counseling internship experience.
The message need not be more than a few lines in length. The purpose of the
email communication is for you to reflect on the aspects of your school
counseling internship that had your attention during the past week.
Email exchanges, transferred to Word documents, ranged in length from five to thirty-
eight single-spaced pages per student.
The supervisor answered each student email within forty-eight hours, which is
standard protocol (see Clingerman and Bernard 2004). The supervisors were directed
to respond to the core theme of each email, and to complete the communication cy-
cle in their emails (rather than initiating new topics).1 The goals of supervision, as
outlined by Bernard (1979, 1997) and Lanning (1986), include developing interns’
skill behaviors (intervention); encouraging reflection on case progression and their
172 Cynthia Gordon and Melissa Luke

own decision making (conceptualization); facilitating self-reflection on emotion, cul-

ture, and related issues (personalization); and teaching appropriate record-keeping and
collegial engagement (professional behavior). These goals, we find, are accomplished
in part thorough supervisors’ re-authoring and pre-authoring practices.

Analysis
Our analysis is data driven: We repeatedly read the data to identify patterns, and
drew on the discourse analytic and counselor education and supervision literatures
to collaboratively make sense of emerging patterns. Our previous pilot study also
sensitized us to the presence of re-authorship (see Gordon and Luke 2012; Luke
and Gordon 2011). We used NVivo 9, a qualitative data analysis software program,
to assist us in data management and organization—including both the storage of
the emails by intern, supervisor, semester, and area of counseling, and the coding
of textual material into categories that we developed. Intercoder agreement was
achieved by collaboratively coding a subset of the emails, then coding the remain-
der independently and cross-checking our coding of each passage, as suggested by
Creswell (2009). In line with many previous CMDA studies, we couple “counting
and coding” with qualitative consideration of individual examples (see Herring
2004). We identify two broad ways that the supervisors re-authored interns’ expe-
riences: we call these reinforcing and reframing. We discuss each in turn, with ex-
amples. This is followed by our discussion of the related phenomenon of
pre-authoring.

Re-authoring through Reinforcing

The first strategy we discuss is supervisors’ re-authoring through reinforcing. Super-
visors reinforce by revisiting a topic or theme introduced by the intern and supporting
the intern’s reported behaviors, experiences, or understandings. Repeating—whether
on the lexical, syntactic, thematic, or other level—fundamentally alters the meaning of
what is repeated, blending voices together in a new context, following Bakhtin (1981,
1986) and Tannen (2007). This achieves what we understand to be co-authorship of in-
terns’ discursive understandings of their experiences. In 260 examples of reinforcing
we note three types: supervisor reinforcement of interns’ email communication behav-
ior (such as their selection of topics to discuss), reinforcement of professional intern-
ship-site behavior (such as how they reportedly interacted with clients), and
reinforcement of interns’ emotional responses to their experiences.

Supervisors reinforce interns’ supervisory email behavior, in-

Reinforcing Email Behavior
cluding what they chose to report and reflect upon in their messages, as well as how.
They thereby reinforce the interns’ professional behavior (here, how, and what to com-
municate to the supervisor) as well as the personalization (or emotional reflection)
element of supervision.
Supervisors often use the speech act of thanking to reinforce interns’ commu-
nicative choice to send the messages, as well as to confirm interns’ appropriate pro-
vision of information. For example, Supervisor C begins a message to Jaime with
“Thank you for your email,” and Supervisor A responds to Dwayne’s first message
RE- AND PRE-AUTHORING EXPERIENCES IN EMAIL SUPERVISION 173

with “Thank you for your first email of the course.” In this way they affirm the stu-
dents’ supervisory communication behavior of having sent a message.
Praising is also used to reinforce interns’ supervisory communication choices,
including what information to share in the messages and how to reflect appropriately
upon internship experiences. For example, in response to a message sent by Mei Li,
Supervisor B begins by remarking, “WOW Mei Li, what a powerful reflection,” thus
bolstering the intern’s abilities to identify, discuss, and reflect upon meaningful is-
sues in in-depth, productive ways. Similarly, Supervisor C responds to a message from
Xao by indicating, “You raise some interesting issues,” and to a message from Chris-
tine with “The issue you raise around power is an important one.” Adjectives such as
“powerful,” “interesting,” and “important,” coupled with thanking and praising, ret-
rospectively reflect upon and positively reinforce interns’ email communication in the
context of supervision.

Supervisors also reinforce behaviors interns de-

Reinforcing Professional Counseling Behavior
scribe as having exhibited at their internship sites, thus accomplishing the interven-
tion (or skill behavior socialization) aspect of supervision.
The speech act of praising plays a role in this reinforcement. For example, in re-
sponse to Belinda’s description of how she handled a panicked teenage client at her
internship site, a drug treatment center, Supervisor A writes, “I think all in all Be-
linda you did a good job with this client.” In response to Paula’s description of how
she gives her clients tasks to accomplish prior to their meetings with her, Supervisor
A remarks, “Love the homework piece that you are giving to your clients.” Supervi-
sor B responds to Danielle’s email describing how she used group interactions with
students at her school to encourage students to see her individually by stating, “It is
clear that your work was successful in generating individual appointments with stu-
dents, which it sounds like was one aim.”
In these examples, supervisors use positive assessments, including adjectives such
as “good” and “successful,” to affirm behaviors interns reportedly exhibited vis-à-
vis clients. They thus co-author interns’ understandings of their counseling behav-
iors.

Reinforcing Emotional Responses As is relevant to the goals of supervision, supervisors reinforce

interns’ reported thoughts and feelings. Within the culture of counseling, thoughts and
feelings are considered to be of great value; counselors need to deal with their own
“stuff ” (or issues) in order to be good counselors. In this spirit interns frequently ex-
press their emotions, and supervisors frequently reinforce them.
When Alyssa expresses feelings of guilt and concern after withdrawing from
the internship class (and therefore having to leave her internship site), Supervisor
A reassures her: “With any major transition, it is normal to feel out of sorts.” Sim-
ilarly, when Noreen describes her feelings about leaving her internship site at the
end of the semester, Supervisor B responds, “It makes sense that you’re working
through a very mixed reaction to the endings with your clients.” When Rachael
expresses her worry about the fact that multiple client cancelations reduced the
amount of practice hours she was able to gain, Supervisor B remarks, “Of course,
174 Cynthia Gordon and Melissa Luke

you’re concerned about getting your direct client hours when you have 4 no shows
in one day.” Supervisor C reinforces Adrian’s description of feeling exhausted in
a different way, stating, “Having been a part-time student for my first few years
in the doc program, I can very much identify with the weariness you have noted
in this week’s email.”
Supervisors normalize interns’ described emotions through various strategies, in-
cluding through adjectives such as “normal” and adverbs such as “of course”; by sug-
gesting that interns’ responses are appropriate or “make sense”; and even by creating
parallels between interns’ experiences and their own. Supervisors thus revisit and val-
idate, and thereby re-author, interns’ described emotions.
In summary, in reinforcing interns’ email communication behaviors, their coun-
seling behaviors, and their emotional reactions, supervisors do not blatantly “change”
intern conceptualizations, instead they “repeat” or “reiterate” them. Nevertheless, we
suggest reinforcing is usefully conceptualized as a kind of re-authorship, through a
Bakhtinian lens. Supervisors take what an intern composed in a previous email and
recontextualize it in their own email in agreement and support, lending their perspec-
tive and voice to the discourse on the topic.

Re-authoring through Reframing

The second kind of re-authoring we identify can be described as “reframing,” follow-
ing Tannen and Wallat’s (1993, 59) understandings of framing as related to “structures
of expectation,” and of “interactive frame” as referring to “frames of interpretation” that
participants use to understand situations, events, and utterances. What Vásquez (2007)
conceptualizes as re-authoring in her study of face-to-face expert-novice discourse is
akin to our description of reframing, which we suggest is one particular kind of re-au-
thoring. When reframing occurs, supervisors invoke new understandings of interns’ex-
periences. They do this by labeling interns’ behaviors and experiences using
professional jargon and concepts from professional practice, and by encouraging dif-
ferent interpretations of emotions and events. Thus, reframing often encourages interns
to view their experiences not only through the lens of the profession, but also from mul-
tiple perspectives. Considering multiple perspectives and understandings, sometimes
referred to as “both-and” (an in-group term), is an especially important part of reflec-
tion; it thus works toward interns’ professional development in terms of conceptualiza-
tion (reflection on case development) and personalization (self-reflection and
awareness). (The “both-and” notion is reminiscent of discourse analytic understandings
of linguistic strategies as potentially having multiple simultaneous meanings; see Tan-
nen 1996.) In reframing, supervisors offer alternative “definition[s] of what is going on
[or what went on] in interaction” (Tannen and Wallat 1993, 59).
In our first example of reframing, Christine emails her supervisor at the end of
week 4 of her internship about her feelings about missing some internship hours for
personal reasons earlier in the semester. (The extracts we present in what follows ap-
pear in their original forms; spelling, grammar, capitalization, etc., are not changed.
We use [sic] to acknowledge spelling and other errors in the messages. Such errors
seem to reflect a level of relative informality in the messages. They could also reflect
comfort between interns and supervisors.)
RE- AND PRE-AUTHORING EXPERIENCES IN EMAIL SUPERVISION 175

(1a) Christine q Supervisor C

Due to some events that occured [sic] unexpectedly in my life, I had to take a few
hours out of interning a couple weeks ago. I feel now that I am behind (and I am,
if you consider my overall hours), and all I feel like I do is intern! Overall, I am
not concerned I will not get my hours, but I have to make sure I definitely stay on
top of them. Also, I have to be careful of missing time unless I really need to.
In response to this message, the supervisor offers an adjusted understanding of
Christine’s situation:
(1b) Supervisor C q Christine
It sounds like the stress of the semester and your many requirements are
beginning to get to you! Having spoken to you earlier, I do understand some of
those unexpected and traumatic events that you are referring to (i.e. car break-
in, deaths, etc.). I think for me it raises the issues that we aren’t counselors in a
vacuum, but also have our own life’s situations and expectations to handle. For
me, I think this email raises the importance of counselor self-care, as well as
thinking about priorities.
While reinforcing Christine’s emotions through showing understanding (“I do under-
stand”), Supervisor C also subtly reinterprets Christine’s unexpected life events, loss
of hours, and feelings of being “behind” as the result of “stress of the semester and
your many requirements”; Christine herself did not use the word “stress” or the
phrase “many requirements,” instead referring to “some events” and “hours.” The su-
pervisor also normalizes her experiences, creating a shared perspective using “we”
and “our”: he remarks, “We aren’t counselors in a vacuum, but also have our own
life’s situations and expectations to handle.” This situates Christine’s described expe-
riences within the broader professional field, as something presumably all counselors
must manage as part of their professional role. Thus her worries are reframed from
individualized to an integral counseling issue. Supervisor C also offers a new over-
arching meaning to her email message: Her described experiences are understand-
able and addressable through two professional activities—prioritizing tasks to address
conflicting demands, and taking care of oneself (which is referred to in the profes-
sion using the term “self-care”).
In offering these different and multiple understandings, the supervisor opens up
new ways of thinking for Christine. He segments these alternate conceptualizations
using “for me” and “I think,” both of which can be understood as discourse markers
(following Scheibman 2009 regarding “for me,” and Kärkkäinen 2003 regarding “I
think”); discourse markers frequently play a role in transitioning between alternative
reframings in our data.
In the next example Tamara describes her surprise regarding her clinical site di-
rector’s attention to case notes (written records of a counselor’s work with an indi-
vidual client), and the supervisor offers an even more complex reframing. Tamara
frames case notes as being unsatisfying because they are too vague; she attributes
this vagueness to “CYA” (“cover your ass”), which refers to the idea that documen-
tation protects providers of counseling services.
176 Cynthia Gordon and Melissa Luke

(2a) Tamara q Supervisor B

All interns were asked to bring casenotes [sic] to supervision this week by our
clinical director here. We reviewed these in individual supervision. I was
surprised by the extent to which there is concern about CYA. Every word
seems to matter. I tend to choose my words carefully anyway, and did not feel
overly criticized. I found the review helpful, but the emphasis on writing notes
at this agency seems to be about avoiding opinion and being vague. I tend to
include too much detail. It is a fine line between writing the kind of note that
the agency expects and actually writing something that will be useful to myself
or another therapist in the future. I certainly don’t remember the details from
one session to the next. I feel that we can be so concerned with CYA and
vagueness that we might fail to write anything substantial.
In her response, the supervisor reconceptualizes the intern’s experiences with case
notes (bolded font has been added to draw attention to phrases of particular analytic
importance):
(2b): Supervisor B q Tamara
You seem to have encountered some of the tensions that can exist between
individual attempts at being therapeutic and the beauracratic [sic]
attempts to minimize liability. Of course, you address how counterintuitive
this is, because like yourself, detailed records would seem to provide better
quality and continuity of care. I sense some disappointment about how much
agency effort and resources are being expended regarding the exact word
selections used in notes, when in your opinion there might be far better uses of
this collective energy, including your own. Lastly, it seems like part of your
surprise might result from a lack of communication as to why this focus or
the rationale for the vagueness and omission of any clinical judgment in case
notes.
The supervisor’s response reframes the intern’s description of her experiences. The su-
pervisor does not address what might be Tamara’s underlying concern about avoiding
words that might get a counselor in trouble (this could be owed to supervisors’ gen-
eral reluctance to be too critical of site-specific practices). She does, however, suggest
multiple understandings of the phenomenon, and in so doing, accomplishes refram-
ing. First, she suggests that what Tamara described can be conceptualized as “tensions”
that exist between an individual therapist’s efforts at effective therapy and a bureau-
cratic interest in liability. Second, she focuses on what she perceives to be the intern’s
concern about seemingly excessive attention to word choice by reconceptualizing it
as the more technical and encompassing issue of expenditure of “agency effort and
resources.” Third, using the discourse marker “lastly,” she suggests that the intern’s re-
action can be understood as related to a “lack of communication” around the whole
issue of case notes. In these ways, Supervisor B reframes the intern’s complaints and
concerns about case notes within the field of professional practice, where individual
therapists must work within bureaucratic requirements and with limited resources, and
RE- AND PRE-AUTHORING EXPERIENCES IN EMAIL SUPERVISION 177

where communication is a pivotal issue. (It is possible that in doing so she has over-
looked Tamara’s actual concern, although we cannot be certain.)
These examples are 2 of the 279 instances of reframing we identified. Although
some of the “shifts” in frame are more extreme than others, in all, supervisors at-
tempt to portray a different understanding—and often multiple possible understand-
ings—of an internship site or emotional experience. The use of discourse markers
like “lastly” and “for me” play a role in this; other examples of reframing involve
prefacing by discourse markers such as “however,” “in addition,” “moreover,” and
“that being said” (see Gordon and Luke 2012 for a discussion of “that being said” in
supervisory communication). Supervisors also use professional names and categories
to socialize interns into shared professional—rather than idiosyncratic—conceptual-
izations of certain kinds of situations. Thus, concern about lack of internship hours
due to personal life events is reconceptualized as a normal professional matter that
causes stress and brings to mind the importance of self-care. Likewise, concern about
vagueness in case notes is re-authored by the supervisor, becoming the broader pro-
fessional issues of therapeutic/bureaucratic tensions and worksite communication.

Pre-authoring
Finally, we examine a phenomenon that we suggest is closely related to re-authoring:
pre-authoring, or advice giving by the supervisors, which occurred frequently (we
identify 342 examples). Although previous research on re-authorship in supervisory
contexts does not encompass this concept, we suggest that pre-authoring is a closely
related interactional pattern when considered within Bakhtin’s dialogic understand-
ing of social interaction.
Prior research finds advice giving to be a careful process in expert-novice interac-
tions (Vásquez 2004). We similarly find that advice is typically provided indirectly and
with attention to social face, occurring through speech acts such as encouraging and
suggesting (rather than ordering). However, more interesting for our purposes is the
larger idea that supervisors’ email messages not only “look back” to interns’ past mes-
sages, but also “look forward” to the future. Example 3 is a case of pre-authoring; the
supervisor attempts to affect the intern’s thinking about two topics—her understand-
ing of her client’s progress, and of the intern’s own “self-efficacy” (a professional term
which refers to belief in one’s own capabilities).
(3) Supervisor B q Linda
I encourage you to consider the meaning you attribute to your clients’
development or lack thereof, as well as how/where/when/why your self-
efficacy increases/decreases related to your work.
Supervisor B advises Linda to consider certain issues; she also can be viewed as even
more indirectly advising her to think (and communicate) using such terms as “self-
efficacy.”
In the next example, the supervisor advises that the intern proactively learn about
and test out new counseling techniques (interventions):
178 Cynthia Gordon and Melissa Luke

(4) Supervisor A q Martin

We can never have too many interventions under our belt so I definately [sic]
encourage you to research and read more and don’t be afraid to practice new
interventions once you believe that it will fit the client(s) you are seeing.
Supervisor A encourages the intern as well as attempts to shape his future counsel-
ing behaviors. As in the previous extract, the supervisor may also be indirectly pro-
moting (advising) the intern’s use of professionally relevant terminology
(“interventions,” “clients”).
In the next example, Supervisor C gives advice on internship emails; by so-
cializing the intern into the expectations and norms of supervisory communica-
tion, he pre-authors the intern’s future messages while also contributing to her
professional development.
(5) Supervisor C q Belinda
Hi Belinda,
Seems like you have had a lot going on with different sessions. What would
help me is if you focused on one client . . . discussed what the issues are for
that client and then what awareness you are having of yourself. Also presenting
reflection for me with that client.
In this example, the supervisor asks for a focus on one client (instead of a general dis-
cussion of many). He does not demand such behavior, but rather hints that that is what
he wants (“What would help me is”). As part of this, he asks the intern to demonstrate
self-reflection in the emails (conceptualization), an important component of counsel-
ing experience and practice and also a goal of supervisory communication.
Examples such as these capture how supervisors offer forms of advice to in-
terns—they typically encourage, suggest, and recommend. This echoes prior research
findings on the somewhat mitigated nature of expert-novice communication. Most im-
portantly, they show how supervisors attempt to shape—to “pre-author”—interns’ fu-
ture thoughts and behaviors by advising, thus shaping future reflection and skill
behaviors. In using professional jargon, they could be understood to be modeling
proper understandings and uses of discipline-relevant terminology for the future. In
their email messages, the supervisors both re-author and pre-author; they co-author
interns’ discourse, experiences, interpretations, and behaviors.

Conclusion
We suggest that re- and pre-authorship, together constituting co-authorship, are useful
in considering supervisory email communication. Although the concept of co-author-
ship resonates easily with face-to-face encounters (where a co-present “audience” [Du-
ranti 1986] shapes the discourse), we find that it is relevant to email as well, especially
when considered in the context of the supervisor’s role: in a Bakhtinian spirit, we sug-
gest that supervisors’ messages respond to interns’ emails and the past experiences de-
scribed therein through reframing and reinforcing; they anticipate interns’
to-be-experienced events (including future emails) as well through pre-authoring. In us-
RE- AND PRE-AUTHORING EXPERIENCES IN EMAIL SUPERVISION 179

ing various linguistic strategies in re- and pre-authoring, experts attempt to socialize
novices through affecting their interpretations of past experiences, feelings, and pro-
fessional behaviors, and through potentially affecting future behaviors—they become
co-authors.
Our analysis represents an initial interdisciplinary exploration of email supervi-
sion as co-authorship; there remains much to be learned, for instance, about interns’
uptake of supervisors’ re- and pre-authoring. However, we believe our research at this
stage contributes to three areas: the discourse of email supervision, co-authorship and
supervision goals, and email as a co-constructed discursive phenomenon.
Our analysis identifies co-authorship patterns of email supervisory communi-
cation, outlining forms and functions of what we have called reframing, reinforcing
(collectively, re-authoring), and pre-authoring. This deepens our understanding of
the nature of supervisors’ contributions to the authorship of interns’ discourse and
experiences, while also uncovering a range of discursive strategies that are used, in-
cluding adjectives and adverbs, professional vocabulary items, repetition, and dis-
course markers, as well as speech acts, in particular praising, agreeing, and
encouraging or recommending.
We identify re- and pre-authoring as means of pursuing goals of supervision (as
presented by Bernard 1979, 1997; Lanning 1986): intervention, conceptualization,
personalization, and professional behavior. By reinforcing interns’ skills, behaviors,
and internship activities, reframing their conceptualization of these within professional
understandings, and advising future behaviors, supervisors accomplish the goals of
intervention and professional behavior, encouraging appropriate counselor-client and
collegial engagement. Reframing, reinforcing, and pre-authoring are also all used to
facilitate self-reflection on emotion, culture, and related issues, which helps accom-
plish the personalization goal, by encouraging interns to become aware of their own
experiences and viewpoints. Reframing and pre-authoring in particular are used to
encourage reflection on case progression and decision making from professionally
relevant perspectives (conceptualization). Thus, our research demonstrates how su-
pervisors’ discursive revision of interns’ described experiences, as well as their an-
ticipation of interns’ future experiences, functions in pursuit of the professional
socialization of novice counselors.
Finally, this study contributes in a small way to the development of a computer-
mediated discourse analysis that is “informed by a linguistic perspective,” making in-
terpretations that are “grounded in observations about language and language use”
(Herring 2004, 339). Specifically, it demonstrates the utility of applying interactive
concepts such as co-authorship and a Bakhtinian perspective to asynchronous CMC.
Doing so lends insight not only into how socialization occurs in this medium, but also
into how seemingly “individually composed” email messages can be usefully con-
ceptualized as being jointly constructed, and how various kinds of “co-authorship”
phenomena occur in expert-novice discourse online.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
We thank the student interns and supervisors who generously allowed us to collect and analyze their email
messages. We also thank students in Cynthia Gordon’s Spring 2011 Applied Discourse Analysis course
180 Cynthia Gordon and Melissa Luke

and audience members at GURT 2011 for their feedback on earlier versions of this chapter. In addition,
we greatly appreciate the comments and suggestions that we received from Deborah Tannen.

NOTE
1. The supervision response protocol consisted of the following: (1) if there were multiple themes within
a student email, the supervisor attempted to identify and respond to the core theme; (2) the super-
visor responded in a manner that completed the communication cycle; (3) the supervisor refrained
from asking questions or opening up a new line of communication that could prompt a subsequent
student response; and (4) as appropriate, the supervisor encouraged the student to raise certain top-
ics in internship class or with their site supervisor. When the supervisor responses were sent to the
students, the respective internship instructor was copied and she or he chose whether and how to ad-
dress supervisory content within the class.

