Enabling Human Conduct: Studies of talk-in-interaction in honor of Emanuel A. Schegloff 978 90 272 5678 2, 978 90 272 6598 2

Table of contents :
Enabling Human Conduct......Page 2
Editorial page......Page 3
Title page......Page 4
LCC data......Page 5
Table of contents......Page 6
1. Introduction......Page 8
2. Getting to know CA – and Manny......Page 10
3. Schegloff and the foundations of conversation analysis......Page 13
4. How conversation works: Investigations
in Honor of Manny Schegloff......Page 16
5. Manny Schegloff: A few concluding remarks......Page 18
References......Page 19
A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff......Page 22
Reference......Page 57
A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff, Part 2......Page 62
References......Page 66
1. Introduction......Page 68
2. Data and methods......Page 71
3.1 Sequence type 1: Inferred purpose of a yes/no or fixed
choice question is to seek an explanation......Page 72
3.2 Sequence Type 2: Inferred purpose of a request for confirmation
is seeking response to an associated query......Page 75
3.3 Sequence Type 3: Inferred purpose of an open query
is seeking information about a specific matter......Page 78
4. Discussion......Page 80
References......Page 83
1. Introduction......Page 86
1.1 Reversed polarity questions......Page 87
1.2 Type-conforming and non-conforming responses......Page 88
2. No sequentially appropriate slot for response......Page 90
3.1 Accepting the challenge......Page 93
3.2 Agreeing with the Challenge......Page 97
3.3 Agreeing with a challenge to a non-present party......Page 98
3.4 Treating the Question as Unanswerable......Page 99
4. Rejecting the challenge with type-conforming responses......Page 100
4.1 Rejecting the challenge by answering the question......Page 101
4.2 Backing Down......Page 105
5. Type-Conforming Joke Response......Page 107
6. Summary and Conclusion......Page 108
References......Page 110
1. Introduction......Page 112
2. Grantings and fulfillments of a request......Page 113
3. Data......Page 114
5. Overview: A request-response sequence......Page 115
6. Extended responding......Page 119
6.1 Co-construction and initiative......Page 121
References......Page 127
Appendix......Page 128
Abbreviations......Page 130
1. Introduction......Page 132
2. Remote proposals......Page 136
3. Data......Page 138
4. The social and syntactic design of remote proposals......Page 139
5. Analysis......Page 141
6. Concluding Remarks......Page 148
References......Page 149
1. Introduction......Page 152
2. Analysis......Page 156
3. Conclusion......Page 170
References......Page 171
Abbreviations......Page 173
1. Introduction......Page 174
2. Characteristics of PQs......Page 178
3. Selection principles of OIR formats......Page 184
4. Theoretical implications......Page 189
References......Page 191
1. Introduction......Page 196
2. Linguistically gendered terms can be chosen without
making gender relevant to the action in which
participants are engaged......Page 197
3. Linguistically gendered terms can be used as a resource
for making gender relevant – but the relevance of gender
can be negotiated and contested......Page 203
4. Gender is invoked or disattended over the course of an interaction
in the interests of local interactional goals.......Page 207
References......Page 211
Preamble......Page 214
References......Page 216
1. Introduction......Page 218
2. Context, identities and forms of talk......Page 219
3. On failing to recognise the voice of an intimate......Page 224
4. Workplace calls......Page 226
5. Greetings exchanges......Page 227
6. Conclusion......Page 234
References......Page 235
1. Introduction......Page 238
2. Tacit and explicit practices for moving into closings......Page 241
3.1 Initiating closings tacitly in closing-implicative environments......Page 246
3.2 Designedly monotopical calls......Page 247
3.3 “Designedly last” topics......Page 251
3.4 Closing a “possibly last” topic......Page 254
3.5 Expanded pre-closing sequences......Page 265
4. Environments for explicit initiation of closings......Page 267
4.1 Non-interruptive uses of explicit closings......Page 271
5. Conclusions......Page 274
References......Page 275
Appendix: Transcription conventions for Russian......Page 277
Particles and Epistemics......Page 280
1. Introduction......Page 281
2. Oh in Anglo-American English......Page 282
3. Initial Ou in Mandarin Chinese......Page 284
4. Final A in Mandarin Chinese......Page 289
5.1 Responding to a question while indexing the
question’s inappositeness or redundancy......Page 292
5.2 Oh-prefaced and a-finalized responses
as escalated disagreement......Page 295
5.3 Oh-prefaced and a-finalized responses as
independently arrived at......Page 298
6. Concluding discussion......Page 299
References......Page 302
Abbreviations......Page 304
1. Introduction......Page 306
2. On the emergent structuring of human conduct......Page 307
3.2 Adjusting hand gestures......Page 308
3.3 Adjusting Manual Action......Page 309
4. Action pivoting......Page 311
4.1 Turn-constructional pivots......Page 313
4.2 Gestural pivots......Page 314
4.3 Manual action pivots......Page 317
5.1 “One more thing”: Auto-involvement as
a ready-made pivoting resource......Page 319
References......Page 320
1. Introduction......Page 322
2. The beginning stage: Casual observation about
small-scale linguistic phenomena......Page 323
2.2 Timing in sounds, syllables, and words......Page 324
2.4 Reference and deixis......Page 325
3.1 Sentences......Page 326
3.3 Speech acts......Page 327
3.5 Prosody......Page 328
4.1 Language in its natural habitat......Page 329
5. Conclusion......Page 330
References......Page 331
1. Universal acid......Page 334
2. Some working presumptions about the interplay
between language, culture and interaction......Page 336
3. Rossel Island, Papua New Guinea – the ramifications of kinship......Page 337
4. A mysterious genre of joke......Page 340
5. Culture and naming: The interplay between cultural
systems and interactional systematics......Page 345
6. Models for the interaction of language, culture and interaction......Page 351
7. Conclusion......Page 354
References......Page 356
Reply to Levinson......Page 358
Subject Index......Page 362
Name Index......Page 366

Citation preview

ÿ ÿ !"# $%&'$%ÿ)* +,-.,/ÿ0/ !ÿ +,,ÿ1ÿ2,.,.ÿÿ 34ÿ,.#,

0123ÿ563789 3ÿ  2 3ÿ1983

Enabling Human Conduct

Pragmatics & Beyond New Series (P&bns) issn 0922-842X Pragmatics & Beyond New Series is a continuation of Pragmatics & Beyond and its Companion Series. The New Series offers a selection of high quality work covering the full richness of Pragmatics as an interdisciplinary field, within language sciences. For an overview of all books published in this series, please see http://benjamins.com/catalog/pbns

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Associate Editor

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Andreas H. Jucker

University of Augsburg

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Founding Editors Jacob L. Mey

Herman Parret

Jef Verschueren

Robyn Carston

Kuniyoshi Kataoka

Paul Osamu Takahara

Thorstein Fretheim

Miriam A. Locher

John C. Heritage

Sophia S.A. Marmaridou

University of California at Santa Barbara

Srikant Sarangi

Teun A. van Dijk

University of Southern Denmark

Belgian National Science Foundation, Universities of Louvain and Antwerp

Belgian National Science Foundation, University of Antwerp

Editorial Board University College London University of Trondheim University of California at Los Angeles

Susan C. Herring

Indiana University

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Japan Women’s University

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University of Trieste

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Universitat Pompeu Fabra, Barcelona

Chaoqun Xie

Fujian Normal University

Yunxia Zhu

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Volume 273 Enabling Human Conduct Studies of talk-in-interaction in honor of Emanuel A. Schegloff Edited by Geoffrey Raymond, Gene H. Lerner and John Heritage

Enabling Human Conduct Studies of talk-in-interaction in honor of Emanuel A. Schegloff

Edited by

Geoffrey Raymond UC Santa Barbara

Gene H. Lerner UC Santa Barbara

John Heritage UCLA

John Benjamins Publishing Company Amsterdam / Philadelphia

8

TM

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences – Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ansi z39.48-1984.

doi 10.1075/pbns.273 Cataloging-in-Publication Data available from Library of Congress: lccn 2016054425 (print) / 2017013128 (e-book) isbn 978 90 272 5678 2 (Hb) isbn 978 90 272 6598 2 (e-book)

© 2017 – John Benjamins B.V. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm, or any other means, without written permission from the publisher. John Benjamins Publishing Company · https://benjamins.com

Table of contents Schegloff and the founding of a discovering discipline Gene H. Lerner, Geoffrey Raymond & John Heritage

1

A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

15

A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff, Part 2 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

55

Inferring the purpose of a prior query and responding accordingly Anita Pomerantz

61

Responses to wh-question challenges Irene Koshik

79

Extended responding: Interaction and collaboration in the production and implementation of responses Seung-Hee Lee Accepting remote proposals Anna Lindström

105 125

Interactional uses of acknowledgment tokens: ‘ung’ and ‘e’ as responses to multi-unit turns in Korean conversation Sun-Young Oh & Yong-Yae Park

145

Selection principles of other-initiated repair turn formats: Some indications from positioned questions Maria Egbert

167

Referring to persons: Linguistic Gender and Gender in Action – (when) are Husbands Men? Celia Kitzinger & Sue Wilkinson

189

Out of context: Preamble Paul Drew Out of context: An intersection between domestic life and the workplace, as contexts for (business) talk Paul Drew

207

211

 Enabling human conduct

Opening up closings in Russian Galina B. Bolden

231

Particles and Epistemics: Convergences and divergences between English and Mandarin Ruey-Jiuan Regina Wu & John Heritage

273

On the practical re-intentionalization of body behavior: Action pivots in the progressive realization of embodied conduct Gene H. Lerner & Geoffrey Raymond

299

What a difference forty years make: The view from linguistics Elizabeth Couper-Kuhlen

315

Living with Manny’s dangerous idea Stephen C. Levinson

327

Reply to Levinson: On the ‘corrosiveness’ of conversation analysis Emanuel A. Schegloff

351

Subject Index

355

Name Index

359

The videotaped specimens that accompany the Lerner & Raymond chapter can be found at the following address: https://doi.org/10.1075/pbns.273.15ler.video

Schegloff and the founding of a discovering discipline Gene H. Lerner, Geoffrey Raymond & John Heritage UCSB / UCSB / UCLA

For me as a conversation analyst, the challenge is to understand and be able to describe – with detail and with some rigor – how interaction works. Schegloff (2005: 457)

1.  Introduction Emanuel A. Schegloff (universally known as Manny) is the co-originator (with ­Harvey Sacks and Gail Jefferson) and the leading contemporary authority in the field that has come to be known as ‘conversation analysis’ (henceforth CA). This field first found published expression in Schegloff ’s ‘Sequencing in Conversational Openings’ (­Schegloff 1968), and in the nearly fifty years since that first publication, it has ­subsequently developed to become the dominant approach to the study of social ­interaction worldwide. In addition to its application in many individual languages, and in cross-linguistic comparisons, CA has developed far beyond its original and primary domain  – ordinary conversation – to include a diversity of social interactions. These range from those in medical, educational, political, mass media and legal settings, to others involving the deployment of complex communication technology; from studies with a focus on the acquisition of language and communicative competence to others which focus on interactional and pragmatic aspects of their loss; and from studies which apply CA to the study of long term historical change, to those aimed at new medical diagnostic tools. The discipline and its findings are widely recognized among the practitioners of such cognate social science fields as anthropology, linguistics, psychology, cognitive science and communication, and are being directly applied in fields such as medicine, neuroscience, and human-computer interaction. The present volume honors Manny Schegloff ’s contribution to the establishment of the field and to its major successes. This contribution arises both from his achievements as a theorist and researcher, and as a teacher and mentor over a forty-five year period at UCLA. We begin by recounting some of the details of his life and work.

doi 10.1075/pbns.273.01ler © 2017 John Benjamins Publishing Company

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Gene H. Lerner, Geoffrey Raymond & John Heritage

Manny was born in 1937 to a family of Russian Jewish descent. In the aftermath of World War I, his father had escaped Russia through Harbin, China and, ­subsequently, Japan, arriving in San Francisco after a long and arduous journey. By the time Manny was a teenager, the family was settled on the East Coast and Manny attended the Boston Latin School, the oldest existing school in the United States. In the ­middle 1950s he continued his education at Hebrew Teacher’s College (1953–1957) and, simultaneously, at Harvard (1954–1958) where he took an extended reading class with Talcott Parsons on the sociology of knowledge, and wrote a senior thesis on the topic supervised by Barrington Moore. Pursuing this interest and on the advice of Moore, he moved on to Berkeley in 1958. His Masters thesis (Schegloff 1960) focused on the rise of the “New Criticism” in the 1940s. The “new criticism” emphasized the textual exegesis of literature, and eschewed its cultural interpretation. It was a development that would not have been predicted by the classical sociology of knowledge of Karl Mannheim (1936) and, instead, the thesis invoked as explanation the expansion of literary criticism as an academic topic in the universities of the United States, and the need for textual analysis created by this new and less sophisticated intellectual market. Thereafter, Manny began to envision a new research topic in the sociology of knowledge. Together with his friend Harvey Sacks, he had recently joined Philip ­Selznick’s newly formed Center for the Study of Law and Society at Berkeley and, under its aegis, he conceived a project on the intersection of law and psychiatry. At first, this research was comparatively theoretical, and focused on psychiatric texts (Schegloff 1963). However, interested in how conversations with psychiatrists could eventuate in clinical judgments that could mitigate criminal responsibility, Manny began seeking access to recordings of these conversations, moving from Berkeley to Los Angeles in search of recording opportunities. This project represented a significant increase in the specificity with which Manny was treating sociology of knowledge concerns. Its emergence may be traced to his contact with both Sacks and Erving Goffman. At the urging of Sacks, he had taken two graduate classes with Goffman and, through him, discovered the possibility of working very much more directly with the details of social interaction than could be found elsewhere in sociology. His encounter with Goffman, and the latter’s identification of direct, precise descriptive observation as a valid scientific objective, is something that Manny has repeatedly observed to be revelatory (e.g., Schegloff 1988). In the end, however, difficulties with access to the court system resulted in the abandonment of his plan to look at the role of psychiatric evaluations in the legal process. Instead, an opportunity arose to study emergency telephone calls at the Ohio State University, and it was this avenue that led to his dissertation topic on conversational openings. The dissertation was completed in 1967, some months after Manny had become an Assistant Professor at Columbia.



Schegloff and the founding of a discovering discipline

The primary publication from the dissertation, ‘Sequencing in conversational openings’ (Schegloff 1968), was the first work to be published that is recognizably conversation analytic. Although it was preceded by several years of Harvey Sacks’ privately circulated lectures, it was a revolutionary work in sociology. Its aim – “to show that the raw data of everyday conversational interaction can be subjected to rigorous analysis” (p. 1076) – joined Sacks in the ambition to surpass Goffman’s more impressionistic treatments of the “syntax” of social interaction (Goffman 1967). At the same time, Schegloff ’s innovative deployment of multiples of single cases to attest to the existence of a uniform ‘summons-answer sequence’ in which the first action has the property of ‘conditional relevance’ to describe conversational openings set a pattern for conversation analytic research that remains to the present day. Finally, the paper insisted that a single departure from an earlier characterization of conversational openings in terms of a distributional rule that the “answerer speaks first” should motivate the introduction of the alternative concept of a summons-answer sequence. This insistence gave full notice of what a rigorously theorized and empirically specified approach to the syntax of social interaction might look like. In the process, what had begun as an e­ xercise in the sociology of knowledge had become a new approach to the sociology of action.

2.  Getting to know CA – and Manny For many of the contributors to this volume, a first engagement with Manny, and by extension CA, began when they took his introductory course at UCLA. Manny begins the first lecture juxtaposing a common sense conception of conversation  – as chitchat, simultaneously ephemeral and trivial – with the way a student of the social life of humans might appreciate it – as a, if not the, “primordial site of sociality”, as supplying the procedural infrastructure for social institutions, as the “arena in which culture is enacted”, as the “ecological niche” within which language emerged and to which it is adapted (Schegloff 2006: 70). In this first lecture, Manny offers an apparently meandering list of occasions – presidents talking to foreign dignitaries, workers talking on the shop floor, judges conducting trials, grocery store clerks talking with shoppers, civil rights leaders organizing protests, and so on – to illustrate the ubiquity of talkin-interaction in social life, and to underscore its centrality to human lives, experiences, relationships, and institutions. After developing these themes with sketches and observations that linked the recounting of these occasions to more familiar sociological topics (e.g., socialization, inequality, reproduction and population, etc.), the lecture ends with his enactment of an exchange that dramatizes these points in a single, apparently simple exchange between a mother and her newborn child. In the scene, the mother looks to her child and coos “baby”, “baby”. The child responds, her gaze

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Gene H. Lerner, Geoffrey Raymond & John Heritage

finding the mother’s eyes for the very first time. It’s a bravura performance that ends with the class – composed of highly motivated graduate students who had some idea of what they might encounter, and a mix of variously motivated undergraduates, many of whom were surely caught off guard – absolutely mesmerized. How could we have missed, and misunderstood, what we’ve been doing for so much of our lives? We could never see it the same way again. For some of us it was the beginning of a much longer engagement – with him, with CA, with the study of talk-in-interaction. It was the beginning of an engagement that is still underway, with much still to be done, and many of the lessons he has to offer still being learned. Remarkably, Manny managed to sustain the exhilaration of that first day over the course of the term, and for the many terms that followed. The contrast between what he had to offer and virtually every other form of social science we had come across was stark. In his lectures and writings, however, Manny always emphasized the field’s lineage and the connection between its basic aims and the issues raised by Weber, ­Durkheim and other classical theorists. More proximately, he credited Goffman’s “contribution, almost single-handed, to sketching and warranting analytically, the boundaries and subject matter of a coherent domain of inquiry – that of ‘face-to-face interaction’” (Schegloff 1988: 90). In data sessions (themselves a radical innovation) and casual conversations Manny also praised Goffman as a uniquely astute analyst of human conduct. Although the approach that Manny pioneered with Sacks and later Jefferson ultimately diverged in important ways from the one developed by Goffman, the continuities are profound. As he has emphasized in various places, Goffman’s focus on interaction as the point of production for social life and the (resulting) radical re-specification of the social context relevant for analyzing conduct, his emphasis on the naturalistic study of face-to-face interaction “sub specie aeternitatis”, (Goffman 1983: 171; see also Goffman 1964), and his recognition – and insistence – that a science of social action depends on getting descriptions of ordinary behavior right (Schegloff 1988: 90), all had a profound impact on Manny’s thinking. As Manny has also noted in various places (e.g., see Schegloff, Ochs and Thompson 1996: 11–16) key elements of what emerged as CA were also drawn from G ­ arfinkel’s Ethnomethodology (Garfinkel, 1967). For example, Manny credits Garfinkel with introducing the notion of “practice” as an analytic and interpretive tool, and cites his concern for understanding the endogenous order produced by members’ methods and his emphasis on the situated, and contingent, character of sense-making and intersubjectivity as having made important contributions to CA. And as Sacks, Schegloff and Jefferson (1974) acknowledge in introducing the concept of ‘recipient design’, “We owe the possibility of ever having seen the importance of the particularization theme to our acquaintance with Harold Garfinkel” (Sacks, Schegloff and Jefferson, p. 727, Note 40). But of course CA entails much more than an analysis of the domain identified by Goffman using theoretical insights developed by Garfinkel. Indeed, the s­ erendipitous



Schegloff and the founding of a discovering discipline

use of audio (and later video) recordings of interaction as a form of data, the methodological innovations Manny developed in collaboration with Sacks to deal with this data, and the strongly cumulative findings that emerged in their early papers on action sequencing, turn-taking, and repair, bear all the hallmarks of a Kuhnian revolution in science. For example, Garfinkel primarily developed the problem of intersubjectivity as a conceptual matter by focusing on how participants selected and interpreted their circumstances. Sacks, Schegloff and Jefferson’s (1974) analysis of the turn-taking system for conversation, by contrast, led them to see that, for participants, the contingencies associated with the production and coordination of turns at talk furnished a procedural basis for resolving the problem of shared understanding. In conversation each (next) turn displays its speaker’s understanding of the prior speaker’s turn (and whatever other talk it marks itself as directed to), thereby allowing prior speakers to establish whether, and how, they have been understood. This, in turn, led Sacks, Schegloff and Jefferson to propose that the turn-taking system for conversation offered a “proof procedure” for analyses. Because speakers’ understandings are displayed to co-participants, they are available to professional analysts as well, “who are thereby afforded a proof criterion (and a search procedure) for the analysis of what a turn’s talk is occupied with,” (Sacks, Schegloff and Jefferson 1974: 45). Thus, in describing the practices participants use to compose and coordinate their actions, Manny and his colleagues developed a highly generative resource for professional analysts as well. In subsequent work Manny has shown that across a range of organizational domains (including repair, reference to persons and places, word selection, practices of description, and so on) professional analysts can exploit “resources intrinsic to the data themselves” to ground their analyses. Indeed, given just how much of the social lives of humans can be recovered from the analyses of such field recordings, he came to be skeptical about the possibility of grounding interactional phenomena that couldn’t be found in them. Manny’s concern for “getting it right”, together with his insistence that analyses be answerable to the singular occasions of interaction that are the locus of order in social life, (see Schegloff 1987; 1988/89) lie at the heart of his method for studying interaction. From Manny, we have learned that the research process begins with observations rather than questions. One begins by noticing something in the data being analyzed, and each next step in the analytic process – from the initial characterization of what has been noticed and where it occurs, to the b ­ uilding of a collection of candidate instances, to the process of progressively refining the phenomena by confronting “problematic instances or apparently deviant cases” (Schegloff 1968; 1996: 172) – provides occasions for disciplining, revising or otherwise sharpening one’s analysis. That the process begins and ends with what can be grounded in the materials being analyzed reflects Manny’s wariness regarding the ways that uncritically adopting concepts and explanations inherited from the field’s disciplinary past (including CA itself,

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Gene H. Lerner, Geoffrey Raymond & John Heritage

see Schegloff 2007c: 251–265) can obscure one’s grasp of phenomena, or stand in the way of new discoveries. Similarly, his observations about the complex relationship between practices and actions (Schegloff 1996; 1997), and between actions, identities, and institutional occasions (Schegloff 1991; 1992; 2002; 2007a) suggest a lively concern for the problems associated with generalization and a deep suspicion about the merits of abstract theorizing. For Manny, the description of practices and systems of practices, themselves constitute contributions to a theory of human sociality. At the same time, however, because Manny’s overriding aim is to understand what matters to participants, he has shown himself to be fundamentally open to the range of matters – social, cultural, physical/physiological, material, or (even para-) psychological (see Schegloff 2003 on so-called “ESP puns”) – that can be relevant for understanding what they do. The resulting methodological orientations maximize the possibility for new discoveries, in part by checking the all too human temptation to let disciplinary concerns, political orientations, or “what everybody knows” obscure our grasp of the participants’ world and thereby limit what we can learn from it.

3.  Schegloff and the foundations of conversation analysis In the 1970s and 80s Manny, together with Sacks and Jefferson, established CA’s foundations in a series of papers that described the basic components of what Manny later characterized as the “procedural infrastructure of interaction” (­Schegloff 1992: 1338; see also Schegloff 2005). In each of these highly generative papers Sacks, Schegloff and Jefferson (in different combinations) describe generic “tasks” that are basic to the conduct of talk-in-interaction across languages, places, cultures, occasions and participants. These tasks include: how participants work out who should talk next and when they should do so (Sacks, Schegloff and Jefferson 1974), how are adjacent utterances constructed as coherent courses of action (Schegloff 1968; Schegloff and Sacks 1973), how speakers deal with problems of speaking, hearing and understanding (Schegloff, Sacks and Jefferson 1977), how an occasion is structured and organized (Schegloff and Sacks 1973) and so on. The papers then identify the basic features of the practice – or system of practices – that participants use to manage each of these tasks. While each paper describes a distinct organization (e.g., for turn-taking, sequence organization, or repair), the basic features of those organizations are also shown to be interdependent. For example: ––

The turn taking system supports, and is adapted to, the sequential organization of actions, and its specification includes the place of adjacency pair sequences and the organization of repair in its features.



––

––

Schegloff and the founding of a discovering discipline

Practices for managing troubles in speaking, hearing, and understanding exploit both the turn taking system and the organization of action sequencing: Opportunities for initiating repair are distributed between self and other across a “repair initiation opportunity space” comprised of the current turn (and its transition space), next turn, third turn, but extend to third and fourth positions in a sequence (Schegloff 1992: 1317). The task of closing encounters depends on speakers using sequences of action to turn off the turn taking machinery, so that the completion of an utterance won’t occasion talk by others.

As these interlocking papers demonstrate, understanding one domain of organization provides the materials to understand others. The distinct organizations of practice these papers describe also share a number of key features that inform the basic “analytic mentality” (Schenkein 1978) of the discipline: They are basic structures of social organization, that, by virtue of the way that they are locally managed and party-administered, are capable of extraordinary context sensitivity. These properties are crucial insofar as they enable talk to be “brought under the jurisdiction of …recipient design” – that is, “the multitude of respects in which talk by a party in conversation is constructed or designed in ways which display an orientation and sensitivity to the particular other(s) who are the co-participants” (Sacks, Schegloff and Jefferson 1974: 727). It is difficult to overestimate just how novel these papers were both in terms of form and findings. Establishing a “naturalistic observational discipline” for the study of interaction (Schegloff and Sacks 1973) required a range of innovations beyond the analyses of the domains themselves, including how to give readers an independent basis for evaluating the authors’ claims, the use of collections of excerpts to demonstrate “how the system accounts for the facts” (Sacks, Schegloff and Jefferson 1974: 706–727), how to disentangle the (presumed) relationship between the organization of interaction and other orders of organization (e.g., culture, language, institutions, etc.; see Sacks, Schegloff and Jefferson 1974: 700 Note 10), and Jefferson’s development of the transcription conventions for presenting the conversational data in textual form. Given the radically new course these papers charted, it is remarkable how secure the foundations they established for CA have proven to be: What we know about the various organizations on which they report – turn-taking, sequence organization, repair, the overall structural organization of encounters, how speakers refer to persons and places, and so on – remains largely as specified in those early works, despite decades of subsequent work across languages, continents, and disciplines. After collaborating with Sacks and Jefferson in describing these structural underpinnings of talk-in-interaction, Manny went on to “build out” most of these foundational domains.

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Gene H. Lerner, Geoffrey Raymond & John Heritage

––

––

––

Following the early work that described the basic features of “adjacency pair sequences” (Schegloff 1968, Schegloff and Sacks 1973), Manny developed and systematized most of what we now know about sequence organization, including the various ways that sequences can come to be expanded (via pre-, insert-, and post-expansion), the relationship between these forms of sequence expansion, and the contingencies posed by the specific types of action (e.g., for offers, invitations, announcements, and so on) organized through them, (Schegloff 2007c), the different positions from which sequences can be initiated (e.g., in his work on retro-sequences), and even the ways that participants can manage the relevancies a sequence initiating action sets in motion (e.g., via counters). Following the original paper on repair Manny has built out the organization of the domain by detailing a range of repair operations speakers employ in same-turnself-initiated repair (Schegloff 2013), and elaborating our understanding of the “repair initiation opportunity space” in his papers on other-initiated repair (i.e., in next turn and fourth position, Schegloff 2000b), third turn initiation (Schegloff 1997) and repair after next turn (which also details the connection between the organization of repair and intersubjectivity, see Schegloff 1992). He has also demonstrated a range of ways that analyses of practices of repair can be used to understand other domains of organization, such as the relationship between practices and actions (Schegloff 1997), the notions of progressivity in turns (Schegloff 1979), and the sequential positioning of utterances that can be accomplished by either adding or subtracting elements of a turn when speakers set out to re-say “the same thing” (Schegloff 2004). Following the original paper on turn taking, Manny described the set of practices parties use to resolve who will speak next when sustained competition for a turn emerges (Schegloff 2000a), and developed the tools for ­understanding “turn organization” as an ecological niche to which grammars are adapted (Schegloff 1996).1

By contrast, Manny’s description of the practices for referring to persons reverses this process: if the early papers on person (and place) reference established two preferences that shape how practices of referring gets done, Manny’s later paper on referring to persons (Schegloff 1996) sketches out the basic organization to which those practices belong. To a remarkable degree then, Manny has, more than anyone else, built out the disciplinary knowledge base of CA through his discoveries across each of those o ­ riginally

.  And of course for still other areas, such as operation of membership categorization devices, and the relationship between membership categories and actions, Manny has built out areas that were more closely associated with his friend and colleague, Harvey Sacks (­Schegloff 2005; 2007a; 2007b).



Schegloff and the founding of a discovering discipline

specified domains. Indeed, the breath and depth of his contributions to CA over the last 35 years in large measure has established Conversation Analysis internationally as a distinct discipline, and has resulted in his considerable influence as a scholar across a wide range of disciplines – from sociology, anthropology, communication, linguistics and applied linguistics to education, psychology, neurology, computer science and engineering. Indeed, a recent tally by Google Scholar shows Manny as one of the most cited Sociologist in the world. Given the future trajectories of research his myriad discoveries have enabled, there is good reason to believe that his body of work will remain the center of gravity in CA and his influence will continue to expand across the disciplines.

4.  H  ow conversation works: Investigations in honor of Manny Schegloff The contributions to this volume, with a few exceptions, explain in their detailed descriptions, how conversation and other conduct in interaction are organized – that is, how conversation works. There are three exceptions: The volume opens with an extended interview with Manny himself and it ends with assessments of Manny’s work from two leading figures in neighboring fields. We begin by giving Manny the first word – or first words – in this volume designed to recognize and honor his contributions to the founding – and nourishing – of a discovering discipline: Conversation Analysis. Here we have his views about CA in his own words in a wide-ranging interview. The empirical studies that occupy most of the remainder of this volume begin with a set of chapters concerned with the multifaceted management of responding to sequence-initiating actions. These chapters effectively demonstrate the cumulative character of conversation analytic research by building on foundational descriptions of sequence organization (see especially, Schegloff 2007c). Pomerantz identifies several types of sequences in which the recipient’s response to a question reveals their understanding of its inferred purpose, and she then suggests the bases upon which recipients drew inferences about the query’s purpose. Koshik describes the design of response turns (when responding is relevant which she shows in not always the case) to WhQuestions whose purpose can be understood as challenging a recipient. Interestingly, she shows that type-conforming formulations (those fitted to the type of Wh-Question employed) are employed to undermine and thereby reject the challenge, whereas nontype conforming formulations are employed to align with the challenge that the WhQuestion implements. Lee shows how the act of fulfilling a request in an institutional context can become a collaboratively constructed task that extends over several sequences of action, rather



 Gene H. Lerner, Geoffrey Raymond & John Heritage

than just occupying the next turn after the request. Lindström, by contrast, examines responses to what she terms “remote proposals’ (requests, invitations, and so forth) that cannot be fulfilled during the current interaction. She demonstrates how producing an affirmative response token alone is not enough to implement acceptance, by showing that responses are ordinarily extended to incorporate a demonstration of commitment to fulfill the remote proposal. Finally, the chapter by Oh and Park examines the use of two response tokens ung and e, in Korean multi-unit turns at talk, arguing that while ung treats the turn-so-far as still in progress, e treats it as having made appreciation relevant. The preceding set of chapters expands our understanding of sequence organization. The following chapters engage two additional domains of conversational organization: repair and person reference. Egbert investigates the organization of repair, while Kitzinger and Wilkinson probe issues in the domain of person reference. Egbert, examining field recordings of German conversation, identifies a novel form of OtherInitiated repair, the ‘Positioned Question’. Although almost all other-initiated repairs locate their trouble source in the just prior turn – and are designed to select last speaker as next speaker – Positioned Questions are employed exclusively in multiparty conversation to locate a trouble source in an earlier turn at talk. Kitzinger and Wilkinson’s chapter builds on Schegloff ’s work on reference to persons to show just how and when gendered references (what they refer to as ‘linguistic gender’) is associated with ‘doing gender’ and when the social meaning of gender in these references can be disattended. Two contributions focus on aspects of the overall structural organization of occasions of talk-in-interaction. In the first of these, Drew takes up a theme that was inspired by Manny’s earliest investigations into telephone call openings and his repeated return to this phatic sliver of human conduct. Drew, in a new preamble written especially for this volume, describes the discipline-founding import of what at the time must have seemed like a rather bland routine. Drew’s own contribution builds on Schegloff ’s description of how identification and recognition are managed in call openings – and how this matters for who we are for each other – by examining nonrecognition and mis-identification in a call between husband and wife. Bolden, by contrast, takes up the “closing problem” posed by Schegloff and Sacks (1973). In particular, she explains how Russian speakers move into closing a conversation by describing both explicit and tacit methods that are used to launch the closings of a call in Russian, and then showing that the former methods are r­ egularly employed in non-closing-implicative environments, but when used in closing-implicative environments that they can do more than just open up the closing section of the call. Manny has always taken the view that although CA originated in English language studies, it should not be confined to English and that studies of interaction in other languages should ideally be performed by native speakers. Perhaps this is ­particularly the case for studies of discourse particles for which translation is ­frequently and



Schegloff and the founding of a discovering discipline 

s­ ystematically misleading. Some of the implications of these observations are explored in Wu and Heritage’s comparison of oh-prefaced turns at talk in Anglo-American ­English and a-suffixed turns at talk in Mandarin. This analysis of two ‘epistemic’ particles shows subtle differences in their use to register new information, and points to how misleading the translation of one into the other would be. Conversation Analysis from its beginning has been interested in conversation, but beyond that it has been interested in talk-in-interaction more generally. And beyond talk-in-interaction its originators have always been interested in other conduct beyond the talk in interaction, as well as aspects of interaction that did not involve the talk – or that did not involve any talk at all.2 This early interest in other-conduct-in-interaction is best exemplified by the description of the formal features of gesturing and other body-behavioral actions anchored to a “home position” (Sacks and Schegloff 2002 [1975]).3 Contributing to this line of work on visible action, Lerner and Raymond describe one relatively inconspicuous method for adjusting action in interaction that can be found across its mode of production. They first contrasted this with a set of more conspicuous methods for adjusting conduct and then show how such “action pivots” are employed in talk, gesture and manual action. In the final contributions to this volume, we end with assessments of ­Manny’s work by Couper-Kuhlen and Levinson. In “What a Difference Forty Years Makes” CouperKuhlen catalogues what Manny’s oeuvre has meant for the field of linguistics and how it is practiced today. In “Living with Manny’s Dangerous Idea,” (the title references Daniel Dennett’s well-known book on Darwin)4 Levinson finds it necessary to confront the power of CA to consume surrounding disciplines (rather like a black hole that consumes surrounding stars). We also include Manny’s brief response to this paper, thus giving Manny the final word.

5.  Manny Schegloff: A few concluding remarks Manny Schegloff has been the dominant force in crafting the shape of CA as it is now practiced. Manny’s fingerprints are all over CA’s findings, methods, standards and major theoretical formulations – as well as, all over our very particular rhetoric.

.  And even beyond interaction, CA has been interested in recognizable action – whether or not any actual inter-action was involved. .  Goodwin (1979; 1980) contributed another important strand of pioneering CA work on visible conduct. .  Dennett, Daniel C. (1995). Darwin’s Dangerous Idea: Evolution and the Meanings of Life. New York, Simon and Schuster.

 Gene H. Lerner, Geoffrey Raymond & John Heritage

And, this influence can also be found on the generations of students and scholars he has taught and inspired, who have then gone on to become some of the key contributors to our discipline. His has been a 50-year-long engagement with the empirical details of talk and other conduct in interaction, and by working away at the social world as members of our species find it, Manny has fashioned out of a world of particulars, what really amounts to a far-reaching, but carefully grounded, theory of human social action. Manny’s discipline-defining work has prepared a fertile field for others. And really, it is the vitality of CA, as can be seen in the contributions to this volume, that attests to Manny’s enduring contributions to this enterprise and to its bright future. No matter how good, or how innovative his work has been, it is really the fact that others can actually build on it that makes that work foundational to our discipline. CA was not announced or proclaimed, but emerged through sustained, cumulative, empirical work – very much of it produced by or inspired by the man this volume honors.

References Dennett, Daniel C. 1995. Darwin’s Dangerous Idea: Evolution and the Meanings of Life. New York: Simon and Schuster. Garfinkel, Harold. 1967. Studies in Ethnomethodology. Englewood Cliffs, N.J., Prentice-Hall. Goffman, Erving. 1964. “The Neglected Situation.” American Anthropologist 66: 133–136. doi: 10.1525/aa.1964.66.suppl_3.02a00090 Goffman, Erving. 1967. Interaction Ritual: Essays on Face-to-Face Interaction. New York: Anchor Books. Goffman, Erving. 1983. “The Interaction Order.” American Sociological Review 48: 1–17. doi: 10.2307/2095141 Goodwin, Charles. 1979. “The Interactive Construction of a Sentence in Natural Conversation”. In Everyday Language: Studies in Ethnomethodology, ed. by George Psathas, 97–121. New York: Irvington. Goodwin, Charles. 1980. “Restarts, Pauses, and the Achievement of Mutual Gaze at Turn-­ Beginning.” Sociological Inquiry 50 (3–4): 272–302.  doi: 10.1111/j.1475-682X.1980.tb00023.x Mannheim, Karl. 1936. Ideology and Utopia: An Introduction to the Sociology of Knowledge, trans. by Louis Wirth and Edward Shils. New York: Harcourt, Brace and World. Sacks, Harvey, and Emanuel A. Schegloff. 2002, “Home Position”, Gesture 2: 133–146. doi: 10.1075/gest.2.2.02sac Sacks, Harvey, Emanuel A. Schegloff, and Gail Jefferson. 1974. “A Simplest Systematics for the Organization of Turn-Taking for Conversation.” Language 50 (4): 696–735. doi: 10.1353/lan.1974.0010 Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1960. The Moral Temper of American Literary Criticism: 1930–1960. MA thesis, Department of Sociology, University of California, Berkeley. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1963. “Toward a Reading of Psychiatric Theory.” Berkeley Journal of Sociology 8: 61–91. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1968. “Sequencing in Conversational Openings.” American Anthropologist 70: 1075–1095.  doi: 10.1525/aa.1968.70.6.02a00030



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Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1979. “The Relevance of Repair for Syntax-for-Conversation.” In Syntax and Semantics 12: Discourse and Syntax, ed. by Thomas Givon, 261–288. New York: Academic Press. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1987. “Analyzing Single Episodes of Interaction: An Exercise in Conversation Analysis.” Social Psychology Quarterly 50 (2), 101–114.  doi: 10.2307/2786745 Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1988/1989. “Reflections an L’Affaire Bush/Rather.” Research on Language and Social Interaction 22: 215–240.  doi: 10.1080/08351818809389304 Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1988. “Goffman and the Analysis of Conversation.”  In Erving Goffman: Exploring the Interaction Order, ed. by Paul Drew and Anthony Wootton, 89–135. ­Cambridge: Polity Press. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1991. “Reflections on Talk and Social Structure.” In Talk and Social Structure, ed. by Deirdre Boden, and Don Zimmerman, 44–70. Cambridge: Polity Press. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1992. “On Talk and its Institutional Occasions.” In Talk at Work: Social Interaction in Institutional Settings, ed. by Paul Drew and John Heritage, 101–134. ­Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1996. “Turn Organization: One Intersection of Grammar and Interaction.” In Interaction and Grammar, ed. by Elinor Ochs, Emanuel A. Schegloff, and Sandra A. Thompson, 52–133. Cambridge: Cambridge University.  doi: 10.1017/CBO9780511620874.002 Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1997. “Practices and Actions: Boundary Cases of Other-initiated Repair.” Discourse Processes 23: 499–545.  doi: 10.1080/01638539709545001 Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2000a. “Overlapping Talk and the Organization of Turn-Taking for Conversation.” Language in Society 29 (1): 1–63.  doi: 10.1017/S0047404500001019 Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2000b. “When ‘Others’ Initiate Repair”. Applied Linguistics 21: 205–243.  doi: 10.1093/applin/21.2.205 Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2002. “Accounts of Conduct in Interaction: Interruption, Overlap and Turn-Taking.” In Handbook of Sociological Theory, ed. by Jonathan Tuner, 287–321. New York: Plenum Press. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2003. “On ESP Puns.” In Studies in Language and Social Interaction: A Festschrift  in Honor of Robert Hopper, ed. by Phillip Glenn, Curtis LeBaron, and Jenny Mandelbaum, 531–540. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2004. “On Dispensability.” Research on Language and Social Interaction 2: 95–149. doi: 10.1207/s15327973rlsi3702_2 Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2005. “On Complainability.” Social Problems 52 (4): 449–476. doi: 10.1525/sp.2005.52.4.449 Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2006. “Interaction: The Infrastructure for Social Institutions, the Natural Ecological Niche for Language, and the Arena in which Culture is Enacted.” In Roots of Human Sociality, ed. by Nicholas J. Enfield and Stephen C. Levinson, 70–96. London: Berg. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2007a. “A Tutorial on Membership Categorization.” Journal of Pragmatics 39 (3): 462–482.  doi: 10.1016/j.pragma.2006.07.007 Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2007b. “Categories in Action: Person-Reference and Membership ­Categorization.” Discourse Studies 9 (4): 433–461.  doi: 10.1177/1461445607079162 Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2007c. Sequence Organization: A Primer in Conversation Analysis. ­Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  doi: 10.1017/CBO9780511791208 Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2013. “Ten Operations in Self-Initiated, Same-Turn Repair.” In Conversational Repair and Human Understanding, ed. by Makoto Hayashi, Geoffrey Raymond, and Jack Sidnell, 41–70. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schegloff, Emanuel A., Elinor Ochs, and Sandra A. Thompson. 1996. “Introduction.” In Interaction and Grammar, ed. by Emanuel A. Schegloff, and Sandra Thompson, 1–51. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  doi: 10.1017/CBO9780511620874.001

 Gene H. Lerner, Geoffrey Raymond & John Heritage Schegloff, Emanuel A., and Harvey Sacks. 1973. “Opening up Closings.” Semiotica, 7: 289–327. doi: 10.1515/semi.1973.8.4.289 Schegloff, Emanuel A., Gail Jefferson, and Harvey Sacks. 1977. “The Preference for ­Self-­Correction in the Organization of Repair in Conversation.” Language 53 (2): 361–382. doi: 10.1353/lan.1977.0041 Schenkein, James. 1978. “Sketch of an Analytic Mentality for the Study of Conversational ­Interaction.” In Studies in the Organization of Conversational Interaction, ed. by James ­Schenkein, 1–7. New York: Academic Press.  doi: 10.1016/B978-0-12-623550-0.50007-0

A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff *† Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

CP: So, the standard question. Your present research programs as you conceive of them.

ES: Well I have three major sorts of research and writing undertakings to which I am committed. One is a book that I am working on; a second consists of a few substantial research projects which have been under development for varying amounts of time; the third is composed of a large collection of research “seeds” or “buds,” and I’ll have to come back to that to explain what I mean. One of the things I’m trying to work on now, at the urging of a number of colleagues, is a kind of synthetic manuscript that could provide something of an overview of CA work, at least as I understand it, and maybe could be used as a text for teaching purposes as well. It is largely based on the course sequence which I have been teaching for quite a few years at UCLA. This is no small undertaking, though I found that, until I got into it, I had no serious idea of what it would require. During a sabbatical leave a few years ago I developed an overall plan for the work, and started writing text. I ended up with what I thought of as one chapter of this book. It came to over 250 pages on “sequence organization,” so you can imagine the scope of the book that is in the offing; it almost seems as if each of the chapters might be a short book or something like that in its own right. So one of the projects is to produce a work that will be synoptic or synthetic, in the sense that it brings together the product of studies over the last twenty-to-thirty years in what, from my point of view, are the major topical areas that we work in. So there will be probably a chapter on turn taking, and one on turn organization; one on action formation, and one on sequence organization; one on repair, one on word selection, and one on overall structural organization of conversation.1 But there *  Editorial work to smooth the transition from conversational exchange to written text was undertaken while I was the grateful beneficiary of a Guggenheim Fellowship and a Fellowship in Residence at the Center for Advanced Study in the Behavioral Sciences, Stanford, CA, under support provided to the Center by The National Science Foundation through Grant # SBR- 9022192. † 

This interview was originally published in Discussing Conversation Analysis: The work of Emanuel A. Schegloff, edited by Carlo L. Prevignano and Paul J. Thibault (2003): 11–55. .  Actually I recently had occasion to draft about half of the chapter on word selection in preparing a paper for a volume on anaphora which focuses on person reference (Schegloff, 1996b), and this is to be taken up in the chapter on word selection. doi 10.1075/pbns.273.02cme © 2017 John Benjamins Publishing Company

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

will have to be other chapters – and other kinds of chapters – as well, for example relating the work in conversation analysis to the half dozen conventionally bounded disciplines that surround us – so, its relationship to sociology, to linguistics, to anthropology, to communications, to psychology, to philosophy, or to some elements of these disciplines. There will have to be discussions of methodological commitments, theoretical background and the contributing streams of prior work on which CA has drawn. I’ll try to have a chapter on doing a piece of work, including transcription, making observations, making collections, and so on. And there should probably be a chapter whose title – this probably could be a whole book in its own right – whose title is the frame sentence, “The trouble with conversation analysis is … ” (laughter), and of course there are many ways of finishing that sentence and many replies to each of them. So, as you can see, this is a considerable undertaking, and I have to do it in a way that will make it accessible to students while at the same time providing a level of sophistication for already working professionals and scientists. So that’s one ongoing project, and I don’t know how long it will take to finish it. (To Cmejrková) You wanted to ask something. SC: Yes, I wanted to ask a few things, but you continue on and I will ask them later. ES: OK fine. Another ongoing project is this. Several years ago I had a grant from the National Science Foundation to study what we call “other-initiated repairs.” These are repairs initiated by the hearer of some utterance who has had, or at least claims to have had, some problem in hearing or understanding it. The project had a number of analytic goals: one set of goals focussed on the variety of forms which other-initiated repair can take, what consequences these have and how we are best to understand the circumstances of their selection. A second set of analytic issues concerned the use of other-initiated repair sequences as a kind of prototype case of sequence organization. But the project was designed to speak to other themes as well, even if less centrally. One of the “troubles” which gets mentioned in the frame “The trouble with CA is … ” is the absence of quantification in CA work, and the claimed disinclination among conversation analysts to deal with large amounts of data. Now, as with many such “troubles with CA,” there are prima facie counters to the complaint. My own first published work in CA (Schegloff, 1968) dealt some 500 instances of what I was dealing with, and subsequent work (both my own and that of many colleagues, for example, I think of Gail Jefferson2 and John Heritage,3 among others) has also often dealt with .  For example, Jefferson, 1989 and 1993 among many others. .  And have nonetheless left a lot out, for example, my parallel education in Jewish studies, through my college years; my first degree is a Bachelor of Jewish Education – B.J.Ed., 1957 – the year before my Harvard B.A. When I cast my lot with the study of interaction, the path



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff 

substantial collections of instances. I’ve also now written a paper on quantification and the study of interaction (Schegloff, 1993). But the “other-initiated repair” study was also designed to work with a very large number of instances, and ended up with over thirteen hundred of them. Each one of them, of course, requires careful analysis as an episode in its own right, so that project has taken a very long time to develop, even after the formal end of the grant some years ago. So work continues on that project as an enduring preoccupation (though there have been publications from it, for example, Schegloff, 1997b). By the way, that project was designed to address another of the “troubles with CA…,” and that is the complaint that conversation analysis is thoroughly anglophone, or exclusively English in orientation. So when, several years ago, I realised that I was working with seven or eight graduate students who were natives of seven or eight different societies and cultures, native speakers of seven or eight different languages – German, Finnish, Swedish, Hebrew, Korean, Japanese, etc., – all of whom were quite far along in their training, we launched a project on other-initiated repair across languages and cultures which was very exciting but, unfortunately, was unable to attract the research support necessary to underwrite a seriously sustainable research ­undertaking. (Still, there have been results of that project as well, for example, Egbert, 1996, 1997a; Kim, 1993). I might mention that this business about CA being exclusively anglophone is something of an historical accident. CA work has been done on materials from c­ ultures and in languages quite different from American English – as different as Finnish (Sorjonen, 1996), German (Egbert, 1997b and op. cit.), Japanese (Hayashi, 1999; Hayashi and Mori, 1998; Hayashi, Mori and Takagi, frth; Lerner and Takagi, 1999; Tanaka, 1999), Korean (Kim, 1999 and op. cit.; Park, 1998), Mandarin (Wu, 1997), Swedish (Lindström, 1994), Thai (Moerman, 1977, 1988), and others (to cite only l­anguage/ culture complexes, and writers, with all but one of whom I have been associated, only work published in reasonably accessible places, and only a single reference to each, else there would be a great many more citations, languages, etc.). So the work is not differentially suited to English, nor are there languages that we know about that resist analysis along conversation-analytic lines. My own belief is that the best way to have this work done in other languages is to have native speakers of those other languages and native members of those cultures learn how to do the analysis and then go to

I did not take was the study of the expected demise of the Yiddish language and the culture revolving around it, a project I was going to call (borrowing from the British literary critic, Christopher Caudwell (1938), who meant something quite different by it) “Studies in a Dying Culture.” The sustained engagement with topics in which language figures seems quite likely related to my growing up with

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

work on materials in the culture and in the language that they have a native control over. That is what has been done in the languages I just mentioned. So it’s just a question of getting people from other cultures to come and learn how to do the work and then go to do it (my apologies to my anthropological colleagues; in our area, it seems to me, we need to explore increasingly the virtues of developing, if I may paraphrase Virginia Wolff, “anthropologies of our own”). So that’s one of the larger scale, continuing projects. I should add that the work on other-initiated repair is part of an ongoing series of studies which have appeared over the years about repair in various “positions.” This started with the overview presented in the paper with Jefferson and Sacks on “The Preference for Self-Correction” (1977), which sketched an organization of repair in various positions around the “troublesource” turn or “repairable.” There are papers then about “same turn” repair (such as Jefferson, 1974, and Schegloff, 1979) and what I call “third turn repair” (Schegloff, 1997c) and “third and fourth position repair” (Schegloff, 1992a some “special cases” are discussed in Schegloff, 1991a). The work on other-initiated repair is, in effect, about “second position” repair. So gradually we get more and more detailed studies and get them them in more languages and cultures and so I want to participate in that, filling in the picture, so to speak. That’s part of this second ongoing work commitment. Another project that comes to mind, of quite a different sort, is maintaining a lively and hopefully convincing dialogue with a number of disciplines and sub-disciplines which ostensibly work in the same area, or partially intersect the sort of work which my colleagues and I do. I think it’s useful to try to discriminate what we do respectively, not in a pejorative way but in a way that makes clear where the differences of opinion and commitment are, where it looks like either one or the other is going to be most productive, where they can both be working. So I’ve been writing some things in the last several years in particular directed at a field that I think is more widespread and has more vitality in the United States than in Europe (though exceptions in Europe immediately spring to mind!). It’s called “communications” or “speech communications” in the United States and people in that field have taken a lot of interest in conversation analysis in the last ten years or so. So I’ve been trying to work to build bridges to that field and join forces with people in that field who came across CA work and found it fruitful for their own interests. A lot of the work in the field of Communications emerged from information theory in the fifties and some of it from social psychology, and so there’s still some clarifying to be done about the difference between “communication” as an idea and “interaction” as an idea, and the difference between more traditional social psychological work on language and interaction and conversation analytic work. So that’s another project. Of course this interaction with other, more established disciplines continues with linguistics, anthropology, sociology, and so forth. Another research preoccupation for the last several years surfaced in the talk I gave at the conference which is the venue for this interview, and concerns the ­analysis



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff 

of interaction with “neurologically-compromised” participants (Schegloff, 1999, 2001 frth; Heeschen and Schegloff, 1999, 2001 frth). Even though my venture into dealing with people with neurological “problems” was actually quite accidental, there’s at least one important message I have wanted to get out, especially to people who are in the neurosciences. It mainly concerns the area that’s called now “the neurobiology of behaviour.” The main point, just to say it briefly and informally, is this. It’s clear that it is the neuroscientists who have to describe the brain and what about the brain underlies whatever behavior they’re trying to explain. The question is: who is going to describe the behaviour? Right now most of the behaviour being dealt with is of a relatively simple sort: small muscular movements, sensory experience, and the like, and these things can for now be described in pretty much commonsense or vernacular terms. But even now more complicated behaviour – for example, involving “rational” calculations of comparative value and risk (Damasio, 1994) – is being brought under examination, and this will surely continue and expand. As it does so, a descriptive apparatus of appropriate sophistication and relevance will increasingly be needed, especially (but not exclusively) for conduct in interaction, and commonsense terminology will not do. So, even though it will be quite some time before we and they get to that point, it will be useful for neuroscientists to understand early on what’s “on the other side of the river.” If you are going to build a bridge with the brain on one side and with ordinary human behaviour on the other side, it’s a good idea to know roughly how you’re going to be describing human behaviour so that you can build your “neuro”-discipline with an eye to that. That’s really most of what I want to get out of this neurologicallyoriented work I’ve been involved in. Of course, if I can help alleviate some of the misunderstanding of the folks who are beset by these problems, that would be most welcome, but theoretically the point is to open a dialogue with neuroscientists so we can see how the meshing of their concerns and ours might occur some day. (In the meantime, really outstanding work in this area is being done by my colleague Chuck Goodwin (1995, for example), much of which has yet to appear.) There are other substantial projects in much earlier stages of gestation – for example, one I call (after the title of Schütz’ essay, 1964) “Making Music Together,” for which I videotaped a string quartet’s series of rehearsals preparing a concert and then the concert itself. The initial motivating idea was to examine several distinct orders of interactivity which supply the infrastructure for making music together: the embodied interactive conduct of the playing itself, the interaction at rehearsal through which the playing is developed, and the interaction written into the score by the composer. At this point, I must say, I have no clear idea of what advances to conversation analysis are to be found here, but I have high hopes for my own enhanced appreciation of music and its realization, and perhaps that of others as well. In any case, the data are still being transcribed and I have no idea when I will be able to work on the project seriously.

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

I should say, however, that most of my research “growth points” are not in such large scale projects, nor do most of them have that sort of “on an agenda of work” status. The way my research work is organized is much more under the control of the data which I encounter – in literature which I read in journals or which people send me, in the work of my students and colleagues, in the regular data sessions which we hold at UCLA or at conference venues, etc. The way this works, briefly, is this. Some observation made about some data prompts me to open a folder – formerly on paper, now on the computer – about the observation and the phenomenon it seems to exemplify, the practice which it appears to instantiate, etc. As I encounter other candidate instances in other data which I happen to encounter, I add them to the folder. These folders grow by gradual accretion, then, and (in the first instance) not by any systematic search. At irregular intervals, I have a look at some of these folders, and seeing what has accumulated there may prompt a spurt of writing about seems to be going on, and that may prompt a systematic search for all the additional instances that I can find in some set of data corpora. And sometimes this may lead to writing up a paper, sometimes a little one to satisfy an invitation to do a paper which must fit into a twenty minute slot at a convention panel, sometimes a more major oral presentation, sometimes a written product which far exceeds what can be done in even a plenary address (as for example with Schegloff, 1996a, which followed just the trajectory described here, as is recounted in that paper). And sometimes it is the invitation to participate in a panel with a 20 minute paper that sets off a search through my directory of “collections” to find something suitable in content, potential length and interest for me and for the audience – which may, after an investment of time and work, turn out to have been a misjudgement. This is not best understood by reference to the phrase in the question to which I’m responding, which asked about “your present research programs,” except insofar as one might say I have one research program – developing our understanding of how it is with humans in talk-and- other-conduct-in-interaction, and how that relates to other disciplines whose activities intersect this domain. Within that research program, there are lots of “seeds” and “buds,” growing at different rates, at different stages of development, some of which will come to full flower while others do not (because they are/were wrong, because I lack the wit, because we do not yet know the things one must know first before we can understand them, etc.). There is, of course, no way of conveying what is included in the array of collections, but the book, if/when I get it done, will convey something of the domain within which they fall or which they are meant to expand. Oh, there is one other very major undertaking; maybe the most major one; certainly the one with the biggest claim on my time. We have quite a vibrant community of inquiry, however we define it. I mean whether you think of it in the most narrowly circumscribed terms, as conversation analysts, or in terms which include each of the



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff 

larger concentric circles that you can build up around that: linguistic anthropologists, students of dialogue, however you want to define it. But at the moment I’m thinking about the more narrowly defined group of conversation analysts. It’s quite vibrant and it has been growing in spite of a largely unfavorable academic environment, I think. Somehow we’ve survived and thrived. And it seems to me the most critical project for me right now, and for other colleagues who’ve reached relatively senior positions in the universities, is to help train a new and expanded generation of students who can then train students of their own. We need not only to produce work, but to reproduce workers. And that’s happening. But organizing and providing good training and helping people find secure positions is very time consuming. But it’s at least as important as the writing and the research itself, because there’s a natural and necessary end to that for each of us. But the way communities and disciplines develop depends entirely on the capacity to transcend an individual scholar’s life. (long pause) CP: How did you come to the enterprise called conversation analysis? The historical retrospective. ES: Well, I didn’t really, because there was no such thing as “conversation analysis” to come to – at least not in the sense of what has developed over the last thirty five years or so. CP: Well I mean the enterprise in the sense that your work’s called conversation analysis; how did that come into being? SC: Was it the usage of data of tape recordings that initiated your interest or was there your general idea of turn-taking that was at the beginning and then it occurred to you that … it might be tape recorded? ES: There’s no question that without tape recording it would not have thrived. It’s just improbable that it would have thrived as it did, and taken on the character that it has. On the other hand, I’m not a technological determinist. Tape recording had already existed for at least fifty years. In fact, social scientists had used tape recorders, including (perhaps even especially) students of interaction. For example, there was a famous social psychologist at Harvard where I had my undergraduate education, named Robert Freed Bales, who in the 1940’s and 1950’s studied small groups in the experimental social psychological tradition. When he started to do his work, he had graduate students coding the behaviour of these small groups as it happened in real time, but it became obvious at some point in his work that this was really not adequate. So Bales then began tape recording these experimental sessions and the research assistants would code the behaviour from the tapes into the analytic categories of the research project … and then they erased the tapes and re-used them. For Bales and a great many other social psychologists (and other students of conduct in interaction),

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

“the data” were the coded categories, the statistical frequency distributions in them, and the variables they represented, not the actual talk and conduct. So, the fact of actually having the tape recorder as an available technology didn’t determine anything. But it was almost certainly the case that without it we could never have had a field; and we can talk a little bit more in a moment about why that’s so. So, how did I come to be doing this (kind of) work? Well, the question is how much tape do you have. (laughter). I’ve actually written a little bit about some of the story in my Introduction to Volume I of Sacks’ Lectures on Conversation (1992:xii–xxx) and in an introduction to a posthumous publication of an early paper of Sacks’ (­Schegloff, 1999). Institutionally, the two most important converging intellectual backgrounds come from Goffman and Garfinkel, and this sort of background is discussed in the Introduction to Interaction and Grammar (Schegloff, Ochs and Thompson, 1996: 11–16) But if you’re asking the question biographically, I’ll tell it biographically rather than institutionally. You said: how did you come to it? I came to it in a way that is plausible and orderly only in retrospect. In real time, of course, it felt quite disjunctive. As an undergraduate at Harvard I had been interested in the sociology of knowledge, in Wissensoziologie, and pursued that interest under the guidance first of Talcott Parsons and then of B ­ arrington Moore, Jr. After I wrote an Honours thesis in that area in 1957–58, it occurred to me – I’m sure I didn’t think it as clearly at the time as I can say it now, but I sensed in an inarticulate way – that the things that were most studied by the “sociology of knowledge” included everything except knowledge. That suggested that there would be a separation between what was called sociology of knowledge and the sociology of science, and that to succeed as a sociologist of science you had better know some science and some mathematics; and I didn’t. So this was a problem, and when I got to Berkeley for graduate school, this converged with something that was just beginning as an intellectual development in the United States; perhaps in Europe as well. That was the development of what came to be called about ten to fifteen years later the sociology of culture and/or cultural sociology. During my first years of graduate school, I worked with (among others) Leo Lowenthal, a German emigré who had been one of the original members of the so-called “Frankfurt school” of critical theorists, who was among the pioneers of the sociology of literature, and also with Reinhardt Bendix, deeply immersed in continental social theory of a somewhat different sort. I ended up writing a Masters thesis (1960) in the sociology of literary criticism (a bit of it is described in Schegloff, 1997a). What was important about the thesis for the present story was its leading me to understand in a different way than I had previously how context could have a “bearing” on the form and substance of social life. In particular, in coming to understand the rise to predominance of a formalist style of literary criticism that (in the then canonical understanding of the social bases of ideas) ought to have been receding in influence



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff 

at just that time, I was led to focus not on the overall political/economic structure as the relevant “social context,” but on the much more immediate circumstances and practical exigencies of literary people – their increasing concentration in colleges and universities awash in the post-war democratization that brought to their classrooms students with little background in the sophisticated reading of great literature. The key was to be found in a more narrowly drawn, more proximate, sense of context. So that’s more or less where I came from, academically speaking. I was trained as a classical sociologist; when I took my Ph. D. exams, I was examined in social theory, in the sociology of culture/ knowledge, in social stratification (or class analysis), and in studies of deviance. But, in my third year of graduate school, I encountered this other graduate ­student named Sacks who had come to Berkeley two years after I did (having spent several years in law school and its aftermath). We were “auditing” the same course (in the U.S. that means attending the lectures but not enrolled for credit), and he would ask what seemed to me very unusual questions. One day we ran into each other on campus, we went to have coffee together, and we had (we both agreed subsequently) an amazing conversation; to each of us it was amazing, even though in different ways. It was from him … he had encountered Garfinkel … I won’t give you Sacks’ story; I’ve written some about that elsewhere (1992b:I, pp. xii–xvii; 1999). Briefly, after he had finished Yale Law School, he went to Cambridge (in the U.S.) for a while to try to figure out how the law worked, and he tried first to do it at Harvard with Talcott Parsons, but gave it up after a year. But, as it happened, the year that he was in Cambridge, ­Garfinkel was on sabbatical leave there. So Sacks encountered Garfinkel, found his thinking serious in a way which a lot of sociology was not serious, formed a relationship with him and became familiar with his writing. And so Sacks had in manuscript form a lot of Garfinkel’s work, and I got that from Sacks – an important new contribution to my own thinking. But of course in talking about the issues which were preoccupying him, Sacks had his own quite distinctive views, which in some ways overlapped with ­Garfinkel’s and in other ways were expressed quite differently. Altogether, an eyeopening encounter for me. What it was for Sacks would have been for him to tell, but that is no longer possible. Anyway, we became very good friends, talked together a lot, and worked together as much as we could until he was killed in 1975. But when we first met, he was coming from quite a different academic commitment. He had finished law school, and he came to Berkeley interested in industrial relations and collective bargaining. But through a friend of Garfinkel’s he had been alerted to Goffman’s work, and so we went to Goffman’s classes together. This is how the Goffman and the Garfinkel connections got made. Goffman ended up being my dissertation supervisor (and Sacks’ too; cf. Schegloff, 1992b: xxiii–xxiv and Note 18). With me he was a very nice combination of tolerance

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

and discipline, in the sense that he didn’t supervise the substance of the dissertation in any serious sense, or at least did not require much change in what I had written. In part, this was because he was surprised by what I was doing. Because he knew the work I had done in my first years at Berkeley, he thought of me as a theorist, as a critical theorist, as a Luftmensch of sorts, and the notion that I would actually be analysing data was, so he once told me, completely a shock to him. I had taken a job in Ohio in order to get access to the data I hoped to work on. I would come back to Berkeley, show him what I had written, he would go off and read it while I waited in his study, we would discuss it, and he would pretty much leave it alone. There was one exception. He said to me at one point that it was a responsibility of writing a dissertation to survey the literature of the field in which the dissertation was being written. But, he said, there was no field in the area in which I was writing; there was no literature to survey. But that did not mean that I didn’t have to survey the literature. Rather, he said, I had to survey the literature of all the fields that were contiguous to what I was working on – and he specified some nine fields for me to survey the literature of. That was another six months of my life – to review the literatures of all these areas. In the end this turned out to be very valuable. At the time, of course, I resented it deeply. But, the exposure to all this literature added to my prior training a resource that was invaluable to building an academic career. In my first several years at B ­ erkeley, I had done almost every kind of sociology there was: I was a survey researcher for a year, I did historical research, political sociology, etc. etc. It turned out to be very important, because the way I earned my way and found a place in the universities in which I taught as a junior faculty member was not because people necessarily appreciated or understood what I did – the work on conversation was pretty much an enigma to sociologists in those days (and to many sociologists these days as well). I was able to make my way in the University because I could talk sociology or philosophy or psychology or anthropology with my colleagues on their terms, to their satisfaction and so they were willing to tolerate this crazy thing that I said I was doing. And I think Goffman’s insistence that I know all these other literatures contributed to my ability to earn my way in ways distinct from my own work. This contribution aside, I learned from Goffman of the very possibility of studying interaction per se, and of the possibility of description as a serious disciplined undertaking. If the M.A. Thesis had helped me focus on a narrower sense of social context than the earlier macro- sociological orientation to which I had been exposed from the perspectives of both the right/centrist sociology of Parsons and the left-oriented sociology of Moore and of many at Berkeley, Goffman brought into view a much more proximate sense of social context … by several orders of magnitude. There’s one other piece to this puzzle (and we haven’t yet gotten to the conversation analysis!). And that is that when Sacks came to Berkeley he came in the first instance to work with a sociologist named Philip Selznick, who had been a student



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff 

of bureaucracy and organizations in the 1940’s and 1950’s, and had gotten interested in law, and had just founded an Institute called The Center for the Study of Law and Society. Selznick arranged to bring a number of graduate students into the Center, essentially as junior fellows. For the 1962–63 academic year, Sacks was one of them, I was one of them and there was a third – one of a triumvirate of graduate students who used to hang out together – named David Sudnow. And so we were all at the Center that year, all working together and at this point we were all to varying degrees, as we say in America, ‘into’ ethnomethodology, pretty much of a Garfinkelian sort. (I have written a bit about that year in Schegloff, 1999). There was still no conversation analysis in the sense that that term later came to have. I think in many ways Sudnow was into the Garfinkelian version of ethnomethdology the most; Sacks had a distinctive stance in that area, and I was halfway in and halfway out, and I think they recognized that. I started a dissertation in Berkeley that was concerned with a question in the sociology of law, at least I was treating it as that. The question was how a/the society decides whether its members are responsible for their own conduct or not. What I undertook to study was the plea of “insanity” as a defense to criminal charges. In the United States (as an inheritor of British common law), if someone has been accused of a felony one thing they can do is claim to be “not guilty by reason of insanity” – because they were insane at the time of the felonious act, they are/were not responsible for their own conduct. My plan was first to study how this is dealt with legally, and then to examine how this was dealt with psychiatrically. At that time, in California, if a defendant pleaded “not guilty by reason of insanity,” two psychiatrists were appointed by the court, they interviewed the defendant in the jail and from the exchange of talk between them, they offered an opinion about whether this person was insane or not, and therefore responsible or not. My plan was to tape record the interview, obtain the psychiatrist’s informal notes and formal report, as well as any testimony that might be subsequently offered in court, and then track the series of transformations which began with some talk in the initial interview and ended with a finding concerning “responsibility.” It became obvious very quickly that to do both the legal side and the psychiatric side was impossible. Since my father was a psychiatrist, and since that was where the talk was, I quickly decided to work on the psychiatric side. But there were so few cases of insanity pleas in the local courts that I simply could not do the project in the Berkeley area. So at the end of that academic year, I moved to Los Angeles because it had a vastly larger court system and I expected there to be many cases of people pleading insanity. Now, as it happens, because there was a vastly larger court system, there was an administrator who ran the court system, and he was suspicious about any sociologist poking around in “his” system, and he eventually blocked my access to the data, so after a year and a half I had no dissertation. But in the meantime Sacks had also moved to Los Angeles to be (with Garfinkel) a Fellow of the Center for the Study

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

of Suicide. So we were both living in Los Angeles, and it was during that year that work of the sort now recognized as conversation analysis got started. As it happened, the Suicide Prevention Center received telephone calls from people who were suicidal or who were with suicidal people in search of help, and the Center tape recorded those calls and had someone transcribe them – stenographically and badly, as it turned out, but they were transcribed and that somehow made them accessible to examination in a different way. Sacks got a hold of some of those tapes and it was a windfall. For years, Sacks had had the habit of attending to conversations going on around him – in cafés, at bus stops, in supermarkets, and so forth – and often jotting down bits and fragments of what he heard in a little notebook he always had with him. But the taped and transcribed calls did not have to be overheard, did not have to be jotted down on a single hearing. The material made available that way supplied the raw material for the start of this work. I count the start to have been in an exchange which I described in the introduction to Sacks’ Lectures. We were at the UCLA campus one day and he proposed to try out a conjecture he had about some data from one of the suicide calls. This was a particular call to the suicide center in which someone “didn’t hear” what the answerer at the suicide prevention center had said and by the time the “repair” was accomplished (we weren’t calling it repair at the time, of course; it was just an observation), somehow the caller had managed to avoid identifying himself. Sacks connected that observation with discussions that the personnel of the Suicide Prevention Center were preoccupied with because they needed to get the names of the callers to the Center (to document their service function for their sources of financial support), and they too often couldn’t get them. It seemed that if they couldn’t get the caller’s name at the beginning of the call, they couldn’t get it at all; and the easiest way of getting the caller’s name was that the answerer – the psychological volunteers who answered the phone – would give their name and they would often get the caller’s name back in return. But when the answerer on the phone said, “hello, this is so-and-so. Can I help you?” And the other person said, “ I’m sorry I didn’t get your name,” “this is so-and-so,” “oh,” and they didn’t give their name in exchange, there was trouble. So it was at that point that Harvey said, “Do you think that could be systematic?”. (Some remark by CS) ES: Ok. So, it’s hard to say at what moment conversation analysis “started,” but if I had to pick a point, that’s the point I would pick. Harvey started from then to work intensely on the suicide calls, and then on other data he managed to tape record – in particular a number of group therapy sessions with adolescents, conducted by a psychologist also affiliated with the Suicide Prevention Center (though the group therapy sessions themselves were unrelated to the Suicide Center’s activities).