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11
Blogs
A Medium for Intellectual Engagement with Course Readings and Participants

M A R I A N NA RY S H I NA - PA N KOVA A N D J E N S K U G E L E
Georgetown University

Introduction

IN THE AGE OF WEB 2.0 TECHNOLOGIES and computer-mediated communication (CMC) that
give access to a sea of information and offer various opportunities for responding and
co-constructing it in chats, online forums, wikis, or blogs, a gruff traditional human-
ities professor questions skeptically whether blogs used in educational settings are
just a new format for what one has been doing all along or a new form with yet-un-
explored potential for fostering learning, reflection, and academically argumentative
writing. Practitioners have reflected on the positive effects of using blogs in educa-
tion (Ferdig and Trammell 2004; Lowe and Williams 2004; Oravec 2002; Walker
2005; Williams and Jacobs 2004). Researchers have tried to prove their effectiveness
in learning in various disciplinary domains: teaching methods (Al-Fadda and Al-
Yahya 2010; Hernández-Ramos 2004), information technology (Cuhadar and Kuzu
2010), political science (Lawrence and Dion 2010), business administration (Williams
and Jacobs 2004), English (Richardson 2003), and composition and academic writ-
ing classes (Kelley 2008; Wang and Fang 2005). Most of the evidence, however, comes
from quantitative results (number and frequency of blogs produced) and overwhelm-
ingly from learner questionnaires and surveys in which students give feedback on what
they perceive to be the advantages of blog writing in academic courses.
Changing the focus on what instructors or students think about blogs to what they
in fact do when they create this new discourse form, we propose to investigate the
blog entries themselves. Given that course-related blogging has been associated with
fostering engagement in content learning and an academic exchange about it, as one
of its most beneficial aspects, we examine blog entries with the help of discourse an-
alytical tools that help us demonstrate that
1. Learners do, indeed, engage in content learning as they interact with their
peers through blogs;
2. this engagement is evident from the use of particular linguistic strategies em-
ployed; and
3. this engagement enables us to make a strong statement about blogs as an in-
strument for promoting learning and academic argumentation.

183
184 Marianna Ryshina-Pankova and Jens Kugele

Data for our study comprise blog entries written for a course on the representation
of witches in history, literature, and film. This course (taught in English) has been
offered by the Department of German and serves as one of the courses that can be
taken to fulfill the second of the two required humanities and writing classes at
Georgetown University. In the particular context of this study, blogs are chronologi-
cally organized, and entries are published online with the goal of discussing class read-
ings and responding to other students’ entries on these readings.
Recognizing the critical role of language in knowledge construction, this study
defines learning in connection to its realization though particular linguistic means.
Specifically, it looks for evidence of learning in the linguistic strategies that students
use in their blogs to express their perspectives on the course content and relate their
views to the opinions and interpretations of other blog writers. To identify these
strategies, a systemic-functional framework of appraisal and specifically ENGAGE-
MENT (written in all caps when referring to the term in its systemic-functional tech-
nical sense [Martin and White 2005]) is used. In line with this framework, the study
analyzes markers of dialogic engagement as being significant to the genre of blog writ-
ing, reveals to what extent they are used by the learners, and discusses their function
as instruments for academically accepted discursive knowledge construction and
knowledge sharing.
We begin the discussion with an overview of studies that support the claim about
the conduciveness of blog writing for content learning. We then describe the institu-
tional and instructional context of the study, its participants, and the function blogs
served in the course. In the next section we explain the methodology behind the
study. This is followed by reports on the quantitative results and qualitative discus-
sion with regard to three aspects: engagement with content, engagement with course
participants, and engagement as expression of one’s own opinion. We conclude with
a summary of the results and their implications for viewing blogs as a useful tool for
learning disciplinary content and improving academic writing skills.

Content Learning through Blog Writing: Theoretical

Assumptions and Research Evidence
From a theoretical perspective, what makes one presume that interaction through blog
writing can promote learning? The belief can be grounded in the framework of the
sociocultural theory of learning that demonstrates the central role of interaction
through language or languaging (see Swain 2006) for knowledge construction. Ac-
cording to the sociocultural theory developed by the Russian psychologist Vygotsky
(1978, 1987) and used by American researchers for theorizing about educational
practices (Wells 1999; Wertsch 1985, 1991), learning occurs in the process of par-
ticipation in a goal-oriented activity through interaction with others and by means of
symbolic tools developed by a culture, language being the most critical of them.
Learning to perform mental tasks through language use in a dialogue with an expert
and peers leads learners to acquire new knowledge. Beyond that, such engagement
results in developing mental capabilities that allow learners to augment this knowl-
edge by recontextualizing it in line with their own previous experiences, other learn-
ing, and under the pressure of new tasks.
BLOGS 185

With regard to this ability to participate in collaborative meaning-making cru-

cial for learning, if we follow the sociocultural theorists, blogs seem to offer a unique
space for students to contribute to the knowledge construction process in an academic
setting with their own voice. This is so partly due to the affordances blogs offer for
out-of-class asynchronous discussion, in terms of both time for turn-taking and time
for reflection that is not always possible in high-enrollment courses or for more ret-
icent or shy learners. Bloch and Crosby (2008), noting the distinguishing features of
blogs, point to two other qualities that potentially make them effective tools for fos-
tering academic engagement: the nature of authorship and their textuality. Authoring
public pieces of writing through blogs assumes a dialogue with an audience that in-
cludes other well-informed knowers: classmates, instructors, and often those in a
larger blogosphere outside the class community. In Bakhtin’s (1981, 1986) view, any
verbal communication, whether oral or written, is always dialogic: it responds to the
previous utterances and anticipates the subsequent ones. This aspect of language use
becomes especially urgent in blogs in view of their openness to a larger audience and
the possibility of immediate feedback from it.
This interactional essence of the blog medium makes blog authors engage with
their subjects in more intense and critical ways, as observed both by blog writers (for
example, Blood, Lingerfelt, and Johnson [cited in Walker 2005]) and by practition-
ers in education (Ferdig and Trammell 2004; Lowe and Williams 2004; Oravec 2002;
Walker 2005) who use blogs in their courses. They note that offering new perspec-
tives requires that blog writers actively engage with the ideas of other knowledgeable
participants of interaction and resolves the tension between accounting for their po-
sitions and establishing one’s own authority. To overcome this challenge, blog writ-
ers need to process information from various sources and propose new interpretations
by taking an explicitly intersubjective stance and acknowledging the ideas of others
either endorsing or challenging their own positions, a task at the essence of academic
learning and knowledge construction.
The textual nature of blogs is the second crucial feature that can be conducive
for engagement with content learning in an academically appropriate way. Unlike class
conversations that are oral and in contrast to other forms of CMC such as chats—
which are mostly of sentence length—blog entries are often longer and are more or
less coherent entities. Even if not all blogs (see a discussion in Myers 2010) display
coherence and textuality as a genre, they are conducive for containing texts that are
organized rhetorically, and in educational settings students can be asked to purpose-
fully shape their entries as short argumentative wholes. Given their public nature and
textuality, blogs can become a space for engaging with other participants about course
content in academically valued ways: through the use of a public voice that reasons
by constructing textually well organized and logically written academic arguments.
These combinations of interactivity and textuality, on the one hand, and of strong
authorial voice and intersubjectivity, on the other hand—unique for the genre of blog
writing—have been utilized by practitioners to foster learning in various disciplines.
For example, in a teacher preparation course (Hernández-Ramos 2004), blogs were
used with the goal of developing a professional voice among teachers as active cre-
ators of knowledge and for promoting reflection about readings and teaching practice.
186 Marianna Ryshina-Pankova and Jens Kugele

The study reported that students wrote actively in their blogs and found the experience
gratifying. Quotations from their blog entries illustrate well their reflection about the-
ory and pedagogical practice. The researcher concluded, however, that to identify the
specific ways in which blogs engage learners and determine what blogs can tell instruc-
tors about the learning needs of students a detailed qualitative analysis of blog entries
would need to be conducted.
In an MBA course unit on macroeconomics and international political econ-
omy, blogs were used to support learning through improving the quantity and
quality of discussions of the course materials among the students (Williams and
Jacobs 2004). The results of the student questionnaires about the use of blogs
demonstrated the value of blogs in at least three areas. First of all, they were per-
ceived to be a good way of sharing one’s own ideas and considering other students’
comments in a way that would inspire further debate of the issues. Furthermore,
blogs were praised for the opportunities they offered to increase participation and
interaction among students beyond the limits of classroom time. Finally, learners
pointed out that their active involvement in blogging was not for the sake of get-
ting a grade but to satisfy a desire to shape the discussion by expressing their
thoughts. All that made the authors conclude that blogs not only contributed to
more intensive and collaborative content exploration, but as “distinctly open en-
vironment for topic advancement allowed students to direct their own learning in
a manner that transcended the existing curriculum” (Williams and Jacobs 2004,
“The BGSB MBA Blog”) a desirable result in any subject learning that is reso-
nant with the sociocultural idea of active knowledge building and reconstruction
enabled through content-based interaction.
This deeper engagement with content that involves reflection on readings and
their recontextualization is also reported by graduate student learners in Xie and
Sharma’s study (2005), which unfortunately does not give any information about
what courses students writing the blogs were enrolled in. Nevertheless, the research
shows that having to respond to the readings by blogging made students take an ac-
tive stance toward course materials, pose questions, and connect the readings to their
life experiences. These students also noted another important aspect of blogs and
knowledge construction. Blogging allowed them not only to engage in reflection
about content but also to observe changes in their learning; blogs are permanent texts
revealing a “history of . . . thoughts,” “a roadmap of . . . [one’s] development in an
area” (842).
Use of blogs for engagement and reflective response to readings was also advo-
cated for literature and political science classes. Richardson reported that blog writ-
ing in his modern American literature class could “stimulate debate and motivate
students to do close reading of the text” (2003, 40). Lawrence and Dion (2010) noted
the value of blogs in a political science classroom for engagement in the most cur-
rent political events and development of critical reading and thinking abilities. They
see similarities between the strategies the best political bloggers take as they closely
follow political news and evaluate statements and actions of politicians and the re-
quirements of a political science class in which students need to critically discuss pri-
mary and secondary sources to support their own line of argument.
BLOGS 187

Similar to the instructional uses in the research discussed above, the rationale
for assigning blogs in the course in which our study takes place was to tap into their
potential for fostering content learning through the interactive negotiation of issues
with other participants in the context of the course.

Context of the Study

This section focuses on the instructional context from which the study originates. It
describes the institutional context, course content, writing assignments, and use of the
blogs in the course, and gives information about the blogs selected for the analysis.

Institutional Context
Blog entries were collected from a course titled “Witchcraft in History, Literature,
and Film.” This course is taught in English and comprises two seventy-five-minute
class meetings per week. The students in the course are mostly freshmen and soph-
omores. The overall course goals are to learn about the phenomenon of witch hunt-
ing as one of the most disturbing and inexplicable occurrences in human history and
to further improve and refine one’s writing abilities—with particular emphasis on writ-
ing within an academic context.

Course Content
Through analysis of various historical documents, literary and filmic adaptations, and
selected academic publications, the course investigates and traces the construction of
notions of the witch and of witchcraft throughout the centuries in the German-speak-
ing world and beyond. The first part of the semester focuses on historical and trial
records in early modern Europe, with an emphasis on the German situation and the
Salem witch trials in seventeenth-century New England. Later the course explores
literary works and films with a particular focus on fairy tales from the Brothers
Grimm to Disney, dramas from Shakespeare to the twentieth century, and contempo-
rary filmic depictions of the witch theme. In addition to interpreting primary sources
from the fields of history and literature and film, students are exposed to secondary
literature on the course topic.

Writing Assignments
Representing the breadth of academic genres, writing assignments in the course in-
clude an introduction to a scholarly book, an abstract, a book review, an annotated
bibliography, and a research paper. Blog writing was introduced (originally in 2008,
by Professor Astrid Weigert) in the first unit of the course, “Historical and Trial
Records,” as an instrument for fostering more engaged reading prior to class meet-
ings. The expectation was that if students wrote for a larger audience that included
their classmates, the quality of their writing and their level of involvement would im-
prove and contribute to a stimulating intellectual atmosphere of the class.

Blog Use
In light of the very loose genre boundaries of blogs, the assignment sheet character-
ized the blog entries for this class as well-informed expert contributions that stimulate
188 Marianna Ryshina-Pankova and Jens Kugele

nuanced responses and therefore require formal academic language. The blog task
functioned in the following way: For each set of texts, four experts (students who
needed to become particularly well informed about the texts under consideration) were
assigned in advance. These experts were to start off the blog discussion by presenting
the current readings and by pointing to thematic, argumentative, and genre-specific
similarities or differences between them. Two days after the experts’ postings, the rest
of the class was to assume the role of respondents and post their comments online. Their
blog entries were to comment on arguments presented by the expert discussants and to
add a new dimension to the readings not mentioned by the discussants. Students were
to post their blog entries once a week for six weeks, the duration of the first unit. They
received a holistic grade for all their blog entries and an individual grade for their ex-
pert entries.
Student involvement in blog writing was relatively high. All twenty-one students
submitted discussion blog entries; fifteen students submitted an entry for each theme
throughout the first unit, and only two people wrote one or two blog entries, respec-
tively, during the semester. An average number of respondent blogs per theme was
8.6; one theme elicited 13 responses and two themes elicited 5 responses.

Data: Blogs Selected for the Study

The blog entries chosen for this analysis were written by five respondents and came
from the second part of the first unit, which explored the active role of preachers in
the discursive construction of the notion of “the diabolical witch.” The average length
of the entries was 86 T-Units, which are defined as independent clauses with all their
subordinate clauses; the total number of words was 1,737; and the average number
of words per text was 347.4.

Methodology
Following research in the sociocultural and systemic-functional linguistics frameworks
that demonstrates the critical role of language and verbal interaction in learning (Hal-
liday 1993; Halliday and Matthiessen 1999; Christie and Martin 1997; Painter 1996,
2007; Lemke 1988, 1990; Vygotsky 1987) we search for evidence of engagement with
content in linguistic resources blog writers used to explicitly address various perspec-
tives on content and to weave them into expressions of their own understandings and
interpretations.
To identify these resources the systemic-functional framework of appraisal (Mar-
tin and White 2005), we specifically used the concept of ENGAGEMENT. ENGAGE-
MENT is a system of semantic choices and the range of their likely linguistic
realizations available to the writers for expressing perspectives on an issue in relation
to other positions. ENGAGEMENT resources enable writers to construct an intersub-
jective stance both with regard to the issues under discussion and in relation to the other
readers involved in the negotiation of content as in the context of course-related blog
writing. Oriented toward rhetorical effects as opposed to specific wordings, the EN-
GAGEMENT system encompasses resources that have traditionally been discussed
under such categories as modality (Palmer 1986), evidentiality (Chafe and Nichols
1986), projection (Halliday and Matthiessen 2004), or metadiscourse (Hyland 2005).
BLOGS 189

The framework distinguishes between monoglossic and heteroglossic statements. The

monoglossic statements are called “bare assertions” (Martin and White 2005, 28) and
present propositions as facts without recognizing any dialogistic alternatives:

Excerpt 1
Throughout history, the church has had a tenuous relationship with sexual
behavior.
By contrast, heteroglossic statements recognize the voices of others and are charac-
terized by engagement strategies, as in the following example, where elements in bold
represent (also in the examples below) a particular type of engagement identified us-
ing the taxonomy by Martin and White (2005):

Excerpt 2
As other course participants noted, throughout history, the church has had a
tenuous relationship with sexual behavior.
Within the heteroglossic category, four major strategies of positioning oneself
with respect to other alternative positions are singled out by Martin and White
(2005):
Disclaim as deny or counter: the textual voice positions itself in opposition to
the ideas of others
Proclaim as concur, pronounce, or endorse: the textual voice represents a
position as compelling and well-founded
Entertain: the textual voice represents a position as explicitly subjective and
thus one possibility among many
Attribute as acknowledge or distance: the textual voice refers to the opinions
of others.
These strategies have their likely linguistic realizations. For example, proclaim or en-
dorse, a common strategy for arguing for one’s own position by means of supporting
it through reference to another source that is presented as valid and undeniable, is of-
ten construed through such quoting verbs (or their nominalized equivalents) as show,
point out, demonstrate, or emphasize.

Excerpt 3
As discussants correctly pointed out, Bernardino of Siena, Martin Le Franc,
and the anonymous author of the Errores Gazariorum all have an even more
aggressive campaign against witches than did the authors of our previous
readings.
In this excerpt the writer evaluates the proposition put forth by other classmates pos-
itively and uses it as a starting point for his own argumentation. Other illustrations
of each type of engagement strategy from student blogs are given in appendix A. Be-
cause there is no direct match between a type of engagement strategy and its linguis-
tic form, the data are coded in line with the discussion on lexicogrammatical
190 Marianna Ryshina-Pankova and Jens Kugele

construals of ENGAGEMENT in Martin and White (2005) by Ryshina-Pankova and

later triangulated with the coding by another coder. Monoglossic statements were
coded in line with the same procedure. The inter-rater reliability was 90 percent and
all disagreements were resolved through discussion.
The following sections demonstrate what tracking of the rhetorical strategies of
engagement through their lexicogrammatical construals could reveal about students’
negotiation of content and academic argumentation about it with other blog writers.

Results
Tables 11.1–11.4 present the blog writers’ use of various engagement strategies in
terms of four categories: (1) engagement clauses versus bare assertions; (2) engage-
ment with the authors of the readings; (3) engagement with the opinions of other class
participants; (4) and engagement as expression of one’s own opinions on the readings.
The quantitative results can be summarized in the following ways:
1. Strategies of dialogic engagement, either with the opinions of other course
participants or with the positions of the authors of the readings, comprise
79.06 percent of all T-Units (as independent clauses with all their subordinate
clauses) in the blogs.
2. With respect to the engagement with the positions of the original authors on
the issue of witch hunting, the authors’ communicative intents are acknowl-
edged in 31.39 percent of clauses and used as endorsement for one’s own ar-
gument in 10.46 percent of clauses. Engagement with the authors of the
readings comprises 44.44 percent of all engagement instances.

Table 11.1
Engagement clauses versus assertions
Engagement clauses 68 79.06%
Assertions 18 20.93%

Table 11.2
Engagement with the authors of the readingsa
Engagement resources No. of instances Reference to the no. of T-Units (%)
Attribute: acknowledge 27 31.39
Attribute: distance 0 0
Proclaim: endorse 9 10.46
Total: 36
36/81 (total number of engagement instances): 44.44%
aThe numbers in all tables do not add up to 100% because different engagement resources could appear
in one and the same clause. If the same type of engagement resource appeared in a T-Unit twice, it was
counted only once.
BLOGS 191

Table 11.3
Engagement with the opinions of other class participants about the readings
Engagement resources No. of instances Reference to the no. of T-Units (%)
Attribute/acknowledge 11 12.79
Proclaim/endorse 3 3.48
Disclaim/counter 2 2.32
Total: 16 18.60
16/81 (total number of engagement instances): 19.75%

Table 11.4
Engagement as expression of one’s own opinion on the readings
Engagement resources No. of instances Reference to the no. of T-Units (%)
Proclaim: pronounce 4 4.65
Proclaim: concur 1 1.16
Entertain: probability 9 10.46
Disclaim: counter 15 17.44
Disclaim: deny 0 0
Total: 29
29/81 (total number of engagement instances): 35.8%

3. With regard to the engagement with the opinions of other course partici-
pants on the readings, table 11.3 demonstrates that 12.79 percent of all
clauses display references to the opinions of other blog writers through ac-
knowledgment, and in 3.48 percent of clauses an endorsement strategy is
used. Disalignment through disclaim or counter occurs in only 2.32
percent of clauses. All together references to the opinions of other
blog writers comprise 19.75 percent of the total number of engagement
instances.
4. In connection to the blog writers’ expression of one’s own perspectives on
content, the disclaim or counter reference strategy stands out, with 17.44
percent of clauses containing this resource. Entertain or probability that
helps construe one’s own view as possible against the backdrop of other al-
ternative positions is used in 10.46 percent of clauses. Finally, proclaim or
concur and proclaim/pronounce strategies that explicitly present one’s sub-
jective position as compelling and well founded are least preferred—
comprising only 4.65 percent and 1.16 percent of clauses, respectively.
Overall, expression of one’s own opinion comprises 35.8 percent of all en-
gagement instances.
192 Marianna Ryshina-Pankova and Jens Kugele

Discussion
The results demonstrate that explicit engagement with the ideas of others, which we
propose to be indicative of content learning, is present in almost four-fifths of the
clauses (79.06 percent) and is thus a dominant feature of blog writing in this course.
Moreover, the results show that blog writers use a wide gamut of such strategies. They
engage in the negotiation of content by constantly alluding to the discursive practices
of the authors of course readings, aligning or disaligning themselves with the opinions
of other blog writers, and considering or declaring various possible interpretations.

Engagement with Course Content

A frequent strategy (44.44 percent of all engagement instances) for engagement with
course content is through references to the authors of the readings. Although this is an
expected result that follows from the nature of the assignment, the analysis confirms
that the students do, indeed, fulfill the requirements of the task. The strategy of attribu-
tion enables blog writers to engage with content issues and themes on the meta-level,
employing the so-called distancing helicopter approach, as metaphorically defined by
the course instructor. Learners elevate their discussion from the recitation of what hap-
pened to the witches to engagement with how the authors of original documents about
witches discursively constructed the happenings, a strategy evident in the following:
Excerpt 4
While two of the authors focused on describing, in full detail, the shocking
and disturbing practices that witches partook of, the others tried to prove that
the witch threat was real.
Attribution used in this example, realized through various linguistic means (for ex-
ample, through such verbs as “describe,” “point out,” “demonstrate,” or “account”—
and their nominalized forms) enables learners to go beyond a simple summary of the
content of the readings, a goal indicated by the blog writing task sheet (see appen-
dix B). Establishing the role of this strategy for an interpretative stance on readings
is important. If the use of attribution seems to be a given in a class made up of highly
literate Georgetown students, it is something that needs to be taught explicitly in other
contexts, such as that of second- or foreign-language learners.

Engagement with Course Participants

Weaving the voices of other course participants into one’s own reflection on the issues is
an important aspect of student blogs. Most often this allusion takes the form of acknowl-
edging the ideas of others (used in 12.79 percent of clauses), as in the example below:
Excerpt 5
As the discussant post Witchcraft and Sexual Deviance mentioned, the
church and the public believed that if witches were willing to so publicly flout
the word of the Lord, they must also disobey other societal conventions.
In some cases, reference to the blogs of other class participants endorses the author’s
own line of reasoning (used in 3.48 percent of clauses), as in the following example:
BLOGS 193

Excerpt 6
The hating increases

As the centuries passed, accounts of witchcraft became more and more

specific; details of witches’ ceremonies and oaths became more concrete and
whatever the condemned humans confessed to was treated as fact. As
discussants correctly pointed out, Bernardino of Siena, Martin Le Franc, and
the anonymous author of the Errores Gazariorum all have an even more
aggressive campaign against witches than did the authors of our previous
readings. By depicting their rituals and customs, they look to paint the most
grotesque picture of witches possible. Their frenzied accusations were some of
the main catalysts of the subsequent witch hunts.
Here the attribution strategy helps the author to argue, as also manifested in the title
of this blog entry, that accounts of witchcraft became increasingly accusatory towards
the witches and thus justified subsequent witch hunts.
Note that in these two excerpts, references are made to a general group of dis-
cussants as well as to particular posts by course participants, illustrating a relatively
high level of explicit engagement with the ideas of other blog writers in the class (al-
lusion to other students’ ideas comprised 19.75 percent of all engagement instances).
Although this engagement is mostly realized in terms of aligning oneself with the
ideas of other class participants (87.5 percent of all instances in the category of en-
gagement with the opinions of classmates), there are two instances in which students
overtly argue with their classmates. In this case the disclaim or counter strategy is
used, as may be seen in the examples to follow.
Excerpt 7
Although the religion motif was not commonly discussed among the
discussants, the relevance of this theme to these various texts needs to be
brought to attention.