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff 

For my part, I learned a few months later that my access to the data for the dissertation I had been working on for 18 months was blocked. I had no dissertation, I had a wife, I had no income, I had to find something else to do. It seemed to be a disaster, but it turned out to be a fortunate accident. I found out about a research center in Ohio which had telephone calls to the police. I asked if I could get them. They said, “we don’t give the data to people who don’t work for us. However we have a job as a research associate.” They were paying $9,000 a year. This was three times as much money as I had ever earned in my life, so we went to Ohio, and there I got the data from which I wrote my dissertation. The cost of that “fortunate accident” was, however, that Harvey and I were no longer together and for the next seven years we could only work together sporadically, during holidays and for brief spells in the summer. Finally in 1972, when I got a job at UCLA, I went back to the West coast and we had just about three years of working together more sustainedly, and then he was killed. About that first episode of CA, and the work that followed it, I must say that we had no idea, no sense of what lay ahead. I can only speak for myself. I had no idea what all this was going to amount to. I doubt that Harvey did and we had very different kinds of minds. It turned out that they were peculiarly complementary; we thought the same in some ways and very differently in others. So maybe Harvey had an idea of what might develop from the outset; I don’t think so. Later on, of course, it became clear – at least to us – that something substantial might well be involved. There’s a place in his diaries where he writes about us as two little boys. There we are wandering around really having no idea the depths that this would go to, the extensiveness of it. We’ll never know what discipline it would have turned into had he still been alive. Anyway, I’ve gone into a lot of detail here.4 The upshot is that, intellectually, I came to conversation analysis via these way stations. It started at Harvard with an interest in the sociology of knowledge and a classical sociological canvas of largely macrosociological shape. Several things happened to that. First, recognizing the imminent divergence and separation of the sociologies of science and culture, I took the path of sociology of culture. Second, I found myself dealing with the puzzle of literary criticism in the U.S. in the period 1930–60, and ended up with a “solution” at a different level of social context than the macrosociological one with which I had started – more proximate, more practically engaged in the thinker’s life, more “real,” even if not entirely disengaged from larger social contexts. Third, Garfinkel gave

.  I discuss this form of speech act theory in greater detail in Schegloff, 1992b and 1992c: xxiv–xxvii. The bearing on Habermas is briefly addressed in 1992a: 1139–41. Other problems with Habermas’ stance toward communication and its place in social life and inquiry into it are taken up in Schegloff, 1996a: 209–212.

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

me resources that consolidated my critiques of the several sociologies I had tried – Parsonian, survey, political, etc. Looking as I was for honest, defensible, engaging work, Garfinkel made it impossible for me to continue doing the received sociology. Fourth, Goffman made interaction a viable topic of inquiry, in a fashion different from the social psychology I had previously been exposed to. Finally, the interest of Harvey’s mind, and our “clicking” together, provided the context for exploring what might be doable instead. SC: May I ask a question because I think you told us about your present projects and about the history and may we ask you about the perspectives. You mentioned some of them in connection with the project the last but one, the description of behaviour and especially using video recordings. I think it was the background to your paper which you gave at the Prague congress. So, do you have any idea of how this direction could continue in the future? Because you mentioned that you had short strips of behaviour and now it is possible to maybe break out more and larger complexes of behaviours so have you any idea … I know I am very convinced because I’d like to know ES: I’m not sure I’ve understood the question properly but let me answer the one I think you’re asking and if that’s not the one you’re asking you’ll correct me. There are two ways of extending out from a little bit of material. One is to have many instances of such bits (by “such bits” I mean bits which have the feature(s) being examined), and the other is to have larger bits. (SC: larger bits, yes.) And I think there’s an interest in both of these ways of extending the basis for analysis. But before talking a bit about each of these, let me just say as a matter of general principle that it seems to me that directions of development in this work are driven by two forces, and they are of quite unequal and asymmetrical weight, in my judgement. The most important consideration, theoretically speaking is (and ought to be) that whatever seems to animate, to preoccupy, to shape the interaction for the participants in the interaction mandates how we do our work, and what work we have to do. One of the reasons there has been a focus for many years now on relatively small bits of conduct is because we can show that the participants are oriented to constructing the talk and other conduct in detail, and that makes that level of detail – with those facets of detail – matter for the participants, and that is the warrant for our focussing on them. It is not just that it appears “clever” or “insightful,” or that most persons – including most professional students of human conduct – are not aware of seeing these details (though they must be doing so if they are making their way through life in the company of others), and we can elicit an “ahah!” experience in them by describing in detail what goes on and how it gets done. It’s that we think that this level of detail in such small chunks of interaction demonstrably matters to the participants. Not that they could tell us that if we asked them; it is not a matter of self-conscious awareness, of what Giddens termed “discursive consciousness;” but that they in fact appear to



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff 

construct – and “take care” to construct – their conduct in these ways, and to understand the conduct of others by reference to them. So, the primary consideration that theoretically justifies this aspect of our work – this level of focus – is the demonstrable orientation and conduct of the participants in the interaction which we study, that is, it is grounded in, and warranted by, the data as we understand it. To the degree that we can progressively become aware of, and show the orientation by the participants to, larger stretches of the talk as organizational units for the participants in constructing and interpreting talk-in-interaction, we can find methodological resources for capturing those and studying them as well. That’s a direction in which the work will develop, and has already developed to some degree (see for example, Jefferson, 1988; Jefferson and Lee, 1981; Schegloff, 1980, 1990, 1992, 1995b). So, that’s one of the things that drives the direction of work, and that can drive it from small to larger bits of data (but also from small bits to smaller bits). The other thing that shapes the focus and development of research is interaction with our academic colleagues. Now, that is a much more problematic matter, because often our academic colleagues are motivated by considerations other than the demonstrable relevance to the participants. In particular, they are most often motivated by the traditional or contemporary preoccupations of their discipline, by its current theoretical commitments or controversies, by the methodological paradigms currently in favor or seeking to be, by the apparent political tenor or implications of various directions of work, and the like. These often have as much or more to do with the situation of inquiry for the investigators than with the situation of interaction for the participants. Now arguably inquiry can never be free of the contexts in which it is framed and pursued, and it would be naive and pointless to pretend otherwise. But the impossibility of de-contexted inquiry is no excuse for analytical libertinism – for abandoning the effort to make the terms and practices of research as much responsible as possible to the demonstrable features of the data, at the very least to avoid as much as possible making the terms of inquiry incompatible with the internal features of what is being studied, and not superceding them (for example, theorizing as if every action in interaction was an independent “atomic particle,” rather than conditioned by its position in a stream of interaction). And nowhere is this more in point than with sentient actors who bring their own orientations and their own understanding of what is transpiring to the arena of action, understandings and orientations which are the critical formative input on which is based the construction by them of the next bit of the data which is being studied. I would like my own work to be motivated virtually exclusively by what is demonstrably relevant to the participants in the way they construct and understand the conduct which they build together. Obviously most people working in the social and human sciences are not as exclusively driven by those preoccupations. In interacting with them and the analytic terms of their own work as well as their critiques of, and recommendations for, our work, we have had to talk

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

about other things that are not demonstrably relevant to the interactants whose lives we study. And some of the interest in conversation analysis expanding the range of the units which it addresses is grounded in such considerations, in efforts to make CA commensurate with other undertakings in the social and human sciences on grounds other than its relevance to the materials being studied. So, what I try to do, to the degree that I can and I’m sure that this does not win us any friends, is I try to defer as long as I can answering academic colleagues who insist that we speak to these issues. So many people (this is actually something I welcome the chance to talk about) complain a lot about conversation analysis – maybe not all conversation analysts, but certainly they complain about me – that I don’t cite lots of other work, for example, that seems ostensibly to be in the same area. This is something I feel really bad about in some cases; the texts in question are in fact the product of engagement with repeatably examinable, naturally-occurring materials examined with differing interests in mind and arriving at different results; and too often I just can’t read all of it, and/or have failed to do so. But in a great many instances, even though work in other fields and styles of inquiry seems to be about the same subject matter, it is not about the same subject matter. It’s about common-sense knowledge of, or supposition about, what goes on in the empirical mundane world (as often in some variants of linguistics and philosophy) or accounts that are based on other methodologies which, however respectable their histories are, seem to me no longer the state-ofthe-art in the study of naturally occurring human interaction. These days, only such work as is grounded in tape (video tape where the parties are visually accessible to one another) or other repeatably (and intersubjectively) examinable media can be subjected to serious comparative and competitive analysis. So, even though people seem to have very robust concepts and analytical tools, if they are grounded in very different kinds of materials (as for example in ethnographic observation based on one exposure in real time yielding remembered, necessarily selective, field notes which supply the basis for subsequent thinking and writing about the episode in question), from my point of view they are ordinarily not about the things that I study. Nonetheless, there is a pressure to speak to those literatures and those preoccupations, and that regularly includes a pressure to examine different – and larger – units of interaction than have been central in the past. Where the two converge, where our academic colleagues want us to deal with longer stretches of talk, for example, and that converges with a demonstrable orientation by the participants in the interaction to such larger trajectories, it is of course an inviting thing to do and some will take up that invitation. But I think it’s also important to recognise that we do not start to work on longer stretches of talk because we have pretty much exhausted the shorter ones. Frequently people get this impression. Students especially talk as if all the work on turn-taking has been done and there’s nothing left for them to do. It’s a terrible misconception! Just because there’s



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff 

a lot of literature, it doesn’t mean it’s all correct. It doesn’t mean that everything has been “covered.” In part this misperception is an artifact of people learning what the problems are from the little literature that there is. Until they become more competent and autonomous investigators, they’re not in a position to see for themselves that there’s a wide open empirical domain, only little islands of which have actually been explored. This comes only from looking at data with an open mind both to the relevance and adequacy (when merited) of past work and to the relevance of that domain (e.g., turntaking, repair, etc.) for other observable features of the data along lines not previously registered in the literature. So, I think almost certainly there will be people who try to deal with longer stretches of talk and with more instances of stretches of various sizes but that’s not because other areas have been used up. It’s just because we’ve increasingly developed the analytic tools to do that and it seems in fact relevant to the participants in the data being examined. For example, in this long chapter on sequence organization that I have drafted for the book I am writing (and also in Schegloff, 1990), I try to show just this – that there are exceptionally long stretches of talk that can be shown to be constructed on the armature of a single underlying unit of sequence construction; that is, there can be very long sequences indeed – some of them running four, five, six pages of transcript and longer. That means segments as long as twelve minutes or longer, in which all of the talk is really built on a single adjacency pair with multiple expansions, and one doesn’t really understand the coherence of that stretch of interaction without seeing that it’s based on a teeny little thing. So “teeny little” and “great big” are not really necessarily alternatives to each other. Often the way of understanding “great big” is to understand “teeny little.” I think I’ll skip talking about extending analysis from a single little extract by examining many little extracts; I have written about that in various places (inter alia, Schegloff, 1996: 174–81; 1997b:501–2 et passim), and I think you were mainly interested in the possibility of expanding the size of the targets of inquiry. Did I speak to your question? SC: Yes, yes I think that you did. TP: Some people comment with concern about the formalism of some of the work in conversation analysis, especially in view of the reaction against much formalism in other approaches to language. This is a common reaction, for example, to the paper on turn-taking in 1974. Can you say something about formalism and alternatives to it in this area of work? One of the most puzzling reactions to the turntaking paper for me is the claim that it is merely formalistic, concerned only with forms and rules and structure, and not with action or “meaning.” As puzzling is the extension of this characterization to other conversation analytic work, for example work on sequence organization or repair, and

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

in some instances to conversation analytic work generally. Leaving aside the implicit theoretical and analytic antinomies which underlie the expressed concerns which might themselves merit discussion, let me instead respond by considering briefly why it was in point to have a “systematics” for turn-taking at all, how it related to other work at the time, and how that juxtaposition may have partially prompted the reaction to the work as “formalism.” So why was it in point to have a systematics for turn-taking? Here is one view, briefly put. From early on in conversation-analytic work, a great many analyses of discrete bits of talk-in-interaction seemed to prompt, and then be shaped by, observations about the construction of utterances in turns. These were analyses otherwise largely directed to what some utterance was doing or how some activity was constructed, and yet they required reference to turn-oriented practices. Sacks’ Lectures (1992) are full of such discussions, ones which involve only truncated observations about turn-taking organization – just enough to return to the preoccupation on whose behalf they were undertaken. I offer just one case in point out of many. Much of Sacks’ treatment of story-telling in conversation and its sequential organization (aside from 1992, passim, cf. Sacks, 1974) is launched from two observations. First, that units like clauses and sentences can constitute possibly complete turns, on whose completion transition to a next speaker may become relevant; and, second, that virtually in the nature of the case, stories take more than one such unit to tell. This pair of observations leads to the recognition and formulation of the problem for prospective tellers of getting to tell the whole story – namely, that at the first possible completion of a turn unit, or any subsequent one, a recipient may start talking along lines which frustrate a continuation of the telling. They lead as well to one solution to that problem for prospective tellers – the story-preface and the sequence which it initiates (e.g., “A funny thing happened on the way to the forum”), and the place of that sequence in the larger organization of story-telling. The focus here was story-telling in conversation, but it required an incursion into turn- taking organization to explicate important parts of its structuring. There are many such discussions in the Lectures, including ones addressed to even more ­narrowly circumscribed “actions.” So also in Jefferson’s work around the same period. Those familiar with the so-called “precision- placement” paper (Semiotica, 1973) may recall how multi-faceted were the ways in which what someone was doing was contingent on where in the developing structure of a turn some bit of talk was placed. And this theme figured in my own early work as well – on sequence structure, on overlapping talk, on conversational openings, and the like. All these analytic exercises had, however, a scent of the ad hoc about them. They articulated only those observations about turn-taking which were prompted by, and were needed for, the exigencies of the “other” analytic project in progress, whatever



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff 

it happened to be. They were, in that sense, opportunistic. They pointed to a larger domain of organization, and were parasitic on it, but always turned as quickly as possible to the project for which they were borrowing. But if that more extensive turn-­taking organization was there, and if so often the elucidation of other particular practices, devices, phenomena, activities, etc. relied on facets of that turn-taking organization, it was virtually mandatory that our understanding of it not be limited to those aspects we were directed to by what were, strictly speaking, exogenous interests. At some point, turn-taking had to be examined as a domain in its own right, so as to make explicit the fund, the resource, on which we were so often drawing. Of course, that meant that there would be (in that undertaking) no quick return to a more limited, action/activity/device/or practice as the topical preoccupation and analytic payoff. And it is that juxtaposition – between the terms on which turn-taking had previously figured in conversation- analytic work, and the way in which it figured in this, systematic, undertaking – which I think engendered in many readers of the turn-taking paper a sense of desiccated formalism, of “the clacking of ‘turns’ over their ‘possible completion points’,” as Michael Moerman (1988:xi) so graphically and disapprovingly put it several years ago. It appeared as if the situated substantive analysis of discrete actions and discrete episodes of interaction and their interactional import had been severed from the explication of the formal organization of turn-taking itself. However understandable as a narrative line, I think this is a deeply flawed understanding of the place of formal and systematic analysis in the larger enterprise of studies of talk-in-interaction – whether the formal analysis is of turn-taking, of sequence organization, of repair, or of any other organizational domain of practices of talk-ininteraction. In my view, such formal resources are like a reservoir of tools, materials and know-how from which particular academic analytic undertakings can draw in inquiry, because practicing interactants draw on them in concertedly constructing what transpires in interaction. That is why disciplined control of these analytic resources should be part of any competent analyst’s tool kit – not necessarily particular terminologies, only the actual phenomena and practices which such work has in the past brought to attention. Only now they have been explored and described more systematically as an ordered set of practices – a domain of organization with determinate internal shape. I can’t, however, give the most effective response to your question within the context of an interview. That would be to exemplify the claim I have just made about the role of formal work by examining several bits of data and their explication to show the role which the resources provided by formal analysis of the sort exemplified by work on turntaking or sequence organization can play in examining stretches of talk-in-interaction, including the action import of their components. For that I will have to refer interested readers to various papers (among my own, readers may find particularly suitable Schegloff, 1987, 1995a, 1996a, 1996b, 1997a, 1997b) which I hope embody the opposite message, which is this. It is ill-considered to fault a focus of

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

f­ ormal inquiry (like turn- taking or sequence structure or repair or vernacular poetics) simply for not taking “meaning” or “action” as its officially central pre-occupation; for it may be by reference to just such formal features of the talk that action, and what is vernacularly termed “meaning,” are constituted and grasped in the first instance. The upshot is that analytic resources which were developed as part of formally-oriented inquiry into what can be called “generic” organizations for talk-in-interaction serve as tools in explicating the action and interactional import of particular episodes of interactional conduct. But here I can give only a promissory note. The payoffs are to be found in the papers – by various workers in the field – which bring these resources to bear on other data with results which people must be finding worthwhile, else there wouldn’t be the interest in this field which has prompted this very interview. SC: (to CP) So it’s your turn now. CP: I’d like to insist a little bit more on historical, autobiographical matters. Not about Sacks; there you have told enough. About two other figures you mentioned, Garfinkel and Goffman. Would you like to say something about Garfinkel and Goffman? I think as a younger researcher you tried to find out your own answers, to develop some distance. ES: OK. Let me talk a bit about Goffman. I’ll try to avoid repeating some things I’ve written about Goffman and my (and CA’s) relationship to him elsewhere (Schegloff, 1988). Goffman was a shock to me. As I remarked earlier, I had been educated as an undergraduate and trained in graduate school up to that point as a classical sociologist (though I’m reminded that as an undergraduate I took a course with Roger Brown on the “psychology of language.” Now why I did that I really don’t know. So, there were apparently some concerns way back, perhaps as an offshoot of my interest in “knowledge”). I came to Goffman at Sacks’ suggestion, and I reacted the way most conventionally trained American sociologists would. A great many graduate students regularly reacted the same way, although the reservations were only occasionally articulated in class. When they were articulated, the other students would suck in their breath and wait expectantly for a nasty response, which Goffman was quite capable of delivering. I remember only a few of these episodes, in one of which I raised an issue which would ironically later come to be directed to me. One of the things that many American sociologists would ordinarily think about Goffman in those days (this was about 1960–61) was that it wasn’t “explanatory,” but “merely descriptive.” And I remember putting this to him in class during the only lecture course I took from/with him. He was a wonderful teacher, though not necessarily in the conventional way. He taught his own work (in his graduate courses, that is), and the term that I took the course with him he was writing the book that later appeared as Stigma (1963) and the course was ostensibly about “deviance.” What he did was this.



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff 

In the first three or four weeks of the course he gave us a very compressed introduction to studies of deviance in sociology, casting the broadest net imaginable and by no means constrained by contemporary understandings of what might be relevant, but delivered in a familiar academic format. I don’t think I ever I took more extensive and detailed notes in my life than in those first weeks. But then, when he started to talk about his stuff on stigma, we got the very characteristic Goffmanian mode of delivery, often a simple listing of a series of “issues” posed by observations he had made or prompted by an excerpt from some book or magazine or diary etc.: “…and then there’s the issue of XYZ, as when someone does ABC.” And, being exposed for the first time to that kind of work, I remember at some point saying to him, “how is this different from journalism?” A gasp went out across the room because, of course, this was one major concern – that it was “merely descriptive” when there was no obvious technical terminology, and so on. It was a concern both of the students inclined in a descriptivist direction but still without a way of formulating a rationale for such work in the face of conventional critiques, and of students with conventional commitments who were reluctant to voice their reservations in an open arena. But such anecdotes aside, much of what I wrote about the role Goffman played in sociology in my paper on Goffman (op. cit.) is surely true for his effect on me. He opened my eyes to a domain of inquiry that I just had no idea existed, even though I had been exposed to lots of social psychology as an undergraduate. I had not had much exposure as a graduate student because I was interested in “big issues,” ­Wissensociologie, and so on and so forth. But the notion that there was a world here (that is, in these little scenes of interaction), that it was accessible to inquiry (I didn’t have the same concerns for precision and rigor at that point, or, rather, I understood them differently), this was revelatory. It was not an “ahah!” experience; he only had to say it and I saw it. It took a while to cultivate an understanding of adequate breadth and depth and articulate it with my previous training and education, and there were lots of impediments; but its impact on me was that it just opened a whole possible domain of work that I had not understood the existence of as a field of inquiry before. I don’t know that there’s a whole lot more that I can say. Goffman supported me in various ways. There are a lot of bad stories, nasty stories, about Goffman, but I must say that he never conducted himself in a bad way with me. There were some eccentricities, but we always got on very well and, if anything, I was overly paranoid about him. I mean he really did once give me cause for that, after my degree, when I was already in a very good job, though still a junior faculty member. His paper “Replies and Responses” (1976) was a kind of a massive attack on CA, and we were after all still “kids,” but in some ways it just showed his respect (in fact, a great deal of his writing after Frame Analysis (1974) – and even in that book – was addressed in some fashion to CA work, concerns, etc.). I regret that I didn’t respond to it while he was still alive. In any case, he was a really smart man and an extraordinarily careful and perspicuous observer of

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

the social world, however refracted through his own prism. There’s no question: he had a distinctive vision but I think that was important. I don’t think a person with a conventional vision could have come to do what he did. In the end, Goffman provided a point of departure for the direction our work took, and our work seemed increasingly in tension with his. Much of that was a function of generations and of technology. I am told that in much of his teaching and occasional lecturing after he moved from Berkeley to Pennsylvania, he conceded that working from tape had become the “state-of-the-art” way of working, though he never committed himself to that view in print. He tried to work with such materials in some of his writing (for example, his paper “Radio Talk” in Goffman, 1981: 197–327), and I have been told by former students at Pennsylvania that he taught seminars based on videotape there, but the fundamental anchoring of his work was in extensive observations of the world in single exposures in real time and in his collections of fragments from written material, ranging from ethnography to confessionals, from fiction to memoirs, from training manuals to case reports. Our work started from the domain he had shown to be there, but was built on different foundations. With Garfinkel the story was different. I think he would probably be most unhappy at the form his initial influence on me took, because he often specifically denies intending any critical stance toward conventional sociology. It is for him a form of practical theorizing, to be studied and understood together with other embodiments of practical theorizing, not to be criticized as a competing way of working. (Sometimes I think this was only ironic; sometimes I think it was meant seriously when formulated, though at other moments one could have heard Garfinkel speaking of conventional sociology and other social sciences in an unmistakably derisive idiom.) But a good part of Garfinkel’s initial impact on me was what I took to be – however naively or mistakenly – its critical import. I had migrated from one kind of sociology to another trying to find, as I thought of it at the time, “honest work.” What I mean by that is that I would encounter some kind of sociology – some substantive sub-field or some methodological stance – and work at it for a while. There would then be colleagues who would ask challenging questions about it, or I would read a critical literature that found trouble with that way of working, and those critiques would seem to me compelling, and I found that I just couldn’t do that (kind of) work anymore. It wasn’t that I was determined to do the perfect inquiry; I just couldn’t do the work if I already felt that I knew it – the genre – was wrong, I couldn’t practise doing it, I just couldn’t – whatever I thought the particular problem with that genre was. The first major impact that Garfinkel’s work had on me was of a critical sort even though he forever denies that the point of ethnomethodological studies is some sort of ironic critique of sociology. Nonetheless, however wrongheaded it was, it allowed me to consolidate all the separate critiques I had of all the separate kinds of sociology I had tried to learn how to do. Whether



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff 

correctly or incorrectly, all of a sudden I could see, for example, in the relationship between “indexical and objective indicators,” or in the studies of “good organisational reasons for bad organisational records,” or in the coding study, all those themes of Garfinkel’s work allowed me to subsume under a single overarching “critique” what had previously been a whole series of separately specialised critiques. And that was a tremendous burden lifted off my shoulders because I didn’t have to to carry all of that critical baggage around with me. I could see a way of consolidating and having some sort of homogeneous grasp of the field (and, indeed, much more than the field), and there were all sorts of other sociologies I didn’t have to “subject myself to,” only then to learn what was wrong with them. So it allowed me to see almost in prospect that other areas were going to be just like things I already knew. What wasn’t clear to me, and never became clear to me, was what to put in its place within Garfinkel’s way of working. My own mind does not work well in the phenomenological idiom. To this day every time I have taken responsibility for teaching some of Garfinkel’s work, I have had to read Studies in Ethnomethodology (1967) again, and each time it has been “news” to me all over again. I would stop at various places after having read something and think, “Gee that’s clever,” and then I would vaguely remember every other time I had read that essay, and when I got to that point I would say “oh, that’s clever,” and I had said it again this time. That’s just not the natural idiom of my own mind, and though Garfinkel was clearly something quite distinct from a phenomenologist, it’s clear also that his work and his world view are very much cast in that idiom. And in many ways his undertaking was deployed as fundamentally a “critical discipline.” For me, it fairly quickly became not satisfying; I just couldn’t find the affirmative program there. In any case, whether the effect Garfinkel’s work had on me was intended on Garfinkel’s part or not, whether based in misunderstanding or misinterpretation on my part or not, for me his writing worked to consolidate a critical stance toward a great deal of conventional sociology, and to alert me to some issues which have remained continuing analytic constraints – ones which I got nowhere more forcefully than from Garfinkel’s writing (though not necessarily in the form in which he expressed it or in ways he would any longer accept). For example, I don’t think of it as “commonsense knowledge,” but as “vernacular knowledge;” the relationship between vernacular knowledge and technical inquiry is something that certainly was not invented as a topic by Garfinkel, but Garfinkel introduced it into contemporary sociology in a form which, at least at the time that intersected my life, was much more compelling than other ways in which I had encountered it before. I had gotten it obviously from Parsons with whom I had had a series of private reading courses at Harvard years earlier. It didn’t make any big impression on me with Parsons. So, I learned a lot from Garfinkel, and spent a lot of time explaining and defending his work in various sociological venues. But I think Garfinkel sensed from early on – I’ve never actually asked him this – that I was not as much taken with ethnomethodology as

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

Sacks and Sudnow were. Garfinkel held a number of conferences on ethnomethodology in Los Angeles at the time I was still in Berkeley. I wasn’t invited to the first couple of them. When I finally did go to one, the experience was exhilarating. Among Garfinkel’s many distinctive characteristics was (and is) an amazing capacity to listen in a perspicuous way to what others say, and to hear in what they say something they never dreamed of saying themselves, and to appreciate it and applaud it. He did that for me, and it was an extremely heady experience. My presentation was given pride of place. It was a Saturday evening in his living room, a group of some forty people crowded around, the tape recorder on, and I had this paper which I’d published in the Berkeley Journal of Sociology(1963). It was on psychiatric theorising as part of that “insanity” project that I had been doing. With Garfinkel leading it, the reception was, of course, intoxicating. Nonetheless, I felt I wasn’t entirely of that group, but its effects on me were there, and Harold and I have always had a relationship alternating – and combining – tension and support. He is, after all, primarily responsible for my being in UCLA. I’ve made contributions of my own, I think and I hope, to his side of the ledger. Three people – Goffman, Garfinkel and Sacks – made a critical difference to my scholarly development. And I think in each instance there has been some mutuality of effect. The fact of the matter is that Goffman’s last work in Forms of Talk was largely a dialogue with conversation analysis, and CA has I think been of consequence for Garfinkel. And Harvey and I, of course, went in an entirely different direction once we encountered each other, though most of what Harvey got from me went to the grave with him because it wasn’t written. SC: No, no please continue, because you have some purpose I can see. CP: If you’d like to ask a question … SC: No, please. CP: I’d like now to maybe get into more technical details in your model. A general question: I think that in what we see from Europe as CA, as conversation analysis, from a personal point of view I see something I’d like to, yes, sort of procedure in this sense: you have humans, Ok, and human interaction and your approach of course is to discover, to describe, to go on with these procedures. At the same time you have also been working on yourself to define and to optimise your procedures of research. So, there are two levels of procedure: the analytical procedure but also the procedures as objects. In this sense, what are your ideas about the cognitivists because cognition is a sort of procedure. Ok, what do you think about Labov’s sort of social cognition. When talking with Gumperz …. in any case, cognitivism, what do you think about this? ES: Well, it seems to me that there are two questions in search of responses here, if I understand the question properly. One concerns the relationship between c­ onversation analysis and more cognitively oriented undertakings, perhaps even cognitive science.



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff 

The other concerns the relationship between the practices of ordinary conduct in mundane settings of social life and the practices of our inquiry into those practices. Both questions present “tall orders,” so I’ll try to be brief at the risk of being unsatisfying. Although conversation analysis was once taken to be part of the nascent larger development called “cognitive science,” there are contrasting presuppositions which underlie them and render such a “merger” problematic. I can only sketch a few. In general, a cognitivist stance begins with the broad cultural presuppositions of the so- called Judeo-Christian stream of European culture. That cultural tradition (and cognitivist and other “psychologically oriented” disciplines emerging from it) takes the single, “minded,” embodied individual person as the basic, enduring, integrally organized reality to be studied. The setting such a “person” is virtually always in, the complement of other persons in that setting, etc. are taken to be contingent, transient, ephemeral contextual properties. Settings are treated, in effect, as composed of an aggregate of such “individual person realities,” perhaps adding something (something “social,” which is thus treated as external and subsequent to the constitutive reality of the individuals) to the “given” features, capacities, resources, predilections, etc. of those individual persons, rather than shaping or even engendering those features, capacities, resources, and predilections, and therefore, in a sense, as constituting the effective actors/participants in those settings. So when a little group or conversational cluster breaks up – like the one composing the present interview occasion – each of the embodied named individuals who composed it will be taken to continue to exist, even if not accessible to perception, but the group that has (as we say) “dissolved” is taken not to continue to exist. The episodic setting, the little interaction system, as Goffman might have called it, is taken not to have perduring reality. But, as Goffman (1967: 3) conveyed in his telling contrast between “men and their moments” on the one hand and “moments and their men” on the other, there is an alternative way of conceiving matters. We can understand “the situation” as the reality, and the individuals who happen to compose the situation on any particular occasion as what is transient. A scholar of classical Greece scholar named John Jones some years ago (1962) wrote a book called On Aristotle and Greek Tragedy, in which he argued that it is mistaken, or simply a subsequent cultural imposition, to treat the Oedipus myth as involving a tragic hero. That grows out of a tacit ontology in the Judeo-Christian stream of western culture that it is the single, “minded” and embodied individual that is the locus of social reality – here realized in the notion that the person named O ­ edipus is the locus of the play’s action and import, and its “tragic hero.” The alternative view is that there are certain sorts of recurrent situation that are the locus of tragedy (as well as of other “narratives,” as the current parlance would have it), and the point of putting Oedipus into one such situation is to make the point that if a king, who is the son of a king, could be battered by the world by being caught up in this situation, how much more so is it the case for “lesser” individuals. But it is the situation which is the relevant

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

reality, the effective source of Oedipus’ – and any person’s – story and fate. The individuals who are caught up in it at any given moment are what is transient. Well, when you juxtapose these two ways of seeing what’s fundamental and what’s transient and relatively epiphenomenal, and especially when you see that the second view is clearly the minority view in western culture and in the contemporary academic scene, it becomes increasingly important for those who have found a way to study matters human and social in the second way to insist on studying them that way. Fundamentally cognitive science is a thoroughly psychological enterprise, and saying that it’s a thoroughly psychological enterprise is to say that it falls in step with, rather than resisting or giving us any leverage on, the otherwise inbuilt cultural presuppositions that a great many of us share as members of western culture. I should add one further point, though I can’t go into it in detail. What I have suggested above about the focus on the single individual gets carried further in cognitively and psychologically oriented inquiry by a focus on the single sentence, the single act or action, etc. as the target of study and the fundamental locus of reality. We see this not only in contemporary linguistics, but in enterprises like speech act theory. The very conception of action having its origins in the acting individual’s “intention” treats the single action as the unit to be analyzed, and the single individual as the proper locus of its analysis. Thought about in the abstract, this may sound unexceptional to academicians trained in a scientific culture grounded in the dominant strand of western culture. But if you look not at imagined actions but at actual ones, it becomes not only unviable, but almost peculiar. And here again the availability of taped recorded, repeatably inspectable material is deeply consequential. If one is committed to understanding actual actions (by which I mean ones which actually occurred in real time), it is virtually impossible to detach them from their context for isolated analysis with a straight face. And once called to attention, it is difficult to understand their source as being in an “intention” rather than in the immediately preceding course of action to which the act being examined is a response and to which it is built to address itself. So an approach to work that starts from the individual as the real – whether the individual person, or action, or utterance, or sentence, which treats that individual entity as designed for integrity as a free standing object with its context as an extrinsic environment, can hardly avoid being characterized by atomism, atemporality, ahistoricism, and asociality. And the study of interaction and of humans in it would do well to avoid such a path. Such a view is not incompatible in principle with an interest in studying cognitive matters, but it places cognitive issues, processes, etc. within the framework of a world which is social and interactional from the outset, within which cognition is to be understood not necessarily by reference to the individual cut off from a world around, but by reference to an individual engendered and constituted by the world around in the first instance. A “cognitivism” or “cognitive science’ along such lines, and responsible



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff 

to details of naturally occurring interaction in ordinary-for-the- participants settings, would be of considerable potential interest. SC: I think that not all branches of philosophy of mind have this “one individual” basis and ground. There are also disciplines of mind that are based on the assumption that the subject point or something is the pair of persons, not one individual but two people interacting or trying to understand each other so it also might be another, a different one maybe a third one, a third position there to serve as a starting point. ES: Give me a name or two. SC: I don’t know. Habermas, for example. ES: Ahh, I think not. Habermas it seems to me made a fatal misstep very early on (e.g., Habermas, 1970) when he incorporated what is essentially Searlean (or AustinianSearlean) speech act theory (in the key respects that matter here the differences are of little moment).5 That’s one of the problems because I think it is very difficult to recover a socially or historically sensitive view of action once you’ve started that way. There are other related problems with the tack which Habermas takes which make it an unpromising alternative, at least for work which means to be “empirically capable.” It’s critical to the larger program of Habermas’ studies to have a pre-analytic conception of rational discourse as the model, the critical leverage, with which to critique the “distortions” introduced into actual communicative action by malformations of social structure. But this presupposes that we have or can develop in full measure what Giddens calls “discursive consciousness” for our conduct in interaction, if we are to have a pre-analytic, pre-empirical grasp of its rational character and possibilities. In a recent paper (Schegloff, 1996a) I describe what I think is a “new” social action, that is, an action that I did not know existed (and, as far as I can make out, that other people didn’t know existed either). It bodes ill for the possibility of a pre-empirical, pre-analytic pragmatics; it seems to entail that you have to have an empirical grounding to understand what this form of human communicative action is all about, and if that’s so, you can’t have it pre-empirically, pre-analytically and use that as the critical leverage for a vision of rational communication. SC: In European philosophy perhaps Buber, for example …. or Levinas in French philosophy. ES: Yes, I read Buber a long time ago but I haven’t for many years, and, for that reason perhaps, I never approached him seriously as a figure in the investigative enterprise we are discussing, but rather as a figure in theological discourse. That’s an interesting suggestion. I will go back and look at Buber again. Levinas, I’m afraid I don’t know and cannot comment on. But I’m happy to hear that there are others working along such less individualistic and atomistc lines. Recall though that it was not philosophy

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

that I had my reservations about, it was psychology, and those forms of philosophy which adopt an empirical-sounding diction without having done the sort of work which would warrant it. But if there is hope to be had on any front, I’m perfectly happy to have it. The other question lurking in this portion of our discussion may have been more in order under a more cognitivist understanding of conversation analysis; it would then have been the reflexive question: “if you are studying processes or practices of knowing, then what do you have to say about your own practices of knowing.” But there may be something of interest to be said here nonetheless, and that is how the practices of understanding and describing conduct in academic/professional inquiry relate to the indigenous practices of understanding and describing conduct in ordinary interaction itself. Discussion in this area could get very complicated indeed, so let me limit it in the following way. Sacks pointed out (Sacks, 1972b, 1992:I: 236–66) about ordinary or vernacular or common sense description that it is recognizable as such without inspection of the circumstances or objects being described. In that discussion Sacks sketched the importance of this feature and the economies which it affords the conduct of ordinary affairs. There are domains, however, in which the practices of describing and taking up descriptions are different – in which descriptions are in the first instance to be juxtaposed with what is ostensibly or purportedly being described, and description grounded in these practices operates differently – it does not afford the same economies, but delivers outcomes potentially different in kind from those of ordinary description. What may appear a merely stubborn insistence in conversation analysis in grounding all work in the details of actual data, ideally with the recorded version present but with at least the transcript if that is not possible, has a grounding not only in our past experience with the productivity of proceeding in this way, but in the commitment to a different enterprise than the same practices and forms of description as characterize mundane description. Papers take the form they do to maximize the opportunity for readers to immediately juxtapose every bit of description with the data of which it claims to be a description. One basis for reservations about other forms of inquiry which appear to intersect on the same subject matter but using different research methods is grounded here. To take but one example: in ethnographic work, the investigator gets to observe occurrences once in real time. Even the best ethnographer or ethnographic team will register only “the take” possible under this constraint. Under ideal circumstances, field notes are made as soon as possible, but are grounded in the ethnographers’ memory of the events that were seen. The text of the ethnographic report draws together those notes and memories into an (ideally) coherent account of the object of description. The upshot is that the reader must essentially take up the description with no access at all to the object of description



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff 

itself, but at best with access to an account reconstructed from notes grounded in memories of the sorts of observation that can be made with one exposure in real time (and under the constraints of the operative “social and cultural organization of seeing” in that context). The practices of description and description-uptake underlying these two approaches to a “same subject matter” are sufficiently different to call into question whether this is really the same enterprise and the same subject matter taken up by two different approaches or methods, or whether two quite different sorts of undertaking are involved. This may not be quite what you had in mind by asking about the bearing of our research targets on our own research practices (if you were indeed asking about that), but it is for me a compelling outcome of reflection about just that issue. CP: Before coming to your research on pragmatic “deficits,” just one question: what about the “interaction order” according to Schegloff? ES: Oh, Goffman’s article? What about Goffman’s article? CP: Yeah, fifteen years later, you know; just to situate yourself now. ES: I haven’t read it for a long time. There is a lot of vitality to the idea of the interaction order. To the degree that Goffman is one of the main feeder streams to the sort of work that we do now, it’s in part his calling attention to the existence of that domain of organisation that is responsible. But if I have to imagine what reservation(s) I might have, if I sat down and read it right now, it would be whether one would still or would want to retain the severity of autonomy and disjunction which I recall when first reading that paper. And the reservation would extend in two directions. Given Goffman’s own earlier writing, it was not surprising that he would have taken this stance in much the way that he did in “The Interaction Order.” I don’t know if you’re familiar with a paper of his that was published in 1961. It was in a little book published by the Bobbs Merrill Advanced Studies in Sociology; the book was called Encounters and the first paper in it was called ‘Fun in games.’ In that paper he coined the term “the membrane around the interaction” (or something like that), and one of the things he was concerned with there we would now speak of, in contemporary parlance, as the difference between discourse identities and other identities. One of his points was that the membrane that surrounds an interaction – that marks how and where it is bounded off from the surrounding setting and world – can serve to filter out a lot of the things that are in some sense “objectively” true about the individuals who compose the interaction. Many – perhaps most – of the identities, memberships, debilities and strengths, achievements and stigmata which are in fact “the case” about a person do not permeate the membrane; they do not necessarily affect the conduct that goes on within it; they do not survive the test of relevance. (Of course, he is overtly concerned with “fun in games,” but the “game” he is ultimately interested in is all of

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interaction, and much of the text is about that. That’s a common strategy for ­Goffman; he begins ostensibly talking about a very particular and limited phenomenon, but by the time he is done, it is everyone’s contingent reality. Just think about “face,” “demeanor,” “stigma,” etc.) One of the points I think is most important – whether it is recognizable already in Goffman’s take on “the interactional membrane” and what gets through it or not – is that this is not for analysts to decide. This issue has figured centrally in subsequent conversation analytic thinking about various identities or categories of membership of persons in society (as for example in Sacks, 1972a, 1972b; and see also Schegloff, 1991b, 1997a). As with everything else, it is the participants who embody in their conduct which features of their co-participants they are oriented to as relevant and which not (though, to be sure, efforts at concealment and camouflage can be at work as well); that is a contingent matter. And features of co-participants which are “macrostructural” in the terms of social science theorizing are subject to that contingency as well. This seems to me, at the very least, the appropriate default position from which analysis must begin. Someone could undertake to show that some identities – for example, gender identity, to cite one which is often urged in this regard – are “omni-relevant,” and are never fully filtered into irrelevance by the “interactional membrane” (though what a fully satisfactory demonstration would look like is not entirely clear). This then could be one possible reservation about Goffman’s account of the interaction order – that one can not theoretically legislate out of existence the prerogatives of participants in interaction to treat as relevant features of their co-participants ones which are macrosociological in character, which would compromise the “separation of orders” which many take Goffman to have asserted. But it is quite possible that if I re-read Goffman’s paper, I might well find that this problem does not actually arise. In any case, my only objection to the conventionally claimed interfaces of the so-called micro-social with macrosociology is the insistence on the inescapable and often exclusive relevance of, to use the terms that are most powerful in contemporary American sociology, the intersection of race, class, and gender. My objection is only to people’s insisting that the only exclusive centrally important thing is whether someone is a woman or a man, this or that ethnicity, and this or that social class. But that the co-participants can treat those on any given occasion, or some moment in it, as relevant (and potentially consequential) seems to me to be beyond question. As with everything else, it seems to me we have to put our analysis at the disposal of what the participants are actually doing. Now, that may be compatible with the autonomy of the interaction order or it may not be. So that would be one possible reservation. And that is, so to speak, a reservation about the filtering down of the more macrostructural into the more “microstructural.” The other reservation is going in the other direction, conventionally speaking. Here, I suppose, it’s more a diffuse scepticism than it is a determinate reservation.



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff 

This is I suppose a leftover for me of the Garfinkelian “critique.” As a member of the society, I share in the vernacular culture, and mine is American and sociological and upper middle-class and Jewish and all the other sorts of things that frame one’s “social location” in vernacular terms. As a member of society, I perfectly well understand about social classes and all the rest of a moderately sophisticated citizenship; but the fact that I understand and see the world – or can see the world – in those terms as a member of a society is not the same as qualifying all those ways of seeing it technically, let alone subscribing to it and underwriting it as part of one’s technical apparatus for understanding the world. In fact, it’s just the opposite. The more they recommend themselves to my vernacular understanding, the more suspect they ought to be for me as part of my technical apparatus. The common or vernacular culture is, after all, a sort of “propaganda arm” of the society, serving to undergird the cultural component of the more or less smooth functioning of the society itself, not to advance or enhance a rigorous understanding of society. And so there’s a question here, because what Goffman in effect does is, by implication, to ratify all of macrosociology as not “his business,” but he appears to stipulate that there surely are all these economic structures and political structures and bureaucratic structures and so on and so forth. I don’t know whether he did that as a vernacular member of the society or as a technical sociologist. He did it in his Presidential address to the American Sociological Association. He surely was aware of the fact that he was at risk of being understood to be saying it as a sociologist. And it seems to me that there are enough reasons to be uneasy about that. It’s not that there aren’t ample things that you could point to within the domain of rigorous inquiry to make them serious things to entertain, but entertaining something seriously and seeing how actually to work it up as a robust part of one’s technical understanding of the organisation of social life are two very different things. And for me, as I say, the fact is that what we know as part of our vernacular knowledge is part of having the society work properly. And that’s very different from how to have a discipline of the society work properly. Wherever those things look like they’re bumping into each other, I think – especially because we can be treated to be experts about the matter  – we have to be specially careful. Again, if I re-read Goffman’s “Interaction Order,” I might find he was way ahead of me on this and that he’s anticipated all of these concerns; but that’s certainly not the message that has filtered down to us in the field about the interaction order. CP: Last question, about pragmatic deficits: Your research on this idea is for me very interesting. Can you say something for us, for our researchers, just some suggestions, yes, you say conversation analysis done by Professor Schegloff and pragmatic disorders … ES: What people should do, you mean?

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

CP: Your suggestions … if I come to you as an expert to consult you: please help me. ES: Well, first I have to say that I obviously have no competence to help people therapeutically; we are talking here only about helping people who would like to do research work in this area along conversation-analytic lines to situate themselves better for doing that with some success. I think that the key thing – and there are historical grounds for saying this – the key thing is for people to get themselves properly trained in analysing materials of talk and interaction of whatever sort. In the past, when people have used some particular, predefined, practical interest to inform or constrain general training and the general course of research, there have been problematic outcomes. I’m going to just repeat, if I may, some things I have written about this (Schegloff, 1991b: 66–7) because they may be of interest in this connection. For a very long time you could not get a societal “license” to study ordinary interaction closely – either in the educational or in the research sense of “study.” These were things that presumably we all knew because that’s what the meaning of “commonsense” was; why would you waste your time, why should the university waste its money, in supporting a degree of this sort, or research of this sort. So the only way such inquiry on “ordinary, everyday behavior” was done was typically under one of two conditions. Either the participants in the interaction to be studied were formulated as “defective” in some way – and so you could study people who had had strokes or who were mentally retarded or were schizophrenic and so on and so forth; or the activity to be studied was so strategically positioned in social life that the activity could be made more “profitable” in some sense to the society if we understood how it worked ­better  – so bargaining, negotiation, conflict resolution, “salesmanship” and the like could be examined closely. You couldn’t study ordinary interaction just in order to study ordinary interaction. A consequence of that situation of inquiry historically has been that people would study a particular corner of the world under the warrant of one of these “licenses,” and, whatever the auspices were under which the inquiry was conducted, the results were taken to be specific to that object of inquiry. So when people studied schizophrenics, that was an acceptable thing to study because of the promise of therapeutic payoffs. When the focus turned to thought and language (I am thinking here of work in the first half or so of this century), much of what was found out was taken to be characteristic of “schizophrenic thought and language.” In the last thirty five years or so, when some of us were able to make a little space for studing ordinary talk in interaction, mostly without substantial research support but with our own funds and on our own time, it would often enough turn out that things that had been figured to be specially characteristic of “schizophrenics” or “retarded people” or other such “special” categories of person were actually quite common in ordinary conversation.



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff 

That is not to say there is no difference between schizophrenics and ordinary people. It is to say that, if you have not studied ordinary people (and been trained properly to study ordinary talk in interaction), you have no way of figuring out what is specific to schizophrenics and what is the case about about conversation per se, except that, like so much else that is “common,” it generally falls below the threshold of ordinary observability. So, somebody who’s interested in doing research on pragmatic deficits and neurologically impaired people has to begin, it seems to me, with understanding how ordinary interaction is organised among people without respect to neurological status. What I am saying seems to me obvious enough a point: anybody who wants to practise something in particular in a domain (playing Bach toccatas, doing cardiac surgery, training retrievers, writing sonnets, etc.) needs first to become adept at practise in that domain in general (playing the piano, doing surgery, training dogs, writing poetry). And if you want to study some particular thing, you need to know how to do research in that domain, for example, how to analyse talk and interaction and body behaviour and so on and so forth among humans. So, the first thing is to learn how to do good work and bring it to bear on any data. If somebody was contemplating working in this area of the pragmatics of neurologically impacted people, and was in search of additional components of distinctively relevant training, it might be interesting to have some people who both were competent and sensitive analysts of talk and interaction and who knew something about neurology as well. Surely there are some things that can get done when all the relevant input and knowledge are controlled by the same person and not “distributed” amongst several individuals; there are things you can conceive of if various facts that have never been brought together are in the same mind. But that’s a very big order for someone who’s undertaking to be trained. In most (if not all) respects, however, concentrating on pragmatic deficits or neurologically specialized data is just one instance among many of focussing one’s work on some sub-domain of data, whether defined by technical criteria or by commonsense categories of the society at large. So the next suggestion would be that, for the health, vitality, quality of work, and continuing growth both of individual researchers and of the field as a whole, students in this area (and I use “students” here in its most general sense, and not referring to a stage of life and career) need to continuously play back and forth between the specialised domain that they study, whatever it is, and the ordinary run of human interaction. Many workers in the field, both senior and junior, have cultivated specialised domains of work which articulate well with the current organization of universities – with traditional disciplines and recognized subfields within them (for example, institutional sectors such as medicine, law, education, communications within sociology, or subfields such as pragmatics, discourse and the like within linguistics)– and other organizational centers of research in order to

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

maximise their own individual chances in the employment markets as well as the ­institutionalization of this type of research in the society. But from my point of view it is absolutely ­critical – and I think my colleagues at UCLA John Heritage and Steve Clayman agree with this – that students should first start getting trained on ordinary conversation, not on particular institutions. But even more important is that, even if they have developed a specialised knowledge in some particular institutional sector, they nonetheless keep working on two fronts – both in that specialist institutional sector and on ordinary conversation. There are several reasons it seems to me for this. The first is that no institutional domain is totally segregrated from general social life. Everybody knows that when they go to see the doctor or mechanic or salesperson, the talk slips in and out of the institutional framework. Not all the talk in a work setting is of that work setting, and this contingent character of conduct is not specific to work settings. If you lock yourself entirely into the institutional domain being studied and assume that once the episode has started as a professional interaction it will be a professional interaction, you simply are not in a position to understand what’s really going on. Not only do you become un-alert about the non-professional aspects and potentials of the talk; you disattend how the very professional character of what is professional is produced as professional. A second reason is that, because the society is prepared to support the work in particular professional domains defined by its vernacular culture, there is a serious danger that we would begin no longer to get general analytic tools being developed because we would less and less be having general interactional practices being studied. We would keep learning more and more about doctors and patients, teachers and students, cooperative work groups, news interviews and so on, but we would not be developing our understanding of the generic practices of talk-in-interaction and the tools for analyzing them. All of that could become really stagnant. We could have the pool of analytic resources that we developed in the first fifteen or twenty years which could just stop growing. But it has to grow, and the same people have to help it grow as are making the separate more specialized substantive areas grow. So, what I would say about and to people who are interested in neurologically compromised participants in interaction isn’t unique to them. Here, as in any place else where there’s a knowledge based skill, whether it’s the practise of medicine or of music, you have to have your craft. You have to know how to do the basic work. In this area, ––

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You need to know how to collect data and have recurrent experience collecting it yourself, because you often enough have to be on the scene where it was collected to know what that scene was like. You need to be transcribing it yourself, all the time, and not just hiring others to do it, because then you don’t know what the data sound like. You don’t give yourself the best possible opportunity to hear something entirely new. It’s you, afterall, who



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A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff 

will over time come to have ten or fifteen or twenty years of experience, who are now in a position, if only you listened to the raw data, to hear things you could never have heard before you had that experience. Your assistant almost certainly doesn’t yet have that experience. You have to make the basic observations and ground them firmly in the observable details of the material. That’s the basic craft. If you don’t do that, however fancy the written papers look, they’ll be based on water and eventually somebody will come along and actually look at the material, and the ungrounded clever writing will all collapse.

So, people have to have their craft under control and they have to keep it updated. Then it’s a question of intuition, skill, learning, and luck. There’s always luck, right? You’re lucky you get the right data, you happen to be sharp on the day that something comes up, so you see something which on a day when you were dull you would never have seen. But that, of course, we all live with, no matter what we do. So as for the “luck” part, there’s nothing to be done. The other parts you can do something about. CP: Do you have some other questions? SC: No, I think it was the last question. CP: I think not. Thank you very much. I think that we have to conclude, to come to a conclusion. I don’t know if you would like to add something else for the prospective future of research, some suggestions for younger researchers. ES: I suppose only this. This kind of work is right for some people and it’s not right for other people, and I have given up trying to figure out in advance which is which. I wish I could because it would save them and me a lot of time and pain if I were to spot it early enough. There are some people who decide wrongly that it’s not for them, and they decide that because they’ve always been “A” students and I don’t give “A”’s just because people are attentive or loyal. If they do good work, they get “A”’s and if they’re not doing good work yet, they get “B”’s, and some students figure that the latter grades are telling them they’re not wanted here. That isn’t the message; the message is that they haven’t “got it” yet – not that they are incapable of getting it. So, I would urge students who feel themselves drawn to this kind of work, who feel that it gives them a kind of insight and access to interaction and culture, or think that it might, to stick with it for a while. In my experience it requires of most students – and most colleagues who have come to terms with it after a previous professional training – a tremendous wrench, a tremendous transformation in the way they see the world. I forget about that from time to time. The students remind me of this almost painful reorientation, and other students have to know this; that this seems often to be quite different from simply taking on a new academic subject and absorbing it like one has absorbed the

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

previous ones. So I think the thing to say to students is, first of all it’s a long, hard road. If they not prepared for this, if they must get big payoffs early on, this may not be the way to go. They have to take stock and decide whether they can stay the long course. Some people find the exposure transformative once they get into it (I hope this will not be taken in the wrong way). I can’t tell you the number of students who’ve told me later on how this work has changed their lives, that they see the world in a whole different way, that they found themselves with a committment to working that’s just of a different order – that’s grounded in the world in a different way – than their previous academic committment had been, and these were all obviously successful people to begin with. They survived to the point of graduate studies with financial support; they haven’t ever been “bad” students. It’s easy for me to forget that, I suppose, I’m now part of the establishment. That’s how we come to be doing this interview. Thirty five years ago this was a brand new venture, and I find it’s still exciting, and I still find that students who come into it feel that way. It’s not easy to keep that spirit alive in a world that treats you as the older generation and the establishment. But it seems to me that it’s this spirit – a sense that this work is providing a different kind of access to what it is to be human – that somehow still inhabits the work as an enterprise. It is not passed on from person to person. It is passed on by the nature of the enterprise to those who come to participate in it, to be stewards for it. I think I’d better shut up. Thank you. SC and CP: Thank you.

Reference Caudwell, C. 1938. Studies in a Dying Culture. London: John Lane. Damasio, A. R. 1994. Descartes’ Error: Emotion, Reason and the Human Brain. New York: G.P. Putnam. Egbert, M. 1996. “Context-sensitivity in Conversation Analysis: Eye Gaze and the German Repair Initiator ‘Bitte’.” Language in Society 25 (4): 587–612. doi: 10.1017/S0047404500020820 Egbert, M. 1997a. “Some Interactional Achievements of Other-initiated Repair in Multiperson Conversation.” Journal of Pragmatics 27: 611–34.  doi: 10.1016/S0378-2166(96)00039-2 Egbert, M. 1997b. “Schisming: The Collaborative Transformation from a Single Conversation to Multiple Conversations.” Research on Language and Social Interaction 30 (1): 1–51. doi: 10.1207/s15327973rlsi3001_1 Garfinkel, H. 1967. Studies in Ethnomethodology. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall. Goffman, E. 1961. “Fun in Games.” In Encounters: Two Studies in the Sociology of Interaction, 15–81. Indiannapolis: The Bobbs-Merrill Company. Goffman, E. 1963. Stigma: Notes on the Management of Spoiled Identity. New York: Simon and Schuster.



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Goffman, E. 1967. Interaction Ritual: Essays in Face to Face Behavior. Garden City, New York: Doubleday. Goffman, E. 1974. Frame Analysis: An Essay on the Organization of Experience. New York: Harper and Row. Goffman, E. 1976. “Replies and Responses.” Language in Society 5: 257–313. (Reprinted in ­Goffman, 1981. 5–77.) Goffman, E. 1981. Forms of Talk. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. doi: 10.1017/S0047404500007156 Goodwin, C. 1995. “Co-constructing Meaning in Conversations with an Aphasic Man.” Research on Language and Social Interaction 28 (3): 233–60.  doi: 10.1207/s15327973rlsi2803_4 Habermas, J. 1970. “Toward a Theory of Communicative Competence.” In Recent Sociology No. 2, edited by H. P. Dreitzel, 114–148. New York: Macmillian.  doi: 10.1080/00201747008601597 Hayashi, M. 1999. “Where Grammar and Interaction Meet: A Study of Co-Participant Completion in Japanese Conversation.” Human Studies 22 (2/4): 475–99. doi: 10.1023/A:1005492027060 Hayashi, M. and Mori, J. 1998. “Co-construction in Japanese Revisited: We Do ‘Finish Each Other’s Sentences’.” In Japanese/Korean Linguistics, Vol. 7, edited by N. Akatsuka, H. Hoji, and S. Iwasaki, 77–93. Stanford: CSLI. Hayashi, M., Mori, J. and Takagi, T. frth. “Contingent Achievement of Co-Tellership in a ­Japanese Conversation.” In The Language of Turn and Sequence, edited by C. E. Ford, B. A. Fox, and S. A. Thompson, 00–00. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Heeschen, C. and Schegloff, E. A. 1999. “Agrammatism, Adaptation Theory, Conversation Analysis: On the Role of So-Called Telegraphic Style in Talk-in-Interaction.” Aphasiology 13 (4/5): 365–405.  doi: 10.1080/026870399402145 Heeschen, C. and Schegloff, E. A. 2001. frth. “Aphasic Agrammatism as Interactional Artifact and Achievement.” In The Situation of Language in Brain Damaged Persons: Conversation and language impairment, edited by C. Goodwin, 00–00. New York: Oxford University Press. Jefferson, G. 1973. “A Case of Precision Timing in Ordinary Conversation: Overlapped ­Tag-Positioned Address Terms in Closing Sequences.” Semiotica 9: 47–96. doi: 10.1515/semi.1973.9.1.47 Jefferson, G. 1974. “Error Correction as an Interactional Resource.” Language in Society 2: 181–199.  doi: 10.1017/S0047404500004334 Jefferson, G. 1988. “On the Sequential Organization of Troubles-Talk in Ordinary Conversation.” Social Problems 35 (4): 418–441.  doi: 10.2307/800595 Jefferson, G. 1989. “Preliminary Notes on a Possible Metric which Provides for a ‘Standard Maximum’ Silences of Approximately One Second in Conversation.” In Conversation: An Interdiscipoinary Perspective, edited by D. Roger and P. Bull, 166–196. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Jefferson, G. 1993 [1983]. “Caveat Speaker: Preliminary Notes on Recipient Topic-shift Implicature.” Research on Language and Social Interaction 26 (1): 1–30. doi: 10.1207/s15327973rlsi2601_1 Jefferson, G. and Lee, J. R. L. 1981. “The Rejection of Advice: Managing the Problematic Convergence of a ‘Troubles-Telling’ and a ‘Service Encounter’.” Journal of Pragmatics 5: 399–422.  doi: 10.1016/0378-2166(81)90026-6 Jones, J. 1962. On Aristotle and Greek Tragedy. London: Chatto & Windus. Kim, K.-h. 1993. “Other-Initiated Repair Sequences in Korean Conversation as Interactional Resources.” In Japanese/Korean Linguistics, Vol. 3, edited by S. Choi, 3–18. Stanford: CSLI.

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 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano Kim, K.-h. 1999. “Phrasal Unit Boundaries and Organization of Turns and Sequences in Korean Conversation.” Human Studies, 22 (1), 425–446.  doi: 10.1023/A:1005431826151 Lerner, G. H. and Takagi, T. 1999. “On the Place of Linguistic Resources in the Organization of Talk-in-Interaction: A Co-Investigation of English and Japanese Grammatical Practices.” Journal of Pragmatics 30: 49–75.  doi: 10.1016/S0378-2166(98)00051-4 Lindström, A. B. 1994. “Identification and Recognition in Swedish Telephone Conversation Openings.” Language in Society 23 (2): 231–252.  doi: 10.1017/S004740450001784X Moerman, M. 1977. “The Preference for Self-Correction in a Tai Conversational Corpus.” ­Language 53 (4): 872–882.  doi: 10.2307/412915 Moerman, M. 1988. Talking Culture: Ethnography and Conversation Analysis. Philadelphia: ­University of Pennsylvania Press.  doi: 10.9783/9780812200355 Ochs, E., Schegloff, E. A. and Thompson, S. (ed.). 1996. Interaction and Grammar. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Park, Y.-Y. 1998. “A Discourse Analysis of Contrastive Connectives in English, Korean and ­Japanese Conversation: With Special Reference to the Context of Dispreferred Responses.” In Discourse Markers, edited by A. Jucker and Y. Ziv, 277–300. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.  doi: 10.1075/pbns.57.14par Sacks, H. 1972a. “An Initial Investigation of the Usability of Conversational Materials for Doing Sociology.” In Studies in Social Interaction, edited by D. N. Sudnow, 31–74. New York: Free Press. Sacks, H. 1972b. “On the Analyzability of Stories by Children.” In Directions in Sociolinguistics: The Ethnography of Communication, edited by J. J. Gumperz and D. Hymes, 325–345. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. Sacks, H. 1974. “An Analysis of the Course of a Joke’s Telling in Conversation.” In Explorations in the Ethnography of Speaking, edited by R. Bauman and J. Sherzer, 337–353. C ­ ambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sacks, H. 1992. Lectures on Conversation. Two Volumes. Edited by G. Jefferson, with Introductions by E.A. Schegloff. Oxford: Blackwell. Schegloff, E. A. 1960. The Moral Temper of Literary Criticism, 1930–1960. Unpublished Masters Thesis. Department of Sociology, University of California, Berkeley. Schegloff, E. A. 1963. “Toward a Reading of Psychiatric Theory.” Berkeley Journal of Sociology 8: 61–91. Schegloff, E. A. 1968. “Sequencing in Conversational Openings.” American Anthropologist 70: 1075–1095.  doi: 10.1525/aa.1968.70.6.02a00030 Schegloff, E. A. 1979. “The Relevance of Repair for Syntax-for-Conversation.” In Syntax and Semantics 12: Discourse and Syntax, edited by T. Givon, 261–288. New York: Academic Press. Schegloff, E. A. 1980. “Preliminaries to Preliminaries: ‘Can I Ask You a Question’.” Sociological Inquiry 50: 104–152.  doi: 10.1111/j.1475-682X.1980.tb00018.x Schegloff, E. A. 1987. “Analyzing Single Episodes of Interaction: An Exercise in Conversation Analysis.” Social Psychology Quarterly 50 No.2: 101–114.  doi: 10.2307/2786745 Schegloff, E. A. 1988. “Goffman and the Analysis of Conversation.” In Erving Goffman: Exploring the Interaction Order, edited by P. Drew and A. Wootton, 89–135. Cambridge: Polity Press. Schegloff, E. A. 1990. “On the Organization of Sequences as a Source of “Coherence” in Talkin-Interaction.” In Conversational Organization and its Development., edited by B. Dorval, 51–77. Norwood, NJ: Ablex Publishing Co.