Excerpt 8
Multiple discussants identified child murders as a common motif. While the
child murders occur frequently throughout the passages, they seem to be
only a piece of the motif.
This strategy helps students to juxtapose different ideas in a clear way and establish
a new interpretation in a rhetorically explicit manner.

Engagement as Expression of One’s Own Opinion on the

Readings
Although engagement with other blog writers’ opinions by means of directly chal-
lenging them is rare, disclaim or counter is a frequent move in the blogs that appears
in almost one-fifth (17.44 percent) of the clauses. When not used to explicitly oppose
interpretations of other classmates, it is deployed for revealing one’s own perspective
194 Marianna Ryshina-Pankova and Jens Kugele

on the readings in a twofold way. First it is used to demonstrate to the reader new as-
pects through a comparison of different readings:
Excerpt 9
In comparison to the earlier readings, this week’s texts show signs of
growing fervor as Europe draws closer and closer to the historic craze of
“witch” hunting.
Second, it is employed to point out something new, interesting, surprising, and counter
to expectations of the audience and thus worthy of note:
Excerpt 10
Yet it is interesting to note that among all of the fears of society, sexual
behavior is the one most associated with witches.

Excerpt 11
Suddenly, with this shocking revelation, the non-‘witches’ are not quite as
blameless as they had been.
The disclaim or counter move is crucial for the dialogic construction of new knowl-
edge: it allows writers to put forward their own original interpretations of the read-
ings by anchoring them in existing interpretations or expectations and then expanding
or supplanting them.
A similar purpose of establishing a new view of the readings is also fulfilled by
another engagement strategy, proclaim or pronounce:
Excerpt 12
In addition to acknowledging the extraordinary descriptive abilities of the text’s
authors, I took particular note of the new message that quite forcefully takes
shape in Bernardino of Siena’s passionate sermon, ordinary citizens should be
held responsible and should be subsequently disciplined for withholding
information that might help locate, apprehend, and punish current witches.
A new aspect singled out by the writer of this excerpt is positioned as a compelling
subjective finding that is supplementary to other ideas about the readings. One pos-
sible explanation for a rather scarce use of this strategy (used in 4.65 percent of
clauses) has to do with the fact that the task sheet required students to use formal ac-
ademic writing style in their blog entries. The proclaim or pronounce strategy—with
its emphasis on the explicitly subjective authorial stance as compelling and well
founded—may often be avoided in academic writing, in which objective realizations
of stance are preferred (Coffin and Hewings 2004; Hewings 2004; Schleppegrell
2004). A similar explanation seems to be plausible with regard to the infrequent use
of proclaim or concur (used in 1.16 percent of clauses). This strategy positions the
author and the reader as agreeing with each other and presents this agreement as be-
ing taken for granted:
BLOGS 195

Excerpt 13
The ability of a population to successfully reproduce is obviously a crucial
aspect of a society’s survival.
In academic argumentative writing, however, propositions generally need to be ar-
gued for and substantiated with evidence or their force is often modulated by means
of the entertain or probability strategy. In the following example the proposition
made by the author is presented as one possible alternative, which makes it harder to
refute than a proposition with a proclaim or concur move that assumes it is univer-
sally true:
Excerpt 14
As the name implies, it seemed as if eating children was one of the main
focuses of anti-witch writings.
The entertain or probability strategy is often deployed not only to leave dialogic
space for other possible interpretations, but also to provide evidence for one’s the-
sis by speculating about the content and making its implications explicit. This func-
tion of entertain or probability is illustrated below; the author’s main argument is
about a new aspect of witch hunting: involvement of ordinary citizens and non-
witches who could be accused of being accomplices of witches and thus subject to
the same punishments.
Excerpt 15
The passionate “witch” frenzy grows and finds new victims

For example, let’s imagine that an old woman from a local village is singled
out and accused of “witchcraft.” A subsequent legal trial takes place to
determine the extent of her “evil doings,” and the townspeople call for
witnesses as well as additional evidence. The trial concludes, the “witch”
receives her “due” punishment—burning, drowning, etc.—however the story is
far from over. At this point, the townspeople’s suspicions mount as they wonder
why some of the witnesses had never spoken earlier. Why did the old woman’s
neighbor remain silent until the last possible minute? How could the old
woman’s cousin not have noticed her strange behavior? The questions fly and
the fingers point. Suddenly, a rash of additional accusations builds as the
witnesses themselves are called to trial on charges of “witchcraft.”
The author of this excerpt engages the readers by asking them to consider (“enter-
tain”) a certain possible scenario, based on the original readings. This scenario works
to substantiate her thesis.
Do learners engage in content learning as they interact with their peers through
blogs, and how does this engagement take place? We can conclude that, given our as-
sumption that content learning is about engagement with various perspectives on con-
tent that can be tracked by means of a functional linguistic analysis, the quantitative
196 Marianna Ryshina-Pankova and Jens Kugele

results and their qualitative discussion demonstrate a high level of engagement in con-
tent learning within the blog-based interaction. The engagement strategies singled out
from student blogs provide evidence that the course participants do in fact fulfill the
demands of the blogging task as spelled out by the task sheet. The use of various at-
tributive as well as disclaim or counter and entertain or probability strategies speaks
to the fact that bloggers do refer to the readings and to the ideas of their peers, and
they are able to expand them by pointing out some new dimensions in their under-
standing of the readings.
In evaluating the level of engagement based on the results, one could note that
although students refer to the ideas of other course participants to align themselves
with them or endorse their own opinions, they rarely challenge each other by distanc-
ing themselves from the views of others (there are no instances of acknowledge or
distance strategy) or by countering them (only two instances). This reluctance to
question the propositions of other classmates is also reported by Bloch and Crosby
(2008) in their analysis of blogs by ESL students and by Coffin and Hewings (2005)
in their investigation of entries in asynchronous electronic conferences in a long-dis-
tance applied linguistics course. Drawing on the work in the field of argumentation
studies (for example, Mitchell and Andrews 2000), Coffin and Hewings point out the
importance of argumentation, including refutation strategies for learning disciplinary
knowledge, and state that this lack of critique towards other classmates’ ideas in their
data was “limiting the degree of argumentative interplay between the opinions and
views being put forward” and weakened learners’ arguments (2005, 41).
To improve engagement with other course participants and content matter through
blogs, students could be alerted to the role of argument in academic knowledge con-
struction and instructed to examine their peers’ entries more carefully, taking issue
with them by means of a disclaim or counter move more frequently. This, however,
might continue to be a difficult strategy to adopt, given the unwillingness of stu-
dents—especially those who are at the beginning of their academic careers, as these
students are—to publicly oppose each other. Encouraging an argumentative stance
can also become part of class meetings, during which a safe learning environment
might be created to explicitly teach students how to engage with their peers’ work by
means of evaluation and respectful critique. This could be accomplished by present-
ing a blog model to course participants with the goal of analyzing it with them in
terms of salient engagement strategies and their functions. Including some of the most
important engagement strategies on the blogs assessment sheet could also raise learn-
ers’ awareness of academically important argumentative strategies.

Conclusion
This study explores content learning in blogs by tracking their linguistic realizations
by means of ENGAGEMENT analysis. The results of the analysis demonstrate that
blog writers do engage in academically valued negotiation of content that includes
dialogically expanding strategies of attribution and consideration of various alterna-
tives, as well as dialogically contracting strategies of countering other discussants’
opinions and proclaiming one’s own views (Martin and White 2005, 102–4). Whereas
these strategies are present in all blogs in the data, only some of their authors are able
BLOGS 197

to alternate between these resources in a strategic way in order to construct a con-

vincing academic argument in which a new perspective is established and defended
against the background of other opinions.
To return to the initial skeptical questions about the significance of blogs as a
new instrument for fostering intellectual engagement in discipline-based courses,
our results enable us to argue that blogs do, indeed, provide a conducive environment
for learning content through interaction with others and through practicing academic
argumentation about content. In this respect blogs can be considered a unique medium.
On the one hand, they allow learners to engage in academic literacy practices in a
way that would not be possible in oral classroom settings. These practices can be fur-
ther embedded in classroom meetings, potentially contributing to substantive and in-
tellectually rich academic discussions.
On the other hand, blog writing encourages a self-initiated dialogue among class
participants about course-related issues that would not be possible in traditional writ-
ing assignments, for which the teacher is the only dialogic partner and arbiter. Blog-
based interaction can allow students to learn how to engage with a variety of voices
and a variety of knowers and construct their own argument by explicitly drawing on
them—whether in alignment or disalignment. And this is, in essence, a crucial as-
pect of intellectual engagement and critical inquiry.

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BLOGS 199

APPENDIX A: ENGAGEMENT STRATEGIES

Bare Assertion: presents propositions as facts without any engagement strategies
One of the devil’s greatest strengths is tricking those weak of morals into thinking he is something else.

Disclaim: the textual voice positions itself in opposition to the ideas of others
Deny: invokes an alternative position and Counter: invokes an alternative position but does
rejects it not reject it directly. It offers an alternative
position instead.
No examples in the data Although the religion motif was not commonly
discussed among the discussants, the relevance of
this theme to these various texts needs to be
brought
to attention.

Proclaim: the textual voice represents a position as compelling and well-founded

Concur: announces the addresser Endorse: expresses alignments Pronounce: expresses authorial
as agreeing or having the same with an attributed position emphasis or explicit authorial
knowledge as the putative reader interventions
The ability of a population to In comparison to the earlier read- In addition to acknowledging the
successfully reproduce is ings, this week’s texts show signs extraordinary descriptive abili-
obviously a crucial aspect of of growing fervor as Europe draws ties of the text’s authors, I took
a society’s survival. closer and closer to the historic particular note of the new mes-
craze of witch hunting. sage that quite forcefully takes
shape in Bernardino of Siena’s
passionate sermon.

Entertain: the textual voice represents a position as explicitly subjective and thus acknowledges it as
one among many
As one might imagine, this latest revelation in the history of “witchcraft” proves to be incredibly impor-
tant in later years during the peak centuries of witch hunting.

Attribute: the textual voice refers to the opinions of others

Acknowledge: attributes propositions to a source Distance: attributes proposition to a source but
distances itself from it
As the discussant post Witchcraft and Sexual No examples
Deviance mentioned, the church and the public
believed that if witches were willing to so
publicly flout the word of the Lord, they must also
disobey other societal conventions.
200 Marianna Ryshina-Pankova and Jens Kugele

APPENDIX B: BLOG ENTRIES TASK SHEET

Instructions: Blog entries for Unit I (historical sources)
Blog URL: TBA via email
Blog entries serve as preparation and springboard for classroom discussion of an assigned set of texts. At
the same time, they serve as opportunities for academic writing. Blogs for this class require formal aca-
demic language. They should be approx. five hundred words in length.
We will have two types of bloggers: (1) discussants and (2) respondents.
For each set of texts, we will have four “experts,” i.e., students who will be particularly well informed
about the texts under consideration. These experts will start off the class discussion by summarizing the
arguments presented in their blog entries.
Discussants:
Blog entries are to focus on drawing connections between the various texts, not on summarizing content.
Such connections could be similarities or differences in theme, genre, purpose, audience, author back-
ground, structure of argument, style, language use, etc. One approach would be to try to see if there is a
“red thread” running through the texts and how it plays out individually in each text. Another idea would
be to see if, after reading through all assigned texts, you can name one or two key concepts that are evi-
dent in all texts.
Respondents:
Blog entries will comment on arguments presented by discussants and add a new dimension, such as ref-
erences to other aspects of a text or references to a text not mentioned by the discussant. It must be clear
to the reader that you are writing a response.
Assessment:
Holistic grade for all blog entries; individual grade for your “expert” entries as discussant and respondent.
Timeline:
For Tuesday classes: Discussants post by midnight Saturday
Respondents post by midnight Monday
For Thursday classes: Discussants post by noon Wednesday
Respondents post by 6 a.m. Thursday
12
Reading in Print or Onscreen
Better, Worse, or About the Same?

NAO M I S . BA RO N
American University

Do Technologies Change Us?

THE YEAR WAS 1968. The United States was finally gaining traction in the space race
against the Soviet Union. In December, NASA launched the Apollo 8 mission that
circled the moon. For the first time it was possible to see our planet from beyond a
low-earth orbit. Photographs taken on that mission profoundly altered millions of
people’s perceptions in ways unrelated to astronomy. The Soviet Union was no longer
an abstraction on a Mercator-projected map but physically viewable as part of a sin-
gle, contiguous globe. So, too, were China, India, Colombia, and South Africa.
Those pictures from space offered a new sense of possibility for global engagement,
which mushroomed in the following decades in such diverse forms as an explosion
in international commerce, labor outsourcing, and concern about global climate
change.
In a similar way, with the development of information and communication tech-
nologies (ranging from telephones and artificial intelligence programs to robots and
social networking sites), users of these technologies have been exposed to circum-
stances that may alter our perspectives on such issues as how humans interact with
machines, how we relate to one another, and what it means to learn—and to know.
To understand the types of potential changes we are talking about, I consider, in turn,
four scenarios.
The first is drawn from the work of Sherry Turkle, a psychologist at the Massa-
chusetts Institute of Technology. Turkle has written much on the attitudes of contem-
porary adults and children regarding relationships between real, animate objects and
mechanical counterparts (Turkle 1995). Our example is drawn from her book Alone
Together: Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other. In No-
vember 2005 Turkle had taken her daughter Rebecca, then aged fourteen, to an ex-
hibit on Charles Darwin at the American Museum of Natural History in New York.
For the exhibition the museum had brought two giant tortoises from the Galapagos
Islands, where Darwin had done some of his groundbreaking research contributing
to the theory of evolution. Turkle writes,

201
202 Naomi S. Baron

One tortoise was hidden from view; the other rested in its cage, utterly still.
Rebecca inspected the visible tortoise thoughtfully for a while and then said
matter-of-factly, “They could have used a robot.” . . . She said she thought it
was a shame to bring a turtle all this way . . . when it was just going to sit there
in the museum, doing nothing. Rebecca was both concerned for the imprisoned
turtle and unmoved by its authenticity. (2011, 3)
Turkle’s story highlights the contemporary question of whether the sophistication (and
efficiency) of contemporary robots potentially challenges assumptions about the de-
sirability of interacting with living beings.
The second example comes from the work of media critic Howard Rheingold
and involves social concerns that trace back to the late 1800s, when the telephone
was introduced into private homes in the United States. Rheingold (1999) focuses
his inquiry on the Pennsylvania Amish, who to this day do not allow telephones in
their homes (Umble 1996). In an interview with an Amish man from Lancaster, Penn-
sylvania, Rheingold asked why he did not have a telephone. The man replied,
What would that lead to? We don’t want to be the kind of people who will
interrupt a conversation at home to answer a telephone. It’s not just how you
use the technology that concerns us. We’re also concerned about what kind of
person you become when you use it.
The larger social question, of course, is what about those of us who allow telephones
not only into our homes but into our lives at large—talking with or texting someone
else while sitting in a café with friends or transacting business at a bank? What kind
of people do we become as we continually privilege interaction with an absent third
party over conversation (or even shared silence) with the person physically before us?
The third illustration concerns people’s personalities, and it comes from the work
of Elias Aboujaode, a psychiatrist at the Stanford School of Medicine, specializing in
obsessive-compulsive disorders. In Virtually You: The Dangerous Powers of the E-Per-
sonality, Aboujaoude examines the kind of people we become when we use technol-
ogy—including the likes of websites, instant messaging (IM), Facebook, and Twitter:
The Internet is . . . fundamentally changing us. . . . [O]ur online traits are
unconsciously being imported into our offline life, so that our idea of what a
real-life community should be . . . is being reconfigured in the image of a chat
room, and our offline persona increasingly resembles that of our avatar. . . . I
recognize the good in cyberspace but strive for an assessment of the Internet
that is more mindful of our psyche. (2011, 11–12)
The question Aboujaode raises is whether our lives online are reshaping (and not for
the better) our perceptions of who we are in our physical, embodied existence.
The last case involves the possible effects of the internet upon cognition. In
summer 2008, the journalist Nicholas Carr wrote an article in Atlantic Monthly ti-
tled “Is Google Making Us Stupid?” He then elaborated upon the question in The
Shallows: What the Internet Is Doing to Our Brains (2010). Carr argues that the
internet is reshaping our brains, making it difficult for us to concentrate on con-
tinuous, complex written text:
READING IN PRINT OR ONSCREEN 203

Sometime in 2007 . . . I began to notice that the Net was exerting a much
stronger and broader influence over me than my old stand-alone PC ever
had. . . . The very way my brain worked seemed to be changing. . . . I began
worrying about my inability to pay attention to one thing for more than a
couple of minutes. . . . I missed my old brain. (2010, 16)

In much the same vein, the psychiatrist Edward Hallowell (2006) has suggested that
use of new digital media is causing acquired attention deficit disorder. More recently,
a team of psychologists (Sparrow, Liu, and Wegner 2011) has explored how avail-
ability of the internet may be redefining the extent to which we remember informa-
tion—or where to find it.
Whether we are convinced by some writers’ cautionary arguments (particularly
the cognitive one), it is clear that technologies can influence our level of competence
in what educated societies have seen as basic skills.1 Pocket calculators undermined
the need to remember how to perform simple addition and subtraction; spellcheck
has rendered knowledge of correct orthography less valuable; and in Japan, the avail-
ability of word processing on computers is making even teachers of Japanese forget
the stroke order in which the kanji (Japanese characters) must be written.
In this chapter I focus on the technology of the written word. More specifically,
I look at the conditions under which we decode writing—that is, how we read. I con-
sider two questions:

Does the medium on which we encounter written words affect how we read?
Do new reading platforms redefine what we mean by reading in the first
place?

Historically, writing has appeared on a vast array of surfaces: clay, wax, stone,
tortoise shell, papyrus, parchment, paper, newsprint, and now on various sorts of dig-
ital screens. In each instance, the affordances of the medium (including, for exam-
ple, portability, fragility, cost, and strain on the eyes) might affect the way we read,
how much we read, how much we remember of our reading, and the extent to which
we value or personalize the medium or the text. For instance, we are far less likely
to toss out Shakespeare’s First Folio than a copy of yesterday’s newspaper. Similarly,
we might be more inclined to tackle Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason in hard copy than
on an iPhone.
This chapter contrasts the ways in which we read using two media: print (such
as books on library shelves) and digital screens. Reading print entails reading tangi-
ble hard copy. Reading onscreen refers to reading done on computers, ebooks, or
portable devices such as mobile phones or tablets. My question is whether reading
on one platform is better, worse, or about the same as reading on the other.
I begin by looking at the notion of print culture, considering in turn the histori-
cal rise of writing and reading, the transition from print to print culture, and some
presuppositions of and challenges to print culture. I then turn to data from a pilot study
of reading practices by a group of American undergraduate students, and close by
discussing the pros and cons of reading in each medium, along with possible conse-
quences for what it means to read.
204 Naomi S. Baron

Print Culture
Contemporary attitudes toward printed text grow out of a long evolutionary process,
beginning with the appearance of written language.

The Rise of Writing and Reading

Writing (and hence, reading) began roughly five thousand years ago, having devel-
oped independently in several different civilizations (Sumeria: c. 3000 BCE; Egypt:
c. 3000 BCE; China: c. 1500 BCE).2 The emergence of writing allowed for complex
administrative organization (Chadwick 1959), and so is often viewed as a prerequi-
site for the rise of cities, as evidenced in Mesopotamia and Egypt.
However, the availability of writing in a society need not imply that the culture
itself can be characterized as a written culture. In classical Greece and Rome, literacy
rates across the populations—as well as the need for literacy—were low (Harris 1989).
The same situation held true through much of the European Middle Ages (Baron
2000; Clanchy 1993). What is more, knowledge of reading and writing were often
asymmetric: In Europe (and then early America), pupils were generally first taught to
read. If they progressed further in their education, instruction in writing would follow.
Another historical variable involves writing technologies and techniques. In older
civilizations, writing was commonly done on clay tablets (as in Mycenaean Greece
or Assyria) or scrolls (as in ancient Israel). The codex (or book) form as we know it
did not appear until c. 400 CE (Roberts and Skeat 1983). The custom of leaving spaces
between words on the page emerged only later (c. 600–800 CE), first in Latin texts
used in western Europe and subsequently in the vernacular languages (Saenger 1997).
The first printed book in the West was Johannes Gutenberg’s Bible, produced in
Mainz in the mid-1450s. Printing arrived in England in 1476, when William Caxton
set up his press at Westminster in London. However, just as the existence of writing
in a society hardly guarantees that society at large is literate—or that the society func-
tions as a written culture—availability of print does not ensure that printed works play
a central role in the lives of even the educated populace. In the case of England, it
would take almost two hundred years before one could accurately speak of a print
culture.

From Print to Print Culture

What is print culture?3 It is a set of attitudes regarding how we read and write, pre-
supposing the availability of print technology. Two simple examples illustrate the
point. The first concerns standardization of spelling. Although it is commonly believed
that the arrival of print promptly led to the standardization of spelling, concerns for
consistency in spelling did not take hold in England until well into the seventeenth
and even the early eighteenth centuries (Scragg 1974). Second, multiple printed
copies of the same book were often not actually identical until modern times. It has
been estimated, for instance, that twenty-four thousand variations of the King James
Bible came into being between 1611 and 1830 (Johns 1998, 91).
By the eighteenth century, a print culture had emerged in much of Europe that
shaped how the written word was produced and decoded. This culture included not
only issues of editorial consistency (such as standardized spelling and exact replica-
READING IN PRINT OR ONSCREEN 205

tion of text), but also attitudes toward readers’ interaction with a written work and
tools for facilitating this interaction. Some of these methodologies and tools had
been available before the proliferation of printed works. However, the spread of print
(and with it, literacy) transformed the way that societies writ large interacted with
the written word.

Presuppositions of Print Culture

I focus on four sets of presuppositions that print culture entails:4
Durability of a text
Conditions for reading
Value of books
Navigation tools
These four were selected because new media technologies that enable us to read on-
screen present challenges to these assumptions.