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff 

Schegloff, E. A. 1991a. “Conversation Analysis and Socially Shared Cognition.” In Perspectives on Socially Shared Cognition, edited by L. Resnick, J. Levine and S. Teasley, 150–171. Washington, D.C.: American Psychological Association.  doi: 10.1037/10096-007 Schegloff, E. A. 1991b. “Reflections on Talk and Social Structure.” In Talk and Social Structure, edited by D. Boden and D. H. Zimmerman, 44–70. Cambridge: Polity Press. Schegloff, E. A. 1992a. “Repair after next turn: the last structurally provided place for the defence of intersubjectivity in conversation.” American Journal of Sociology 95 (5): 1295–1345. doi: 10.1086/229903 Schegloff, E. A. 1992b. “To Searle on Conversation: A Note in Return.” In (On) Searle on Conversation, edited by John R. Searle et al, 113–28. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins.  doi: 10.1075/pbns.21.07sch Schegloff, E. A. 1992c. “Introduction, Volume 1.” In Harvey Sacks: Lectures on Conversation, edited by G. Jefferson, ix-lxii. Oxford: Blackwell. Schegloff, E. A. 1993. “Reflections on Quantification in the Study of Conversation.” Research on Language and Social Interaction 26 (1): 99–128.  doi: 10.1207/s15327973rlsi2601_5 Schegloff, E. A. 1995a. “Discourse as an Interactional Achievement III: The Omnirelevance of Action.” Research on Language and Social Interaction 28 (3): 185–211. doi: 10.1207/s15327973rlsi2803_2 Schegloff, E. A. 1995b. Sequence Organization. Department of Sociology, UCLA, ms. Schegloff, E. A. 1996a. “Confirming Allusions: Toward an Empirical Account of Action.” American Journal of Sociology 104 (1): 161–216.  doi: 10.1086/230911 Schegloff, E. A. 1996b. “Issues of Relevance for Discourse Analysis: Contingency in Action, Interaction and Co-Participant Context.” In Computational and Conversational Discourse: Burning Issues – An Interdisciplinary Account, edited by E. H. Hovy and D. Scott, 3–38. Heidelberg: Springer Verlag.  doi: 10.1007/978-3-662-03293-0_1 Schegloff, E. A. 1997a. “Whose Text? Whose Context?” Discourse & Society 8 (2): 165–87. doi: 10.1177/0957926597008002002 Schegloff, E. A. 1997b. “Practices and Actions: Boundary cases of other-initiated repair.” Discourse Processes 23: 499–545.  doi: 10.1080/01638539709545001 Schegloff, E. A. 1997c. “Third Turn Repair.” In Towards a Social Science of Language: Papers in Honor of William Labov. Volume 2: Social Interaction and Discourse Structures, edited by G. R. Guy, C. Feagin, D. Schiffrin and J. Baugh, 31–40. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. doi: 10.1075/cilt.128.05sch Schegloff, E. A. 1999. “On Sacks on Weber on Ancient Judaism: Introductory Notes and Interpretive Resources.” Theory, Culture and Society 16 (1): 1–29. doi: 10.1177/026327699016001001 Schegloff, E. A. 2001. frth. “Conversation Analysis and “Communication Disorders”.” In The Situation of Language in Brain Damaged Patients: Conversation and language impairment., edited by C. Goodwin, 00–00. New York: Oxford University Press. Schegloff, E. A., Ochs, E. and Thompson, S. A. 1996. “Introduction.” In Interaction and Grammar, edited by E. Ochs, E. A. Schegloff and S. A. Thompson, 1–51. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press.  doi: 10.1017/CBO9780511620874.001 Schütz, A. (1964). “Making Music Together.” In Collected Papers, Volume II: Studies in Social Theory, 159–178. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff.  doi: 10.1007/978-94-017-6854-2_8 Sorjonen, M. 1996. “On Repeats and Responses in Finnish Conversations.” In Interaction aqnd Grammar, edited by E. Ochs, E. A. Schegloff and S. A. Thompson, 277–327. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  doi: 10.1017/CBO9780511620874.006

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano Tanaka, H. (1999). Turn-Taking in Japanese Conversation: A Study in Grammar and Interaction. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.  doi: 10.1075/pbns.56 Wu, R.-J. R. 1997. “Transforming Participation Frameworks in Multi-Party Mandarin Conversation: The Use of Discourse Particles and Body Behavior.” Issues in Applied Linguistics 8: 97–118.

A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff, Part 2 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

1. CP: CA is founded on the idea of turn. What about the reasons you didn’t adopt the goffmanian idea of “move”, or, if you like, which differences did and do you see between them? EAS: First of all, to my mind, CA is not “founded on the idea of ‘turn,’” either analytically or historically. Analytically, there are several organizations of practice that can be treated as “generic.” By that I mean that they are addressed to organizational issues without which conversation, or talk-in-interaction more generally, cannot ­proceed in the manner in which it observably does proceed. Sustained episodes of talk-­in-­interaction imply, rest on, and embody ongoing solutions to those issues. Among these are the organization of turn-taking, the organization of sequences, the ­organization of repair, and the overall structural organization of single episodes of conversation (or other forms/occasions of interaction); there are others. The unit “turn” (and “turn-constructional unit”) is basic to turn-taking organization, and can in that sense be treated as one building block foundational to conversation, and consequently to C ­ onversation Analysis. But no more so than the adjacency pair is basic to the ­organization of sequences, with the same “foundational” import. Historically, I suspect that the “turn” has been accorded the centrality you refer to because of its intersection with the discipline of linguistics. The publication of the turn taking paper (Sacks et al. 1974) in the journal Language had something to do with that – with its invitation to linguists to contribute to this undertaking. And, as I have argued elsewhere (Schegloff 1989; 1996), the turn at talk seems to be the natural, “ecological,” home for units of language production, whether thought of as “sentences” or in other ways and terminologies, and so, when some linguists were gradually attracted to this work, it was to what happens in turns – and the interactional contingencies bearing on turns – that they were most naturally drawn. But this has more to do with history and traditions of linguistics (and linguists) than with CA. If you look at the earliest work, Sacks’ earliest lectures and papers and my own, they are not in the first instance about turns. If they “feature” anything, they feature action, “sequences,” and word selection (i.e., formulations or identification or reference).

doi 10.1075/pbns.273.03cme © 2017 John Benjamins Publishing Company

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

Secondly, we did not abandon the notion of “move,” although we use the term itself only infrequently. But central to the bulk of CA work is “action,” and what is getting done by some feature of the talk or other conduct. As far back as “Opening Up Closings” (Schegloff and Sacks 1973) in published papers, and earlier in Sacks’ Lectures, we understood the basic issue for parties to interaction to be “why that now,” and the default answer for participants has to do with what a speaker or other participant is doing by talking or conducting themselves otherwise (i.e., in physically realized conduct) in the way they are. Its centrality for interactants mandates the centrality for CA of understanding how that works. In a global sense, I’m not sure how much difference there is between this preoccupation in CA and what Goffman had in mind by “move.” And I’m not sure how much difference it makes; the issue is how best to get at what is going on in interaction and how it comes to be going on, and do so in an empirically grounded way. 2. CP: A much longer “question”. Suppose what you call “Italian conversation” (­Schegloff et al. 1996: 30) shows also a really “massive overlapping”, a parallelism of turn or moves by the conversationalists, i.e. a “differing organization”. Then a turn-centered idea of interaction even as a default turn-after-turn pattern, in that case, might no longer be sufficient. In order to cope with “the multi-vocality of Italian conversation” (Schegloff et al. 1996: 32), when Italian conversationalists leave or don’t adopt the turn-following mode, I’m thinking about a more general model, a multi-track or n-track model of conversation (where n = the number of conversationalists). Every conversationalist moves on his/her track, but how does a bundle of tracks or trajectories make a conversation? Beyond the problems of track-taking, track-leaving, etc., conversationalists have also that of “following” the other conversationalist(s) moving on their own tracks. According to this perspective, turns could be reconsidered and generalized as track units or constituents, with new problems concerning contacts or relationship between tracks, between track constituents. What do you think of this? EAS: First of all, there is no particular investment, at least on my part, in the account of turn-taking provided in Sacks et al., 1974 and extended in Schegloff, 2000. In the 1974 paper we said explicitly, and more than once, that the paper was almost certainly wrong in various places and respects, and would in retrospect appear overly coarse and unspecific. The investment is in getting it right, or as right as we can. Should someone provide an empirically grounded account of a turn-taking organization in operation under naturally-occurring circumstances which is different from what has been described (for conversation; we already know that turn-taking is different in other speech exchange systems), then that will be not a “defeat,” but an advance. It should allow us to formulate a more general or formal account of turn-taking which could be shown to subsume the previous (Sacks et al.) account and the new one as alternative specifications.



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff, Part 2 

Second, the description you put forward in your question of a putative turn-­ taking organization for “Italian conversation” (a notion which was not of my devising, but one summoned up by others, on which I was commenting) is not unfamiliar. It has quite a bit in common with the account offered some years ago by Karl Reisman (1974) of so-called “contrapuntal conversation” in Antigua. However, when talk in what is arguably the same genre in the same “speech community” or family of speech communities was examined in recorded and transcribed form which allowed more detailed, rigorous and verifiable examination, this account of turn-taking was called into question, to say the least (Sidnell 2001). It seems as improbable to me for conversation in Italy, but that is an empirical question. To take the matter up seriously, someone should assemble a corpus of conversational material in state of the art form (i.e., with video if the talk is co-present, etc.), get it properly transcribed as a method for mobilizing appropriately detailed examination, and provide an account of a turntaking organization being deployed by the parties in that talk that is different than what has previously been described – whether like the one suggested in the question or not. Then one can seriously ask what the import of these findings is. 3. PJT: From your perspective, could you clarify the bi-directional relationship between the levels of grammar, or linguistic forms, and turns in conversation and their organization? In other words, how do you see constraints emanating from the level of grammar operating in relation to turn-taking in conversation and the construction of turns, and, secondly, how does turn-taking affect or impinge on grammar and its specific contribution? EAS: This is not a question for me to answer, but a research program to be pursued by many investigators (several contributions to the Ochs, Schegloff and Thompson volume (1996) are addressed to such a research program, including my own (Schegloff 1996)). It is a matter not of “perspective,” but of analysis and the findings of sustained careful examination of data. A substantial number of people have begun addressing themselves to such questions, and doing so across a range of languages. It seems to me too early to offer “answers” to these questions yet. In fact, it is probably too early to know yet whether these are the right questions, or ones formulated in the most productive way. In general, it has in the past proven best to start not with questions, but with observations. If one starts with questions – especially ones not grounded in data but in “the literature” or “theoretical imagination” – and they are not formulated quite right, much time can be wasted in a search for answers which fails and leaves one with nothing enduring. If one starts with observations about data, one is already “ahead of the game” – there is already “news” in hand. And the questions one may use the data to pose have the advantage that they are grounded in observable reality, and so the questions too may turn out to be about observable reality, and that enhances the chances that the answers will be too.

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano

4. CP: How do you consider the relations between CA and interactional linguistics?

EAS: I suppose that this is a “work in progress,” and it remains to be seen what the relationship between the two will turn out to be. At present, “interactional linguistics” seems to be quite close to CA, adopting its premises, grounding much of its research and many of its problems in past CA work, etc. The differentiation in name at the present time is, I suspect, to some degree an effort to insist on the relevance of this work to Linguistics as a discipline within the contemporary university structure, indeed, to its proper membership in the canon of the field, and thereby to legitimate the conduct of this work within Departments or Faculties of Linguistics – in teaching, in research, in the training of students and the granting of degrees and the hiring of faculty. It seems to me outrageous that the sort of work in question, addressed as it is to topics which have traditionally been part of Linguistics – whether in grammar, in phonetics and phonology, in pragmatics, etc. – should have its legitimacy called into question for turning attention to new sorts of data, new sorts of findings about it, new modalities of research, all of which are clearly preoccupied with language, its structure, its organization, and its realization and deployment in the natural world. Often such work is dismissed as “untheoretical,” but in fact it is only responsive to different theoretical initiatives than are for the moment predominant in the field. But there are several other sorts of issues that may be involved in the differentiation, and these invite thought and discussion. One involves the sociological roots of CA and linguists’ lack of interest in them. Another concerns matters of traditional interest to linguists which have not found a place in CA. These complementary divergences may appear to invite resolution by pursuing a differently framed discipline or sub-discipline. I must confess some misgivings about this solution, and I’ll try to sketch them briefly. As for the sociological roots of CA, it seems to me worth the effort for colleagues trained in other fields who find CA of serious relevance to their interests to give some attention to its origins. The critical stance which CA embodies towards Sociology’s intellectual legacy (some of it taken over from Ethnomethodology, some distinctive to CA) has left an important mark on CA itself, and underlies why CA is set up to work the way it does, and why we resist the lines of working and theorizing which we resist. It underlies the centrality of the very data that supply our focus and the theoretical import of such data (beyond their mere accessibility). These choices and avoidances are not arbitrary or conventional or historical artifacts; they are the product of reasoned engagement with serious past practices in sociology and other social sciences. Those who want to build on CA work and to extend it, or for that matter to alter it, would be well served by knowing its roots, its background, and its rationale. Indeed, it would be useful to subject the legacy of Linguistics to the same sort of critical scrutiny that informed the emergence of CA as a distinct undertaking,



A discussion with Emanuel A. Schegloff, Part 2 

rather than to simply accept the legacy of the field – including its conventional sub-­ divisions – as the shaper of contemporary work. Or will resources and analytic discriminations be carried over from a Linguistics grounded in very different data into the study of the varieties of naturally-occurring talk-in-interaction which set our contemporary agenda? It is not only the data which are very different, but what is taken to feature most centrally in our understanding of the talk and its resources: action – what the parties are doing – comes to figures centrally, in a way that had little place or precedent in the Linguistics of the past. If there is any merit to this suggestion, then some interests derived from training in traditional linguistic concerns might be better set aside as no longer central or even viable, rather than becoming the raison d’être for a separate sub-discipline. It seems to me that one key desideratum now is the prospect of colleagues coming from Linguistics trying increasingly to situate their past training within a broader analytical preoccupation with the basic, formative sources and structures of interaction as we understand them. These focus most centrally on action in interaction, and the social occasions and social relationships in which they are embedded and which they in turn shape, more than on propositions, information, sentences, etc. As conversation analysts have tried to be responsive to initiatives taken by linguists in exploring, for example, prosody in conversation, so we look forward to linguists developing their research orientation to feature the action and interactional practices which are at the “ground level” of the data of conversation and other talk-in-interaction. Is this prospect enhanced or endangered by a separate interactional linguistics? As I said at the outset, it is a work-in-progress; we shall see what develops.

References Reisman, Karl. 1974. “Contrapuntal Conversations in an Antiguan Village.” In Explorations in the Ethnography of Speaking, ed. by Richard Bauman and Joel Sherzer, 110–124. ­Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sacks, Harvey, Emanuel A. Schegloff, and Gail Jefferson. 1974. “A Simplest Systematics for the Organization of Turn-Taking for Conversation.” Language 50: 696–735. doi: 10.1353/lan.1974.0010 Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1989. “Reflections on Language, Development, and the Interactional Character of Talk-in-Interaction.” In Interaction in Human Development, ed. by Marc ­Bornstein and Jerome. S. Bruner, 139–153. New York: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1996. “Turn Organization: One Intersection of Grammar and Interaction.” In Interaction and Grammar, ed. by Elinor Ochs, Emanuel A. Schegloff, and Sandra Thompson, 52–133. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. doi: 10.1017/CBO9780511620874.002 Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2000. “Overlapping Talk and the Organization of Turn-Taking for Conversation.” Language in Society, 29 (1): 1–63.  doi: 10.1017/s0047404500001019

 Svetla Cmejrková & Carlo Prevignano Schegloff, Emanuel A., Elinor Ochs, and Sandra Thompson. 1996. “Introduction.” In Interaction and Grammar, ed. by Elinor Ochs, Emanuel A. Schegloff, and Sandra Thompson, 1–51. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  doi: 10.1017/CBO9780511620874.001 Schegloff, Emanuel A., and Harvey Sacks. 1973. “Opening up Closings.” Semiotica 8 (4): 289–327. doi: 10.1515/semi.1973.8.4.289 Sidnell, Jack. 2001. “Conversational Turn-Taking in a Caribbean English Creole.” Journal of Pragmatics 33: 1263–1290.  doi: 10.1016/S0378-2166(00)00062-X

Inferring the purpose of a prior query and responding accordingly Anita Pomerantz University at Albany

The paper analyzes how recipients infer the purpose of a prior query. While such inferences are not directly observable, analyzing responses to queries sheds light on ways in which recipients likely understood them. The paper identifies three types of sequences in which recipients respond to the inferred purpose of the prior query. To infer a purpose of a query, recipients draw on the form of the query, the immediately prior interaction, and assumedly shared knowledge about the current situation. It concludes with a discussion of the relationship between inferring the purpose of a prior query and participants’ pervasively addressing the question ‘why that now’. Keywords:  conversation analysis; questions; responses; reasoning; bases of inferences; participants’ analysis; purpose of question

1.  Introduction One productive framework to use in studying responses to queries involves examining the constraints created by the prior queries. A growing number of studies address how respondents deal with multifaceted constraints imposed by the question format and its action. In her chapter on response design in conversation, Lee (2013) provides an excellent summary of a developing body of research aimed at reporting how respondents go along with the constraints of the question, how they resist constraints to varying degrees and in varying forms, and what is accomplished by either going along or resisting the different constraints. In a study of the ways in which pubic figures respond to questions during news interviews and press conferences, Clayman (1993) shows how reformulating the question enabled public officials to sidestep the question. Continuing in that domain, ­Stivers and Hayashi (2010) demonstrate how recipients retroactively adjust the questions posed to them, transforming the question terms and/or the question agenda. While these insightful studies focus on ways respondents resist a question’s agenda and the implications of the transformations, their analyses are not especially focused on how recipients infer a question’s agenda or purpose. doi 10.1075/pbns.273.04pom © 2017 John Benjamins Publishing Company

 Anita Pomerantz

In a paper on the grammatical constraints of yes/no interrogatives (YNI) on the structure of responding, Raymond (2003) demonstrates that type-conforming responses (that is, those with ‘yes’ or ‘no’ tokens in them) accept as adequate the terms and presuppositions embodied in the question and the action it delivers, whereas nonconfirming responses treat the terms or presuppositions of the question or the action it performs as problematic in some way. He accounts for the fact that type-conforming responses are far more common than nonconforming responses by referring to questioners’ use of recipient design. While the concept of recipient design relies on the fact that questioners make inferences about the recipient’s knowledge, interests, background, etc. in designing their questions, less research has been done on the types of analysis that recipients do in understanding prior questions. While the focus on constraints on responses yields a productive stream of research, the focus of this paper is different: it is on an aspect of the work that recipients do in analyzing queries addressed to them. More specifically, it is on how recipients infer the purpose of the query. When a recipient infers a purpose for asking the prior query, the inference, itself, clearly is not directly observable. However when a recipient responds to not only what the query literally asks but includes more or other information in the response, an analyst may use the response to gain insight into the ways in which the recipient likely understood the prior query. This interest has been taken up by a number of scholars, and I briefly discuss some of them below. Levinson (1981) describes responses “aimed at prior speaker’s higher-level goals” (p. 110). He gives several examples of responses that are aimed not at what has been asked in the prior query but rather at the broader motive, or higher level goal, that is seen to lie behind what has been said. He suggests that to the query, “Where’s John,” there are a large set of alternative answers, although which answer is helpful and cooperative will depend on what the questioner’s motive was in asking the question. Levinson adds that the questioner’s motive often is directly inferable from the contextual circumstances and in particular the kind of activity in which the exchange is situated. Walker, Drew, and Local (2011) discuss responding to the purpose of a query in terms of responses that have been called ‘indirect.’ They suggest that one of the important uses of so-called indirect responses is to address what the respondent infers as the questioner’s purpose behind asking the question. These indirect responses are designed to go straight to the heart of the project being launched (or furthered) by the inquiry; by using indirect responses, speakers can display what they take the inquirer ‘really’ to want to know. In short, these indirect responses are used to answer a question that isn’t asked, and instead respond to something like the motivation behind the question that is asked. (p. 2441)

Walker et al. suggest that recipients of inquiries analyze the project or activity that is being either launched or furthered through the query and respond with respect to the query-as-part-of-the-activity. The responses, then, display the recipients’ analysis



Inferring the purpose of a prior query and responding accordingly 

of the activity being pursued in and through the inquiry. That analysis can draw on shared knowledge either about the world at large or about knowledge specific to the interactants and/or the prior talk. Walker et al. make several important points about responses that apparently address the inferred purpose of the query. Inasmuch as such responses allow the respondent to display a particular understanding of why the question was asked, they seem designed to display alignment with the activity in progress (Stivers 2008). Walker et al. also suggest that providing information that satisfies the purpose of the query is a way to give the relevant information as early as possible in the interaction, possibly treating the information as important. In an earlier paper, I proposed that recipients’ work of inferring the purpose-forasking is a general feature of responding to queries (Pomerantz 1988): The lay model used for engaging in information seeking and the interpretive schema used for understanding and responding to information seeking is that information seeking is a motivated and purposeful action, performed in response to a warranting circumstance. … The co-interactant presumes that the information-seeker has a purpose for seeking the information. While a purpose may be explicitly formulated for a co-interactant, many times it is not. When it is not, a co-interactant may infer a purpose through everyday reasoning practices.  (pp. 362–3)

The analysis in that paper was aimed at supporting the claim that a general feature of responding to queries involves inferring the purpose for asking; there was no analysis of how respondents inferred a purpose nor how they dealt with the relationship between the literal query and the inferred purpose of the query. In a study of calls by customers to service agents of an airline to cancel or change flight reservations, Lee (2011) examined responses to questions in which customers provided information that was different from or beyond what the question literally sought. As a routine part of processing customer identification information, agents ask a question about the customer’s membership status, such as “Sir do you have our Korean Air Sky Pass card.” In some cases, the customer bypasses providing a simple confirmation and instead moves directly to either providing the membership number or providing an alternative identification method. …customers orient to expediting the step-by-step procedure of the activity in progress. They not only satisfy the underlying purpose for which the preliminary question was asked, but also do so by providing an effective method of identifica­ tion. Rather than going along with the question by simply producing a typeconforming answer (Raymond 2003), customers here rather find an alternative way to accomplish the activity and expedite its progress. They depart from the terms of the question with an orientation to efficient progression of the identification activity. (p. 912)

 Anita Pomerantz

Of particular note is that Lee provides an analysis of the basis upon which customers infer the purpose of the question. Lee proposes that both service agents and customers have knowledge about the sequences that constitute the activity of requesting/­granting service requests, and specifically know that customer identification constitutes an early and essential sequence before service requests can be processed. More specifically, they know that customers’ records are stored by membership numbers, and that another unique identification that would appear in the customer’s record is the resident registration number. Lee proposes that in giving responses that do not conform to the information requested, “…customers anticipate hierarchical institution-specific stages in the activity and respond to the higher-level purpose for which the question was produced.” (p. 904). Sacks (1992) recognized that recipients’ analyses of prior questions go beyond analyzing the terms of the question itself; in their responses they take into account the ‘project’ of the questioner. In his discussion of a phone call to the Suicide Prevention Center, Sacks used correction-invitation sequences to make that point. The caller has reported that she has a gun and is considering killing herself. The call-taker wants to know why she has the gun and where she got it. He asks “Is it yours?” she says “No, it’s my husband’s.” He then asks “Is he a police officer?” … where ‘police officer’ is now a good account for somebody having a gun, and is to be replaced by, not simply “No he isn’t,” or “No he isn’t” plus “He’s a butcher,” but “No he isn’t” plus some other account of why the gun is had. (pp. 380–1)

In this example, Sacks formulates the call-taker’s project as attempting to find out why the caller has the gun and where she got it. While Sacks does not analyze how the caller would infer that “Is he a police officer?” is an instance of a candidate explanation, it can be assumed that the caller would have analyzed both the current query and its relationship to the prior series of questions (“Do you have a gun at home?”, “What’s it doing there.” “Whose is it.”, and “Is it yours”) to infer that the questioner’s purpose was to elicit an explanation for why her husband has a gun in the house. In the Analysis section, I identify three types of sequences in which recipients of queries respond to the inferred purpose of the prior query. In the Discussion section, I explore the relationship between the recipients’ work of inferring the purpose of a prior query and the claim that participants pervasively address the question ‘why that now’ (Schegloff and Sacks 1973).

2.  Data and methods The data analyzed for this study were drawn from various collections of data. Given that the aim of the study was to explore recipients’ analyses of the prior questions, the responses in which the recipient’s analysis of the query’s purpose was particularly visible were those



Inferring the purpose of a prior query and responding accordingly 

in which the recipient provided more than, or other than, the information requested in the literal query. Twenty-five instances were identified and subjected to analysis. The methods used in analyzing the responses were to review the recordings and transcripts multiple times, paying particular attention to the information and reports given by the recipients. I sought to reconstruct what the recipient was apparently responding to in providing the information and/or report that he or she did, and I sought to characterize the processes involved in the recipients’ analyses. The preliminary analyses suggested that the instances could be grouped into three sequence types, which are discussed below. Given the way the data were selected and the small number of instances, no claims can be made about scope of recipient’s inferring the purpose of a prior query nor about the distribution of the sequence types described in this chapter.

3.  Analysis The analysis is organized to illuminate three types of sequences in which a recipient responded to the inferred purpose of a query and to suggest the bases upon which they drew inferences about the query’s purpose. The first sequence type involves the recipient’s apparently inferring the purpose of a yes/no or fixed choice question as seeking an explanation. The second type involves the recipient’s apparently inferring the purpose of a request for confirmation as seeking response to an associated query. The third type involves the recipient’s treating the purpose of an open query as seeking information about a specific matter.

3.1  S equence type 1: Inferred purpose of a yes/no or fixed choice question is to seek an explanation Below we offer three examples of this sequence type. Example 1 In the following example, Shirley phones her friend and neighbor, Geri. The query of interest is performed by Geri in line 2; the discussion will focus on Shirley’s inference of the purpose of the query as displayed in her response in lines 3–5. (1) TC:1 Timing of the call

1 Shi: hhh Suh how’r you? 2 Ger: → Oka:y d’dju just hear me pull up?= 3 Shi: → =.hhhh NO:. I wz TRYing you all 4 day.’n the LINE wz busy fer like 5 hours. 6 Ger: Ohh:::::::, ohh:::::.

 Anita Pomerantz

Based on the inclusion of the word “just” in Geri’s query (line 2), Shirley would understand that the timing of the asked about event (Shirley’s possibly hearing Geri’s arrival home) is salient. In attempting to understand what Geri’s purpose in asking might be, the relevance of the timing of possibly hearing her arrival home directs Shirley to relate it to another action, known to Geri, that Shirley performed in close proximity to it. The action that Shirley identified, her phoning Geri, is one that would be known to Geri and that she could have performed right after and in response to having heard Geri arrive home. Hence she understands the action of the query as offering a candidate explanation for the timing of her call. When a recipient understands that a query is a possible explanation of a particular matter, the recipient infers that questioner’s purpose for the query is to elicit an explanation of that matter. Understanding Geri’s query as a possible explanation of the timing of Shirley’s phone call, Shirley infers that the purpose of the query was to either get confirmation of the candidate explanation or to elicit an alternative explanation. In response, Shirley disconfirms the candidate explanation and then responds to the apparently inferred purpose by offering the alternative explanation that this call was one in a series of calls she initiated. Example 2 In the following example, Carla is a secretary working at a local television station and Mike is a cameraman who works in the same building. Mike and another co-worker stop by Carla’s desk to chat. After Carla notices Mike’s haircut, Mike complains about it with a negative assessment (line 7) followed by an account of how the barber did not follow his instructions (lines 9–11, 13–15). The query of interest is performed by Carla on lines 17–18; the discussion will focus on Mark’s response on lines 19–20 as it displays his analysis of the query. (2) AT:08 Bad Haircut

1 Carla: You got a hair cut too, huh 2 (0.5) 3 Mark: Uh:[:: 4 Carla:      [Or did you get it last week? 5 Mark: Yeah last Thursday 6 Ann: I told him it looks good, right? 7 Mark: They- 0They cut too much off0 8 Carla: O:::h dear 9 Mark: I told them:: (.) I told th’m uh (.) 10 five on the side, clipper on the 11 side:s, 12 Carla: Mm hm 13 Mark: And then tri:m the top just keep the 14 top a little but longer, and he used 15 clippers on the whole thing. 16 (0.8)



Inferring the purpose of a prior query and responding accordingly  17 Carla: → Wha- Now, do you go to the same place 18 all the time or= 19 Mark: → =Yeah but I always get different 20 people. 21 Carla: Oh:.

Mark would have understood Carla’s query in lines 17–18 as speaking on the topic in progress where the reference “go” is understood as going for a haircut and the reference “place” is understood as a shop that cuts hair. After the first possibility specified in the query as to whether he has a regular barber, the alternative possibility that is projected is that he goes to different places for haircuts. That alternative can be seen to be a candidate explanation of his receiving a bad haircut. In understanding the query as offering a candidate explanation, Mark would have inferred that the purpose of the query was to seek an explanation for the bad haircut. In turn-initial position, Mark confirms with an affirmative token that he goes to the same place all the time yet he continues with the contrastive conjunction “but,” and then provides a report that explains the bad haircut: “I always get different people.” His elaboration of always getting different people relies on the same logic as Carla’s (unarticulated) alternative: a customer is more likely to get a bad haircut going to an unknown barber than to one’s regular barber. His elaborating in that way in response to Carla’s query (rather than elaborating with the name of the shop, the location, etc.) suggests that he understood the purpose of Carla’s query to elicit an explanation and cooperatively satisfied it. Example 3 The conversation excerpted below occurred as part of a class assignment to improve students’ English language competency. The students and their conversation partners were given the discussion topic: “How can we make life in [name of city] healthier?” Leading up to the segment below, Joe (a native speaker) asked Suk (a non-native speaker) why he thinks people do not eat healthier food. Suk provide several reasons, the first two being that unhealthy food tastes good and that healthy food is expensive. The third reason he offered was that healthy food takes more time to prepare, giving the example that it took his wife a lot of time to prepare Korean food: “Raw fish, and eh (0.5) mm (1.2) kimchi::, Korean food and Japanese food for- (0.5) for uh: (0.2) uh: (0.7) It’s very difficult to- (0.2) make eh it” and that “my wife who: (0.5) ah:: (1.5) have a lot of time (.) to make uh Korean food.” Joe follows up with a confirmation check whether Suk considers the time needed to cook as another reason why people do not eat healthy food, and when Suk confirms it, Joe suggests that this applies to “younger people, students, [who] probably don’t have as much time” as it took Suk’s wife to cook such food. Joe then asks whether Suk’s wife has a job or stays at home (lines 1–3). The focus of this analysis is on Suk’s responses (lines 4–6, 8–10, 12–13, 15) to Joe’s query as they deal with the purpose he infers of the query.

 Anita Pomerantz (3) mov 004–11 No time to cook

1 Joe: → Does your wife (0.2) ah, stay- does 2 your wife have a job? or does she 3 stay at home? 4 Suk: → Ah:::, yeah. My wife who- my wife a 5 graduate student (0.2) in (.) SUNY 6 [(Albany). 7 Joe: → [Oh:: Yeh? 8 Suk: → Ah:: (0.5) So ss mm she has her (0.5) 9 she has (a lot of) wo- (0.2) hm 10 ho:mework, 11 Joe: → >mm hm< 12 Suk: → so:: (0.2) she has heh she has no 13 time to cook? 14 Joe: → She has no time to cook? 15 Suk: → Ya::h

In his query about Suk’s wife status, Joe includes the alternatives of ‘having a job’ or ‘staying at home’ (lines 1–3). In the context of Suk’s point that preparing healthy food is time-consuming, the wife’s ‘having a job’ is a status that is understood as potentially preventing her from having time to prepare healthy food, and ‘homemaker’ is a status that is understood as allowing her time to prepare such food. In response, Suk does not confirm either of those statuses but provides the alternative of ‘graduate student.’ Joe displays receipt of Suk’s unexpected report about his wife’s status which provides an opportunity for Suk to elaborate (line 7). In response, Suk offers additional information related to the wife’s status as a graduate student which addresses the time commitment associated with her being a graduate student (lines 8–10). His formulation “a lot of homework” as opposed to “homework” builds up the time demand on his wife and serves as an implicit account for her not being able to cook time-consuming meals. After Joe acknowledges the report (line 11), Suk continues with the upshot as it relates to the purpose of the query that he apparently inferred, viz. whether or not she has time to cook healthy food (lines 12–13).

3.2  S equence Type 2: Inferred purpose of a request for confirmation is seeking response to an associated query Below we offer two examples of this sequence type. Example 4 In the segment below, Tim and Janet are discussing food they will have for dinner. Tim initiates the topic with an inquiry as to the food the couple will have (line 1). After a delay and disclaimer, Janet provides a report of her own dinner food, which counters Tim’s presumption that they will have the same food for dinner (lines 2–4). After a two second gap with no audible response, Janet reports the presence of specific food (lines



Inferring the purpose of a prior query and responding accordingly 

6–7, 9), a report that is hearable as a suggestion of food he can have for dinner. Tim potentially terminates the sequence with an acknowledgment (line 10) yet following a cough and a half second gap, he requests confirmation that a different food, “egg stuff,” is present in the house (lines 13–14). The analysis will focus on Janet’s response to Tim’s query as it displays her understanding of the purpose of his query (lines 15–16). (4) NS.09.1:38 Egg stuff

1 Tim: What’re we havin’ for dinner? 2 (1.0) 3 Janet: I don’t know=I have my dinner. I have 4 a: W(h)eight W(h)atchers dinn(hh)r. 5 (2.0) 6 Janet: We have left over we have eggplant 7 parmesan, 8 (1.0) 9 Janet: and vegetables, 10 Tim: U::hright 11 Tim: ((cough)) 12 (0.5) 13 Tim: → We got some of those egg stuff for uh 14 breakfast there ↑right? 15 → (1.0) 16 Janet: → Uh:: that would be mine? 17 Tim: Oh::. Okay. W’l I certainly won’t 18 touch tho:se 19 Janet: No 20 Tim: 0Al[right0 21 Janet:     [(  ) 22 (2.5) 23 Tim: Well I’m gonna have a sandwich then I 24 think 25 (1.5) 26 Janet: You don’t want the eggplant? 27 (1.0) 28 Tim: Ah I might have that. Might have the 29 eggplant 30 Janet: Uhkay

Although Tim’s query, on the surface, appears to be seeking a simple confirmation that there is some ‘egg stuff ’ in the house, and although there apparently is ‘egg stuff ’ in the house, Janet does not respond with a confirmation in lines 15–16. Rather Janet ­apparently inferred the purpose of the query was related to Tim’s current activity of selecting food to eat for his dinner. As such, Janet apparently understood that Tim’s query about the “egg stuff ” implied that he was considering having it for dinner. Janet’s response “Uh:: that would be mine?” (line16) implicitly confirms the presence of “egg stuff ” but more directly addresses the purpose of the query as she

 Anita Pomerantz

a­ pparently inferred it. In claiming sole possession (in contrast to joint possession) of the “egg stuff ”, she vetoes his consideration of “egg stuff ” for his dinner by providing the implicit account that the “egg stuff ” is part of the special food reserved for her diet. Tim responds by playfully indicating his compliance with her veto. Example 5 In the following example, Mary is describing an event in which someone recognized her by name and, after she failed to recognize him, said his name. After a gap, Eve marks the name as a matter of interest with a questioning repeat, and Mary responds by telling Eve his full name. Following a gap, Eve repeats the surname, which Mary confirms. The query of interest is on lines 14–15. The analysis will focus on Mary’s response to Eve’s query as it displays her inference about the purpose of the query (lines 17–18). (5) UT.A20 Same name

1 Mary: … h’ goes he goes Mary “is that yo:u” 2 and I turned around and I go “yeah?” 3 .hhh and he goes- (0.2) he goes “you 4 don’t remember do yo” and I go: (1.0) 5 “Well ki:nda:” (0.4) and he goes 6 “This is Hal.” 7 (0.8) 8 Eve: Hal? 9 Mary: His name is Hal Rice. 10 (1.0) 11 Eve: Rice 12 (0.2) 13 Mary: Mm[hm 14 Eve: →    [Don’t you have a friend named 15 (0.4) Ann Rice 16 → (0.2) 17 Mary: → Yeah. (0.2) But they’re not brother 18 and sist[er h 19 Ev        [Oh oka(h)y

Although it appears on the surface that Eve’s query on lines 14–15 seeks a simple confirmation, Mary provides more than that in her response: she disclaims a relationship between the man in her story and her friend, Ann Rice (lines 17–18). Her response display that she apparently inferred that the purpose of Eve’s query was to find out if Hal Rice is related to Ann Rice. Eve’s seeking confirmation that Mary’s friend’s name is Ann Rice can be seen to be preliminary to asking whether Hal Rice and Ann Rice are related. It would be preliminary in that it establishes a matter that then would warrant making the subsequent inquiry. To infer that the purpose of the inquiry is to see if the two people are related, Mary draws on the form of the query, its relationship to prior talk, and shared background



Inferring the purpose of a prior query and responding accordingly 

knowledge about family members’ surnames. First, with the negative form of query (“Don’t you have…”), Eve implicitly claims to know, but without absolutely certainty, that Mary does have a friend whose name is Ann Rice (Heritage 2013; Koshik 2002). So it seems that she is asking for confirmation of something she already pretty well knows. Furthermore the query itself is formed up with an emphasis on the name (“friend named Ann Rice”) and hence the name is treated as relevant. Second, Mary would consider possible reasons for Eve to have asked about her friend’s name at that point in the interaction (‘why that now’) and would recognize that the query about her friend’s surname relates to her story about having met someone with the same surname. Finally, Mary’s inference that Eve’s query was aimed at finding out if the two are related draws on shared common knowledge that people with the same surname may be related. In responding, Mary first confirms that she has a friend with the same surname and then disclaims that they are brother and sister. Because siblings generally have the same surname, Mary uses a ‘but’ conjunction to show the disjuncture between confirming same last name and asserting that they are not related. Eve accepts the report, thereby treating it as adequately responding to the purpose of her query (line 19).

3.3  S equence Type 3: Inferred purpose of an open query is seeking information about a specific matter In sequences in which the recipient infers that the purpose of the query is to elicit an explanation (Type 1), the forms of the query examined here are yes-no questions and alternative choice questions. In sequences in which the recipient infers that the purpose of the query is to elicit a response to an associated action, the forms of the query examined in this paper are yes/no questions in which the questioner displayed an expectation for confirmation (Type 2). In both of those sequence types, recipients of closed questions inferred the purpose of the query by noting the form of the query, relating it to prior conduct, and bringing to bear shared understandings. However recipients can infer the purpose of a query with queries that are relatively open as well. In interactions in which the participants have shared knowledge about a salient matter, the recipient of an open query such as “How are you doing?” may understand the purpose of that inquiry as seeking information about that salient matter. ‘The following example illustrates this type of sequence. The mutually known reason for the call is to coordinate the meeting time at a local restaurant. Example 6 Sharon and Clara call each other almost every Sunday with the purpose of coordinating their meeting for breakfast at a local restaurant. The fragment below is the opening of the second call between the participants that morning, this one initiated by Sharon. ­Following the segment presented here, Sharon estimates that she will leave her house

 Anita Pomerantz

in ten minutes or “fifteen if you need it” and Clara says she’s leave in fifteen or twenty ­minutes. The query of interest is on line 11 and the focus of the analysis is on Clara’s response as it displays her understanding of the purpose of the inquiry (lines 12–13, 15). (6) CC:11

1 Clara: hello? 2 Sharon: .hh Good morning 3 Clara: Good morning 4 Sharon: How are you? 5 Clara: Cold and miserable and you? 6 Sharon: .hhh Oh well (.2) as usual,.hh in 7 better shape now I’m muh (.4) I’m 8 dressed the baby’s almost ready and 9 Benjamin and Maribella are here 10 Clara: O::kay 11 Sharon: → So how are ya doin 12 Clara: → Well I’m standing here buck naked let 13 me [go start the car come in and get= 14 Sharon:      [hhhh 15 Clara: → =dressed and I’ll be ready hhe 16 Sharon: .hhh Oka:y 17 Clara: When are you leaving in about ten?

Based on her response, it seems clear that Clara understood that the purpose of ­Sharon’s inquiry “So how are ya doin” (line 11) was to find out Clara’s state of readiness to leave the house. The bases she would have used to arrive at that understanding are knowing the reason for the call, and tracking the immediately prior interaction, and noticing the form of the question. As the mutually known reason for the call was to coordinate their meeting, information needed for coordination would be seen as particularly salient. With respect to tracking the immediately prior interaction, the participants did an exchange of ‘how are you’ inquiries,1 and in response to the return inquiry, Sharon offered an assessment of her circumstance “in better shape now” followed by a report of three states (“I’m dressed,” “The baby’s almost ready,” and “Benjamin and Maribella are here”) that conveyed that she is ready, or almost ready, to leave her house. At this point, a reciprocal report by Clara on her state of readiness would be called for to coordinate the meeting. However Clara passes on giving that report and instead offers an acknowledgment of Sharon’s report (line 10). If Sharon asks a somewhat open question at this point, it would be reasonable for Clara to infer that its purpose would be to elicit a status report. Also the form of the query (“so how are ya doin”) serves as a resource

.  In response to Sharon’s “How are you” query, Clara gives negative assessments (“cold and miserable”) which may premonitor her not being ready (Jefferson, 1980).



Inferring the purpose of a prior query and responding accordingly 

to understand the purpose of the query. Whereas the initial exchange of queries was formulated as “How are you” questions, this query is formulated with more attention to the recipient’s “doings” which may suggest that the questioner is seeking an update on her activities. In response, Clara provides a status report on her readiness that would satisfy the purpose for the query as she apparently inferred it: she is not yet dressed but as soon as she gets dressed she’ll be ready. The two participants go on to approximate the number of minutes it would take them to be ready.

4.  Discussion While working on analyzing how recipients respond to the inferred purpose of a query, I thought of the similarity between this phenomenon and previously described analyses performed by recipients, namely that in understanding the conduct with which they are presented, they address the question: ‘why that now.’ That there is a relationship between recipients’ inferring the purpose of a query and participants asking ‘why that now’ was further reinforced in reading Walker et al. (2011) paper on indirect speech. They also noticed that the phenomenon they analyzed could be viewed in terms of participants being accountable for using ‘why that now.’ The polar question producers demonstrate, by their pursuit of the information, that they expected their enquiries to engender responses that were more elaborate than a simple yes or no, however direct (in a speech act sense) such responses may be. In other words, it seems that they were counting on their co-participants’ ability to respond to ‘why that now’ rather than the response explicitly provided for by the prior turn’s syntactic structure.” (p. 2437) (emphasis added)

Seeing the connection between recipients’ inferring the purpose of queries and participants’ addressing ‘why that now,’ I re-read the papers that analyzed participants’ use of ‘why that now.’ I found that my previous sense of their use had been quite vague, and a close reading of the papers sharpened my understanding of it. I briefly describe three aspects of participants’ use of ‘why this now’ as I now understand it. First, the formulation of the question is directed at the recipient’s work rather than the work of the initiating actor. That is, ‘why that now’ is a key to how participants make sense of other participants’ conduct.2 Second, the ‘now’ in ‘why that now’ should be read as ‘at this point in relation to some prior conduct and/or some anticipated conduct. Third, both the sense that is made of the conduct in question (the ‘that’ in ‘why that now’ and

.  A formulation for work by initiating actors might be something like ‘when/how do I do this?’

 Anita Pomerantz

the prior and/or anticipated conduct that is seen to be related to it (the ‘now’ in ‘why that now’) can only be determined in context. The earliest written account of the principle ‘why that now’ occurs in a paper by Schegloff and Sacks (1973) on how closing sequences are initiated. In that paper, they analyze ‘pre-closings’, a practice used for initiating a closing sequence, that are performed with tokens such as “we-ell…”, “O.K…”, and “So-oo.” However such tokens can be used for different work than initiating a closing sequence, so the question the authors ask is what does it takes for such a token to be recognized as the beginning of a closing. Their answer is that participants look to see where it is performed to determine what it is. Recognizing and understanding a “we-ell” as a pre-closing depends upon participants seeing the timing of its having been done at the recognizable completion of a topic. In their paper, they offered a description of the use of ‘why that now’ (1973): Past and current work has indicated that placement considerations are general for utterances. That is: a pervasively relevant issue (for participants) about utterances in conversation is ‘why that now’, a question whose analysis may also be relevant to finding what ‘that’ is.” (p. 299).

In saying that placement is “a pervasively relevant issue,” Schegloff and Sacks indicate the work of making sense of conduct, recognizing what action is being performed, essentially involves seeing it in some context. For example, recognizing the utterance “one” as a response to a query or a correction or as the beginning of a list of items involves seeing it in relation to other actions. What some bit of conduct is recognized to be (its character as an action) is at least partially derived from where it is performed relative to what came before it or what should come after it. They understood that recognizing an action is fundamentally indexical, that is, its meaning is dependent on the context in which it occurs. In a later piece, Schegloff (1998) clarified the indexical aspect of participants’ using the principle ‘why that now’. The ‘that’ could indeed locate ‘the utterance’, or the intonation (some particular intonation), or the term used to refer to a person or place, or a gesture, etc. – any ‘remark-able’ feature of the talk or other conduct in interaction. Indeed, every part of the ‘why that now’ question (for participants) must be understood as indexical. The ‘now’ can range across various orders of granularity – various orders of temporal or structural place-types, from where in the unfolding of a turn-constructional unit to where in a turn, to where in a sequence, to (as in the ‘Opening Up Closings’ case) where in the overall structural organization of the conversation, and others (and other sorts) as well. (pp. 413–4)

In sum, the principle of ‘why that now’ is a question relied on by participants for making sense of some piece of conduct. In addressing ‘why that conduct now,’ participants are directed to see that conduct in relation to prior talk and actions and/or



Inferring the purpose of a prior query and responding accordingly 

anticipated talk and actions. Exactly what prior or anticipated talk and actions are relevant in making sense of the conduct is shaped by what the conduct is. In that way the process of making sense of some conduct is dependent on both how the conduct itself is performed and when it is said/done. This highlights the reflexive nature of conduct and context, namely that conduct comes to be understood by virtue of the context in which it occurs and the context comes to be understood, in part, by virtue of the conduct of the participants. In short, an important aspect of participants’ answering ‘why that now’ is their figuring out the relevant scope of ‘that’ and the relevant scope of ‘now.’ Having clarified some aspects of participants’ use of ‘why that now,’ I now apply it to the examples already discussed. My interest is in seeing how our current understanding of participants’ use of ‘why that now’ adds to the analyses presented in this paper. For this application, I use one example for each of the three sequence types: seeking an explanation using an alternative choice query (Example 2), eliciting response to implied associated action using a request for confirmation (­Example 5), and asking about particular matter using an open query (Example 6). In Example 2, Mark is in position to make sense of Carla’s utterance “­Wha- Now, do you go to the same place all the time or”. Mark identifies his previous complaint about his bad cut by a barber who disregarded his instructions as prior talk to which Carla’s utterance is related and concomitantly infers that the purpose of the query is to elicit an explanation. In Example 5, Mary is in position of making sense of Eve’s utterance “Don’t you have a friend named (0.4) Ann Rice.” Mary identifies her own previous description of meeting a person whose name is Hal Rice as prior talk to which Eve’s utterance is related and concomitantly recognizes that the purpose of the query is to lead up to, or imply, the associated inquiry regarding whether they are related. In Example 6, Clara is in position of making sense of Sharon’s inquiry “So how are ya doin”. Clara identifies the reason for the call (coordinating their meeting) and Sharon’s prior report of her own readiness to leave as activities and actions to which Sharon’s utterance is related and concomitantly recognizes that the purpose of the inquiry is to prompt her to report on her state of readiness. The application of the framework ‘why that now’ to these instances has made the indexical and reflexive nature of the recipient’s sense-making work more visible to me. I believe most conversation analysts are quite familiar with the notion that sequential context is crucial in identifying what action an utterance, gesture, etc. is understood to be performing. However conversation analysts may be less familiar with the notion that specifically which prior bits of talk, action, gesture, shared understanding, etc. are relevant for making sense and inferring the purpose of a current utterance is determined by a recipient on a case to case basis. In Example 2, the prior complaint was the relevant conduct for inferring the purpose of the inquiry; in Example 5, the name of the person who introduced himself (as reported) was the relevant information for

 Anita Pomerantz

inferring the purpose of the inquiry; and in Example 6, understanding the purpose of the call along with the ­co-participant’s report on her readiness were relevant for inferring the purpose of the inquiry. While ‘why that now’ points to the fact that when interactants make sense of a bit of conduct, they use the placement and timing of that conduct relative to some prior conduct and/or some projected conduct. While this is a crucial part of understanding how participants make sense of their own and each other’s conduct, that understanding needs to be filled in by detailed analyses that further build the conversation analytic body of knowledge. This has been stated most eloquently by Schegloff (1998): In the end, it is by examining with greater perspicacity – and specificity, episode by episode – what mobilizes the members’ work of ‘why that now?’, what its product understandings are, and how those products are displayed in ensuing conduct by others, etc., that we make the work better.” (p. 414)

References Clayman, Steven E. 1993. “Reformulating the Question: A Device for Answering/Not Answering Questions in News Interviews and Press Conferences.” Text 3 (2): 159–188. doi: 10.1515/text.1.1993.13.2.159 Heritage, John. 2013. “Epistemics in Conversation.” In The Handbook of Conversation Analysis, ed. by Jack Sidnell and Tanya Stivers, 370–394. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Jefferson, Gail. 1980. “On ‘Trouble-Premonitory’ Response to Inquiry.” Sociological Inquiry 50 (3–4): 153–185.  doi: 10.1016/S0378-2166(02)00057-7 Koshik, I. 2002. “A conversation Analytic Study of Yes/No Questions which Convey Reversed Polarity Assertions.” Journal of Pragmatics 34 (12): 1851–1877.

doi: 10.1016/s0378-2166(02)00057–7

Lee, Seung-Hee. 2011. “Responding at a Higher Level: Activity Progressivity in Calls for ­Service.” Journal of Pragmatics 43: 904–917.  doi: 10.1016/j.pragma.2010.09.028 Lee, Seung-Hee. 2013. “Response Design in Conversation.” In The Handbook of Conversation Analysis, ed. by Jack Sidnell, and Tanya Stivers, 415–432. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Levinson, Stephen C. 1981. “Some Pre-Observations on the Modelling of Dialogue.” Discourse Processes 4 (2): 93–116.  doi: 10.1080/01638538109544510 Pomerantz, Anita. 1988. “Offering a Candidate Answer: An Information Seeking Strategy.” Communication Monographs 55 (4): 360–373.  doi: 10.1080/03637758809376177 Raymond, Geoffrey. 2003. “Grammar and Social Organization: Yes/No Interrogatives and the Structure of Responding.” American Sociological Review 68 (6): 939–967. doi: 10.2307/1519752 Sacks, Harvey. 1992. Lectures on Conversation (Vol. 1, 2). Oxford: Blackwell. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1998. “Reply to Wetherell.” Discourse and Society 9 (3): 413–416. doi: 10.1177/0957926598009003006 Schegloff, Emanuel A., and Harvey Sacks. 1973. “Opening up Closings.” Semiotica 8: 289–327. doi: 10.1515/semi.1973.8.4.289



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Stivers, Tanya. 2008. “Stance, Alignment, and Affiliation during Storytelling: When Nodding is a Token of Affiliation.” Research on Language and Social Interaction 41 (1): 31–57. doi: 10.1080/08351810701691123 Stivers, Tanya, and Makoto Hayashi. 2010. “Transformative Answers: One Way to Resist a Question’s Constraints.” Language in Society 39: 1–25.  doi: 10.1017/S0047404509990637 Walker, Traci, Paul Drew, and John Local. 2011. “Responding Indirectly.” Journal of Pragmatics 43: 2434–2451.  doi: 10.1016/j.pragma.2011.02.012

Responses to wh-question challenges Irene Koshik

University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign This chapter builds on my previous studies of wh-questions that convey reversed polarity assertions, for example, “When have I.” used to convey “I never have” (Koshik 2003; 2005). These questions challenge the grounds for a prior claim or action, suggesting that there is no basis for that claim or action and the question is therefore unanswerable. This chapter focuses on responses to these challenges. At times questioners leave no sequentially appropriate space for a response. However, when recipients do respond, responses that reject the challenge provide grammatically type-conforming answers to the questions, treating the questions as answerable. Responses that align with the challenge either treat the question as unanswerable or they accept or agree with the assertion conveyed by the challenge. Keywords:  conversation analysis; reversed polarity questions; wh-questions, responses to challenges

1.  Introduction This chapter builds on my previous studies of one practice for challenging a prior utterance or action, using a wh-question (Koshik 2003; 2005).1 Here is an example, which I will explicate more fully later. Two friends, Debbie and Shelley, are having an argument. Debbie has accused Shelley of pulling out of an upcoming trip because her boyfriend cannot go. Shelley’s response to this accusation contains a wh-question challenge: “when have I.” (line 6). (1) Debbie and Shelley

01 Deb: =I do’know,=jus don’t blow off 02 your girlfriends for guy:s, 03 Shel. 04 Shel: De:b I’m not. h[ow man-]e05 Deb:    [o ka:y ] 06 Shel: -> when have I.=beside ya- I mean

.  Analyses of individual data segments are based on Koshik (2003; 2005).

doi 10.1075/pbns.273.05kos © 2017 John Benjamins Publishing Company

 Irene Koshik

These wh-questions challenge recipients by conveying the epistemic stance of the questioner. The stance expressed for affirmatively-formatted questions is that of the corresponding negative statement; in other words, the questions convey reversed polarity assertions. In this excerpt, as I show later, “when have I.” conveys the stance, “I never have”. Thus, the question challenges the grounds for Debbie’s accusation, conveying that there are no adequate grounds available. The focus of this paper is on responses to these challenges. My aim is to show how the design of the response turn relates to the action it performs, specifically, the stance it takes toward the challenge. Before focusing on responses to wh-question challenges, I provide some background on these types of challenges and the broader category to which they belong, reversed polarity questions.

1.1  Reversed polarity questions Questions like “when have I.”, as used in Excerpt 1, have traditionally been categorized as rhetorical questions. In describing these questions, linguists such as Bolinger (1957), Horn (1978) and Quirk et al. (1985) have noted their ability to convey strong negative assertions. Bolinger (1957) calls these questions “conducive,” i.e., they display an expectation for a certain answer. According to Bolinger, these questions are either “uttered in a context which cancels certain otherwise possible answers,” as in “‘Look, it’s John who just came in.’ – ‘Who else?’” (157) or they contain expressions, such as those indicating undesirability, which make the question conducive, e.g., “Who believes such nonsense?” (158). Bolinger claims that “the answer expected is some synonym of ‘zero’: nobody, nothing, nowhere, none, no reason, etc.” (157). Similarly, Horn (1978: 151) claims that questions such as “Who would lift a finger for you?” and “When has he ever said a word against his mother?” express a correspondingly negative stance: “no one, and never.” Quirk et al. (1985: 826) also discuss grammatically affirmative wh-questions which are wh-questions which are “equivalent to a statement in which the wh- element is replaced by a negative element” and “the answer is a foregone conclusion”, e.g.: Who knows/cares? [‘Nobody knows/cares’ or “I don’t know/care.’] What difference does it make? [‘It makes no difference.’] What could I do? [I could do nothing.]

The examples from Bolinger, Horn, and Quirk et al. are all constructed examples, and this literature gives us no way of understanding, in particular social interactional contexts, how questions that do not contain either “expressions indicating undesirability” or negative polarity items come to be understood as expressing assertions, nor does it discuss what actions participants use these questions to accomplish. In studying these types of questions as they are used in naturally-occurring interactions in a variety of speech exchange systems and cultural contexts, I have found that, in specific sequential contexts, these questions do come to be heard as asserting a strong stance toward a prior utterance or action, i.e., a reversed polarity assertion. This h ­ earing



Responses to wh-question challenges 

enables them to be used to challenge that prior utterance or action (Koshik 2002; 2003; 2005). Because the term rhetorical question is potentially misleading, i.e., it suggests that the questions do not receive responses, I refer to these questions as reversed polarity questions, or RPQs. The term reversed polarity question has also allowed me to capture the relationships among a wider variety of practices, some of which are not thought of as rhetorical questions. I have found that wh-questions are likely to be heard as RPQs, rather than ­information-seeking questions, when the question is asked from a position of epistemic strength, i.e., the questioners are asking about information in their knowledge domain. The question’s position in a sequence of action is also important in determining how it is interpreted. These questions occur in an already-established environment of disagreement, accusation, complaint, and the like, where challenging is a sequentially appropriate next response. They challenge the grounds for a prior claim or an action, implying that there are no adequate grounds for it, and therefore no basis for asserting the claim or doing the action in the first place. Wh-question challenges may therefore be more difficult to refute than the corresponding negative assertion since a refutation would involve providing the grounds that the questioner implies are unavailable. As we will see, this has implications for how responses to wh-question challenges are formulated.

1.2  Type-conforming and non-conforming responses In analyzing the design of the response turn, I use Raymond’s (2000; 2003) framework developed for responses to yes/no interrogatives. In a large-scale analysis of responses to yes/no interrogatives, Raymond differentiates between what he calls type-conforming and non-conforming responses. Type-conforming responses are those that “conform to the constraints embodied in the grammatical form of the FPP [first pair part]” (Raymond 2003: 946). For yes/no interrogatives (YNI), these are either ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or their equivalents, e.g., mm hmm, yep, nope, etc. According to Raymond, “type-­ conforming responses accept the design of a YNI – and the action it delivers – as adequate [even when they implement dispreferred responses], while nonconforming responses treat the design of a YNI – and the action it delivers – as problematic in some way.” (Raymond 2003: 949). Wh-questions that seek new information can display a similar pattern. These whquestions question a specific part of a proposition. In other words, the question displays that the speaker is missing a specific piece of information (replaced by the question word), and “the nature of the missing piece of information conditions the selection of the question word” (Celce-Murcia and Larsen-Freeman 1999: 241). There is thus a ­grammatical and semantic relationship between the information-seeking wh- question and the response it pursues. According to Fox and Thompson (2010: 153), the “design of wh-­questions

 Irene Koshik

­ ermits a grammatically symbiotic, or grammatically resonant, response. In other words, p phrasal responses are specifically fitted to the lexicogrammar of wh-questions.” Answers to wh-­questions that seek new information often provide just that new information when the question is treated as unproblematic (Fox and Thompson 2010). For example, in Excerpt 2 below, the wh-question word, “who,” targets a person reference to be supplied by the recipient, and the recipient supplies that reference in the following turn. (2) Virginia

01 P/B: Who’dja go with. 02 (0.6) 03 VIR: (mm) (0.3) Beth and Legette.

In Excerpt 3, the question word “where” targets a place reference to be provided in the response. Mom asks for information regarding a place reference and provides a candidate answer, herself, which is confirmed in overlap: (3) Virginia

01 02 03 04

MOM: PRU:

Where’d they have thuh- thuh wey- thuh reception. Thuh coun[try club?   [At thuh country clu:b

Similarly, other wh-question words target different types of information to be provided, e.g. “why” asks for an account, “how much” for an amount, “when” for a time, etc. Following Raymond (Raymond 2003), I refer to responses that provide the type of information requested by the wh-question word as “type-conforming.” Another characteristic of information-seeking wh-questions is that they generally carry presuppositions.2 These presuppositions take the form of statements that contain an indefinite expression such as somebody, sometime, somehow in place of the question word (Quirk et al. 1985). For example, the question, “How much didj you get in high sch’l”, asked during a family discussion about allowances, presupposes that the recipient, Wesley, received some amount (of allowance) in high school. The question is asking for the amount. As with yes/no questions, recipients who disagree with the presupposition conveyed by the question can respond in a non-conforming manner, i.e., one that does not provide the missing information targeted by the question word, but displays disagreement with the presupposition: (4) Virginia

01 PRU: =How much didj you get in high sch’l. 02 (0.2)

.  For a discussion of presuppositions in wh-questions used by doctors to elicit a patient’s medical history, see Boyd and Heritage (2006).



Responses to wh-question challenges  03 WES: I didn’ get an allowance.

Responses to reversed polarity wh-questions, however, do not conform to this pattern because reversed polarity questions are not used to seek unknown information; they perform a different function. As mentioned earlier, these questions are designed to convey assertions that act as challenges to prior talk or actions. The challenges do not always receive responses because questioners, at times, design their challenge turns in such a way that they leave no sequentially-appropriate slot for a response. However, when responses are provided, responses that are designed as grammatically type-conforming reject the action implemented by the question, i.e., challenging. Responses that accept and align with the challenge are not type-conforming. This response pattern remains consistent whether the respondents are, themselves, recipients of the challenge, or the challenge is made toward a non-present party. This response pattern is directly related to the action that these questions are used to perform. Wh-question challenges are designed as requests for an account for a prior claim or action, but by conveying a negative assertion, they suggest that there is no adequate account available, and thus, that there are no grounds for the prior claim or action. In other words, they convey that the questions are unanswerable. Responses that align with the challenge either treat the questions as unanswerable, or they treat the question as an assertion and agree with or accept the assertion conveyed through the question. These responses are all non-conforming responses, i.e., they do not answer the question as if it were an information-­seeking question. In contrast, responses that treat the questions as answerable by providing type-conforming answers undermine the challenge. The organization of the remainder of this chapter is as follows. First, I show that responses to wh-question challenges may not always be relevant. Speakers may design the question turn a way that discourages a response. I then turn to examples of sequences where wh-question challenges receive responses. I first discuss responses that align with the challenge, then responses that reject the challenge. I show, in each case, how the design of the response turn relates to stance it takes toward the challenge.

2.  No sequentially appropriate slot for response Sometimes wh-question challenges are not designed to make answers relevant, i.e., speakers design their turns in a way that leaves no sequentially appropriate slot for a response to the question. Here is an example, an expanded version of Excerpt 1. In this conversation, Debbie makes two different kinds of accusations against her friend ­Shelley. First, Debbie accuses Shelley of canceling her plans to participate in an upcoming trip because her boyfriend, Mark, is unable to go. Debbie then makes a more serious accusation. She suggests that Shelley’s behavior is part of a larger pattern of “blow[ing]

 Irene Koshik

off girlfriends for guys”. Shelley challenges ­Debbie’s second accusation with the whquestion “when have I.” (line 25). She then designs the remainder of her turn after the wh-question in a way that attempts to preclude a response to the challenge. (5) Debbie and Shelley

01 Deb: ↑[I↑ just don want you do it jus 02 because Marks not going.=cause 03 th[at’s just 04 Shel:    [Oh I know.= 05 Deb: =that.h 06 Shel: >0I know0 when have I.=beside ya- I mean 26 I mean you’re right a- it w’s 27 easier w- with him going 28 because he was going to pay f29 for a lot of it.=b[ut] 30 Deb:         [ye]ah,= 31 Shel: =that’s no:t .h >I mean< that’s 32 not thee reason I’m not going. 33 Deb: mmkay,

During the course of several turns, Debbie accuses Shelley of canceling her plans to go on an upcoming trip because her boyfriend Mark is not going. In lines 1–2 Debbie provides an account for Shelley’s action and characterizes the account as unacceptable to her. In lines 2–3, she begins an explicit evaluation of the reason why it’s unacceptable, stopping just before the obviously negative evaluation term. In suggesting that



Responses to wh-question challenges 

Mark’s absence is not a valid reason for pulling out of the trip, Debbie implies that it was the reason. Debbie further specifies her complaint in lines 7–11, suggesting that Shelley does not properly value her relationship with a girlfriend, i.e., Debbie, and that is why Debbie is angry. In lines 14–17, Debbie rejects Shelley’s account that she didn’t want to spend the money, again suggesting that Shelley canceled because Mark wasn’t going. Shelley repeatedly denies Debbie’s account (lines 12, 18, 23, 31–32), i.e., that she has cancelled merely because her boyfriend won’t be there. She gives an alternate account (lines 26–29), i.e., that she doesn’t want to spend that much money now that Mark is not going and not paying part of her expenses. Debbie’s complaint in lines 1–3, 7–11, and 14–17 concerns the reason for withdrawing from this particular trip. Later, however, she makes a more serious accusation, i.e., that this type of behavior is typical of Shelley: “jus don’t blow off your girlfriends for guy:s, Shel.” (lines 20–22). By pluralizing both “girlfriends” and “guys”, Debbie not only implies that Shelley has been blowing off girlfriends for guys in this particular instance, but that Shelley has done it before. Shelley first denies the accusation in relation to this particular instance, “De:b I’m not.” (line 23). She then begins and abandons a question that may have been heading towards “how many times have I done that.” (line 23). That question is repaired to a version that presents a stronger stance: “when have I.” (line 25). In this sequential context, after repeated accusations and denials, it is clear that Shelley is not asking Debbie for new information about her own actions. By means of its adjacent positioning in the next turn, the question “when have I.” refers anaphorically back to the assumption underlying Debbie’s prior turn, i.e., the accusation that Shelley has blown off girlfriends for guys. It challenges that accusation by implying that Debbie will not be able to name a single instance of that behavior because Shelley has never been guilty of the behavior. The implication is that the question is unanswerable and thus Debbie’s accusation cannot be supported. The question “when have I.” thus conveys the stance: “I never have (and you know I haven’t and you won’t be able to name a single time when I have).”3 Shelley designs the continuation of her turn in a way that does not invite a response to the challenge. She rushes through the end of that question, without the small beat of silence normally found at turn transition, into further talk that deals with her reasons for withdrawing from this particular trip (lines 25–29). The “rush-through” discourages a response to the wh-question challenge by leaving no ­sequentially-appropriate

.  Given this analysis, it is clear why Shelley has abandoned her first question. If this question had been heading toward: “How may times have I done that”, she would have been ­implying “I haven’t done that many times.” The question “when have I.” conveys a stronger stance, i.e., “I have never [done that].”

 Irene Koshik

slot for a response. It displays Shelley’s orientation to the question as doing c­ hallenging, rather than asking for information that would make an answer relevant. It also reinforces the implication that the question is unanswerable and that Debbie’s accusation cannot be supported. Excerpt 5 has shown how participants can design their wh-question challenge turns in ways that preclude responses to these challenges. We now turn to an analysis of excerpts that do contain responses to wh-question challenges. I will begin with responses that align with the challenge.

3.  Non-conforming responses that align with the challenge As we have seen, wh-question challenges are designed as requests for an account for a prior claim or action. But because they convey negative assertions, they imply that there is no adequate account available, and thus, that there are no grounds for the prior claim or action. Treating these wh-question challenges as answerable questions by giving type-conforming answers would undermine the challenge. Therefore, responses that align with the challenge either treat the questions as unanswerable, or they treat the questions as assertions and agree with or accept the assertion conveyed through the question. They do not, accept as a joke, treat the questions as answerable.

3.1  Accepting the challenge The majority of aligning responses treat the questions as assertions and accept or agree with the assertion. These responses are all non-conforming responses, i.e., they do not answer the question as if it were an information-seeking question by providing a ­grammatically-compatible answer. The first example, Excerpt 6, shows a student accepting a challenge to his prior utterance from a teacher. The excerpt is taken from a one-on-one conference between a writing teacher, TC, and an undergraduate English as a second language (ESL) student, SD. TC and SD are discussing ways to revise the second draft of SD’s essay on Charles de Gaulle’s leadership. Prior to the excerpt, SD has already established that he will be discussing Charles de Gaulle in terms of two concepts from class readings: Zaleznik’s concept of charismatic leadership and Gardner’s concept of direct leadership. TC has just read aloud a portion of SD’s paper where he lists all of the leadership terms from Gardner’s article without defining them: “According to de ­Gardner, leaders are categorized as direct, indirect, ordinary, innovative, or visionary.” As the excerpt begins, TC is criticizing SD’s inclusion of the leadership terminology that is not relevant to his thesis. She goes on to challenge SD’s rationale for including these terms as “background”. In this and the following excerpts, single-headed arrows will be used for the wh-question challenge, and double-headed arrows for the response.



Responses to wh-question challenges 

(6) TC/SD:7

01 TC: Is it relevant? 02 *to what you’re saying? 03 (0.8)*((*SD looks down)) 04 SD: No it’s just background. heh h 05 TC: It’s background?= 06 SD: =yeah.= 07 TC: -> ok how’s it background.=because I08 like .h most people wouldn’t 09 know[: 10 SD:        [((sniff)) 11 TC: maybe what he meant by direct 12 indirect ordinary innovative or 13 visionary. 14 SD: ->> (yeah.)/(well) ok, 15 (1.5) ((SD nods))

The audience for this paper was supposed to be readers unfamiliar with the class readings. When TC asks: “Is it relevant? to what you’re saying?” (lines 1–2), she is conveying another type of reversed polarity assertion, i.e., that these terms are not relevant to what SD had earlier said that he was focusing on in his paper, and therefore should be eliminated (Koshik 2002).4 By answering “no” (line 4), SD gives an aligning response, one that agrees with the assertion conveyed through TC’s question. However, even though SD displays agreement with TC’s criticism that these terms are not all relevant to his thesis, he does not seem to understand or agree with the implication that the irrelevant information should be eliminated. He continues by adding an utterance that makes his agreement equivocal: “it’s just background. heh h” (line 4). SD seems to be justifying including the list of terms as “background”, albeit just background, and therefore not relevant to his main thesis. SD’s justification for including the terms as “information” or “background” poses a problem of recipient design (Sacks, Schegloff and Jefferson 1974). Because the paper was to be written for an audience unfamiliar with the class readings, and because SD has introduced these terms without providing an explanation or definition, this list of terms would not provide the targeted audience with background as it is understood in an essay of this type, i.e., information that would help them to understand the remainder of the text. TC chooses to deal with this problem before returning to the issue of relevance. She challenges SD’s claim with a question done as other-initiated repair, in the form of a partial repetition of SD’s prior utterance, with rising intonation: “It’s

.  See Koshik (2002) for a more complete analysis of this reversed polarity question sequence.