Durability of a Text The first set of assumptions involves the durability of a text: once a
written copy exists, readers can physically return to it. Given this durability, readers
can (and do) annotate their copy of a work by writing in a page’s margins, underlin-
ing, or otherwise highlighting text.
Annotating texts has a long history, predating the appearance of printing in the
West (Jackson 2001; Caxton Club 2011). Annotation may be for the original reader’s
own benefit (for example, to record thoughts on an issue the author has addressed or
to select materials that might be useful to review at a later point). In books passed
down to family members or sold to other owners, marginalia offers new readers in-
sight into the minds of earlier readers or owners. Regardless of who does the reread-
ing, the assumption behind such annotation is that the potential exists for someone
to subsequently return to that text.

Conditions for Reading Print culture brought with it assumptions about the conditions un-
der which we read. Two of these assumptions were that people predominantly read
silently and that they read to themselves. Historically, reading was done aloud—
either reading so others could hear or essentially mumbling to oneself (Parkes 1993;
Saenger 1997). In fact, in twelfth-century cloister libraries in France and England,
the space was divided into carrels, separated by stone walls, so that monks could read
aloud softly to themselves (or dictate to secretaries) without disturbing others (Saenger
1982, 396). Silent reading did not become commonplace until the mid- and late four-
teenth century, but has largely been taken for granted ever since. Similarly, although
reading aloud to others—both literate and nonliterate audiences—was common his-
torically, reading strictly by oneself became the norm by the time print culture was
established (Baron 2000, 32–33, 85–87).
Another condition for reading that emerged as a cornerstone of print culture was
the rise of libraries: both personal (generally for the well-to-do) and public (Baron
2000, 87–91). Increasingly, reading became an activity that could be done in places
specially designed for that purpose: not only were large numbers of books available
206 Naomi S. Baron

from which to choose, but there was also an ambiance (generally one in which si-
lence was observed) that invited mental concentration.
A natural corollary of a library (or library-like) environment is the assumption
that when a person is reading, he or she focuses on the text at hand. Obviously, read-
ers stand up and stretch, pause to think about how the present text fits into larger men-
tal schemes, daydream, or fall asleep over the book. However, paradigmatically, the
assumption is that the reader is not simultaneously paying bills, conversing about an
upcoming trip, or playing solitaire.

Value of Books The third set of assumptions about print culture involves the value we
place on books, including their contents. Consider the ideas that books should have
something original to say, that authors of books have legal rights, and that the prose
in which books are written should be well crafted. Although the concept of plagia-
rism dates back at least to Roman times, legal notions of copyright are relatively mod-
ern. Copyright laws are largely an eighteenth-century invention (Rose 1993;
Woodmansee and Jaszi 1994). Similarly, careful editing of books (a process that was
difficult at best in handwritten manuscripts and not widely practiced in the early days
of printing—Price 1939; Simpson 1935) became the norm only in the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries. Moreover, emerging copyright laws included the presump-
tion that unless you were writing fiction, what you wrote was true. Even today some
book contracts call for authors to attest to the truth of what appears in their nonfic-
tion works.
With the rise of wealth in England (and growth of the middle and upper-middle
classes), printed books increasingly became prized possessions. Sets of volumes were
elegantly bound in Moroccan leather; first editions and autographed copies of books
held special value. Libraries created rare book rooms, where manuscript—and print—
treasures were housed. The public came to see tangible books as having both aesthetic
and economic value.
At the same time, literacy rates began to rise. During the middle ages, royalty
generally felt little need to learn to read and write—one hired other people to per-
form those chores. But with the expansion of printed works and gradual increase in
education levels in Europe and America (Baron 2000, 79–85), basic literacy skills
came to be expected of everyone. As opportunities for higher education multiplied
in the twentieth century, reading books—and many of them—became a socially de-
fined goal.

Navigation ToolsOur last set of assumptions regarding print culture concerns tools for
navigating within a text. These devices include now-familiar publishing elements such
as a title page, a table of contents, section divisions within a book, an index, and page
numbers.
None of these conventions existed in early manuscripts. They emerged gradu-
ally, largely as a result of printing. Consider the title page, which began to appear be-
tween 1475 and 1480. In very early printed books, text began on the first page (which
was on the right-hand [recto] side). Understandably, that initial page tended to get
dirty. To help keep the text clean, printers began adding an additional sheet to the front
READING IN PRINT OR ONSCREEN 207

of the book and starting the text on the left-hand [verso] side. As a result, there was
an empty recto page when the book was opened. To fill that page, printers initially
inserted titles to the works, eventually adding such information as the publisher and
the date and place of publication (Febvre and Martin 1976, 84).
Paul Saenger (2010) suggests that printing had substantial impact on the very
way in which people read, even in the early years of the technology. For example, he
argues that printing facilitated faster reading than was possible when readers were
confronted with manuscripts. One reason was that abbreviations tended to become
standardized in print, reducing the ambiguity that had resulted from the sometimes
idiosyncratically created abbreviations found in manuscripts (Saenger 2010, 392).
Speed was further enhanced by replacing low-quality Gothic cursive script (often used
in inexpensively produced manuscript copies) with clearer, standardized type fonts
(Saenger 2010, 394–97). A third tool that facilitated reading was the introduction of
round parentheses for setting off a clause from the rest of a sentence or for distin-
guishing biblical text from commentary (397–401).
Saenger also explores the effect of printing on use of page numbers. In earlier
Latin manuscripts that had been copied in the British Isles (as far back as the eighth
or ninth centuries), numbering had sometimes been used to ensure that individual
sheets of parchment were collated in the correct order. Sometimes numbers appeared
on both recto and verso pages, but other times only one side of the leaf bore a num-
ber. Still, use of any numbering was rare. It has been estimated that around 1450, less
than 10 percent of manuscript books contained such numbers (Saenger 2010, 255).
Fifty years later (at the close of the first half century of Western printing), the
proportion of printed works with pagination was “far higher” (Saenger 2010, 256).
Part of this change reflected the new role that page numbers were playing. By the
1510s, scholars were starting to “refer to folio numbers of specific editions to desig-
nate loci within printed texts” (Saenger 2010, 405). Since the early sixteenth century,
readers have relied on page numbers to find their way in books, whether in using ta-
bles of contents or indexes, or in referring to specific locations of text.
Although it is not a textual navigation tool per se, another important develop-
ment coterminous with the rise of print culture was the emergence of dictionaries and
reference works that helped readers cope with the expansion of information (and
knowledge) that characterized the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in western Eu-
rope (Blair 2003, 2010; Rosenberg 2003; Yeo 2002). Highly reminiscent of modern
complaints about information overload, intellectuals in early modern Europe com-
plained there was literally too much to know. This abundance of knowledge (or, in
many cases, undigested information) resulted from a variety of sources: the growth
of trade and subsequent empire, increased communication across national boundaries,
and the expanding numbers of comparatively inexpensive books available.
The solution was production of various types of compendia: from universal bib-
liographies to dictionaries, book reviews, and encyclopedias. The best-known exam-
ples of this last genre are Ephraim Chamber’s Cyclopaedia (1728) and Denis Diderot’s
Encyclopédie (1751–1772). Did these compendia reduce the amount that people
read? There is no evidence of it. Rather, such reference works enabled those who
wanted to read to better find their way among the multiplying options of printed works.
208 Naomi S. Baron

Challenges to Print Culture

Print culture flourished for roughly two centuries. However, for varied reasons and
in differing degrees, challenges began to arise to some of the presuppositions of print
culture I examine. Such challenges often predated the online and mobile media rev-
olution of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, although it is the chal-
lenges generated by digital reading platforms that are the focus of this chapter.

Durability of a Text As literacy rates began to soar by the mid- to late nineteenth century,
the expanding population of readers sought inexpensive reading material. Publishers
responded by producing more and more newspapers (London had over two dozen
daily papers by the early 1890s [Shaw 1985, xi]) and cheap paperback books (Feather
1988). Many of these publications were intended to be read once and then abandoned.
A century later, so-called quality paperbacks emerged (largely for the college-going
or college-educated market), which were, in principle, destined for personal libraries
along with hardbound books (Epstein 2002). However, as contemporary readers can
attest, all manner of printed material—newspapers and magazines, trade paperbacks,
and even hardbacks—were landing in the trash heap even before the proliferation of
personal computers that began in the 1980s.
However, the explosion in personal computing and use of the internet, along with
marketing strategies of contemporary booksellers and publishers, has magnified chal-
lenges to the presupposition of durability of text. On the one hand, readers who print
text available online (whether a Shakespearean play or a book chapter for a college
reading assignment) are more likely to toss those materials when they are finished
reading (or being tested) than to discard their codex counterparts. On the other hand,
bookstores (particularly college bookstores) do a brisk business in buying used books
or renting out hard copies (such as www.rent-a-text.com). Similarly, publishers (such
as www.efollett.com) now rent out electronic downloads of books that expire at the
end of a contracted time period. Such books are not durable for the original reader
and obviously are not destined for a personal library.

The conditions under which reading is done have also been under-
Conditions for Reading
going shifts. During the later decades of the twentieth century, public libraries ex-
panded their function as repositories for printed volumes by purchasing large amounts
of video material and providing social gathering spaces. In the age of new media, read-
ing still tends to be individual and silent, but the profusion of personal computers
and mobile phones has introduced a phenomenon that earlier was largely unknown:
multitasking while reading. Such multitasking—searching for inexpensive plane fares
while reading, changing one’s Facebook status while reading, sending and receiving
text messages while reading—is radically altering our understanding of what it means
to attend to a text.

Value of BooksLest we romanticize the notion of attentively focusing on a text, we

should remind ourselves that skimming, flipping the pages of a book or magazine,
and speed reading have long been practices associated with reading. Reading onscreen
is hardly the source of such behavior.
READING IN PRINT OR ONSCREEN 209

However, the coming of computers and the internet has altered a number of as-
sumptions from print culture about the value of books (and of reading them). The
fact that academic libraries are increasingly removing their hard-copy collections in
favor of online access (or offsite storage) sends a clear message to everyone in the
academic community that hard copies and electronic versions are in essence inter-
changeable—an assumption that obviously needs to be examined (for examples of
discussions comparing reading on the two platforms, see Cull 2011; Levy 2001; Mar-
marelli and Ringle 2009; Rich 2008). Wherever truth lies in the debate, there are di-
minishing opportunities for encountering those earlier Moroccan leather-bound
volumes and shrinking impetus for building personal hardcopy libraries.
A further consequence of the online revolution has been to democratize pro-
duction of and access to text. Democratization has brought undeniable benefits, but
it has also helped usher in a cluster of attitudes that question some of the earlier
assumptions of print culture. These include the right of authors to own their texts
if they so choose (copyright) and the assumption (part of copyright) that—unless
authors say they are writing fiction—what they write needs to be not only properly
edited but also true.
In the age of blogs and online self-publishing, these earlier assumptions (admit-
tedly sometimes honored in the breach) may be increasingly difficult to uphold. What
appears online without formal vetting is sometimes closer to what the comedian
Stephen Colbert has called “truthiness”—truth that “comes from the gut not books”
(Comedy Central’s The Colbert Report, October 17, 2005). In January 2006 the
American Dialect Society, which named “truthiness” its word of the year, defined the
word this way: “The quality of preferring concepts or facts one wishes to be true,
rather than concepts or facts known to be true.” Farhad Manjoo (2008) illustrated how
a truthiness mindset is propagated through online venues such as political blogs. To
the extent that reading is increasingly done online, and given the growing blurring of
lines regarding who constitutes an author and what responsibilities authors have for
veracity, readers potentially lower their own bar regarding the accuracy of the writ-
ten word.

We saw earlier that textual navigation tools developed (some before the
Navigation Tools
advent of print and others after) to aid readers in finding their way through a text.
There is an interesting conundrum in this concept. On the face of things, many books
are designed (at least in the eyes of their authors) to be read from start to finish. This
concept clearly applies to novels or detective stories, but many (perhaps most) works
of nonfiction are not read this way. In fact, since the development of the codex, per-
haps they never have been (Stalleybrass 2002). Those of us raised on tables of con-
tents and indexes understood the concept of random access long before the
development of textual search functions on computers.
Yet with the coming of these computer tools, we have reached something of an
apotheosis in random access, generating a process I have called “snippet literacy”
(Baron 2008, 204–6). Students (and often their professors) are increasingly prone to
use the “find” function to zero in on just the phrase or sentence they think they need
to know, rather than reading larger passages or entire works.
210 Naomi S. Baron

The possibilities of random access may also be responsible for the undoing of
one of the important cornerstones of print culture: the use of page numbers. Page num-
bers have been valuable not simply for individual readers to find their place in a text
but for readers to share such loci with others. Page numbers have long been a sine
qua non in scholarly references, but they have also enabled two lay readers (say, talk-
ing on the phone from different physical locations) to share the hilarious scene on
page 146 of the novel they are both reading.
Several years ago I began noticing a change in my university students’ attitudes
toward page numbers: most students were no longer inserting them into their written
assignments, no matter how explicitly I had requested numbering. I knew that page
numbers are not inserted automatically in Microsoft Word. Yet my students were oth-
erwise quite savvy regarding Word’s functionality. What was going wrong?
The answer appears to be that given the students’ wealth of online (and, more
generally, onscreen) reading experience, page numbers for documents created on
a computer (such as their written assignments) seem irrelevant. When readers ac-
cess newspapers online, there are no page numbers. (Significantly, more people
now get their news online than from printed newspapers [State of the News Me-
dia 2011].) Some of the scholarly articles they are assigned come as unpaginated
PDFs. Documents native to the Web are overwhelmingly unpaginated, as are the
texts of many ebooks. Since the assignments in question were created on comput-
ers—and sometimes submitted electronically—surely (so the logic apparently
goes) if I, the reader, want to locate a place in students’ texts, I should use the
“find” function.
We saw earlier how, with the initial emergence of print technology, the way peo-
ple read changed in concrete ways. Just so, with the availability of “find” in navigat-
ing online reading, the notion of reading is potentially being redefined from linear
activity to a random-access process.
Our discussion thus far has articulated both a conceptual and a historical
framework for thinking about the potential effects of technology upon our encoun-
ters with the written word. We turn now to empirical data on ways in which con-
temporary technologies may be reshaping the way we read—and what the reading
enterprise is about.

Pilot Study: Reading in Print and Onscreen

In the research described below, I asked a group of university students to describe
their literacy practices and weigh the pros and cons of traditional print versus on-
screen text.

Research Questions
Drawing upon our discussion of assumptions underlying print culture, the research
addressed four main issues:
Durability of a text
Does the durable (print) versus ephemeral (onscreen) nature of a reading
platform matter to users (for example, with respect to rereading works or
annotating works)?
READING IN PRINT OR ONSCREEN 211

Conditions for reading

On which platform is multitasking more likely to occur?
Value of books
Does the physicality of books matter (including the literal feel of a book and
desire to retain a book once it has been read)?
Navigation tools
What do students feel about the relative usability of print versus onscreen
platforms?
In addition, I considered two further dimensions (the first of which overlaps with con-
ditions for reading):
Cognitive/pedagogical issues
On which platform do users perceive they learn more? remember more?
Resources
What do students feel about the advantages or disadvantages of the two
platforms regarding the environment or monetary resources?

Study Design
A questionnaire was mounted on SurveyMonkey, a commercial online survey instru-
ment. The survey, which was administered in Fall 2010, took approximately seven to
eight minutes to complete. Using a convenience sample, eighty-two undergraduate
students at a midsized private university in the United States were surveyed. All were
between the ages of eighteen and twenty-four. In the sample 68 percent were female
and 32 percent male, an imbalance that reflects both the undergraduate population of
the institution and the greater willingness of females to complete surveys.
Two types of questions were presented. In the first set, subjects were asked to
choose from possible alternatives provided. For example, students were asked how
often (“most of the time,” “sometimes,” “occasionally,” or “never”) they annotated
their textbooks by highlighting, underlining, or making notes in the books themselves.
The second set of questions solicited open-ended responses. These questions inquired
what students liked most (and what they liked least) about reading onscreen or read-
ing in hard copy. Additionally, students were invited at the end of the survey to make
any additional comments they wished.

Results: Questions Involving Choice of Answers

The larger study included a range of questions regarding
The kinds of personal technology students owned;
Whether they purchased their textbooks in hard copy or as digital downloads,
whether they rented textbooks, and whether they sold books at the end of the
semester;
What their book annotation habits were;
How many books they personally owned;
How much reading they did;
212 Naomi S. Baron

Their preference regarding platform (hard copy or onscreen) for reading a

range of genres either for academic purposes or for pleasure;
Habits regarding rereading;
The extent to which they felt they remembered what they had read;
Multitasking habits while reading; printing habits;
Preferences regarding online assignments and online grading; and
Use of library ebooks.
My analysis focuses on the issues most relevant to this chapter.
Results from the “choice of answers” questions clustered into four conceptual
categories:
Relationship to textbooks,
Preferred mode for reading,
Doing assigned reading, and
Cognitive or pedagogical issues.

Relationship to Textbooks The first set of questions concerned students’ relationships

with their textbooks. When asked whether they sold their texts (generally back to
the campus bookstore), 61 percent said, “most of the time.” In response to a sepa-
rate question, 51 percent indicated they were renting hard copies of some of their
textbooks during the semester the survey was conducted. (The university’s campus
store had heavily advertised this option. Students received 50 percent of the pur-
chase price at the end of the semester, even if they had written in the book.) Seven
percent of students indicated they had “leased” at least one short-term electronic
download of a textbook that semester, and 10 percent had purchased outright at least
one textbook.
A separate question inquired how often subjects annotated their textbooks. Given
the options of “most of the time,” “sometimes,” “occasionally,” and “never,” 29 per-
cent said “occasionally” and 18 percent said “never.” Those two percentages com-
bined (48 percent—because of rounding) begin to approach the 61 percent who
responded that “most of the time” they sold their textbooks at the end of the semes-
ter. There is, perhaps, a certain logic at work here: If one will be disposing of a book
anyway, why bother writing in it—particularly because traditional resale value often
depends upon how clean the book is?

Preferred Mode for Reading Another series of items queried students’ preferred platform
for reading different genres. Table 12.1 summarizes the results for doing academic
reading. The only genres for which reading onscreen showed slight preference were
reading academic journals and reading newspapers. Neither of these results was sur-
prising. Nearly all the students’ assignments from academic journals were for read-
ing electronic copies. In fact, the university had recently removed nearly all its
bound journals to an offsite location to create more space. Regarding newspapers,
we have already noted that accessing news online rather than in hard copy is a na-
tional trend.
READING IN PRINT OR ONSCREEN 213

Table 12.1
Preferred platform for academic reading (%)
Hard copy Onscreen Don’t read this genre
Course text 98 2 0
Nonfiction (serious) 89 7 4
Nonfiction (light) 88 7 5
Fiction (serious) 94 5 1
Fiction (light) 94 4 2
Academic journal 44 56 0
Newspaper 46 54 0

As shown in table 12.2, when the same questions (minus the ones relating to text-
books and academic journals) were asked regarding reading for pleasure, the results
were barely distinguishable from responses for academic reading. In evaluating the
results regarding both academic and pleasure reading, it is important to keep in mind
that only 35 percent of the subjects owned smart phones and only 5 percent owned
devices that could conveniently function as ereaders (such as a Kindle, Nook, or iPad).
Similarly, only 12 percent had ever checked out an ebook from the university library
for academic work, and 12 percent had checked out one (although only one) ebook
for pleasure reading. At the same time, the university library owned both Kindles and
iPads that students could borrow, if they wished.5

Two questions probed how students approached reading assign-

Doing Assigned Reading
ments. The first asked in what format did students prefer to read if academic reading
was available online. The second inquired as to the likelihood of students reading an
assigned article, depending upon the format in which it was available. Table 12.3 sum-
marizes these results.
Although 55 percent of students in the study indicated they usually read an ac-
ademic assignment online if it was available on that platform, the other 45 percent
responded that usually they printed out a hard copy, either before or after they had

Table 12.2
Preferred platform for pleasure reading (%)a
Hard copy Onscreen Don’t read this genre
Nonfiction (serious) 85 2 12
Nonfiction (light) 82 7 11
Fiction (serious) 84 7 9
Fiction (light) 89 7 4
Newspaper 40 52 7
aBecause of rounding, some rows do not add up to 100%.
214 Naomi S. Baron

Table 12.3
How students approach reading assignments (%)
If academic work is available online, do you usually
read it onscreen print it out and read it read it and print it out
55 39 6
Are you more likely to read an assigned article if
it is available online you are handed a copy difference
6 56 38

read the piece. More than half (56 percent) responded they were more likely to read
an assigned article if they were handed a copy, compared with 6 percent who favored
reading it online and 38 percent who said they were indifferent to platform. Taken
together, these questions suggest that many of today’s undergraduates—who are dig-
ital natives—still favor the printed word. The second question may also offer an ob-
ject lesson to faculty members about the pedagogical efficacy of physically putting
assigned reading in the hands of their students.

Cognitive and Pedagogical Issues A final group of four questions involved cognitive and
pedagogical issues relating to rereading, memory, and multitasking. The first of these
questions asked how often students reread academic materials. Given the choices of
“most of the time,” “sometimes,” “occasionally,” and “never,” 49 percent said “occa-
sionally” and another 10 percent said “never.” Recall that 48 percent of students in-
dicated that they “occasionally” or “never” wrote in their textbooks. It stands to
reason that if students have not annotated their books, rereading can be quite time
consuming, since it essentially entails beginning afresh rather than focusing on the
issues the student has already marked out.
Table 12.4 summarizes the questions and responses to the other three issues. Re-
sponses to the questions on platform and the likelihood of rereading indicated that
students themselves believed they were more likely to reread a hard copy of academic
materials (66 percent) than an online copy (24 percent). Similarly, half of the students
(51 percent) believed they remembered more when they read in hard copy. (A bit fewer
than half believed the medium made no difference.) Most dramatic, though, were re-
sponses to the questions on multitasking: 90 percent of subjects reported, they were
more likely to multitask when reading onscreen, whereas only 10 percent said either
the medium made no difference or—in the case of just one subject—that multitask-
ing was more likely to occur when reading hard copy.

Results: Open-Ended “Like Most”/”Like Least” Questions

The eighty-two subjects were asked four open-ended questions:
What is the one thing you like most about reading onscreen?
What is the one thing you like least about reading onscreen?
READING IN PRINT OR ONSCREEN 215

Table 12.4
Cognitive/pedagogical issues (%)
Are you more likely to reread academic materials if the materials are available
onscreen in hard copy I don’t reread
24 66 10
Compare your memory for what you read in different media: I remember more if I read
onscreen in hard copy about the same
2 51 46
Are you more likely to be multitasking when reading
onscreen in hard copy about the same
90 1 9
aBecause of rounding, the memory question does not add up to 100%.