 Irene Koshik

background?” (line 5). Such partial repetitions of a prior turn are often used as predisagreements (Schegloff 1997; Schegloff, Jefferson and Sacks 1977). They are designed to provide an opportunity for the speaker of the trouble source to back down, avoiding a full disagreement. There is no evidence, however, that SD understands this question as a pre-disagreement. He treats the question simply as a request for confirmation of what he has just said. SD provides the confirmation in a preferred manner, simply, directly, and immediately: “=yeah.” (line 6). When SD maintains his position rather than backing down, TC continues by disagreeing with, or challenging SD’s claim that the list of terms can be characterized as background. In formulating her challenge, TC uses a wh-question (line 7): “ok how’s it background.”5 TC’s challenge shares many similarities with Shelley’s question in Excerpt 5: “when have I.” It is formed as a grammatically affirmative wh-question, i.e., it contains no negative markers such as “not” or “never”. She asks the question in the environment of a disagreement, i.e., in the third turn after a pre-disagreement that did not engender a back down. TC’s question is formed as if she is asking for an account for the previous assertion, “it’s just background.” (line 4), thereby making it accountable, i.e., “On what grounds do you assert that it’s background?” It does this by repeating the questionable portion of the assertion with a wh-question word that is used to ask for an account. But, like Shelley’s wh-question, this “how” question is not actually asking for an account; rather, it is used to challenge SD’s assertion by contradicting it, saying, in effect, “It’s not background”, thereby implying that there is no adequate account for SD’s claim that these terms can be characterized as background. Also, like Shelley in Excerpt 5, TC designs the remainder of her turn in a way that seems to preclude an answer to the how question, showing that the question is meant to be understood as an assertion rather than an information-seeking question. She follows her how question by an increment-like continuation: “=because I- like .h most people wouldn’t know: maybe what he meant by direct indirect ordinary innovative or visionary.” (lines 7–9, 11–13). This continuation is latched onto the how question, i.e., she rushes through the transition relevance place without including the small beat of silence that ordinarily follows a separate turn constructional unit. TC’s rush through the turn transition relevance place displays her orientation to the possibility that SD could take a turn at this point (cf. Sacks et al., 1974). Not only does she not select SD to speak next, i.e., to answer her question; she does work to ensure that she continues as next speaker. In the because clause, TC gives an account for the position she has just indirectly asserted through the how question, i.e., that merely listing leadership terms (without .  The “ok” with which this utterance begins is not a freestanding “ok” which could be ­understood as accepting SD’s claim. As we will see, SD, himself, does not interpret this utterance as accepting his claim.



Responses to wh-question challenges 

defining them) does not provide the audience with background (to understand the rest of the essay) because most people would not know what ­Gardner meant by these terms. In her account, TC is also providing a description of the targeted audience for this essay, i.e., people who are not necessarily familiar with Gardner’s categories. TC’s account is pedagogical. SD has just demonstrated that he considers this portion of his essay “background.” The because clause explains why this material does not qualify as background, at least, as is. Although TC’s because clause is not a canonical increment because it does not add a grammatically compatible clause to the first question, it works like an increment semantically if the how question is interpreted as a negative assertion. The because clause fits both semantically and grammatically, not with the how question, but with its implied negative assertion, i.e., “It’s not background because most people wouldn’t know maybe what he meant by direct indirect ordinary innovative or visionary.” Even though TC does not design her wh-question challenge in a way that invites a response to the question itself, SD does respond to the turn in which it is used. His response orients to TC’s turn as asserting a claim rather than asking for information. This response, “(yeah.)/(well) ok,”, along with his nod (lines 14–15), is not an answer to a how information-seeking question. Rather, it accepts and/or agrees with TC’s challenge, and with her account for the claim embedded in that challenge, i.e., “It’s not background because most people wouldn’t know maybe what he meant by direct indirect ordinary innovative or visionary.” If what SD said was “yeah.” (one of the two alternate hearings), he would be agreeing with TC’s argument. The “ok,” accepts the argument (Schegloff 2007). A “well ok,” would be a somewhat hesitant acceptance. SD demonstrates that he understands TC’s argument a few minutes later when he offers a candidate collaborative completion of TC’s utterance (Lerner 1991; 1996) as she begins to give advice on incorporating background information. (7) TC/SD:12

01 TC: T  hat’s fine ta do it that way.= 02 um: (0.5).h but when yer- (2.8) 03 when yer um: (1.0) mentioning 04 this background information?=like 05 you called it background 06 in[formation,  .hh ya 07 SD:    [yeah, 08 TC: know: (.) [try ta think about- ] 09 SD: ->    [I have ta explain   ] 10     -> (it)/(them)?

SD provides a candidate completion of TC’s “when” clause, “when yer- (2.8) when yer um: (1.0) mentioning this background information?” He does this by adding a grammatically compatible clause (with change of deixis) that finishes the turn constructional unit: “I have ta explain (it)/(them)?” SD’s candidate completion demonstrates

 Irene Koshik

his understanding of TC’s earlier utterance, i.e., that terminology from the readings does not qualify as “background” for the targeted audience if the author does not explain the terminology so that the audience understands what it means. It may also demonstrate a more complete understanding of who the audience is for this paper.

3.2  Agreeing with the challenge The following excerpt, taken from a call to a suicide prevention center, shows a recipient responding to what he understands as a wh-question challenge by agreeing with the assertion he hears conveyed in the challenge. This example, discussed in Schegloff (1987), displays a misunderstanding of the “sequential implicativeness” (Schegloff 1987) of the turn taken as a challenge. In other words, the speaker and recipient have different understandings about the action that the speaker is performing in the turn in question, and, consequently, what would be relevant as a response. Mr. Greenberg (G), who is talking to a staff member (S), understands S’s wh-question in lines 11–12 as a challenge, even when it was meant, as we will see, as an ordinary information-seeking question. (8) (SPC, 74)

01 G: 02 03 S: 04 05 06 G: 07 08 09 10 11 S: -> 12   -> 13 G: ->> 14 15 16 17 18 S: 19 20 21 22 23 24

Well what did Miss Jevon say when you spoke to her. She said she would be glad to talk to you and she would be waiting for your call. Boy, it was some wait. Everyone else in that clinic has just been wonderful to me. Both the diabetic clinic and the psychiatric clinic. It’s just that woman. Well, what are you going to do, Mr. Greenberg. Well that’s true. When you are a charity patient, when you are a beggar, you just can’t do anything about it, you just have to take what’s handed out to you, andNo, I mean about yourself. What are you going to do for yourself. You were wondering what to do for yourself, you called me and told me you were thinking about having yourself admitted to a state hospital …

After Mr. Greenberg complains about another member of staff (lines 6–10), the staff member he has been talking to, S, asks him a question, “Well, what are you going to



Responses to wh-question challenges 

do, Mr. Greenberg.” (lines 11–12). This question was meant as an ­information-seeking question about Mr. Greenberg’s plans, as S explains in the repair in lines 18–24. Mr. Greenberg, however, seems to hear the question as a challenge to his complaint. He first responds with an agreement, treating the question as an assertion, rather than as asking for information: “Well that’s true.” (line  13). He then makes explicit his understanding of what he heard that assertion to be: “When you are a charity patient, when you are a beggar, you just can’t do anything about it” (lines 13–16). He has understood “What are you going to do” as conveying “There’s nothing you can do”, implying that he has no options but to take what he is given, because of his status as a charity patient. Agreeing with this challenge provides Mr. Greenberg with another opportunity for complaining.

3.3  Agreeing with a challenge to a non-present party Participants can also align with speakers by agreeing with their challenges to nonpresent parties.6 This is exemplified in the following excerpt, also discussed in Clayman (2002). Joan is telling Linda about problems she has had ordering from a certain company. She uses a how come question (lines 15–17) to challenge, or complain about, unfair treatment by setting up a contrast that displays this unfairness.7 She contrasts her friend Chleo’s success with her own problems getting her order filled. Linda aligns with Joan’s challenge of the company’s treatment by agreeing with the assertion conveyed through the challenge. (9) [Linda and Joan 1: 38]

01 Joa: 02 03 04 05 Lin: 06 Joa: 07

=.hhhhhhhhhhh n-Well Chleo tol’ me thet she hed jist ordered those item:s, en got thum last week. hhhhhhhhmhh Oh::, .t.hhhh En nao:w, when she called th’company, (.) they don’t have um.

.  In fact, when participants use wh-question challenges to complain about non-present parties, there may be some pressure for recipients to agree with these complaints. According to Drew (1998: 303) “In cases of complaints … the morality of conduct is treated very much at the interactional surface of the talk … to the extent that a coparticipant may be expected to affiliate with the complainant’s sense of the impropriety or injustice of the other’s behavior.” We see this also in Excerpt 15. .  So far we have seen wh-question challenges to prior talk. Wh-questions can also challenge actions, and these challenges are more likely to be thought of as complaints. I am referring to both types of actions as challenges because they are designed in similar ways to perform similar functions.

 Irene Koshik

08 Lin: Oh::[:, 09 Joa:      [.t.hhhhh (     )um really 10 disgusted now I aftih tell those 11 people thet- we don’t (.) yih 12 [know well they don’t have’em yih 13 Lin: [Yeah. 14 Joa: gitcher money back b’t yet.hhhhh 15   -> How come Chleo got um yihknow en 16   -> here I’ve been waiting fer two 17   -> months.hh.khh 18 Lin: ->> Ye:ah. 19 (.) 20 Lin: ->> Ri:ght.= 21 Joa: =That’s what rilly made me ma:d.=

Joan asks the wh-question challenge (lines 15–17) in the environment of a complaint, having already expressed her disgust at not having the items she had tried to order (lines 9–12). She formulates her question by putting contrastive stress on the two person references, “Chleo” and “I”, contrasting the difference in treatment that she and Chleo have received by the company. Joan seems to be asking for an account for the unequal treatment she received, and at the same time, suggesting that there is no adequate account available. She later refers to this unfair treatment as her main complaint, i.e., “what rilly made me ma:d.” (line 21). Linda treats Joan’s how come question in lines 15–17 as if it were an assertion, rather than an information-seeking question. She responds with “Ye:ah. (.) Ri:ght.” (lines 18–20), agreeing with the assertion conveyed through the question, i.e., that there is no adequate account available. In doing this, she is aligning with Joan’s complaint.

3.4  Treating the question as unanswerable Another way that participants align with challenges also involves a non-­conforming response. By displaying that they lack a response to the question, recipients show that the question is unanswerable, and, therefore, that they agree with the challenge. This example, like Excerpt 8, is discussed by Schegloff (1987) as exemplifying misunderstanding of the “sequential implicativeness” (Schegloff 1987) of the turn taken as a challenge. In other words, the speaker and recipient had different understandings about what action the speaker was doing in the turn in question, and, consequently, what would be relevant as a response. This example is taken from a radio call-in show. B has called in to discuss a problem she has. She misunderstands A’s question in line 8 as a wh-question challenge and responds to it by agreeing that the question is unanswerable (line 9).



Responses to wh-question challenges 

(10) (BC, Beige, 14)

01 B: 02 03 04 B: 05 06 07 08 A: -> 09 B: ->> 10 A: 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 B:

… but- hh lately? I have fears a’ driving over a bridge. ((silence)) A:nd uh seems I uh- I just can’t uh (sit)- if I hevuh haftuh cross a bridge I jus’, don’t (go an’ make- uh- do the) trip at all. Whaddyuh afraid of. I dun’kno:w, see uh Well I mean waitam’n. What kind of fear is it. ‘R you afraid yer gunnuh drive off the e:dge? ‘R you afraid thet uh yer gunnuh get hit while yer on it? [What. [Off the edge ‘r sumthin.

In this example, A’s “Whaddyuh afraid of.” (line 8) was meant as a request for information, as A explains in the repair in lines 10–15. A’s repair demonstrates that he hears B’s response to his question (line 9) as displaying a different understanding of the action he was performing through the question. B seems to hear it as challenging her right to be afraid. According to Schegloff (1987), B hears “Whaddyuh afraid of.” as conveying “there’s nothing to be afraid of ”. Her response, I dun’ kno:w, (line 9), displays an agreement with this stance by displaying that she does not have an answer to the question. In other words, she agrees that the question as a challenge is unanswerable. After A rephrases his question to that clarify that he meant it as an ordinary, information-seeking question rather than a challenge (lines 10–16), B displays that she does, in fact, have an answer to the question as an information-seeking question (line 17).

4.  Rejecting the challenge with type-conforming responses With the exception of joke responses, type-conforming responses to wh-question challenges do not align with the challenge. As we have seen, wh-question challenges are designed as requests for an account for a prior claim or action, but by conveying a negative assertion, they suggest that there is no adequate account available, and thus, that there are no grounds for the prior claim or action. Answers that treat the questions as answerable by providing type-conforming answers undermine the challenge. Here are several examples.

 Irene Koshik

4.1  Rejecting the challenge by answering the question In the first example, Excerpt 11, Mark is calling his friend Bob to complain that he had not been told about an upcoming party that Bob is organizing.8 As the excerpt begins, Bob is giving an account for why Mark has not heard about the party: (11) SF2

01 BOB: Ma:rk yihknow what the deal 02 i:s˙hh Yer jist uh::hhh ˙hhhhhh 03 Yer outta circulation here .hhh 04 (0.2) 05 BOB: [(  ) 06 MAR: [Whadidja mea:::n ˙hhhh-hhh 07 (0.3) 08 BOB: Well yih.tch! (0.4) Cuz we 09 always yihknow we take fer 10 grannid thet you know these 11 things. 12 MAR: [Uh huh. 13 BOB: [˙hhhhh ‘tchu:’ve uh: gone outta 14 circulation you: don’t pick these 15 things u:p.= 16 MAR: =hhhhh= 17 BOB: =Yihknow, 18 MAR: -> Wu:ll where wz I spozetuh pick 19    -> this stuff up at. ‘n I’m 20 MAR: [not out’v]circulation,] 21 BOB: ->> [O h : a ]football game] 22 ->> ‘er::(s)23 ???: ˙k ˙hhhh 24 MAR: We:ll I wen’t’the football ga:me? 25 (·) 26 BOB: en nobuddy told you (  [  ) 27 MAR: [˙hhhhhhh 28 MAR: en no one mentioned a word.hh 29 (·) 30 BOB: Mark, hh (0.3) will you come to a 31 party Fridee hmhhuh huh huh huh 32 huh

Bob accounts for Mark’s not having heard about the party by claiming that Mark has been “outta circulation” (line 3). This account implies that Mark would otherwise have heard about the party, and it suggests that it is Mark’s fault that he hasn’t heard. Mark subsequently challenges this account: “Whadidja mea:::n” (line 6) (cf. Schegloff

.  My thanks to Gene Lerner for permission to use this data segment.



Responses to wh-question challenges 

1997). There is evidence that Mark’s question is meant as a challenge, not a repair initiation. There is additional stress and lengthening of “mea:::n” and Mark later, in lines 19–20, explicitly rejects Bob’s claim that he has been “outta circulation”. However, Bob responds to Mark’s question as if it were a request for clarification by making explicit the implications of his earlier account (lines 8–11, 13–15). He explains that he and his friends always take for granted that Mark will hear about upcoming social gatherings, i.e., without a specific effort to inform him. But because Mark has “gone outta circulation”, he has put himself in a position where he would not hear about upcoming social events. Bob’s turns are therefore counter-accusations, challenging Mark’s earlier accusation. Mark challenges this counter-accusation in two ways. First, with another whquestion challenge, “Wu:ll where wz I spozetuh pick this stuff up at.” (lines 18–19), he conveys the opinion that there was no place where he could have heard (i.e., incidentally, without a specific effort to inform him) about the upcoming party. He follows this challenge by explicitly denying that he has been out of circulation (lines 19–20), implying that he has made himself available to be informed incidentally. In overlap with Mark, Bob answers the where question with a type-­conforming answer, giving an example of an event where Mark could have heard about the party, a football game (line 21). In doing this, he undermines the claim in Mark’s challenge, i.e., that there was no place where Mark could have heard about the party incidentally. Mark challenges Bob’s type-conforming answer, and thus, the implication that there was an occasion when he could have heard about the party, by saying that he had attended the football game (line 24). Bob then makes the implication of Mark’s utterance explicit by adding to Mark’s prior utterance: “en nobuddy told you …” (line  26). This inference is not only confirmed by Mark but upgraded: “en no one mentioned a word”, line 28). In confirming that no one told him about the party at the football game, Mark again conveys the stance that his earlier wh-question in lines 18–19 is unanswerable, i.e., there was nowhere he could have heard incidentally about the upcoming party without being specifically invited. Bob’s account for not having specifically invited him is thus inadequate. Although Bob at first does a non-aligning type-conforming response to Mark’s challenge in lines 18–19, he eventually aligns with Mark’s position, first, in line 26, by making explicit what Mark left inexplicit in line 24, and then by jokingly issuing a “formal” invitation (lines 30–32), a remedy for Mark’s original complaint. The next excerpt, discussed by Schegloff (1984: 33), displays a similar non-­ aligning type-conforming response. A husband and wife are discussing arrangements for visiting another couple. Their 1 1/2-year-old daughter is playing on the floor beside them. When the wife uses a why question (line 1) to challenge, or complain about, the arrangements, the husband responds with a type-conforming because response (lines 2–4) that rejects the complaint.

 Irene Koshik (12) Schegloff 1984

01 W: -> Why is it that we have to go there. 02 H: ->> Because she ((head-motioning to 03   ->> daughter)) can go out more easily 04   ->> than their kids can.

Similar to Joan in Excerpt 9, the wife uses contrastive stress to challenge an action and complain about unfair treatment. But unlike Joan, she does not explicitly contrast the treatment she and her husband are receiving with that of the couple they are visiting. Instead, she uses contrastive stress on “we” and “there” to highlight the inconvenience that she and her husband face, leaving her preferred alternative, that “they have to come here”, inexplicit. As a wh-question challenge, “Why is it that we have to go there.” conveys something like: “There is no adequate reason why we (rather than they) should be the ones who are inconvenienced.” By answering the why question with an adequate reason, “Because she can go out more easily than their kids can.” (lines 2–4), H disagrees with stance conveyed by W’s question and rejects her complaint. The contrast that he sets up, by means of contrastive stress on “she” and “their kids”, argues against the complaint of unfairness proposed by his wife. The final example of a non-aligning type-conforming response is taken from an American middle-class family dinner with two boys, Tom and Tim, age 12.9 Tom is being accused of backseat driving when his dad takes him to school. As he defends himself, he makes a grammatical error (line 11), which is addressed in various ways by the other family members (lines 15, 17–18). Tom challenges this focus on his grammar with a wh-question: “OH WHO CA:RES.” (line 20). Dad responds with a typeconforming answer to the question that rejects the challenge by listing various high stakes tests whose “scores … will care” (lines 23–29). (13) Family Dinner

01 Tom: 02 03 04 05 Mom: 06 07 08 09 Dad: 10 Mom: 11 Tom: 12 13

He just doesn’t like me because I like him to take the most direct .hhh a:nd (1.2) because you channeling through him and he li- has his own mind and likes to choose [where he=      [Yeah] =drives, I just like to take the *directest route so we can get there on ti:me,*= ((In singsong voice from

.  I thank Ashley Scarborough for access to this data segment.



Responses to wh-question challenges  14 *to *)) 15 Mom: =directest? 16 Tom: [directest.] 17 Tim: [direct] 18 Dad: mo[st direct.    ] 19 Mom:    [(that’s not (  )] 20 Tom: -> OH WHO CA:RES. 21 (1.0) 22 Tim: We’re not in school right [now 23 Dad: ->>    [Well:, 24   ->> > ((i.e., ACT)). (0.2) the scor:es 26   ->> of the test will care,> >when 27   ->> you’re taking< the es es ay tee 28   ->> ((i.e. SSAT)) (.) > the test [will care,> 30 Tom:    [um I don’t write that, 31 Tim: And that’s usually a machine, 32 Mom: Anyway, (1.8) I’m afraid if I take 33 ↑him: (0.8) unless I can leave him 34 there,

Tom gives an account for why Dad doesn’t like to take him to school: “He just doesn’t like me because I like him to take the most direct.hhh a:nd” (lines 1–3). While providing this account, Tom uses the correct superlative form of direct, i.e., “most direct”. When Mom provides an alternate reason that is more flattering to Dad and less flattering to Tom (lines 5–8, 10) and Dad agrees with Mom’s account (line 9), Tom restates and expands on his former account, suggesting that his backseat driving is necessary to get him to school on time. This time he uses an incorrect form of direct: “I just like to take the directest route so we can get there on ti:me,” (lines 11–13). Rather than responding to Tom’s account, Mom initiates repair on the incorrect grammar. She repeats the problematic word with rising intonation, as a prompt for Tom to selfcorrect (line 15). Instead of correcting the adjective to the form he used in line 2, Tom repeats the error, possibly in defiance (line 16), at the same time that Tim, his brother, provides what seems to be a correction (line 17). When Dad follows with a correction (line 18) and Mom, in partial overlap, with a possible evaluation, (line 19), Tom challenges this family focus on his grammar by yelling “OH WHO CA:RES.” (line 20). This canonical challenge, like the others we have seen, conveys an assertion opposite in polarity to that of the question, i.e., no one (else), especially myself, cares; this is not worth all the fuss. Tim aligns with his brother by giving an account for the assertion conveyed by this challenge: “We’re not in school right now” (line 22), so, by implication, this focus on grammar is inappropriate. Dad, however, rejects Tom’s challenge by answering it as if it were a real question. He lists two high stakes tests whose “scores … will care” about John’s grammar (lines 23–29). Dad’s response is done in

 Irene Koshik

a slow, ­measured way that repeats the same pattern twice, orienting to the defiance in Tom’s challenge and emphasizing that this question is not unanswerable; there is someone (or something) that will care: test scores.

4.2  Backing down Recipients of challenges can also respond with answers that back down slightly from their original, challenged turn, while continuing to reject the challenge. Here is an example from the phone conversation between Debbie and Shelley from which Excerpts 1 and 5 were taken. This excerpt occurs later in the conversation. Shelley again explicitly denies Debbie’s accusation that she withdrew from the upcoming trip because her boyfriend Mark isn’t going, and she restates her alternate account, i.e., that Mark will no longer be funding her trip. Shelley then deals with Debbie’s accusation that she typically “blow[s] off … girlfriends for guys” and a later accusation that she “can’t do anything unless there’s a gu:y involved” by issuing a wh-question challenge similar to the one in Excerpts 1 and 5: “So an ↑when other time have I ever done that↑ (lines 6–7). This time, Debbie responds to the challenge by backing down slightly from her former position (lines 8–13). Debbie eventually provides an answer to Shelley’s question, substantially delayed within its turn. However, by answering Shelley’s whquestion, even though it is done as a back down, Debbie essentially rejects the challenge, and Shelley accordingly rejects her response (lines 16–17). (14) Debbie and Shelley

01 Shel: So: I mean its not becuz hes02 hes- I mean its not becuz he:s 03 not going its becuz (0.5) his 04 money’s not (0.5) funding me. 05 Deb: okay, 06 Shel: -> So an ↑ when other time have 07 -> I ever [done that ↑  ] 08 Deb: ->>        [.hhh ↑ well     ]I’m jus 09 ->> sayin↑ it jus seems you10 ->> you base a lot of things on-on 11 ->> guy:s.(·) I do’know:, it just- a 12 ->> couple times I don- I don-.hh 13 ->> it’s not a big deal. 14 (·) 15 Deb: it’s [rea:lly.    ] 16 Shel:     [0↓that’s no]t true 17 Debbie↓[the onl-] the only= 18 Deb:        [ its not] 19 Shel: =time I d- n-now your talkin 20 about like (·) me not goin to 21 your party because of Jay, an



Responses to wh-question challenges  22 23 24 Deb: 25 26

you’re right.=that was becuz of him.=.hh and that wuz pro[bly    [↑NO I understood tha:t, I don’ care ‘bout tha:t.=

Shelley’s question, “So an ↑when other time have I ever done that↑”, (lines 6–7) is most likely a conflation of “what other time have I ever done that” and “when have I ever done that.” This version of the question is built to deal with Debbie’s accusation that Shelley has been guilty of this behavior “other” times. Like Shelley’s previous challenge, “when have I.” in Excerpts 1 and 5, this question refers anaphorically back to the claim it is challenging; however, perhaps because it is not positioned in the turn after the accusation and cannot rely on adjacent positioning, this question uses substitution with the pro-forms “do that” (Halliday and Hasan 1976) to refer back to Debbie’s earlier accusations. As in Excerpts 1 and 5, Shelley seems to be conveying a negative assertion. She implies that Debbie will not be able to provide another instance of the behavior she has accused Shelley of, and that this is therefore not a regular pattern for her.10 Debbie takes a turn even before Shelley’s question is finished: “.hhh ↑ well I’m jus sayin ↑ it jus seems you- you base a lot of things on-on guy:s. (·) I do’know:, it just- a couple times I don- I don- .hh its not a big deal.” (lines 8–13). Debbie’s turn is done as a slight back down from her former position. She begins her turn by reformulating her earlier accusation, weakening her earlier claim that Shelley “can’t do anything unless there’s a gu:y involved”, to “↑well I’m jus sayin ↑ it jus seems you- you base a lot of things on-on guy:s.” The utterance is also highly mitigated, with “well”, “just”, and “seems”. Even though Debbie eventually answers Shelley’s whquestion with a somewhat type-conforming answer,“ a couple times”, this answer is delayed well into her turn, and it contrasts with her earlier implication that this behavior has been typical for Shelley. She also weakens her claim epistemically with “I do’know:,” and weakens her accusation with “its not a big deal.” Debbie’s answer is not entirely type-conforming; it does not answer a “when” question but a “how many” question. However, it is clearly done as an answer to Shelley’s question. It

.  The interpretation of this question as a negative assertion is strengthened by the negative polarity item ever. Negative polarity items, also called “nonassertive forms” (Quirk et al. 1985), are words such as any, anybody, ever, yet, and phrases such as at all, care to, say a word. These are normally restricted to negative statements, i.e., statements that include words which are negative in form, such as not, never, no, neither, nor, or words that contain implied negatives, e.g. just, before, fail, prevent, difficult. When these negative polarity items are used in questions, they may therefore suggest a negative epistemic stance even when the questions do not contain grammatical negatives.

 Irene Koshik

may be that Debbie is, indeed, having trouble finding even one additional example to support her accusation.11 Even though the turn in which Debbie’s answer is incorporated is done as a back down, and even though Shelley later concedes that she may have exhibited one other instance of this behavior (lines 17, 19–23), Shelley first explicitly denies that she has exhibited this kind of behavior even “a couple times”: “0 ↓that’s not true Debbie↓” (lines 16–17). This denial shows that any answer to this question, even one done as a back down, rejects the claim made in the challenge.

5.  Type-conforming joke response The only example of a type-conforming aligning answer in my data set is done as a joke. In fact, the joke is based on treating the wh-question as an ordinary information-­ seeking question rather than a challenge. The excerpt, discussed by Clayman (2002), is taken from a phone call between two young women, Hyla and Nancy, in the mid 1970’s. Hyla is telling her friend Nancy about a “Dear Abby” advice column where a fifteenyear-old girl complains that her mother will not let her wear revealing clothing. Hyla is upset that Abby agrees with the mother. Nancy aligns with Hyla’s complaint by using a wh- question (line 25) to challenge Abby’s advice. Hyla responds to this question with a literal answer, done as a joke (line 27). (15) [HGII: 18–19]

01 Hyl: =eh-eh.he:::hhh Yesterday, (.) 02 wa:s,.hhh this gi:rl,.hh 0e03 fifteen year old girl her mother 04 didn’ let’er wear sho:rt skirts ‘r 05 midriff to[:ps’r h]alter to:::ps’r= 06 Nan: [Uh hu:h] 07 Hyl: =e::nnything,= 08 Nan: =[Yea:h, 09 Hyl: =[.hh Y’ know specially some(h)ing 10 thet’d sh-w’d show her navel,.hhhhh 11 [A : :  n: :    d,]= 12 Nan: [0hhhh Ghhhod.]= 13 Hyl: =En Abby agreed thet you don’t, 14 i:t- thet it’s jist invhhiting 15 trouble.= 16 Nan: =Oh:::-::::.

.  Here is perhaps another reason why Shelley, in Excerpt 5, repairs her wh-question challenge from “how man-e-” to “when have I.” The latter question may be more difficult to answer.



Responses to wh-question challenges  17 (.) 18 Hyl: .TCH!= 19 Nan: =A:bby jus’side with the= 20 =mo::[:m, ] 21 Hyl:        [ekhh] 22 Hyl: u-I wz so [mad et [that.] 23 Nan:       [↑G o : [: : d]. 24 (.) 25 Nan: -> You-.tch! How c’n she say tha:t 26 (.) 27 Hyl: ->> ‘t’s easy.=She writes it out.= 28 Hyl: =.hhhh[hhh [(bak(hh)ay)hhh:hinh 29 Nan:      [Oh: [(bo:y) 30 Hyl: hinh 31 (0.2) 32 Nan: No: I think that’s ah[:ful.] 33 Hyl:       [.h-hh] 34 (.) 35 Hyl: Yeh I wz (.) pretty upset abou’that

Nancy repeatedly displays her understanding of and alignment with Hyla’s stance both during the story, and after it ends. After Hyla recounts the fifteen-year-old girl’s complaint about her mother, Nancy displays sympathy with the girl: 0hhhh Ghhhod. (line 12). When the story ends with Abby’s advice to the girl (lines 13–15), Nancy again displays a stance that sympathizes with the girl in the story: “Oh:::-::::.” (line 16). Then she gives an upshot of the advice, “A:bby jus’side with the mo:::m,” (lines 19–20), displaying her understanding of the story. As she hears Hyla begin to display a more emphatic stance (line 22), Nancy also upgrades her stance with a strongly stressed and lengthened “↑G o ::: d.” (line 23). After beginning and then abandoning a turn constructional unit, she asks a wh-question that challenges Abby’s advice, “How c’n she say tha:t” (line 25). The question challenges a non-present party, Abby, in order to display further alignment with Hyla’s stance toward Abby’s advice. Like the other whquestion challenges, Nancy’s question seems to ask for an account for Abby’s action, yet it conveys that there is no adequate account available. Hyla’s type-conforming response, “‘t’s easy.=She writes it out.” (line 27), comes off as a joke because it treats this question as an information-seeking question about means, rather than as a whquestion challenge.

6.  Summary and conclusion As we have seen, wh-questions can be used to convey negative assertions that challenge the grounds for a prior claim or action, suggesting that there are no adequate grounds for it, and therefore no basis for asserting the claim or doing the action in

 Irene Koshik

the first place. When participants accept or agree with these wh-question challenges, whether the challenges are directed at them or at a non-present party, they can do this agreement in ways that orient to the questions as conveying assertions. Rather than answering the wh-question with a response that conforms to the grammatical form of the question, they agree with or accept the assertion ­conveyed through the question, using utterances such as “Ye:ah. (.) Ri:ght.” (Excerpt 9), “Well that’s true.” (Excerpt 8), or “(yeah.)/(well) ok,” (Excerpt 6). Participants can also accept the challenge by showing that the wh-question is unanswerable, i.e., by displaying that they lack a response to the question: “I dun’ kno:w,” (Excerpt 10). In contrast, when recipients of wh-questions challenges use type-conforming responses, they are rejecting the challenge. Type-conforming responses treat the questions as information-seeking questions and answer them as such. By doing this, they reject the implication that the questions are unanswerable, and their answers provide the grounds that the questioner implies are unavailable. For example, in Excerpt 11, when Mark challenges Bob’s claim with a where question, “Wu:ll where wz I spozetuh pick this stuff up at”, Bob responds with a type-conforming answer to the question, i.e., a location, or event: “O h: a football game’er::(s)-”. In answering the question, he refutes the challenge that there was nowhere where Mark could have found out, incidentally, about the party. In another example (Excerpt 12), the wife’s why question is answered by her husband with a type-conforming because answer: “Why is it that we have to go there.” “Because she can go out more easily than their kids can.” This answer disagrees with the implication of the challenge that there is no adequate reason why this couple should be the ones who are inconvenienced. It gives an adequate reason, one that uses contrastive stress to argue against the claim of unfairness embodied in the wh-­question challenge. Finally, in Excerpt 13, a father responds to a canonical challenge, “OH WHO CA:RES.”, with a type-conforming response that treats the question as answerable and thus rejects the challenge. Dad displays his disagreement with John’s implied assertion by answering his challenge as if it were a real question, listing two important tests whose “scores … will care” about John’s grammar. Even when an answer is delayed well into the response turn, is done as a back down of a prior claim, and is not entirely type-conforming, it is still heard as rejecting the challenge if it answers the question as if it were an information-­seeking question. In Excerpt 14, Shelley’s “↑when other time have I ever done that↑” is first responded to by a back down. Debbie weakens her earlier claim that Shelley “can’t do anything unless there’s a gu:y involved” ”, to “well I’m jus sayin it jus seems you- you base a lot of things on-on guy:s.” Her subsequent answer to the “when” question is also done as a back down; what she had earlier claimed was typical behavior she now says was done just “a couple times”. She further mitigates her answer with “I do’know:,” and “its not a big deal.” However, even this not entirely type-conforming mitigated answer was rejected by Shelley. Any answer to Shelley’s wh-question challenge that treats it as an



Responses to wh-question challenges 

information-seeking question, even one done as a back down, would deny the claim made in the challenge and would therefore be heard as a non-aligning response.