What is the one thing you like most about reading in hard copy?
What is the one thing you like least about reading in hard copy?

Coding Open-Ended Responses After all the open-ended responses were collected, coding
schemes were created for categorizing replies to the four “like most”/”like least” ques-
tions.6 The same four primary categories were used in coding all data sets, although
there were some differences in the coding of subcategories. Figure 12.1 summarizes
the composite major coding categories, along with examples of the types of responses
in each category.

Table 12.5 summarizes all “like most”/”like least” responses with respect
Major Findings
to the four primary coding categories. Examining the open-ended responses regard-
ing likes and dislikes, four trends emerge. The first two point to advantages of read-
ing in hard copy. Although the numbers are small, some students (10 percent)
appreciated the physicality of printed works (“Hard Copy: Like Most”). More notably,
reading in hard copy was clearly perceived as having better cognitive or pedagogical
outcomes than reading onscreen. That is, free to respond to all four open-ended ques-
tions however they chose, 78 percent of the subjects specifically addressed the cog-
nitive and pedagogical benefits as what they “liked most” about reading in hard copy.
At the same time, 91 percent spontaneously mentioned cognitive or pedagogical
drawbacks as what they “liked least” about reading onscreen.
Two trends highlight the advantages that subjects saw to reading onscreen. Read-
ing onscreen was generally viewed as more accessible or convenient than reading in
hard copy (48 percent of all “Onscreen: Like Most” responses and 50 percent of all
“Hard Copy: Like Least” responses). When it came to resource issues (both ecolog-
ical and monetary), onscreen reading was again the preferred medium. Of the “On-
screen: Like Most” responses referring to resources (30 percent of total “Onscreen:
216 Naomi S. Baron

Abbreviations:
Onscreen: Like Most OS: LM Hard Copy: Like Most HC: LM
Onscreen: Like Least OS: LL Hard Copy: Like Least HC: LL
Physicality
e.g., “lack of physical interaction with reading material” (OS: LL)
“having a tangible copy of the text” (HC: LM)
“tactile interaction with reading material” (HC: LM)
Cognitive/Pedagogical Issues
Related academic tasks
e.g., “you can easily look up words you don't know” (OS: LM)
“easy to look up additional information” (OS: LM)
Readability/usability
e.g., “it's harder to keep your place online” (OS: LL)
“I hate not being able to dog-ear pages and flip
back and forth!!!!!!” (OS: LL)
“it hurts my head” (OS: LL)
“I can write in it” (HC: LM)
“harder to find specific details. Ctrl+F doesn't work for
hard copies!” (HC: LL)
Cognitive focus/cognitive outcome/multitasking
e.g., “I can multitask when I read it” (OS: LM)
“I get distracted” (OS: LL)
“I don't absorb as much” (OS: LL)
“necessary for focus” (HC: LM)
“It takes me longer because I read more carefully” (HC: LL)
Access/Convenience
Physical convenience of access
e.g., “portability” (OS: LM)
“easy access to the document” (OS: LM)
“it's easy to take it with me” (HC: LM)
“it's a hassle to carry around a lot of books” (HC: LL)
Convenience
e.g., “more convenient” (OS: LM)
Resources
Ecological
e.g., “not wasting resources” (OS: LM)
“kills trees” (HC: LL)
Monetary
e.g., “don't have to pay to print stuff out” (OS: LM)
“cost” (HC: LL)
Figure 12.1 Composite major coding categories for “like most”/”like least” questions.
READING IN PRINT OR ONSCREEN 217

Table 12.5
Tabulation of “like most”/”like least” responses (%)a
Onscreen Hard copy
Like most Like least Like most Like least
Physicality 0 2 10 0
Cognitive and
pedagogical issues 18 91 78 13
Access/convenience 48 5 11 50
Resources 30 0 0 28
aSome columns do not add up to 100%, either because responses were not codable or because subjects
had nothing of substance to say (e.g., “Not applicable”).

Like Most” responses), two-thirds specified ecological resources (the rest involved
money or were not clearly codable, such as “conserves”). Of the “Hard Copy: Like
Least” responses referring to resources (28 percent of all such responses), slightly
more than half involved ecological issues.

Results: Other Comments

At the end of the survey, subjects were invited to offer additional comments. Many
of these observations reinforced themes already reported in the “like most”/”like
least” discussion. For example, with regard to physicality, one subject wrote,
I like the experience of holding a book and flipping the pages.
On the issues of memory and efficiency (which are cognitive and pedagogical issues),
two relevant comments were
I . . . seem to remember things more accurately from printed text.
I’m more productive and efficient with my time by far if I’m reading in hard
copy.
Yet others commented regarding ease or difficulty in navigating a text:
Love electronic reading for shorter articles . . . but hate e-anything for school
work. Too hard to flip through.
There were also comments that were economically driven:
Cash rules everything for me.
Others reflected practical considerations of balancing school work with paid employ-
ment:
For those of us spending most of our time in a job, pulling out a book is
unacceptable, while pulling up an article online is more acceptable.
218 Naomi S. Baron

Interestingly, a number of comments revealed personal conflicts in making choices

between reading platforms. In nearly all cases, these conflicts pitted individual pref-
erence against environmental issues:
I prefer hard copies, but think they’re bad for the environment.
I know it’s a waste of paper, but I really prefer reading a physical book or
article to reading it online.

While I prefer reading things in Hard Copy, I can’t bring myself to print out
online material simply for the environmental considerations. However, I highly
highly prefer things in Hard Copy—just to clarify.

Discussion and Conclusions

Against the backdrop of circumstances that have led readers to question the presup-
positions of print culture—both before and following the advent of online comput-
ing—I focused on the issue of reading onscreen versus in hard copy, using data from
a pilot study of university undergraduates in the United States. To introduce that study,
I returned to the four central presuppositions discussed in my analysis of print cul-
ture: durability of a text, conditions for reading, value of books, and navigation tools,
to which I added cognitive and pedagogical issues and resources. To analyze re-
sponses to questions for which subjects were asked to choose among possible answers,
I divided the discussion into four areas: relationship to textbooks, preferred mode for
reading academic work, doing assigned reading, and cognitive or pedagogical issues.
In my analysis of the open-ended data, the coding scheme naturally broke down into
four primary categories: physicality, cognitive or pedagogical issues, access or con-
venience, and resources. Although the use of three separate (though overlapping)
schemes does not make for elegant analysis, each scheme suits the task it was de-
signed to serve.
In the discussion that follows, I begin by asking what the data suggest regarding
the question contained in the title of this chapter: Is reading in hard copy better, worse,
or about the same as reading onscreen? I then turn to the issue of whether onscreen read-
ing platforms affect how we read and what it means to read in the first place.

Better, Worse, or About the Same?

Reflecting upon the three sets of data (questions involving choice of answers, open-
ended “like most”/”like least” questions, and additional comments), a clear picture
emerges.

Better Reading in hard copy was seen by the subjects as differing in a number of ways
from reading onscreen. The most important of these involved issues associated with
learning (hence, my logical leap to “better”). These included
A greater likelihood of rereading a text,
A greater likelihood of remembering what has been read,
A much lower likelihood of multitasking while reading,
READING IN PRINT OR ONSCREEN 219

A greater ability to focus on and absorb what is being read,

Greater ease in annotating, and
Preferred media for reading course texts (for academic work) and for reading
fiction and nonfiction—both for academic work and for pleasure.
Some subjects noted they valued the physicality of books (“tactile interaction with
reading material”). In the section for additional comments, one student remarked on
the importance of marginalia (an issue of textual durability) when a book is passed
from one reader to the next: “Even if I get a library book, it’s a great experience to
see what someone else underlined and found significant.”
Reading onscreen was also seen as having some advantages. These included
Greater ease in finding a specific word or passage,
The ability to look up additional information (on the internet) while reading,
Portability, and
Being more resource friendly (both ecologically and monetarily).

Worse The attributes that subjects disliked about each reading platform were gener-
ally mirror opposites of those affordances they liked most. However, a few of the re-
sponses to the “like least” questions are worthy of note here. Responding to the “like
least” question about reading in hard copy, one subject replied, “It takes me longer
to read because I read more carefully.” Given higher education’s premise that care-
ful reading is a hallmark of learning, this comment seems a surprising response to
the “like least” question. Implied in the answer is the assumption that having to spend
time reading may be a more important desideratum than how carefully that reading
is done.
Negative comments about reading onscreen were sometimes related to limita-
tions of the hardware (“It hurts my head”). Subjects also commented on navigation
issues. In contrast to students favoring reading onscreen because of such features as
the “find” function, one subject replied to the “like least” question about reading on-
screen, “I hate not being able to dog-ear pages and flip back and forth!!!!!!” Clearly,
there are alternative senses to the notion of ease of navigation.

About the SameSome of the questions involving choice of answers gave subjects the
option of indicating they viewed both reading platforms as equivalent. We saw, for
example, that when asked to choose between reading in hard copy or onscreen, pref-
erences for reading academic journals or for reading newspapers (either for aca-
demic work or for pleasure) were roughly the same. Similarly, when asked about their
printing habits for materials available online, 45 percent printed such material out,
whereas 55 percent exclusively read it onscreen.

Reading Redefined?
Gauging likes and dislikes regarding reading platforms is a first step toward under-
standing the potential impact of new media technology on reading. But are these pref-
erences (and practices) leading to a changed notion of reading itself? Our discussion
220 Naomi S. Baron

focuses on two central domains: cognitive and pedagogical issues on the one hand,
and resources (environmental and monetary) on the other.

Cognitive and Pedagogical Issues It has been suggested (Goody and Watt 1968; Havelock
1963; Olson 1994) that the emergence of writing (whether writing in general or alpha-
betic writing in particular) made possible fundamental shifts in the way people think.
Being able to literally see one’s own words or those of other writers allows for reread-
ing and encourages (so it is argued) a level of mental reflection and logical discourse
that is difficult to attain without the durability of linear, written text. Elizabeth Eisen-
stein (1979) makes the case that with the coming of print in the West, scholarship and
critiques of other authors’ works blossomed in part because it was now possible to phys-
ically compare multiple texts (rather than, for example, having to travel from one
monastic library to another to read manuscripts seriatim). In short, first writing and then
the appearance of print—both made possible by the existence of durable texts—encour-
aged a particular kind of analytical thought. The notion of reading became deeply en-
twined with the ideas of contemplation, comparison, and reflection.
What happens to our concept of reading when written material is no longer ac-
cessed on a durable platform? We have seen three areas in which some students in
our pilot study reported engaging in practices that may undermine the idea of read-
ing as a deliberative activity.
First, the study offered hints at the erosion of texts being durable. Many stu-
dents do not view textbooks (or at least some texts) as continuing parts of their men-
tal lives once a school term has ended. Such students sell back their books or do
short-term rentals. Moreover, many students do not annotate their books, and many
do not reread them.
Second, the overwhelming majority of subjects in the study indicated they mul-
titasked while reading onscreen, but very few reported multitasking while reading in
hard copy. Without rehearsing the myriad of data indicating that multitasking degrades
cognitive performance (see Baron 2008, 36–40, 216–19; Carr 2010), suffice it to say
that trying to perform two or more cognitive tasks simultaneously (or even quickly
shifting back and forth between cognitive tasks) generally diminishes cognitive out-
comes. As increasing amounts of text that are part of the pedagogical enterprise are
available onscreen, it stands to reason that the amount of multitasking done while read-
ing can be expected to increase as well. The negative prognosis for contemplation
and serious analysis of texts should give educators pause.
The third issue concerns linearity of text. Although writing is designed to be read
from beginning to end, in practice it is often accessed in chunks: a single chapter, the
dozen pages referenced in the index, and so on. However, with onscreen navigation
tools it is possible to hone in on a single word or sentence, obviating the need to read
much more (including the surrounding context that often makes that word or sentence
properly interpretable). In the “like most”/”like least” questions in the survey, 6 per-
cent of the “Onscreen: Like Most” responses specifically mentioned the concept of
the “find” function, and 4 percent of the “Hard Copy: Like Least” responses were
specific complaints about the lack of this function. My personal observations regard-
ing a growing indifference among university students toward page numbers further
READING IN PRINT OR ONSCREEN 221

suggest that experience with networked computing is helping shift the traditional no-
tion of reading as a linear activity to one that is increasingly random access.

Resources In the pilot study, 30 percent of the “Onscreen: Like Most” responses and
28 percent of the “Hard Copy: Like Least” responses concerned environmental or
monetary resources. At the same time, though, several students noted feeling con-
flicted regarding environmental issues: although they preferred reading in hard copy,
they also felt environmental guilt.
Given what would appear to be some educational advantages for reading in hard
copy, the question becomes this: Is pedagogy potentially being held hostage by en-
vironmental agendas and financial realities?
Particularly over the past two decades, Americans have become increasingly sen-
sitive to the reality of limitations on natural resources. Many students have grown up
in school or community settings that promote green practices, and university cam-
puses appropriately reinforce this message. However, discussions of environmental
awareness almost never include consideration of possible educational consequences.
There are possible pedagogical advantages of reading in hard copy—along with most
students’ preference to do so when reading anything except newspapers and academic
journal articles. It is time to objectively assess where legitimate ecological consider-
ations might be at loggerheads with pedagogical agendas. (Parenthetically, paper is
a renewable resource.)
Monetary considerations are also nuanced. It is true that students are peren-
nially looking for ways to manage their (often) limited financial resources. It is
equally true that textbook costs have soared, and that some of the books students
are asked to read probably will not prove useful in later life. Yet at the same time,
companies that produce computers (or ereaders or the iPad), along with publish-
ers creating online books as a source of new revenue, are aggressively marketing
their hardware and software to readers. There have been few scholarly attempts to
compare cognitive outcomes for reading in hard copy versus onscreen with respect
to conceptual depth. We need to go beyond such relatively straightforward issues
as ease of annotation or basic processing of information, which can be assessed
with traditional testing.
It seems highly likely that onscreen reading will continue to grow apace, signif-
icantly driven by environmental and monetary considerations, but also by the very
welcome affordances praised by students in the study. Given this reality, we need to
remain mindful that reading as a reflective, cognitive activity—made possible by
durable, linear texts—has, over the millennia, been a critical component in the growth
of civilizations, societies, and individuals.
Technologies have consequences, some of which may not materialize until long
after those technologies have been widely embraced. (Think of current challenges
such as the diminishing supply of fossil fuels or needing to reduce the massive pol-
lution generated by automobiles.) It therefore behooves us to seriously examine the
directions in which our model of reading may be heading and to weigh both positive
and negative consequences, rather than find ourselves with an altered notion of read-
ing by default.
222 Naomi S. Baron

Whether reading in hard copy is better, worse, or about the same as reading on-
screen remains an empirical issue. The data presented herein generate questions that
can be addressed only with broader empirical study. Unless we undertake such stud-
ies, we can hardly hope for meaningful answers to these queries.

NOTES
1. Carr has been accused by some of succumbing to technological determinism, that is, of assuming
that new technologies necessarily bring about particular individual or social changes. This chapter
will not address this debate; see Baym (2010) for useful discussion of the issues.
2. For more information on the history of writing, see Coulmas (1999), Gaur (1985), and Robinson
(1999).
3. For discussions of print culture, see Chartier (1989), Eisenstein (1979), and Transactions of the Book
(2001).
4. For fuller discussion regarding the presuppositions of print culture, see Baron (2005).
5. According to some reports, both academic and public libraries are reporting fairly minimal use of
(and satisfaction with) books available on ereaders (Huthwaite et al. 2011; Lund 2011).
6. I am grateful to Michal Panner for assistance in constructing the coding categories and in coding the
data.

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13
Fakebook
Synthetic Media, Pseudo-sociality, and the Rhetorics of Web 2.0

C R I S P I N T H U R L OW
University of Washington

Figure 13.1

Social media applies contradictory, yet intertwined ideals of counterculture and

capitalism to the self, friends, relationships, and interpersonal interactions. People
can spread ideas and creations to a formerly inconceivable mass audience, but in
ways bounded and influenced by the confines of modern neoliberal capitalism.
(Marwick 2010, 11)

“THE DIGITAL MEDIA REVOLUTION is here. Are you?”1 This bold challenge (or threat) is lifted
from publicity materials used by the masters of communication in digital media pro-
gram at my university. In its publicity, this “self-sustaining” program sells itself by
promising “professionals the necessary tools to understand and exploit the fast chang-
ing world of media technology.” Elsewhere, in North Africa and the Middle East, a
very different kind of fast-paced revolution has been happening. The determined, of-
ten violently opposed uprisings of the so-called Arab Spring have meanwhile been
excitedly recast by many Western newsmakers and commentators as the “Facebook
Revolution,” “Revolution 2.0,” and “Tanks versus Twitter.” And then there’s the Queen
of England—the revolution that never happened. With the 2010 launch of a new cor-
porate profile on Facebook, the British monarchy joined the ranks of politicians
around the world, from Barack Obama and Nicolas Sarkozy to Nelson Mandela and
Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. It certainly seems that everyone and everything is nowadays

225
226 Crispin Thurlow

positioned in relation to social media. We are everywhere incited to use them, to dis-
cuss them, and to reconceive our lives around them.
This chapter is intended not so much as a corrective as it is a considered response
to these wide-sweeping incitations, from someone who has himself always been en-
thusiastic about the possibilities or opportunities of new media and who has been
fiercely critical of public discourse that hastily or ignorantly dismisses new media (see,
for example, Thurlow 2001, 2003, 2006, 2009; Thurlow, Lengel, and Tomic 2004;
Thurlow and Mroczek, 2011). To be clear, I am still very enthusiastic about new me-
dia and remain critical of knee-jerk, end-of-the-world reactions to them. This should
not, however, preclude me from keeping a watchful eye on my excitement, on my own
professional or scholarly investments, and on those often hyperbolic claims about so-
cial media made in the context of education, the media, commerce, and politics. In
fact, it is these invested claims—or rhetorics—about Web 2.0 that I want to exam-
ine a little more carefully.
To this end, and with reference to the language and new media theme of the cur-
rent volume, my chapter aligns itself most closely with critical discourse studies, that
branch of language study that pays special (but not exclusive) attention to matters of
ideology. Grounded in the work of linguistically oriented discourse analysts (notably
Fairclough 1992; Cameron 2000) as well as broader sociological perspectives on dis-
course (notably Bourdieu 1991; Foucault 1980), the chapter also draws heavily on al-
lied cultural critiques coming from within new media studies itself (specifically Jarrett
2008; Scholz 2008; van Dijck and Nieborg 2009; Marwick 2010; Turkle 2011). My
objective here, then, is to review some of the ways influential, institutional domains—
or discourses—work to produce a pointedly synthetic media based on highly stylized,
commoditized notions of language and communication. In doing so, I want to sug-
gest that the heated, excitable rhetorics of Web 2.0 often have little to do with the
everyday social uses of new media, and everything to do with the kind of pseudo-
sociality favored by advertisers and other agents (or beneficiaries) of neoliberal cap-
ital. This distinction between the social and the pseudo-social is a crucial one for
sociolinguists and discourse analysts.
My story begins, as all good Labovian stories do, with a complicating action.

Complicating Action
In figure 13.2 I present a behind-the-scenes look at the mundane realities of my life;
specifically, my family’s breakfast table. In the foggy stupor of one weekday morn-
ing several months ago, I was struck by the injunction on the back of a milk carton
to “follow us on Twitter.” A little grumpily (to be honest), I found myself wondering
why. Why would I want to follow my milk? Why would anybody want to follow their
milk? It all begged the bigger the question: What does it mean to be hailed by my
milk in this way?
The fact is, so-called Web 2.0 and so-called social media are everywhere and there
is talk of them everywhere. The real questions reach far beyond my milk carton, of
course. How are we, as citizens and as scholars, to understand ourselves in a world
where, as US presidential candidate Mitt Romney (New York Times 2011) has pro-
posed, corporations are people and where products want to be our friends? What are
FAKEBOOK 227

Figure 13.2

we to make of widespread discourses about this latest round of new media? Are we
making anything of them? Are we simply buying [sic] into cultural-corporate dis-
courses of Web 2.0 and social media, or have we reserved spaces in which to reflect
critically on the many ways we are hailed or positioned by these discourses?
This is the story I want to tell here. It is a story about my initial attempt to ad-
dress these kinds of questions, to find some sort of resolution for the initial compli-
cating action of my breakfast table. But first some theoretical orientation.

Orientation: Discourse and Social Change

One finds techniques for efficiently and nonchalantly “handling” people
wherever one looks in the public institutions of the modern world. Equally, one
finds what I shall refer to as synthetic personalization, a compensatory
tendency to give the impression of treating each of the people “handled” en
masse as an individual. (Fairclough 1989, 62 [my emphasis])
A central argument in favour of “better communication” . . . is that the ability
to talk in certain ways empowers people. Developing their communication
skills enables them to realize their goals and take charge of their own
destinies. . . . But what is called empowerment . . . has little to do with
liberating people from existing constraints on their agency and freedom. In
228 Crispin Thurlow

many cases it has more to do with teaching them to discipline themselves so

they can operate more easily within those constraints: become more flexible,
more team-oriented, better at resolving conflicts and controlling the emotions
that threaten to disrupt business as usual. (Cameron 2000, 179 [my emphasis])
In pursuing a story such as this one, I find myself obviously following the lead of crit-
ical discourse analysts such as Norman Fairclough and Deborah Cameron, who have
for some time been documenting (and critiquing) the relationship between widespread
social changes and everyday discourse. Particularly in the contexts of postindustrial,
neoliberal societies like Britain, these scholars have presented detailed analyses of the
rise of enterprise culture and the extrapolation of business models and commercial pri-
orities to otherwise noneconomic areas of life. Examples of this include the centripetal
spread of such corporate practices as branding, risk management, advertising, and cus-
tomer care to the public spaces of higher education. This colonization of public life is
also often accompanied by a centrifugal incorporation of such essentially social no-
tions as empowerment, sustainability, diversity (as in management), and—indeed—
communication (as in skills). Inevitably it is against this backdrop that the rhetorics
of Web 2.0 emerge and take shape; indeed, public discourse about new media appears
merely to intensify the blurring of the boundaries between the corporate world and
what Jürgen Habermas (1984) has famously called the “lifeworld.”2
Not least given the increasing importance of service-based labor in contemporary
economies, language and communication have become key targets of—and vehicles
for—these dual processes of corporate colonization and incorporation (cf. Heller 2003;
Jaworski and Thurlow 2010). In this regard both Fairclough and Cameron have been par-
ticularly concerned with the commodification and technologization of “ordinary” dis-
cursive practices. This is especially noticeable in the case of “discourse technologies”
(Fairclough 1989, 216), where otherwise informal and/or interpersonal communicative
genres are strategically recontextualized for instrumental (and usually economic) pur-
poses. What I want to suggest here is that the production and promotion of social media
sites such as Facebook, Twitter, and Foursquare present yet another manifestation of the
ongoing commodification of communication. For new media critics such as Alice Mar-
wick (2010), David Silver (2008), and Kylie Jarrett (2008), social media take things to
new heights by incorporating even the most banal areas of everyday (inter)personal life.
Along similar lines, I too am concerned with the ways new media language is often taken
up as a resource for constructing identities of difference and ideologies of control (see
Thurlow 2007, 2011). These metadiscursive processes see new media being doubly tech-
nologized; they are managed and regulated for commercial gain, but are also deployed
in the stylization of Self and Other (cf. Foucault 1988, on technologies of self). One of
the most common examples of this is the use of social media like Twitter or Facebook by
politicians and celebrities for the purposes of styling themselves as interactive—avail-
able to, and in communication with, their publics. But I get ahead of myself.

Abstract: Web 2.0 Mythologies

Before looking more carefully and critically at some of its domain-specific rhetorics,
I begin with an abridged account (or abstract) of the underlying mythologies of Web
FAKEBOOK 229

2.0. Although our lives are saturated with taken-for-granted talk about social media
and the like, there remains very little consensus about what exactly constitutes the
“2” in “2.0,” and whether, for all its hype, there is anything qualitatively different
from old new media. Like many others, danah boyd (2009) locates the origin of the
term “Web 2.0” in a 2004 marketing ploy aimed at re-energizing enthusiasm (and
presumably sales) for digital technologies following the 1990s dot.com boom and
bust. From the outset, stakeholders were invested in characterizing the distinguish-
ing features of Web 2.0, and—as shown in table 13.1—these typically coalesced
around the putative newness of content creators (as opposed to users); of content
sharing and collaboration; and, of course, of social media such as social network-
ing (e.g., Facebook) and microblogging (e.g., Twitter).3 Other technologies com-
monly awarded the Web 2.0 title include blogs, wikis, virtual worlds, and news
aggregators. Given its specious origins, most characterizations of Web 2.0 continue
to be wedded to exaggerated, binarized accounts of old (the implied Web 1.0) and
new, with a heavy stress on the latest and “the newest of new media (van Dijck and
Nieborg 2009). This kind of presentism (Sterne 2003) invariably means that there
is a noticeable lack of consideration for historicity and precedent. So, for example,
whereas the single-agent broadcast potential of the internet is undeniably new and
represents a major (revolutionary, even) change, the technological affordances of net-
working, sharing, multimodality, and user-generated content are not without prece-
dent. The newness of new media is, therefore, typically a fabrication; it is almost
always a discursive construction and deeply ideological (van Dijck and Nieborg
2009; Thurlow and Mroczek 2011).
One way to abstract and foreground the underlying mythologies of Web 2.0
is to head straight to an example of the newest of the new media (always a fool-
hardy moment given the incompatible pace of technological change vis-à-vis ac-
ademic publishing). In this regard, the locational, GPS-based social-networking
technology Foursquare epitomizes the much talked-about convergence of web-
based media and mobile media, and nicely fulfills the romantic geek-in-a-garage
fantasy of Web 2.0 development. Conceived by two college friends, it purports to
have 20 million members worldwide (including President Barack Obama) and to
be valued at over $600 million (as of April 2012). This company or technology
also epitomizes the commodification of communication at the heart of my story.

Table 13.1
Web 1.0 Web 2.0
Web 1.0 was about reading Web 2.0 is about writing
Web 1.0 was about home pages Web 2.0 is about blogs
Web 1.0 was about lectures Web 2.0 is about conversation
Web 1.0 was about advertising Web 2.0 is about word of mouth
Web 1.0 was about companies Web 2.0 is about communities
Web 1.0 was about client-server Web 2.0 is about peer to peer
230 Crispin Thurlow

The transcription in extract 1, for example, comes from a short Flash video for
Foursquare newcomers, boldly and somewhat presumptuously titled “How to Un-
lock Your World with Foursquare.” Briefly, I want to draw attention to the telling
recontextualization of social and interpersonal priorities and the reproduction of
the consumer-citizen (Bauman 2007), a figure central to the neoliberal, postindus-
trial state.
Extract 1: Planned serendipity
Transcript of voiceover from Foursquare’s “learn more” presentation (emphasis
mine)
1. Wish you were more aware of all the incredible things around you? With
2. foursquare you can unlock your world and find happiness just around the
3. corner! You will need foursquare, a cell phone, and a passion for
exploration.
4. Step 1. Download the foursquare app to your cell phone and instantly link
5. to address book, facebook, and twitter accounts to discover where your
6. friends are hanging out. See if they’re near you by looking at where
7. they’ve recently checked in. . . .
8. Step 2. Tell your friends where you are by checking in at one of thousands
9. of locations of places foursquare lists automatically based on your GPS
10. locations. Leave tips on special features you find around town and don’t
11. skimp on the details. Inside information is one of foursquare’s best
12. features. If the place you are at isn’t listed you can add it to foursquare.
13. Step 3. Check out tips from your friends and from the hundreds of
14. thousands of other users. Find recommendations on your specific location
15. or suggestions for things to do or avoid nearby.
16. Step 4. The more you use foursquare, the more you’ll get out of it. Unlock
17. badges and earn points based on where, when, and how often you check
in.
18. See how many you can rack up in any given month and check out your
19. stats at foursquare.com
20. Step 5. Check in at a location more than anyone else and become the
21. mayor. You don’t get a key to the city but you might get rewards from
certain
22. businesses just for being a loyal customer. Even if you’re not the mayor,
23. look out for specials offered to foursquare users.
24. Step 6. Use foursquare wherever you go. In museums, at airports, on
25. public transportation, during concerts. You never know when you might
26. come across a little planned serendipity.
In an excited, conversational style a female voiceover promises those with “a
passion for exploration” (line 3) the chance to “unlock your world and find happi-
ness” (line 2) and to “discover where your friends are hanging out” (lines 5–6) as
well as “hundreds of thousands of other users” (lines 13–14). As such, Foursquare
neatly repeats the glib, self-sustaining definition of Web 2.0 (see table 13.1) which
FAKEBOOK 231

is, apparently, committed to communities not companies. However, and even allow-
ing for a little tongue-in-cheek fun, what looks like friendship and social intercourse
is inevitably predicated on, and driven by, a concern for the demands of commerce:
lines 21–23 exhort the user to “get rewards from certain businesses for being a loyal
customer” and “look out for specials.” This is, after all, how Foursquare comes to
be valued at over $600 million. In other words, and as Cameron notes above, it is
all really business as usual. Just as we are persuaded to apply interpersonal notions
of loyalty in our dealings with businesses (e.g., Thurlow and Jaworski 2006, on fre-
quent flier programs), Foursquare services a straightforward marketing strategy (the
promise of “specials”) by weaving it into a personalized message of self-actualiza-
tion and civic engagement.
The point I mean to make with this initial example is a simple one, and one that
several new media scholars have made elsewhere. Completely consistent with the
technologizing discourses of “enterprise culture” (see Fairclough 1989; Cameron
2000), social media are inevitably—perhaps even unavoidably—caught up in their
own romantic mythologies and in the neoliberal ideologies of commerce. Alice Mar-
wick (quoted at the start of the chapter) observes that the emergence of social media
is rooted in the “intertwined ideals of counterculture and capitalism;” not surprisingly,
therefore, a corporate venture such as Foursquare finds itself caught up in its own
mythologies of “social liberation.” As a community of scholars concerned with dis-
course—with the daily life of language and communication—it is important that we
remain vigilant of the ways everyday communicators are positioned and persuaded
by this type of new media (meta)discourse, especially those that purport to be inher-
ently and principally committed to the social. In these terms, our work should always
be concerned as much with Foucauldian discourses as it is with the linguistic speci-
ficities of discourse (Thurlow and Mroczek 2011). With this in mind, I continue my
story with reference to five key discourse domains: commerce, politics, media, edu-
cation, and scholarship.

The Rhetorics of Web 2.0: A Story in Five Parts

Following Gunther Kress and Shakuntala Banaji and their colleagues (Kress et al.
2001; Banaji, Burn, and Buckingham 2006), I have chosen to organize my critique
of these different discourse domains by highlighting some of the apparently persua-
sive (and often nonchalant) claims made about Web 2.0 and especially social media.
Deploying a range of communicational means, these rhetorics invariably also pres-
ent themselves as “plausible, integral, coherent accounts of the world” (Kress et al.
2001, 20) more generally. In a series of briefly sketched vignettes, I point to some of
the most frequent rhetorics of Web 2.0—those typically articulated through excited
claims for collaboration, participation, interactivity, empowerment, social inclusion,
networking, relationship, creativity, liberation, transparency, and so on.

Corporate Rhetorics: “Plugging In” the Social

These days, the obvious needs saying: Don’t believe corporate hype.
Corporations exist to make profits, not public goods. Usually, when they say
232 Crispin Thurlow

“community” they mean “commerce,” and when they say “aggregation” they
mean “advertising.” (Silver 2008)
I hope it is already clear from my Foursquare example that the line between com-
merce and the rest of life is often blurred—and, indeed, strategically blurred—in the
rhetoric of social media. Nowhere is this more apparent than in Facebook, where the
meaning (and spaces) of social networking have been so fully co-opted (and colo-
nized) by corporations such as Coca-Cola (see www.facebook.com/cocacola), which
currently stands as the number one brand on Facebook, with more than 35 million
“fans” worldwide (see table 13.2). Coke has, of course, been in the business of po-
sitioning itself as a company with noble social aspirations for some time, most no-
tably with its famous jingle proclaiming, “I’d like to teach the world to sing (in perfect
harmony).” As new media scholar David Silver reminds us, however, the bottom line
is that “corporations exist to make profits, not public goods” (2008).
At the epicenter of Web 2.0, corporate discourse is in many ways an all-too-
obvious site for critique. Certainly, it is received wisdom in critical discourse stud-
ies that what looks or sounds like conversation often is not (Cameron 2000). This is
most strikingly evident in the pseudo-social performances of automated customer
services such as Continental Airlines’ virtual expert. In extract 2 my staged interac-
tion with AlexTM (embodied, as it were, by a racially ambiguous but distinctively—
and reassuringly—American-looking and -sounding avatar) entails a series of
synthetic niceties and my being perfunctorily directed to a number of web pages. (Note
also the italicized “Alex” is styled to look like a handwritten signature.) Here tech-
nological interactivity—in the guise of online chat—functions as a metaphor for so-
cial interaction (Jensen 1999). AlexTM is nothing more than an imposter!

Table 13.2
Those other “social” voices on Facebook: A snapshot (October 2011) of fanbase statistics from socialbakers.com
Top 10 brands Top 10 public figures
1. Coca-Cola 35 mil Eminem 48 mil
2. Disney 29 mil Rihanna 46 mil
3. Starbucks 26 mil Lady Gaga 45 mil
4. Oreo 23 mil Michael Jackson 42 mil
5. Red Bull 23 mil Shakira 41 mil
6. Converse All Star 21 mil Justin Bieber 37 mil
7. Converse 20 mil Cristiano Ronaldo 35 mil
8. Skittles 19 mil Lil Wayne 32 mil
9. PlayStation 18 mil Bob Marley 32 mil
10. iTunes 17 mil Megan Fox 29 mil

19. — — Barack Obama 24 mil

FAKEBOOK 233

Extract 2: Interactivity as pseudo-social interaction

An exchange with Continental Airlines’ virtual expert Alex

Figure 13.3
Alex: Hi, I’m Alex, your continental.com virtual expert. Type in a short
question, keyword or phrase below, and I can help you find the information
on our website.
Me: lost baggage
Alex: We apologize for any inconvenience you have experienced concerning
your baggage. If you haven’t already filed a report, please follow the
instructions on this page. View Page [html link] Here’s more:
Tracking Delayed Baggage [html link]
Delivery Release Form for Delayed Baggage PDF [html link]
Baggage Allowances and Policies [html link]
Me: is continental a good airline
Alex: We are proud of our outstanding customer service and operational
excellence. Take a look at this Web page for some of the awards we have
received. View Page [html link]
Me: what’s the meaning of life
Alex: That’s a question that only you can answer for yourself.

Elsewhere, on Flickr (see below), what looks like multilingualism and a celebra-
tion of cultural diversity really is not. When a user logs into a personal Flickr account,
a small, supposedly personalized welcome message appears in a different language each
time: “Sawubona crispinthurlow! Now you know how to greet people in Zulu.” Need-
less to say, visual multiplicity and a formulaic greeting ritual do not a polyglot (or a
global citizen) make. This kind of “fake multilingualism” (Kelly-Holmes 2005) is some-
thing Aoife Lenihan (2011) tracks nicely in her essay about the practical and political
realities of translating Facebook into Irish, where an ostensible commitment to social
inclusion is inextricably caught up in an underlying concern for corporate reach. What
is more, efforts such as these to translate Facebook also rely on the enthusiasm of un-
paid Facebook members rather than any serious financial commitment by Facebook In-
corporated. Indeed, cloaked in a participatory rhetoric of creators and contributors,
most social media companies grow their profits by piggybacking on user-generated con-
tent and the “immaterial labor” of their members. For Søren Petersen (2008), it is not
only people’s content that is thus commodified, but also the people themselves.
234 Crispin Thurlow

Figure 13.4

Extract 3: Plugging in the social

Facebook’s “core concepts” for commercial developers

Social Design . . . is a product strategy that builds upon users’ trusted

communities, encourages conversation between them and ultimately creates a
stronger sense of identity for everyone.

Social Plugins . . . enable you to provide engaging social experiences to your

users with just a line of HTML.

Social Channels . . . lets you integrate with social channels such as News Feed
and Requests to help you drive growth and engagement with your app, site or
content.
It is part of the marketing acumen (and success) of a social media site such as
Facebook that the term “Facebook” typically signifies its members and their social
networking practices rather than the profit-making corporation. Nor is the rhetorical
confusion merely accidental. In its own terms, Facebook, Inc., is ultimately in the busi-
ness of “driving growth and engagement” and not making friends. While Facebook’s
suite of “social plugins” (see extract 2) appears to engage the social, it does so with
quite apparently instrumental ends: what nowadays is labeled “monetization” but
FAKEBOOK 235

what used to be called “profit.” Personalization here is, of course, synthetic person-
alization (Fairclough 1989) that insinuates itself into members’ trusted communities
(their friendships and other interpersonal relations). This is niche marketing that de-
liberately means to persuade customers that an “engaging social experience” may be
had just as easily with a product as with a friend or family member. By the same to-
ken, a company that plugs in with a Facebook profile or a Twitter feed persuades its
customers that it is somehow intimately and sincerely engaged with them—just as
AlexTM wants to persuade us of her eagerness to chat, or Coke that it is ultimately
concerned with world peace.

Political Rhetorics: “Like”

To understand modern forms of rule, we suggest, requires an investigation not
merely of grand political schemata, or economic ambitions, . . . but apparently
humble and mundane mechanisms which appear to make it possible to
govern. . . . (Miller and Rose 2008, 32)
The colonization of the lifeworld is of course not simply a matter of commerce and
the spread of enterprise culture; it is also realized through the increasing and chang-
ing influence of the State. As Nikolas Miller and Peter Rose note, governments too
are working their way into everyday discourse and relying more and more on “hum-
ble and mundane” mechanisms for exercising their influence and control. New me-
dia lend themselves nicely to this end. Politicians are, needless to say, all over new
technologies, often talking about them with the heightened, liberatory rhetoric of a
Foursquare marketer:
The internet has already been a source of tremendous progress in China, and it
is fabulous. . . . Information freedom supports the peace and security that
provides a foundation for global progress. (From speech by Hilary Clinton,
Newseum, Washington, DC, January 21, 2010)4
Politicians are also frantically looking to use social media—and, more importantly,
to be seen using social media—in order to plug themselves into our lives (Crawford
2009). Sadly, for them, the fan-base figures in table 13.2 alert us to the relative stand-
ing of politicians in the grander scheme of Facebook, especially vis-à-vis multina-
tional brands and celebrities. In terms of his supporters, President Obama weighs in
alongside Oreo cookies and well behind Justin Bieber and Lady Gaga. This relative
lack of reciprocity makes politicians no less eager to exploit the discursive—or,
rather, metadiscursive—potential of social media. Indeed, much like marketers (see
above) and celebrities (see below), the use of social media by politicians hinges on
a strategic blurring of public and private, formal and informal, local and nonlocal,
rhetorical and conversational. These “banal and humble” (Miller and Rose 2008, 32)
tools of the people are perfect for staging participatory democracy.
This brings me to the Facebook profile of Elizabeth Windsor (www.facebook
.com/TheBritishMonarchy). You know something is afoot when one of the most
detached, removed figureheads or institutions on the planet takes up social net-
working. This simply cannot be social media as we know it. Indeed, the British
236 Crispin Thurlow

monarchy’s, White House’s, and Ten Downing Street’s use of Facebook, Twitter,
or Foursquare is primarily a performance of open government—of access and of
relevance. The limitations of this kind of access are exposed in the relational
choices made available to followers: You cannot friend the queen (or Barack
Obama, Sarah Palin, David Cameron, and Nicolas Sarkozy); you may only like
her. Nor, for that matter, can you dislike her. This is still a largely one-way street,
a metasemiotic resource for appearing to talk (with the people). In other words,
the medium is the message: look how cool I am (I’m on Foursquare); look how in
touch I am (I use Twitter); look how much I care (I have a Facebook profile). In
practice, of course, the president and the queen are rendered no more (or less) real
to me than AlexTM. At least AlexTM answers my questions.
Once again we see how, in the hands of politicians, as with corporations, tech-
nology is easily used as a stand-in for talk. Put simply, we are encouraged to regard
interactivity (the technological affordance) and interaction (the social process) as
synonymous (Jensen 1999). Social media are most useful to politicians because the
appearance of interaction may be achieved by the apparent use of interactive tech-
nologies. Politicians may strategically deploy the informal, conversational aura of so-
cial media. The same is true of newspaper blogs, which are only interactive or
participatory if readers post and if journalists listen and respond. A technology is only
social if people use it for social purposes. Besides, and following Norman Fair-
clough’s (1992) earlier observations, it is also a pragmatic point of fact that “infor-
mal” does not equal “democratic”—a point that is often lost, it seems, on both
politicians and the journalists who write about them. During the excited run-up to
Barack Obama’s presidential candidacy in August 2008, much was made of his cam-
paign’s use of new media, including this excited hyperbole from the New York Times:
“Mr Obama’s use of the newfound medium is the widest use of texting by a presi-
dential candidate in history.” Which brings me nicely to the rhetorics of Web 2.0 in
media discourse.

Media Rhetorics: “Tanks versus Twitter”

The dynamics of online modalities and new media technologies have
reinforced, erased, or altered assumptions about what can be viewed as
journalism, what counts as news, who can participate, and how a news story
should be read. (Cotter 2011)
Perhaps more than most, journalists are in a state over new media. As Colleen Cot-
ter notes, the entire business of newsmaking is, thanks in large part to digital media,
currently under review—or under threat, depending on one’s point of view. Journal-
ists constitute a community of professional “language workers” (Thurlow 2007) that
also seems truly conflicted by—but no less complicit in—the rise of Web 2.0. It cer-
tainly seems they have something of a love-hate relationship with the poster children
of this latest generation of new media: blogging (and microblogging) and especially
news aggregators. Social media advocates often maintain that these new technolo-
gies promise greater access, more transparency, and more creativity in the processes
of newsmaking. To be sure, Web 2.0 media have certainly gone some way toward un-
FAKEBOOK 237

dermining—and even bankrupting—the traditional Big Media status of conventional

newspapers and news broadcasters (Scholz 2008). For example, the kind of first-per-
son reporting afforded by social (and mobile) media has contributed greatly to a sig-
nificant role slippage between professional journalists and lay reporters, as well as a
concomitant transformation in the nature of newsworthiness. Not least in an effort to
mitigate these challenges to their authority and established practices, most newsmak-
ers have sought to incorporate and capitalize on the affordances and opportunities of
Web 2.0 technologies.5
While social media have undoubtedly facilitated the gathering and dissemina-
tion of news, reader engagement and the status of sources are slower to change. This
is summed up nicely in a regular feature in Britain’s Independent newspaper titled
“The News in 140 Characters.” This column comprises a seemingly arbitrary selec-
tion (made by a freelance reporter) of tweets from a range of British and global
(mostly US American) celebrities or politicians. This kind of “informal syndication”
(Thurlow 2006) hardly lives up to the kinds of reporting standards by which serious
newsmakers (or so-called newspapers of record) usually like to hold themselves ac-
countable; nor, for that matter, does the retweeting of elites do much to democratize
the sourcing of news. It is in this way that heritage newsmakers like the British broad-
sheets and the BBC are, in effect, reincorporating any potential freedoms from Big
Media afforded by social media. The usual Web 2.0 ideals of information democra-
tization (and other participatory rhetorics) are imperfectly (if at all) realized in prac-
tice. The same is true for folksonomies and wikis where, for example, the sourcing,
evaluation, and presentation of knowledge in Wikipedia can prove to be quite con-
servatively policed (see, for example, Johnstone 2011 on Wikipedia’s restrictive pref-
erence for scholarly or print sources for knowledge about Pittsburghese). By the
same token, reader responses at the end of online news articles do not a transparent
people’s press make, just as Facebook and Twitter do not a revolution make. Speak-
ing of which. . . .
Alongside these not-always-successful attempts to keep up with social media,
newsmakers are also complicit in perpetuating or even amplifying some of the prin-
ciple rhetorics of 2.0, most notably technologically deterministic claims for the coun-
tercultural and revolutionary potential of social media (Marwick 2010). Perhaps the
most blatant case of this was some of the framing of the Arab Spring uprisings of
2010 and 2011, as in these headlines: “Egypt’s Youth Conducted a Facebook Revo-
lution,” “Here Comes the Wiki Revolution,” the tabloidesque “Tanks versus Twitter
in Egypt,” and “Revolution 2.0: The Social Media Uprising.”
These headlines epitomize the rather privileged, self-referential exaggeration of
the facts by many Western journalists clearly enthralled with the undeniable role of
social and mobile media in these events.6 Where Web 2.0 is co-opted as a token of
interaction, access, and “customer care” by marketers and politicians, newsmakers
can greatly overplay the deterministic role of social media as instruments of libera-
tion or as participation in the newsmaking process itself. Sometimes, their enthusi-
asm borders on the silly (see the New York Times comment about Obama’s texting
above) or tasteless. On the morning that I presented my initial version of this essay
at the Georgetown Round Table, the west coast of Japan had just been struck by a
238 Crispin Thurlow

Figure 13.5

devastating earthquake and tsunami. Almost before the tsunami had exhausted itself
across the lives of millions of people, the LA Times (see below) hastily chose to re-
frame the disaster as a social media story: “Just as Egypt has been cast as the Twit-
ter Revolution, so Friday’s massive Japanese earthquake and tsunami was destined to
become the Twitter disaster” (Los Angeles Times 2011).
Always in search of a good—which is to say, compelling and easy to tell—story,
journalists seem to be enthralled with the power of social media; although, it has
to be said, not when it is in the hands of young people (Thurlow 2006, 2007). Per-
haps caught up with the prominence of social media in their own lives, news-

Figure 13.6
FAKEBOOK 239

makers (and others) appear to lose sight of the privilege of living in such media-
rich environments, and of the fact that communication technologies may just as
likely be co-opted as instruments of oppression and surveillance as they are instru-
ments of liberation and transparency (see Morozov 2010 on “internet-centrism” and
the authoritarian uses of technology). Along similar lines, Henry Giroux (2011, 23)
reminds (or warns) us that the new media “can only be judged within the power re-
lations and dominant ideologies and values that frame how they are defined and
used within the larger society.”

Educational Rhetorics: “Lighting the Flame of Learning”

We need to move the discussion forwards, beyond the superficial fascination
with technology for its own sake, towards a more critical engagement with
questions of learning, communication and culture. (Buckingham 2007, 13)
It is now time to come closer to home with my critique. It is here also that I run the
greatest risk of sounding like a complete Luddite.
Seemingly out of nowhere there has emerged an enormous industry of books,
manuals, consultancies, government policies, and online resources on technology in
the classroom. Everywhere teachers are persuaded that new media will enable them
to “release their own potential,” to “emancipate their students,” and to “transform
the future” (real soundbites from various educational resources on the Web). Those
educators who do not respond to these new media imperatives are warned that they
will simply be left behind. No wonder teachers, professors, and educational policy-
makers are scrambling to finds ways to tweet, post, and podcast. As David Bucking-
ham argues, however, our fascination with “technology in the classroom” is too
often superficial; shiny new technologies are taken up precisely because they are
shiny and new, and invariably in an effort to appear current and/or attentive to our
students.
If politicians’ and marketers’ uses of social media might provocatively be char-
acterized as “wolves in sheep’s clothing,” then the growing presence of social media
in the classroom might well be construed as “mutton dressed as lamb”—something
tired and old being superficially altered to look fresh, new, and appealing. There is
certainly relatively little effort made to test and validate the uptake of, say, podcast-
ing, blogging, or tweeting in terms of teaching practice or learning outcomes. One
exception is a recent study by Reynol Junco and his colleagues (Junco, Heiberger,
and Loken 2010), which claims empirical evidence for the beneficial effects of us-
ing Twitter in the teaching of first-year medical students in the United States of Amer-
ica. (Notably, the findings of this study were taken up with enthusiasm in the press;
see for example, Times Higher Education 2011). As if drawing from a received
Web 2.0 lexicon, the authors concluded the following: “This study provides experi-
mental evidence that Twitter can be used as an educational tool to help engage stu-
dents and to mobilize faculty into a more active and participatory role” (119;
my emphasis). The rhetoric aside, and as the authors concede, it is more than pos-
sible that it is the novelty and a sense of being en vogue that stimulates student
240 Crispin Thurlow

Figure 13.7

engagement—not that this is necessarily a bad thing. In either case, the technology
per se cannot ensure learning. Indeed, social media may even prove to hinder the very
learning outcomes that motivate their incorporation into our teaching (see my earlier
reference to Johnstone 2011 and the surprisingly conservative sourcing of knowledge
in Wikipedia).
The rhetorics of Web 2.0 in educational discourse typically hinge on the ped-
agogical-cum-countercultural ideal of empowerment, in much the same way that
troubles Cameron and Fairclough. As Cameron observes, what is called empow-
erment often has more to do with disciplining people into ways of being, ways of
behaving, that are suitable to commerce (2000; see also Jarrett 2008). It comes as
no surprise, therefore, to see how a corporation such as Intel promotes its invest-
ment in education (see fig. 13.7). Backgrounded by romantic images of shiny,
happy learners with laptops—the machine privileged over its actual uses—Intel’s
vision slides seamlessly from “empowering teachers to change lives” to “empow-
ering the next generation of innovators” to “inspiring innovators, enabling entre-
preneurs.” (Note also how innovation is visually coded with the scientific-looking
lab glasses.) In this regard, the educational rhetorics of Web 2.0 are more of the
same. This is business as usual.
These largely unreflected rhetorics of emancipation (and participation) are also
convenient to neoliberal agendas within academia, and many educators and their
managers are hurriedly buying in. Certainly the technologization (or industrialization)
FAKEBOOK 241

Figure 13.8

of education (aka the so-called learning industry) sees many of us rhetorically busy
capitalizing on Web 2.0; we too are often heavily invested in the newness of things
or in constructing things as new and cutting edge. In this regard, the self-sustaining
(for-profit) master’s program in digital media at my own university is a case in point
(see fig. 13.8, with its similarly centered computers and glossy, stylized visions of
engagement and collaboration). This is an educational venture where knowledge and
understanding are explicitly rendered in the service of career advancement. Students
pay for the chance to exploit “the digital media revolution.” It also appears to be a
far cry from the important—and, it has to be said, unavoidable—role Henry Giroux
(2011; see also Buckingham 2007) envisions for new media in generating a critically
informed public pedagogy.

Scholarly Rhetorics: “Discourse 2.0”

As scholars interested in—and often earning our salaries from being interested in—
new media, we too must come under scrutiny and be subject to our own or others’
critiques. Not that this is a call for some half-baked, name-and-shame exercise. Be-
sides—far be it from me to appear to stand above the fray; I am, after all, someone
who landed his first job because he offered to teach a course on computer-mediated
communication (CMC [see also Thurlow, Lengel, and Tomic 2004]). We are, nonethe-
less, beholden to monitor the ways we too are positioned and persuaded by the rhetor-
ical appeal of 2.0 and the ways we choose to represent the nature or extent of changes
in, say, linguistic or discursive practice (fig. 13.9). If, as Marwick suggests, “Web 2.0
discourse is a conduit for the materialization of neoliberal ideology” (2010, 13), it
behooves us to monitor our own assumptions about social media and the uses, how-
ever erudite, to which we put them.
All I can propose at this stage are a few pointers. To start, however, I am not
saying that Web 2.0 doesn’t exist (for tech specialists, for business people, for
242 Crispin Thurlow

Figure 13.9

everyday users) or that there are no significant differences between, say, email and
microblogging. By the same token, I am not meaning to suggest that there is noth-
ing new—indeed, there is: for example, novel networking practices, extensive con-
tent creation and sharing, and even more confused public/private boundaries.
Finally, I am definitely not meaning to imply that Web 2.0 technologies are the work
FAKEBOOK 243

of the devil or the ruin of culture. To do so would implicate me in precisely the

kind of technological determinism that runs through the rhetorics of Web 2.0. What
I am proposing are the following general guidelines:
1. We need constantly to challenge the misrepresentation (or simplistic represen-
tation) of new media discourse—whether it concerns processes of language
change (always a case of evolution, not revolution); the interactional nature of
all texts (not just those with comment boxes); the inherent multimodality of all
reading/writing practices (not just those with videos and audio); and the het-
eroglossic, multivoiced nature of all communicative practice (not just the ones
with friendship walls).
2. We must, in the spirit of critical discourse analysis, target for critique all dis-
course-based claims; for example, instances where media producers or pro-
moters make promises regarding the interactive, communal, participatory,
social, or relational affordances of their companies or technologies. In this
sense, while attending to “user-centered” heteroglossia (cf. Androutsopoulos
2011) we should also be mindful of the other big social voices speaking
through new media texts—specifically, the institutional voices of commerce,
politics, and education, and so on.
3. We ought to monitor the reflexes of, for example, customer care (student-ori-
ented teaching), participatory politics, engaged learning, and empowerment as
they sometimes appear in our own research and teaching rationales. In track-
ing the “colonization of the lifeworld” (Habermas 1984), we should also be
upholding the truly social—often banal, always embedded—practices of ordi-
nary communicators. For Buckingham (2007) this means attending to commu-
nication and culture rather than technologies per se.
4. Just as others have sought to highlight the importance of attending to the
contextual and particularistic nature of new media language (see Geor-
gakopoulou 2006), it is essential that we locate our work in the histories of
(new) media and not simply attend—or attend exclusively—to the latest and
the newest. Equally, we need to keep asking what is really new—not shiny,
surface new (or 2.0 new), but fundamentally new. Perhaps this is how we
avoid reinventing the discourse wheel every time a new technology emerges.
It might also hold us back from overstating the binaries (new versus old),
from buying into neoliberal hype, and from unwittingly perpetuating another
wave of technological determinism.
Like all good stories—or, at least, all good Labovian narratives—I will finish where
I started, with a coda that sums up the point of my story.

Coda: Synthetic Media and Pseudo-sociality

Is it not ironic that a culture so overtly concerned with communication, so
willing to expend thought, time and money on the subject, should have such
limited and limiting ideas about what makes it good to talk? (Cameron
2000, 183)
244 Crispin Thurlow

I have always liked this thought-provoking conclusion (actually a searing critique) at

the end of Deborah Cameron’s wonderful Good to Talk? It is completely astute of
course: the contemporary technologizing of language and communication—their
scripting, regulation, and commodification—invariably hinges on ways of talking
that have very little to do with the everyday practices and essentially social functions
of talk. This is most apparent in the instrumental approach to communication skills
training in schools or in call centers. Viewed differently, however, there is a sense that
many so-called communication experts, professionals, or consultants know precisely
what makes it good to talk. Perhaps it is this that makes their strategic deployment
of social media so effective. Knowing that it is good to talk—and, to some extent,
why it is good to talk—has enabled a whole range of neoliberal agents/beneficiaries
to “collapse the social plane” and to skillfully persuade us that technology is talk (cf.
Thurlow and Bell 2009; Thurlow and Mroczek 2011). After all, at least 213,972 peo-
ple have chosen to follow my milk carton, even if I have not.7
For at least two good reasons, I see the rhetorics of Web 2.0 producing a decid-
edly synthetic kind of media. First, they collapse the social plane by combining (or
synthesizing) and blurring the public and private, the personal and institutional, and
the corporate and social (Habermas 1984; Marwick 2010). Second, and following
Norman Fairclough, they are synthetic (i.e., artificial or feigned) insofar as they read-
ily enable corporations, politicians, professors, and others to fabricate a sense of per-
sonal concern or attention for—and intimate interaction with—customers, voters,
students, etc. All of which effectively produces a kind of intense pseudo-sociality by
which institutional agents are able to stylize themselves as participatory, interactive,
or accessible simply by using (or appearing to use) a social media such as Facebook,
Twitter, or Foursquare—or, in the case of President Obama, all three. More often than
not these institutional uses of social media are instances of communicative conde-
scension akin to those that concerned Pierre Bourdieu (1991): powerful agents con-
cealing their desire to influence and manage people by invoking apparently
interpersonal gestures of informality and familiarity. Indeed, for Kylie Jarrett, this is
the underlying issue with all Web 2.0 interactivity: “It is a disciplining into a liberal
ideal of subjectivity based around notions of freedom, choice and activity. . . . As a
seductive expression of power, [it] is based on condescension: a deliberate masking
of power in order to effect control” (2008, n.p.). Whatever opportunities for agent-
ful, creative practice they may enable, social media always have the potential for in-
fluencing the actions of ordinary users; in fact, the playful, seductive appeal of social
media may make them even more suited to regulatory and self-regulatory exercises
of power.
One domain or discourse where we witness most clearly the synthetic affordances
of social media and the condescending exercise of social control is with celebrities.
Of course, the use of ghost writers (one of the worst-kept secrets in Hollywood) by
celebrity tweeters, bloggers, and social networkers complicates notions of authorship
and authenticity in interesting ways: It is seldom clear, for example, who is doing the
tweeting or posting and who fans are actually interacting with. Nonetheless, as an-
other high-profile constituency of social media users, celebrities are certainly well
served by the capacity of new media to blur the boundary between commerce and
FAKEBOOK 245

social life. Like politicians, celebrities deploy social media as a means of insinuat-
ing themselves into the lives of their mass audiences through an appearance of per-
sonal interaction and by strategically weaving together the public and private, the
formal and informal. In her work, Alice Marwick (2010) focuses on celebrity dis-
course as a particularly powerful domain for the reproduction of neoliberal fantasies
about Web 2.0. Far beyond the tweets and posts of actual celebrities (or their people),
however, the affordances and typical uses of social media foster a microcelebrity
mindset of extreme self-referentiality and self-promotion. It is in this way, too, that
new technologies (and social media, in particular) are constantly held up as instru-
ments of/for fame and success. Central to this celebritization of everyday life is the
aggressive neocolonization of the lifeworld in the form of what Marwick calls “life-
streaming”: the constant presentation and publication (or broadcasting) of oneself and
one’s private information to others. This is a phenomenon that is clearly role-mod-
eled and stoked by celebrities themselves, but one that is also being taken up much
more widely as we are all of us persuaded to codify and—in many cases—commod-
ify previously ephemeral material from our ordinary, private lives. Our friends and
family are thus transformed into our own little audience, our own fan base.
None of which is to suggest that intended audiences are necessarily unaware, or
that individual social agents are complete dupes. As Kate Crawford nicely observes,
“If networked technologies in general, and social media in particular, generate ideal
listening subjects of the twenty-first century—for individuals, politicians, consumers,
parents and corporations—they also reveal the human limits of attention” (2009,
532). This is something Alicia Keyes and her Hollywood friends discovered to their
great embarrassment when they presumed to know their fans. In December 2010, and
in somewhat poor taste, Keyes and others (including Elijah Wood, Jennifer Hudson,
and Justin Timberlake) announced their so-called digital deaths in an effort to raise
money for AIDS charities. Presented with a series of highly aestheticized, glamor-
ized images of dead celebrities (fig. 13.10), the rationale behind this campaign was
that desperate fans would be only too eager to donate money in order to resuscitate
their idols’ stream of supposedly behind-the-scenes posts and the-real-me tweets.
The world’s most followed celebrity Tweeters are sacrificing their digital lives
to help save millions of real lives affected by HIV/AIDS in Africa and India.
That means no more Twitter or Facebook updates from any of them. . . . But
they don’t have to die in vain. And they don’t have to stay dead for long. Just
watch their Last Tweet and Testaments, and buy their lives back. . . . And when
$1,000,000 is reached, everyone will be back online and tweeting in no time.
(buylife.org/about.php)
Within only a few weeks, it transpired that few fans were that interested in bring-
ing these celebrities back to life after all; celebrity tweets and posts were possibly en-
tertaining but certainly something they (the fans) could live without. For several days
following their demise, the Digital Death celebrities discovered that donations were
only trickling in; fans were, it seems, largely unimpressed by this presumptuous cam-
paign and disinclined to bring any of the celebrities back to life after all. Keyes and
the others were eventually rescued from their embarrassment only after a substantial
246 Crispin Thurlow

Figure 13.10

donation (initially anonymous) of $500,000 by pharmaceuticals billionaire Stewart

Rahr. While the condescension of celebrities (those twits who tweet) may be with-
out bounds, and the condescending uses of social media unavoidable, it appears that
everyday communicators do know a thing or two about communication and are ca-
pable of seeing through some of the most clumsy, disingenuous uses of social me-
dia. Sometimes.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am grateful for all sorts of constructive feedback from participants who approached me after I had pre-
sented this material at GURT in April 2011. In preparing for the GURT presentation and, therefore, for
this chapter, I am very grateful for the help of an undergraduate research assistant, Dale Coleman, and for
conversations with my UW graduate colleague Kate Bell. My most special thanks go to Alice Marwick
(previously of New York University) and David Silver (currently of University of San Francisco) for gift-
ing me some cool ideas, keeping me (more or less) on track, and generally continuing to inspire me. I am
grateful to Sinnan for permission to reproduce his “Facebook Queen” cartoon. Other images are either my
own or those used fairly for the purposes of scholarly comment and criticism.

NOTES
1. The cartoon “Facebook Queen,” is reprinted by permission of the artist, Sinnan (www.houseofcheah
.com/images/editorialcartoons/facebookqueen_fc.jpg_).
2. Table 13.1 is based on lindsay-goodier.suite101.com/what-is-web-20-a51022.
3. There are, of course, other important examples of this kind of “domain bleed,” such as the strategic
uptake of video gaming technologies by the military (see Allen 2011).
4. As a telling insight into her imagined or desired audience—and into the geopolitical force of a talk
like this—Clinton’s speech is available on the State Department website in Arabic, Chinese, French,
Persian, Russian, Spanish, and Urdu (www.state.gov/secretary/rm/2010/01/135519.htm).
FAKEBOOK 247

5. In September 2011, at the International Broadcasting Convention, Kevin Bakhurst, deputy head of
the BBC Newsroom, outlined the BBC’s use of social media and the challenges they pose to a tra-
ditional news organization like his. A transcript of his speech is available online at
www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/theeditors/2011/ 09/ibc_in_amsterdam.html.
6. To be fair, the New Yorker’s Malcolm Gladwell (2010) was unequivocal in his criticism of the me-
dia’s exaggerated social media framing of the Arab Spring (but see also Guardian 2010).
7. This is the number of Facebook members who had liked Organic Valley as I was finishing revisions
of this chapter.

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Thurlow, Crispin, and Kate Bell. 2009. Against technologization: Young people’s new media discourse as
creative cultural practice. Journal of Computer-mediated Communication 14, no. 4:1038–49.
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Thurlow, Crispin, and Adam Jaworski. 2006. The alchemy of the upwardly mobile: Symbolic capital and
the stylization of elites in frequent-flyer programmes. Discourse and Society 17, no. 1:131–67.
Thurlow, Crispin, Laura Lengel, and Alice Tomic. 2004. Computer-mediated communication: Social in-
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Thurlow, Crispin, and Kristine Mroczek. 2011. Fresh perspectives on new media sociolinguistics. In Dig-
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Index

abbreviations, 207 Baby Boomer generation, 149

Aboujaode, Elias, 202 Badisch dialect, 68n7
academic journals, 212–13 Bairisch dialect, 52
accessibility of participatory culture, 48 Bakhtin, M. M., 135, 168, 169, 170, 172, 185
action descriptions, 11 Bakhurst, Kevin, 247n5
activity links, 137 Banaji, Shakuntala, 231
aesthetics of holiday cards, 87–91 Barash, Vladimir, 137
affective responses and comments, 62, 79 Baron, Naomi S., xii, 104, 201
affective stance, 77 barriers to entry of participatory culture, 48
affinity spaces, 75, 80–81 Bateson, Gregory, 101, 117n2
agency of interface devices, 34 Bauman, Richard, 53, 135
AI (artificial intelligence), 19 Bauman, Zygmunt, 90
Alemannisch dialect, 52, 68n7 Bayerisch dialect, 68n7
Alone Together (Turkle), 201 Baym, Nancy K., 135, 152
American Dialect Society, 209 BBC’s use of social media, 247n5
Amish, 202 Becker, A. L., 135, 146
analytical thought, 220. See also cognitive issues Beeman, William O., 163
and print culture Bellotti, Victoria, 137
Andrews, Gillian “Gus,” ix, 27, 36, 37, 40 Bennett, Greg, 110, 111
Androutsopoulos, Jannis, x, 47, 133, 152 Berlinerisch dialect, 52, 55, 58–66, 68n7
annotated texts, 205 Bernard, Janine M., 171
anthropology, 29, 41 Berners-Lee, Tim, 2
apathy, 100 birthday greetings on Facebook, 134, 148–49
apologies: apologetic self-evaluation, 77, 81; Bloch, Joel, 185, 196
performativity in, 157; repetition and blogs and blogging, 183–200; assessments in,
capitalization in, 108 35–40; classification of, 7; and comments,
appropriation, 49 30, 37–38; content learning through writing,
Arab Spring, 49, 225, 237 184–87; in education, 183; and engagement
argumentation, 196 with course content, 192; and engagement
artificial intelligence (AI), 19 with course participants, 192–93; internet
assessments, 27–45; of competence, 31; and history of, 2; and media rhetorics, 236; and
instructions, 32–35; in polities, 35–40 medium choice, 111–12; polities of
asynchronous communication: assessments in, assessments in, 35–40; study methodology,
37; blogs as, 185; and interface devices, 34; 188–90; as Web 2.0 technology, 229
and media convergence, 16–17; mock Boarisch dialect, 56
performatives in, 158; quoting in, 12; re- Boase, Jeffrey, xi, 119
authoring in, 168, 171, 179; text messages books: as asynchronous communication, 37;
as, 126 physicality of, 218, 219; value of, 206,
attribution, 192 208–9. See also print culture
Austin, John L., 156, 157 Bourdieu, Pierre, 86, 244
authentication via mock performatives, 163, boyd, danah, 11, 229
164 Boyman, James, 114–15
authenticity, 164 branding, 232–33
authority, 159–61 brevity as indirectness, 100, 109
authorship, 167–68. See also multiauthorship Briggs, Charles L., 135
award-ceremony script, 160–61 Bright, William, 99

251
252 Index

Brown, Penelope, 102, 135 computer-mediated discourse analysis (CMDA),

Buckingham, David, 239, 243 1–26; emergent aspects classification for,
Burdelski, Matthew, 169 14–20; familiar aspects classification for,
Burgess, Jean, 55 8–10; implications of, 20–21; and media
convergence, 4–6; organizational model for,
CA (conversational analysis), 42n11, 121–22 4–6; reconfigured aspects classification for,
Cameron, Deborah, 228, 231, 240, 244 10–14; Web 2.0 defined, 2–4; web genre
capitalism, 231 classification for, 6–8
capitalization, 100, 108–9, 111 conditions for reading, 205–6, 208
Carnegie Mellon School of Computer Science, 41 constructed dialogue, 170, 171
Carr, Nicholas, 202, 222n1 constructing, 156, 157, 163
Caxton, William, 204 content learning through writing blogs, 184–87
celebrities, 244–46 Continental Airlines, 232
CERN (European Organization for Nuclear conventionalization, 160
Research), 2 convergent media computer-mediated
Chafe, Wallace, 99, 141 communication (CMCMC), 4–5
Chamber, Ephraim, 207 convergent media computer-mediated discourse
chat rooms, 13, 19 (CMCMD), 5–6, 21
children’s images in holiday cards, 93, 94–96 conversational analysis (CA), 42n11, 121–22
Chinese language, 32–35 conversational style, 99, 101–4
ChurchList, 136 co-present interaction studies, 119–29
civic engagement, 49, 231 copyright laws, 206
class representations: and conversational style, 99; corporate rhetorics of Web 2.0, 231–35
in dialect, 61–62; in holiday cards, 86, 87–97 Cotter, Colleen, 236
CMC. See computer-mediated communication Coulton, Jonathan, 36
CMCMC (convergent media computer-mediated counterculture, 231
communication), 4–5 Crawford, Kate, 245
CMCMD (convergent media computer-mediated creativity, 89, 151
discourse), 5–6, 21 Creswell, John W., 172
CMDA. See computer-mediated discourse analysis Crosby, Cathryn, 185, 196
co-authorship. See multiauthorship Crossouard, Barbara, 170
Coca-Cola, 232 Crowston, Kevin, 1, 6–7, 8
code switching, 42n10 Crystal, David, 100
Coffin, Caroline, 196 cultural capital, 86–87, 88–89
cognitive issues and print culture, 214, 220–21 cyberplay, 155, 158
Colbert, Stephen, 209 Cyclopaedia (Chamber), 207
collaboration, 2, 4, 6, 15, 18, 185
Collins, Randall, 120, 130n1 Danet, Brenda, 158
comedy videos, 56–57 de-authentication, 164
comments and commenting: as CMCMC, 5; decentralized languages, 51
dialect use in, 57–58, 62–66, 68n8; on deletion of friends on Facebook, 142
Facebook posts, 145–48; on Flickr, 75–76; Demarest, Bradford, 18
and self-improvement, 81; on YouTube democratization of information, 237
videos, 57–58, 62–66, 68n8 democratization of texts, 209
commercial demands of technology, 229–30, 231 Dewey, John, 28
commodification of communication, 228, dialect: defined, 68n3; media discourses and
229–30, 231 representations of, 50–52; online variations
communities of practice, 81 of, 52; performing and negotiating on
competence: in affinity spaces, 80–81; YouTube, 55–58; and social semiotics of
assessments of, 31; embodied cultural participatory culture, 52–54; study
capital as, 88 methodology, 54–55. See also specific
computer-mediated communication (CMC), 4, dialects
155–56, 157, 164. See also computer- dialect-dubbing videos, 57
mediated discourse analysis (CMDA) dialogue, 168, 170, 171
Index 253

dictionaries, 207 enterprise culture, 231

Diderot, Denis, 207 entertain or probability strategy, 195
DiDomenico, Stephen M., xi, 119 enthusiasm constraint, 100, 104, 111
Dion, Michelle L., 186 enthusiasm markers, 104–9; contrasting
directness of communication, 110. See also expectations of, 104–6; repetition and
indirectness capitalization, 108–9; as shared
disclaim or counter strategy, 193, 196 conventions, 106–7; volubility vs.
discourse, defined, 47–48 taciturnity, 107–8
discourse transformers, 155, 156, 161–63 epistemic stance, 77, 79
discussion forums and boards, 13, 155–66. See ereaders, 213, 222n5
also comments and commenting ethnicity and conversational style, 99
distancing helicopter approach, 192 ethnographies of CMC spaces, 133, 137–38,
Divine Art, Infernal Machine (Eisenstein), 115 149
domain bleed, 246n3 etiolation, 156, 157
Dresner, Eli, 143 European Organization for Nuclear Research
DTA (Dynamic Topic Analysis), 13 (CERN), 2
dual front interaction, 120 event invitations, 134
Du Bois, John W., 77 Everything2, 15
Ducheneaut, Nicolas, 137 evidentiality, 188
durability of text, 205, 208, 220 exclamatory punctuation, 100, 106
Duranti, Alessandro, 170 expert-novice interactions, 177
Durkheim, Émile, 120
Dürscheid, Christa, 6 face, 135. See also face-threatening acts (FTAs);
Dynamic Topic Analysis (DTA), 13 facework
Facebook: as adaptive technology, 7; birthday
education rhetorics of Web 2.0, 239–41. See also greetings on, 148–49; British monarchy on,
cognitive issues and print culture; learning 225, 235–36; CMCMC on, 5; commenting
Eisenstein, Elizabeth, 115, 220 on, 145–48; commercialization of, 232, 234;
Eklundh, Severinson, 12 ethnography of, 137–38, 149; facework on,
electronic links as indirectness, 110 133–54; friending on, 140–42; language
elites. See status representations translations of, 233; liking posts on,
email, 167–81; behavior reinforced through, 145–48; pseudo-sociality of, 244; self-
172–73; emotional responses reinforced presentation on, 142–45; study methodology
through, 173–74; event invitations via, 151; for, 137–38; tagging on, 139–40, 149–52;
intensity markers in, 112; literature review, terminology of, 137–38
168–71; pre-authoring, 177–78; face-threatening acts (FTAs): defined, 134; and
professional counseling behavior reinforced humor, 151; and intertextuality, 135; and
through, 173; re-authoring through self-presentation, 142–44; tagging as, 139,
reframing and reinforcing, 172–77; study 149–52
methodology, 171–72 face-to-face conversations, 102, 113, 119
embodied cultural capital, 86, 88 facework: on Facebook, 133–54; and
emergent aspects classification for CMDA, intertextuality, 135–36. See also face-
14–20 threatening acts (FTAs)
Emerson, Caryl, 169 Fahlman, Scott, 41
Emigh, William, 15 Fairclough, Norman, 228, 236, 240, 244
emoticons, 9–10, 11, 104, 143 Fakatsa style, 8–9
emotional response reinforcement, 173–74 fakebook.com, 134
encyclopedic style, 15, 207 fake multilingualism, 233
Encyclopédie (Diderot), 207 familiar aspects classification for CMDA, 8–10
engagement: with content, 192; in education, family unit, 93. See also hegemonic family ideal
239–40; with participants, 192–93 in holiday cards
ENGAGEMENT system, 188–90, 196 Flickr, 73–83; competence, participation, and
English language: on Flickr, 73–83; perceived learning on, 80–81; corporate rhetorics on,
knowledge of, 77 233; metalinguistic discourse about English
254 Index

on, 77–79; motivations for claiming happiness defined in holiday cards, 93–95
knowledge of English on, 79–80 hegemonic family ideal in holiday cards, 86,
Fogarty, Jacqueline, 108, 112 91–93, 96
folk linguistics attitudes, 75 Herring, Susan C., ix, xiii, 1, 15, 18, 22n5, 104,
folk music, 56 105–6, 116n1, 133, 143, 171
forgiveness seeking, 77, 81 Hewings, Ann, 196
formality, 15 high-considerateness style, 100–101, 102, 103,
Foucault, Michel, 42n3, 48 104
Foursquare, 229–30, 244 high-involvement style, 100–101, 102, 103, 104
frames, 144, 145, 157–58, 174–77 highlighting, 156, 163
framing, 101, 151, 158 holiday cards, 85–97; class and status
Fränkisch dialect, 52, 68n7 representations in, 87–97; happiness defined
friending on Facebook, 134, 140–42 in, 93–95; hegemonic family ideal in, 91–93
FTAs. See face-threatening acts Hotmail, 52
Full Metal Jacket (movie), 57 Howard, Craig, 18
Hudson, Jennifer, 245
Garfinkel, Harold, 27, 29, 34, 35 humor: and face-threatening acts, 151; facework
Garity, Kimberly, 106–7 accomplished via, 136; other-deprecating,
Gee, James Paul, 47–48, 75, 81 144; and self-assessment of English
Geertz, Clifford, 27, 29, 40 language proficiency, 78; self-deprecating,
gender differences: in CMDA, 20; in 80, 136, 144. See also jokes
conversational style, 99, 110; in enthusiasm Humphreys, Lee, 120, 130n2
markers, 105–6; in expressiveness in Hung, Aaron Chia-Yuan, ix, 27, 32, 35
electronic exchanges, 104; in mode of
communication, 18; in social interactions, 9 identity. See professional identity; social identity
geographic differences in conversational style, 99 ideology, 226, 228
Georgakopoulou, Alexandra, 133, 152 Independent on news gathering and
Georgetown University Round Table on dissemination, 237
Languages and Linguistics (GURT), ix, 134 indirectness, 100, 109–10
German dialects, 47–71; media discourses and individuality, 89
representations of, 50–52; online variations informality, 15
of, 52; performing and negotiating on informal syndication, 237
YouTube, 55–58; and social semiotics of information overload, 207
participatory culture, 52–54; study Instagram, 4
methodology, 54–55. See also specific institutional scripts, 156, 159–60, 164
dialects intensity markers: and medium choice, 112–14;
Gershon, Ilana, 100, 111, 152 repetition and capitalization, 108–9;
ghost writers, 244–45 volubility vs. taciturnity, 107–8
Gibson, James J., 120 interactional sociolinguistics, 133
Giroux, Henry, 239, 241 interaction management, 4, 11, 20
Gladwell, Malcolm, 247n6 interactive television programs, 5, 6
Goffman, Erving, 86, 109, 119, 120, 133, 135, 158 Internet Relay Chat (IRC), 11, 52
Golder, Scott, 11 intertextuality, 133–34, 135–36, 139, 140–41,
Good to Talk? (Cameron), 244 145
Gordon, Cynthia, xii, 167, 170–71 iPad, 213
Graham, Sage, 136 Isaacs, Ellen, 137
Green, Joshua, 55 “Is Google Making Us Stupid?” (Carr), 202
GURT (Georgetown University Round Table on
Languages and Linguistics), ix, 134 Jaffe, Alexandra, 87, 90, 91
Gutenberg, Johannes, 204 Japan tsunami (2011), 237–38
Jarrett, Kylie, 228, 244
Habermas, Jürgen, 228 Jaworski, Adam, 90
Hallowell, Edward, 203 Jenkins, Henry, 48
Hanly, Fiona, 109 Johnstone, Barbara, 51, 68n4
Index 255

joint discourse production, 5 Mahay, Jenna, x, 85

jokes, 56, 134, 136, 139–40, 142–43. See also making do, 32
humor Manjoo, Farhad, 209
Journal of Sociolinguistics, 133 Mannheimerisch dialect, 68n7
Jucker, Andreas H., 6 marginalia, 205
Junco, Reynol, 239 marketing strategies, 2, 231
Martin, J. R., 190
Keillor, Garrison, 42 Marwick, Alice, 228, 231, 241, 245
Kendall, Lori, 15 mass media. See media
keyboard-to-screen communication, 6 Mauss, Marcel, 34
Keyes, Alicia, 245 McDonald, David, 15
keyword searches, 76 media: accessibility to, 49; convergence of, 4–6;
Kindle, 213 dialect discourses and representations in,
Knobel, Michele, 49 50–52; normative authority of, 51;
Kozinets, Robert V., 138 synthetic, 243–46; video creation by, 55;
Kress, Gunther, 231 Web 2.0 rhetorics of, 236–39
Kristeva, Julia, 135 mediated ritual interaction, 120
Kugele, Jens, xii, 183 medium choice, 99–117; and conversational
Kushal, Dave, 15 style, 101–4; and enthusiasm, 105;
enthusiasm and intensity markers in, 104–9;
Lakoff, Robin, 102, 109, 135 and indirectness, 109–10; and
language: decentralized, 51; on Facebook, 51; metamessages, 101, 111–15;
knowledge construction role of, 184; miscommunications from mechanics of,
pluricentric, 51. See also dialect; specific 114–15; and pacing and pausing in turn-
languages taking, 110–11
Lankshear, Colin, 49 Mehan, Hugh, 31
Lanning, Wayne, 171 metadiscourse, 75, 188
LA Times on Japan tsunami as social media story, metalinguistic discourse, 75
238 metamessages: defining, 100; and medium
Latour, Bruno, 34, 40 choice, 101, 111–15
Lawrence, Christopher N., 186 Michaels, Sarah, 169
leadership roles in community of YouTube, 49 Miller, Nikolas, 235
learning: and education rhetorics of Web 2.0, mobile devices, 119–31; case studies, 122–29;
239–41; informal, 80–81; and print culture, CMCMC on, 5; in co-present interaction
214, 220–21; through blog writing, 184–87 studies, 119–21; study methodology,
Lee, Carmen, x, 10, 73 121–22
leetspeak, 9 mock performatives, 155–66; across linguistic
Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm von, 115–16 domains, 163–64; as discourse transformers,
leisure time, 87, 90 161–63; literature review, 156–58; and
length of message, 100 scripts, 160–61; study methodology, 158–59
Lenihan, Aoife, 233 modality, 188
LeVine, Philip, 66 monetization, 234–35
Levinson, Stephen, 102, 135 monophthongization, 61
Lévi-Strauss, Claude, 29 moral panic, 115, 116
libraries, 205–6, 208, 209, 222n5 Morand, David A., 136
lifestreaming, 245 Morson, Gary Saul, 169
liking posts on Facebook, 145–48 movies and films, 57. See also specific titles
Ling, Richard S., 120, 130n1 Mroczek, Kristine, 67
linking, 19, 110, 137, 156, 163 multiauthorship, 5, 50, 179
literacy, 99, 204–5, 206, 208 multilingual literacy, 74, 233
The Little Community (Redfield), 43n16 multimodality, 1, 14, 19–20, 47–48, 50, 66,
“lolcat” images, 22n9 120–21
Lotan, Gilad, 11 multiplayer online games, 4–5, 6. See also video
Luke, Melissa, xii, 167, 170–71 games
256 Index

multitasking, 208, 214, 220 performativity, 155–56, 157, 163

music videos, 56 Petersen, Søren, 233
Petri, Alexandra, 140
native speaker norm, 78 Pfälzisch dialect, 52, 68n7
navigation tools for print culture, 206–7, 209–10 photography as Lingua Franca, 78
negative face, 135 photosharing sites, 4. See also Flickr; Instagram
negative politeness, 102 physicality of books, 218
negativity, 100 Pihlaja, Stephen, 15
Nelson, Kaye, 170 Pittsburghese, 51–52
newbies, 43n20 plagiarism, 206
news aggregators, 229. See also online news sites Plattdütsch dialect, 68n7
New York Times on Obama’s use of new media, playfulness, 78, 158, 163
236 play mode, 156, 158, 161–62, 163
Niederdeutsch dialect, 68n7 play sequences, 163
nonbona fide communication, 19 pluricentric languages, 51
nontraditional narratives, 22n6 poetry, 99
n00bs, 43n20 politeness in online interactions, 102, 135,
norms, 51, 78, 133–37, 146, 149–50 136–38, 148–49
norms violations, 140, 142 political rhetorics of Web 2.0, 51, 235–36
Norrick, Neal R., 136 political science, 183, 186
polities, assessments in, 35–40. See also affinity
Obama, Barack, 236, 244 spaces
objectified cultural capital, 86 positive face, 135
Ocker, Rosalie J., 136 positive politeness, 102, 135, 148–49
O’Connor, Mary Catherine, 169 postcards, 90
Oliver, Marvarene, 170 power roles, 159–60
online narrativity, 155 pre-authoring in email supervisory
online news sites, 7, 210, 212–13 communication, 168, 177–78, 179
ontological pluralism, 157 preferred mode of reading, 212–14
open government, 236 presentism, 229
orality and literacy, 99 primary involvement, 119, 120, 129–30
O’Reilly, Tim, 2, 3 print culture, 201–24; challenges to, 208–10; and
other-deprecating humor, 144 cognitive issues, 214, 220–21; and
conditions for reading, 205–6, 208; and
pacing and pausing in turn-taking, 101, 110–11 durability of text, 205, 208; navigation tools
pagination of texts, 207, 210, 220–21 for, 206–7, 209–10; and pedagogical issues,
Papacharissi, Zizi, 137 214, 220–21; and preferred mode of
paperback texts, 208 reading, 212–14; presuppositions of, 205–7;
participant roles in mock performatives, 156, and relationship to textbooks, 212; rise of,
164 115, 204–5; study methodology for print vs.
participatory culture: in affinity spaces, 80–81; onscreen reading, 210–11; technological
of blogs, 186; and dialect analysis on impact on, 201–3; and value of books, 206,
YouTube, 47–71; in education, 239–40; 208–9
information sharing in, 2; and nonbona fide proclaim or pronounce strategy, 194
participants, 19; of YouTube, 48–50 professional identity, 170–71
participatory spectacles, 48–50, 68n2 projection, 188
peak profile, 163 prompt-focused pattern, 13
pedagogical issues and print culture, 214, 220–21 Pryor, John, 170
Pennsylvania Amish, 202 pseudo-sociality, 243–46
performance, 155, 163 public declaration layer, 87
performance loop, 163
performative marker, 155, 163–64 Rahr, Stewart, 246
performatives: dialect as, 50, 52–54, 65; holiday Rancière, Jacques, 42n8
cards as, 86. See also mock performatives reading aloud, 205–6
Index 257

re-authoring: defined, 168; through reframing, The Shallows (Carr), 202

174–77, 179; through reinforcing, 172–74, shared frames and scripts, 158
179 Sharma, Priya, 186
reconfigured aspects classification for CMDA, Shutterfly, 87–91
10–14 silent reading, 205–6
Redfield, Robert, 43n16 Silver, David, 228, 232
reflective narratives, 169 Simmons, Timmothy, 136
reframing, 174–77 sincerity, 112
reinforced feedback, 164 Skype, 4
reinforcing via email re-authoring, 172–74 snippet literacy, 209
relational narratives, 169 social awareness, 18, 20, 49
remixes, 49 social change, 227–28
repetition as enthusiasm markers, 100, 106, social identity: and class and status
108–9, 111 representations, 87–97; and
responses to mock performatives, 156, commodification of communication, 228;
158–61 construction and reconstruction of, 86–87;
response time, 111, 126 and dialect, 58, 61–62, 65; elite mobility as,
retweeting, 11–12 91; and happiness, 93–95; and hegemonic
revoicing, 169 family ideal, 91–93; and holiday cards,
Rheingold, Howard, 202 85–97; mass media’s influence on, 49; and
rhetorics of Web 2.0, 231–43 self-assessment of English language skills,
Richardson, Will, 186 80; study methodology, 87
Ripuarisch dialect, 52, 68n7 social limbo, 120
ritual language, 99 social networking, commercialization of, 232.
Rose, Peter, 235 See also specific websites
rudeness, 102 social plugins, 234
Ryshina-Pankova, Marianna, xii, 183, 190 social semiotics of participatory culture, 52–54
sociology, 29, 86
Sächsisch dialect, 52, 68n7 sock puppets, 19
Sacks, Harvey, 27, 28, 29, 31, 122 spatial mobility, 90
Saenger, Paul, 207 speech polities, 28
sarcasm, 105 spirantization, 61, 65
Sbisá, Marina, 157 Squires, Lauren, 75
Schegloff, Emanuel A., 122 staged performance, 53. See also performatives
scholarly rhetorics of Web 2.0, 241–43 stancetaking, 75, 77, 79, 80
Schwäbisch dialect, 52, 68n7 Star Wars (movie), 57
“Schwobifying Proxy,” 52 status representations: in dialect, 61–62; in
Scollon, Ron, 66 holiday cards, 86, 87–97
scripts, 157–58, 160–61 status updates on Facebook: as discourse analysis
search engines, 37 content, 5; perceptions of language use in,
Searle, John R., 156–57 75; as prompts to trigger comments, 11; as
secondary involvement, 119, 120, 129–30 reconfigured aspect of Web 2.0, 10
Second Life, 4 storytelling, 56
second-order information, 111, 152 structure in CMDA, 4
self-actualization, 231 structuring, 156, 163
self-assessments, 74, 76 stylistic fit, 156, 159, 164
self-deprecation, 80, 136, 144 Suchman, Lucy, 35
self-efficacy, 177 Sudman, Caitlin, 112
self-improvement, 78, 81 summons-answer adjacency pair, 122
self-presentation on Facebook, 134, 137, SurveyMonkey, 211
142–45 synchronous communication, 37
self-publishing, 209 synchros (videos), 57
self-reflection, 75, 172 synthetic media, 243–46
sermons, 56 synthetic personalization, 227–28, 235
258 Index

taciturnity, 107–8, 109, 111 Virtually You (Aboujaode), 202

Tagesschau (news program), 57 virtual worlds, 229
tagging: on Facebook, 139–40, 149–52; on Visual Dynamic Topic Analysis, 13
Flickr, 75–76 Viswanath, Bimal, 137
Tannen, Deborah, x, 9, 99, 158, 170, 172, 174 volubility, 107–8, 111
Taxi Driver (movie), 35–36 Vygotsky, L. S., 184
“techniques of the body,” 34
technological determinism, 222n1, 243 Wallat, Cynthia, 158, 174
telephone calls, 102, 105, 113 Waseleski, Carol, 106
television-mediated conversation, 5, 6 Washington Post on Facebook interactions, 139,
temporality of mobile device usage, 126 140
text-based CMC, 155–56, 157, 164 Wattenberg, Martin, 15
textbooks, 212 Web 2.0, 1–26; and complicating action, 226–27;
text messages: as asynchronous, 126; and face- corporate rhetorics of, 231–35; defined, 2–4;
to-face interactions, 102; intensity markers educational rhetorics of, 239–41; emergent
in, 112. See also mobile devices aspects of discourse in, 14–20; familiar
“A Theory of Play and Fantasy” (Bateson), 101 aspects of discourse in, 8–10; genre
three-way interactions, 130n2 classification for, 6–8; and media
Thüringisch dialect, 52, 68n7 convergence, 4–6; media rhetorics of,
Thurlow, Crispin, xii, 67, 75, 90, 100, 115, 236–39; medium choice in, 99–117;
225 mythologies of, 228–31; political rhetorics
Timberlake, Justin, 245 of, 235–36; and pseudo-sociality, 243–46;
Tiny Prints, 87–91 reconfigured aspects of discourse in, 10–14;
topical coherence, 13 rhetorics of, 231–43; scholarly rhetorics of,
tourism, 90–91 241–43; and social change, 227–28; and
Trester, Anna Marie, xi, 117n3, 133, 146, synthetic media, 243–46; temporal
148–49, 150 perspective of, 3
“truthiness,” 209 Weigert, Astrid, 187
Turkle, Sherry, 201–2 Wessler, Sarah, ix, 27, 30, 31
turn-taking, 110–11, 129–30. See also West, Emily, 88
asynchronous communication West, Laura, xi, 133, 150
Twitter, 6, 11–12, 244 White, P. R. R., 190
Wikipedia, 15
uniqueness, 89 wikis: collaborative environment of, 6, 15; and
user-generated content, 2 nonbona fide participants, 19; as Web 2.0
technology, 229
vacation postcards, 90 Williams, Michelle, 1, 6–7, 8
Vaisman, Carmel, 8, 9 Wood, Elijah, 245
value of books, 206, 208–9
van Leeuwen, Theo, 54 Xie, Ying, 186
Varenne, Hervé, ix, 27, 40
Vázquez, Camilla, 167–68, 169 Ybañez, Kathy, 170
video: and media convergence, 16; text YouTube: CMCMC on, 4; collaborative
embedding in, 18. See also YouTube environment of, 18; comments on videos,
video games: assessments in, 27–45; controllers 62–66; dialect analysis on, 47–71;
for, 33–34, 43n14; multiplayer online leadership roles in community of, 49;
games, 4–5, 6; scoring issues for, 33 linking to, 110; and media convergence, 16;
Viégas, Fernanda B., 15 participatory culture of, 48–50
viral marketing, 2
Virtanen, Tuija, xi, 155 Zelenkauskaite, Asta, 105–6