References Bolinger, Dwight Le Merton. 1957. Interrogative Structures of American English: The Direct Question. Tuscaloosa, AL: University of Alabama Press. Boyd, Elizabeth, and John Heritage. 2006. “Taking the History: Questioning during Comprehensive History Taking.” In Communication in Medical Care: Interaction Between ­Primary Care Physicians and Patients, ed. by John Heritage and Douglas Maynard, 151–184. C ­ ambridge: Cambridge University Press.  doi: 10.1017/CBO9780511607172.008 Celce-Murcia, Marianne, and Diane Larsen-Freeman. 1999. The Grammar Book: An ESL/EFL Teacher’s Course (2nd ed.). Boston: Heinle and Heinle. Clayman, Steven. 2002. “’Unanswerable’ Questions: How as an Interrogative Form.” Paper presented at the ASA Annual Meeting, Chicago. Drew, Paul. 1998. “Complaints about Transgressions and Misconduct.” Research on Language and Social Interaction 31 (3&4): 295–325.  doi: 10.1207/s15327973rlsi3103&4_2 Fox, Barbara A., and Sandra Thompson. 2010. “Responses to Wh-Questions in English Conversation.” Research on Language and Social Interaction 43 (2): 133–156. doi: 10.1080/08351811003751680 Halliday, Michael, and Ruqaiya Hasan. 1976. Cohesion in English. London: Longman. Horn, Larry R. 1978. “Some Aspects of Negation.” In Universals of Human Language, Vol 4: Syntax, ed. by Joseph H. Greenberg, Charles A. Ferguson, and Edith A. Moravcsik, 127–210. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Koshik, Irene. 2002. “A Conversation Analytic Study of Yes/No Questions which Convey Reversed Polarity Assertions.” Journal of Pragmatics 34 (12): 1851–1877. doi: 10.1016/S0378-2166(02)00057-7 Koshik, Irene. 2003. “Wh-Questions Used as Challenges.” Discourse Studies 5 (1): 51–77. doi: 10.1177/14614456030050010301 Koshik, Irene. 2005. Beyond Rhetorical Questions: Assertive Questions in Everyday Interaction. Amsterdam: John Benjamins.  doi: 10.1075/sidag.16 Lerner, Gene H. 1991. “On the Syntax of Sentences-in-Progress. Language in Society 20: 441–458. doi: 10.1017/S0047404500016572 Lerner, Gene H. 1996. “On the ‘Semi-Permeable’ Character of Grammatical Units in ­Conversation: Conditional Entry into the Turn Space of Another Speaker.” In Interaction and Grammar, ed. by Elinor Ochs, Emanuel. A. Schegloff, and Sandra A. Thompson, 238– 276. C ­ ambridge: Cambridge University Press.  doi: 10.1017/cbo9780511620874.005 Quirk, Randolf, Sidney Greenbaum, Geoffrey Leech, and Jan Svartvik. 1985. A Comprehensive Grammar of the English Language. New York: Longman. Raymond, Geoffrey. 2000. The Structure of Responding: Type-Conforming and Nonconforming Responses to Yes/No Type Interrogatives. Ph.D. dissertation, University of California, Los Angeles. Raymond, Geoffrey. 2003. “Grammar and Social Organization: Yes/No Interrogatives and the Structure of Responding.” American Sociological Review 68: 939–967. doi: 10.2307/1519752

 Irene Koshik Sacks, Harvey, Emanuel A. Schegloff, and Gail Jefferson. 1974. “A Simplest Systematics for the Organization of Turn Taking for Conversation.” Language 50 (4): 696–735. doi: 10.1353/lan.1974.0010 Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1984. “On Some Questions and Ambiguities in Conversation.” Structures of Social Action, ed. by J. Maxwell Atkinson and John Heritage, 28–52. Cambridge: ­Cambridge University Press. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1987. “Some Sources of Misunderstanding in Talk-in-Interaction.” ­Linguistics 25 (1): 201–218.  doi: 10.1515/ling.1987.25.1.201 Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1997. “Practices and Actions: Boundary Cases of Other-Initiated Repair.” Discourse Processes 23: 499–545.  doi: 10.1080/01638539709545001 Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2007. Sequence Organization in Interaction: A Primer in Conversation Analysis. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.  doi: 10.1017/CBO9780511791208 Schegloff, Emanuel A., Gail Jefferson, and Harvey Sacks. 1977. “The Preference for Self-­ Correction in the Organization of Repair in Conversation.” Language 53 (2): 361–382. doi: 10.1353/lan.1977.0041

Extended responding Interaction and collaboration in the production and implementation of responses* Seung-Hee Lee Yonsei University

This chapter proposes an understanding that second pair parts in an adjacency pair can be built with sequences. Using data from audio-recordings of telephone calls by customers to an airline service, this chapter shows that responses to airline reservation requests can be composed of several components that grant and fulfill requests and involve several courses of action of processing those components. The action of responding is implemented piece by piece over a set of sequences that are collaboratively constructed by the parties, which I term extended responding. The collaborative nature of extended responding is exhibited in the negotiation between the parties in terms of ‘who’ directs the development of responding sequences. Keywords:  Adjacency pair; Korean; Request; Response; Sequence; Service encounter

1.  Introduction This chapter examines one of the main parts of an adjacency pair sequence, second pair parts. Second pair parts have normally been described as occurring in a single turn or single turn constructional unit. The aim of this chapter is to show that second pair part actions can also occupy sequences. Through the analysis of the action of responding to requests, this chapter proposes an understanding that positions in an adjacency pair can be built over a set of sequences.

*  An earlier portion of this work was published in a Korean journal, Discourse and Cognition 20(2): 213–237.

doi 10.1075/pbns.273.06lee © 2017 John Benjamins Publishing Company

 Seung-Hee Lee

2.  Grantings and fulfillments of a request Many preferred responses to a request involve grantings and fulfillments. For instance, in example (1) the request recipient produces a verbal granting, ‘Sure’, and follows it with an action of fulfilling the request, that is, bringing and giving the requested item to the requester (line 2). Similarly, in example (2), Wesley, the selected recipient, responds to the request (lines 1–2) with a granting, ‘Ahright’ (line 3), and follows with fulfillment of the action requested, asking of the blessing (lines 5–6).

(1)

SHL FN: 5

   In a coffee shop ((A = customer)) 1 A: Can I just get some hot water? 2 B: ->  Sure ((turns back, brings and gives A hot water))

(2) 1 2 3 4 5 6

VA 1:07 MOM: WES: -> WES: ->

(C’n) we have the blessi-ih-buh-Wesley would you ask the blessi[ng¿ please¿ [Ahright. (0.2) Heavenly fahther give us thankful hearts (fuh)  these an’ all the blessings ahmen.

In these examples, the action of responding can be characterized by two features. First, it is accomplished through two distinct forms of action, verbal tokens of granting followed with fulfillment of the request.1 Here verbal grantings alone do not serve as an adequate response. It is rather fulfillment of the requested action that satisfies and completes the course of action initiated by the request. Second, the response is accomplished at a single turn. The verbal granting is built with a single turn constructional unit in the recipient’s turn, and fulfillment of the request occurs as a point event. By contrast, consider example (3) from a service encounter. Here the response involves both granting and fulfillment in one extended form, and is not accomplished in a single turn. When A initiates a request (line 1), B launches several questionanswer sequences in the following turns at talk (lines 2–15). In each sequence, the parties unpack a particular component that constitutes the request (Lee 2009). At the same time, the recipient grants and fulfills components of the request as each of the components gets specified, for example by getting bread (line 2), spreading mayo on the bread (line 4), and putting lettuce and tomato on it (line 10).

.  Some requests cannot be fulfilled immediately or within the current interaction. As ­Houtkoop (1987) and Lindström (1997) have examined, compliance with such requests is not established with affirmative tokens of granting alone but with a more elaborate display of commitment to fulfill the action requested.



Extended responding 

(3) Lee 2009: 1250    In a cafeteria ((A = customer)) 1 A: I’d like a ham sandwich on wheat 2 B: -> ((gets bread)) Mayo and mustard? 3 A: Just a little bit of mayo 4 B: -> ((spreads mayo on the bread)) Did you want ham? 5 A: Yes 6 B: Cheese? 7 A: No 8 B: Any vegetables? 9 A: Lettuce and tomato. 10 B: ->  ((puts lettuce and tomato and cuts the 11 sandwich)) For here or to go? 12 A: For here 13 B: ->  ((puts the sandwich on a plate)) Pickles on the 14 side? 15 A: Please 16 B: Here you go ((gives the plate to A)) 17 A: Thanks.

Compliance with the request is thus interpolated within specification of the request and gets implemented piecemeal as each component of the request is specified. The response is done through a ‘step-by-step’ granting and fulfillment of each component of the request, which is accomplished over the course of a set of sequences. The recipient delivers the requested item to the requester only after the whole course of action of fulfilling each component of the request is completed (line 16). In this chapter, I examine an extended form of responding that involves both granting and fulfillment of a request, similar to the one in example (3). Through the analysis of responses to customers’ requests for an airline reservation in particular, I will show that the action of responding involves several courses of action of processing components that implement granting/fulfilling a request. The response is thus accomplished piece by piece over the course of several sequences that are collaboratively constructed by the parties, which I will term an extended response.

3.  Data This chapter is based on a corpus of audio-recordings of 169 telephone calls by customers to an airline service in South Korea. Calls were collected in 2002–2003 by the airline company for quality assurance purposes and primarily involved reservation services. Any identifying information is coded in double parentheses, for example ((full name)) as produced by the speaker. When identifying information includes numbers, it is coded with the number of digits, for example ((two-digit number)) as given by the speaker.

 Seung-Hee Lee

Transcripts provide an idiomatic English translation. When features of the Korean language are relevant to the analysis, Korean transcripts are provided in Appendix.

4.  C  ustomer service: The institutional context of requests and responses in calls for airline reservations In customer service contexts, fulfillment of the customer’s request is a matter of primary concern (Tracy 1997; see also Lee 2015). Airline service organizations, like other for-profit organizations, are oriented to providing a service to any customer who can afford it. They strive to maximize provision of the service with each and every customer, and avoid failing to serve those who can be served. For example, the airline service organization under analysis requires its service agents to offer alternative services when the particular service customers request is not available (Lee 2011). In this way, the organization minimizes failure to serve customers, even those whose request does not correspond to available services, and maximizes sales of available services. This institutional goal of maximizing provision of the service relates to the management of the action of responding to the customer’s request in interaction. When customers request an airline reservation, agents make every effort to fulfill the request. The only issue involved in granting or rejecting the request is whether the contingencies of supply will match with the customer’s request. Thus, in this context, request recipients are in a sense ‘ready’ to grant and fulfill a request and do not have any meaningful motivation to reject it other than the contingencies of supply (Lee 2011). At the same time, this also constitutes the requester’s expectation. Requesters – c­ ustomers – expect that their request be granted when making a request and that agents make every effort to satisfy and fulfill their request. There is thus the parties’ mutual orientation to the response to a request to be fulfillment and granting, which is grounded in the institutional context. Before examining how this ‘fulfillment ready’ response gets accomplished in interaction, I will briefly describe the organization of the course of action of the customer’s request for reservation and its fulfillment/granting.

5.  Overview: A request-response sequence When customers make a request for an airline reservation, agents usually engage in processing two kinds of information. First, they process several elements of flight ­information: date, itinerary (place of departure and destination), time, number of ­passengers, and fare classification (business or economy class), and the date and time for a return trip, if applicable. Second, when the availability of a requested flight is



Extended responding 

e­ stablished, agents move to the next step of processing identification information about the flyer(s). They first ask about membership and set up a term in which the flyer(s) will be identified: Members are identified with their membership number, whereas nonmembers are identified with their name. Agents then process other elements of identification information such as phone numbers, the relationship between the customer and the flyer(s), and the name of the customer if different from that of the flyer. Example (4) illustrates a call in which the customer makes a request for reservation. The customer initiates a request at lines 1–2. In the following turns (1->) the agent launches several sequences to specify components of flight information, including the date and itinerary (lines 3–14), time (lines 16–21), number of passengers (lines 22–25), and whether the reservation is for a one way trip (lines 26–28).

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Airline 165



1 C: Yes: I’d like to make a reservation for a 2 flight ticket please:? 3 A: 1-> Yes:: when and where do you go:: 4 (.) 5 C: Seoul: 6 A: 1-> ˙hh From where to Seoul. 7 C: From Sokcho: 8 (0.2) 9 A: Because Sokcho airport has been closed: you have  10 to go to Yang[yang:11 C: [Yes yes Yangyang= 12 A: 1-> =Yes yes:.=˙hh From Yangyang to Seoul: when is it 13 that you go? 14 C: Tomorrow::- (0.2) tomorrow. 15 (.) 16 A: 1->  Tomorrow: we have ↑one o’clock and seven o’clock:. 17 C: At one o’clock¿ 18 (0.2) 19 A: Yes 20 (.) 21 C: Yes please do the one o’clock on[e: 22 A: 1->      [Yes: how 23 many people are going¿ 24 (0.2) 25 C: (  Just one person[:) 26 A: 1->        [Yes: are you doing a flight 27 going to Seoul only? 28 C: Yes[: 29 A: 2->       [˙hh Yes: do you have a Sky Pass card:: 30 ((Sky Pass is a name of the membership in  31 this airline service’s mileage plan)) 32 C: I don’t:= 33 A: 2->  =Yes please give me the name of the person

 Seung-Hee Lee

34 35 C:

((4 lines of receiving the name are omitted))



40 A: 2-> 41 C: 42 43 A: 2-> 44 45 C:



54 A: 55



boarding: ((full name)):





Yes are you (the person boarding) herself? Yes: (0.2) Please give me one phone number: (0.5) ((three-digit number))¿

((8 lines of transferring the number are omitted)) 

hhh Yes customer ((full name)): February fifth ˙ tomorrow ↑Wednesday¿ ˙HH [from Yangyang in Kang wondo: 56 C:      [Yes 57 A: going to Kimpo (for) a ↑one o’clock flight in the 58 afternoon: the reservation for economy class is 59 complete and¿ [˙HHH reservation number is the cell  60 C:    [Yes yes 61 A: phone number the first and last digits:. It’s 62 ((seven-digit number)): 63 C: Yes okay¿

The agent then moves to processing identification information (2->). She first sets up a term in which the customer will be identified by asking about membership in the mileage plan (line 29). As the customer disconfirms membership (line 32), the agent processes identification by means of the name (lines 33–34). The agent then deals with further elements of identification information, including the relationship between the customer and the flyer (lines 40–41) and a phone number (lines 43–45 and 8 lines omitted). At lines 54–62, the agent finally announces a completion of the reservation and delivers a reservation number as an outcome. The organization of the call invites two observations. First, while there are a number of sequences between the customer’s ‘request’ (lines 1–2) and the agent’s ‘response’ (lines 54–62), those sequences in the middle are organized by reference to the two main courses of action of requesting and granting the request. The set of sequences of processing flight information (1->) unpacks several components that constitute the request. It specifies and constructs the customer’s request piece by piece (see Lee 2009 for detail). The other set of sequences of processing identification information (2->) deals with components that implement making the reservation requested. It ­accomplishes granting and fulfillment of the request piece by piece, as will be ­examined in the following section. The two sets of sequences (1-> and 2->) are thus structured into a two-part sequence of sequences of requesting and responding. Second, the transition from the first (1->) to the second set of sequences (2->) indicates a (forthcoming) granting of the request. After specifying several components



Extended responding 

of the trip to the destination (lines 3–25), the agent asks about whether the reservation is for a one way trip (lines 26–27). This question implies a ‘tacit success’ in establishing the flight to Seoul, while moving to check whether a next set of specification of a return trip is necessary. With the trip being for one way only (line 28), the customer can know, at this point, that the request is grantable. This sequence (lines 26–28) thus serves as a ‘fulcrum’ as the call transitions from the ‘requesting’ to the ‘fulfillment/ granting’ part. At line 29, the agent moves on to processing identification information. She does not articulate a granting of the request, but rather implies that by starting to deal with information that is relevant only to the person with an established flight. This initial move to the set of sequences of processing identification information thus indicates that the customer’s request can be and is being granted and fulfilled. Note that those identification sequences do not occur in calls where the availability of a requested flight cannot be established and thus the request cannot be granted.2

.  The example below illustrates a call in which the availability of a requested flight is not established. Sequences that process identification information do not occur. (a) Airline 50 1 A: Hello:: this is ((full name))::: 2 (0.4) 3 C: Yes:=uh on February twenty eighth:: 4 A: Yes 5 (0.2) 6 C: Approximately around two o’clock: to Cheju Island::: 7 about- indicates a ­Second pair part of response and s-> its components that implement responding).

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Airline 165



1 A: 2 C:

Yes: are you doing a flight going to Seoul only? Yes[:

30 A: =No: >now< in the morning: (.) uh: except for eight: 31 thirty five (0.4) and seven o’clock all are full, 32 (0.6) 33 C: Well: uh well- (0.4) aren’t there things like special 34 flights?=uh (I find) there are also flights coming by 35 way of Incheon Airport:¿ 36 (0.6) 37 A: The ones going to Incheon Airport are also now: on 38 this day:: (0.5) shall I look¿ 39 (.) 40 C: Uh we[ll: (uh-) 41 A:    [Yes=it became full. 42 (0.5) 43 C: Well you know what is it uh-= 44 A: =Yes= 45 C: =Business class or something like that [(  ) 46 A:    [˙hh Yes 47 business class: (and) economy class all have now:: 48 become all full: 49 (0.5) 50 C: Oh:: 51 (1.2) 52 C: In any case: there’s nothing(h)¿ hh= 53 A: =No: flights going to Japan- no- Incheon are also:: 54 full:, 55 (0.5) 56 C: Oh: there is nothing at all for returning on the 57 se:cond, 58 A: No: 59 (0.5) 60 C: Yes::. 61 (.) 62 C: Okay:,= 63 A: =Thank you:=this was ((fu[ll name)):¿ 64 C:     [Yes ((meaning ‘Bye’))





Extended responding  3 A: s->       [˙hh Yes: do you have a Sky Pass card:: 4 C: I don’t:= 5 A: s->  =Yes please give me the name of the person boarding: 6 C: ((full name)): ((4 lines of receiving the name are omitted))

11 A: s-> Yes are you the person boarding herself? 12 C: Yes: 13 (0.2) 14 A: s-> Please give me one phone number: 15 (0.5) 16 C: ((three-digit number))¿

((8 lines of transferring the number are omitted))

25 A: S=>  ˙hhh Yes customer ((full name)): February fifth 26 tomorrow ↑Wednesday¿ ˙HH [from Yangyang in Kangwon do: 27 C:    [Yes 28 A: S=> going to Kimpo (for) a ↑one o’clock flight in the 29 afternoon: the reservation for economy class is 30 complete and¿ [˙HHH reservation number is the cell 31 C: [Yes yes 32 A: S=> phone number the first and last digits:. It’s 33 ((seven-digit number)): 34 C: Yes okay¿

As described above, the agent processes several elements of identification information over several sequences (s->), such as the membership and identity (lines  3–6), the relationship between the customer and the flyer (lines 11–12), and a phone number (lines 14–16 and 8 lines omitted). By dealing with information about the flyer over the sequences, the parties implement aspects that grant and fulfill the request, that is, they make the reservation requested. When all the information is processed, the agent shows that the request has been fulfilled and delivers a reservation number as an outcome (S=>). Through the sequences at lines 3–16, the parties implement making the reservation, rather than dealing with contingencies on establishing whether the request can be granted. This involves the following features. 1. The reservation gets made piecemeal over several sequences (s->). Granting and fulfillment of the request are composed of several components that process identification information and get implemented piece by piece as each of those components is dealt with over the sequences. 2. The action of responding is thus extended over several sequences. It does not occur as a point event or in a single turn. Rather, both granting and fulfillment of the request get implemented in one extended form which is built over the course of several sequences.

 Seung-Hee Lee

3. Because it occupies a set of sequences, the action of responding is collaboratively constructed by the parties. The action of responding can thus be termed ‘extended’. This shows that sequences can be used to realize responses, or particularly grantings/fulfillments of a request.

6.1  Co-construction and initiative Because extended responses are collaboratively constructed by the parties over several sequences, this can influence the ‘terrain’ of the parties in developing the sequences. Each party may take initiative in the proceedings to varying degrees. Although it is usually agents who initiate responding sequences, as in example (5), customers can sometimes take an initiative in moving on to processing identification information. For instance, in example (6) the agent initiates a sequence to specify the number of passengers (line 3). In response, the customer not only provides the answer with ‘one person:’ but also projects another unit of talk by producing ‘and’ at the end (line 4). She designs the turn with the use of a connective particle which projects a further unit of talk in Korean (see Appendix for the Korean transcript). The customer thereby takes an action to initiate talk other than providing the number of passengers.

(6)



1 C: A flight going to ↑Pusan at (two) o’clock:. 2 (3.2) 3 A: Yes how many people? 4 C: -> Yes:: one person: and¿ 5 A: Yes:=one person for economy class and? 6 C: -> Yes=uh I’ll give you the ↑card number:? 7 A: Ye:s? 8 C: CJ¿ 9 A: Yes:. 10 C: ((seven-digit number)).

Airline 90

The agent gives in to the customer’s move to the initiative. At line 5, while launching a specification of the fare classification, the agent does not initiate a sequence to ask about it. She embeds the specification (‘economy class’) into receipting the customer’s answer, and ends the utterance with ‘and’, thus designing her turn as leading up to the customer’s production of the projected unit of talk (Note: She uses the same connective particle as the one used by the customer in Korean). At line 6, the customer confirms the number of passengers and the fare specification with ‘yes’ and directs a sequence that processes identification information. The customer’s initiative in providing the (membership) card number displays her understanding about the reservation procedure in two aspects. First, the customer treats the availability of the requested flight as having been established. By volunteering



Extended responding 

information that is relevant only to the person with an established flight, she shows her understanding that the request is fulfillable and initiates a move from the ‘request’ to the ‘fulfillment’ section of the call. Second, the customer displays an understanding of the components that constitute granting/fulfillment of the request. By volunteering the membership number in particular, the customer shows her knowledge that her identity is one of those granting/fulfillment components and that the identity of members can be processed with a membership number. She thus forwards to a sequence implementing fulfillment and granting of the request in an institutionally relevant way. In these two ways, the customer displays herself as an ‘expert’ who is experienced and knowledgeable about the reservation procedure. The agent yields to the customer’s initiative (line 7) and the customer provides the membership number (lines 8–10). Unlike example (6), agents may not let customers take control over developing extended responding sequences. While engaging in interaction with customers, agents simultaneously deal with entering particular information into the computer. They have to come to terms with the computer work in order to process a requested r­ eservation in an effective way (cf. Whalen 1995). For example, the computer is designed to process flight information before identification information. Agents thus strive to deal with any element of flight information before processing identification information. Even when a flight to the destination is established, agents usually try to establish a return flight, if relevant, before moving on to dealing with identification. In addition, the computer has a particular procedure in processing the flyer’s identity. Members in the airline’s mileage plan are identified with a membership number which locates and retrieves the identity in the system. On the other hand, the identity of non-members is not stored in the system, and it is processed through their name for one time only. This particular identification procedure imposes a discipline on the ways in which agents process the flyer’s identity. As mentioned above, most agents first ask about whether the flyer is a member; and depending on the response, they ask for a membership number or name. Agents thus process the flyer’s identity by two distinct means as imposed by the computer. Consider example (7). In keeping with the computer work, the agent does not let the customer drive the development of sequences. The agent seeks to take control over both the moment at which identification information gets processed and the way in which the flyer is identified. At line 2, the agent initiates a sequence to specify the number of passengers. In response, the customer not only answers with ‘one person’ but also volunteers a name (line 3). The customer thus initiates a move to processing identification information. However, the agent does not attend to the name provided. She pursues further specification of flight information (lines 5, 7). By seeking to e­ stablish any remaining element of flight information before processing the identification, the

 Seung-Hee Lee

agent takes control over the transition from the ‘requesting’ to the ‘fulfillment’ section in the call.

(7)

Airline 152

1 C: Yes please make a reservation for ten thirty: 2 A: Yes how many people? 3 C: -> Oh one person and ((full name)): 4 (0.2) 5 A: => Is it a round trip? 6 C: Yes: 7 A: => When do you come back¿ 8 (0.4) 9 C: Uh: there is an eight o’clock flight right¿ 10 (1.0) 11 A: This evening¿ 12 C: Yes. 13 (1.2) 14 A:  Uh:: (.) it’s full and there are seats till half: 15 past seve[n 16 C:    [Yes: please do the half past seven one= 17 A: => =Yes are you a Sky Pass membe[r¿ 18 C:     [Yes: 19 A: => What’s the number: 20 C: Uh number just a moment: 21 A: Yes: 22 ((receiver down)) 23 (12.0) 24 C: Hello¿ 25 A: Yes: 26 C: CJ ((two-digit number)):

When the customer finally requests a return flight that can be granted (line 16), the agent initiates a move to processing identification information (line 17). The agent, however, does not attend to the name the customer provided earlier (cf. line 3). She initiates a sequence to set up a term in which the customer/flyer will be identified (Recall that the logic of identification process distinguishes members and non-­members). Given the customer’s membership status (line 18), the agent asks for the membership number (line 19). The agent thus identifies the customer/flyer according to the institutional identification system imposed by the computer, rather than processing the name the customer already provided. This example shows that, while the customer moves to a component that implements granting of the request, the agent may not engage in such a move but pursue further specification of flight information. She takes control over the particular moment at which the action of granting the request gets relevant in the course of interaction. In addition, the agent attends to the particular method of identifying the flyer



Extended responding 

in accordance with the computer system. She thus controls when and how the flyer’s identity is processed in the reservation procedure. In the following case, the customer consistently attempts to take initiative in developing the course of the fulfillment segment in the interaction. The agent persists in taking control over the proceedings, however. For instance, in example (8a) the customer specifies a particular flight he wants at line 4. The customer then specifies the number of passengers, and immediately launches information about the flyers in the same turn, ‘one person (is):’, meaning one of the two flyers (line 6). In this way, the customer initiates a move to processing a component that implements granting of the request, even before the agent acknowledges the number of passengers (line 7).

(8a)

Airline 132

1 A:  And the previous time is four thirty in the afternoon: 2 C: 3 A: Yes: 4 C: ˙HHHHH >Okay< the::n for four thirty: 5 A: Yes: 6 C: -> Two people.=One per[son (is): 7 A:       [Yes 8 (0.5) 9 A: =>  Yes sir uh: wait a minute =The date is tomorrow correct? 13 C: Tomorrow (that’s) correc=[October fifth:= 14 A:     [Yes 15 A: => =Yes: and two people are going (right)[: 16 C:    [Yes yes¿ ˙hhhh 17 (5.0) ((keyboard)) 18 A: => Yes: how would you do a return fligh[t¿ 19 C:          [Returning uh: on 20 October sixth:



 ((15 lines of establishing a return flight are omitted.))

36 A: => Yes: (.) and two people are returning all together¿ 37 C: Yes yes= 38 A: =Yes: 39 (1.5) 40 A: =>  Yes sir do you have a Sky Pass membership number:¿= 41 C: =Uh: CJ:

However, at lines 9–10, the agent holds back the customer’s move (‘wait a minute’) and pursues confirmation of the flight information. The agent first marks his going back to flight information by producing ‘again’ (line 9), then re-produces and seeks to confirm the itinerary (lines 9–10). He further directs sequences to confirm the flight information specified previously (lines 12–16) and to specify a return flight (lines 18–38).

 Seung-Hee Lee

Thus the agent does not move to processing information about the flyers, which was initiated by the customer earlier in the talk (cf. line 6), but pursues sequences to process flight information. The agent starts to deal with identification information only after the return flight is established (line 40). In this way, the agent takes control over the transition from specifying flight information to processing identification information and thus the particular moment at which sequences of granting and fulfilling the request get initiated in the course of interaction. After transferring the membership numbers of the two flyers, the customer again tries to control the interaction by launching another agenda of making a payment (example (8b)). In some of the calls for an airline reservation, customers make a payment at the time of reservation. Payment for the trip is made relevant and can be processed in the computer after all necessary identifying information is processed, thus after the reservation is complete. In example (8b), the customer tries to forward the call toward making a payment (lines 112, 116) after the agent retrieves the name of the second flyer by means of the membership number (line 110).

(8b)

Airline 132

110 A: Customer ((full name)): 111 C: ->  Yes yes yes ˙HHHHH (0.5) so please do the round trip 112 -> and¿ uh:: about the payment: 113 (1.4) 114 A: Yes: 115 (0.5) 116 C: -> Visa card: 117 (0.6) 118 A: Yes please hold on just a moment¿ 119 (9.0) 120 A: => Yes is the person giving this call the passenger 121 himself correct? 122 C: -> It’s himself [it’s ((full name)) himself and¿ 123 A:      [Yes 124 A: => Yes would you give me one contact number? 125 C: ˙hh ((seven-digit number)).

At lines 120–121, however, the agent directs a sequence to process further identification information, the relationship between the customer and the flyers. The agent thus does not align with the customer’s move to the agenda of dealing with payment, but persists in processing components that grant and fulfill the request. The customer does not yield to the agent’s control, however. In responding to the question at line 122, the customer designs the turn with ‘and’ at the end and projects another unit of talk. He uses a connective particle that projects further talk in Korean (see Appendix for the Korean transcript). The customer thereby takes an action to have a control over developing an upcoming talk. At line 124, the agent nonetheless initiates yet another sequence to process another element of identification information,



Extended responding 

a contact number, without displaying any orientation to the customer’s ­projection of further talk. He does not yield to, or attend to, the customer’s move to another agenda, but pursues sequences to implement fulfillment of the request. The agent thus persists in taking control over the development of responding sequences in the call. The agent finally comes to a completion of processing all the components of identification information. In example (8c), the agent provides a reservation number as the reservation becomes complete (lines 159–164). The customer yet again pursues an initiative. He moves to the agenda of making a payment under his control as soon as acknowledging the last four digits of the number (line 165).

(8c)

Airline 132

159 A: I’ll give you a reservation [number: 160 C:         [y 161 C: Yes: 162 A: ((three-digit number)): 163 C: Yes: 164 A: ((four-digit number)). 165 C: -> Yes:. [˙hh Uh (  ) about the ↑payment: 166 A: =>     [Yes credit card: 167 C: Yes: 168 (0.5) 169 C: Visa card: 170 A: Yes: 171 (1.0) 172 C: ((four-digit number)): 173 A: ((four-digit number)):

At the same time, the agent moves to processing payment (line 166). His production of ‘credit card:-’ shows that he has registered but delayed the customer’s pursuit of payment. The agent thus reveals his pursuit of control over a particular moment at which particular information gets relevant in the course of interaction. At lines 169–173, the parties finally process credit card information. In sum, examples (6–8) show that both parties can take initiative in developing the action of extended responding. Because fulfillment/granting of a request is coconstructed by the parties over the course of a set of sequences, this can influence the prospects for the customer to take initiative in the proceedings. Customers may volunteer identification information, rather than waiting to be asked, and initiate a move to the fulfillment segment. In this way, customers display their experienced knowledge about the reservation procedure. Agents, however, often pursue control over the proceedings of the call. They take control over the moment at which the call transitions from the requesting to the fulfillment segment and to another agenda, e.g. of making a payment, which is in part shaped by the computer. Thus, although customers can take initiative in developing the sequences, this is constrained by whether they do so at the ‘right’ and relevant moment partially imposed by the computer.

 Seung-Hee Lee

7.  Summary In describing practices for sequence construction, Schegloff (2007) demonstrated that a telling sequence can be embedded into the second pair part position in a questionanswer sequence. This chapter proposed to expand that sequential understanding by describing the nature of a second pair part action that is built over a set of sequences in a request-response adjacency pair. The analysis focused on what I termed extended responses. 1. The action of responding involves both granting and fulfillment of a request in one extended form. It is composed of several components, and gets constructed and implemented piece by piece as those components are processed over a number of sequences. 2. Because it is extended over sequences, the action of responding is collaboratively constructed by the parties. 3. This collaborative nature of the construction of extended responses is exhibited in the prospects for the customer to take initiative in developing responding sequences. 4. Agents, however, often take control over the moment at which responding sequences get initiated and the way in which identification information gets dealt with. This is in part imposed by the computer work they have to come to terms with throughout the interaction. Thus, second pair part positions in an adjacency pair can themselves be built with sequences. In accomplishing extended responses, the ways in which responding sequences are initiated and completed are subject to collaborative interactional work. The parties’ collaboration is subject to negotiation between customers who do being an ‘expert’ by volunteering information and agents who pursue control over the course of action in keeping with the computer work. This suggests a relationship between practiced knowledge about the institutional system and organization of action in interaction.

References Houtkoop, Hanneke. 1987. Establishing Agreement: An Analysis of Proposal-Acceptance Sequences. Dordrecht: Foris Publications. Lee, Seung-Hee. 2009. “Extended Requesting: Interaction and Collaboration in the Production and Specification of Requests.” Journal of Pragmatics 41: 1248–1271. doi: 10.1016/j.pragma.2008.09.013 Lee, Seung-Hee. 2011. “Managing Nongranting of Customers’ Requests in Commercial Service Encounters.” Research on Language and Social Interaction 44: 109–134. doi: 10.1080/08351813.2011.567091



Extended responding 

Lee, Seung-Hee. 2015. “Service Encounter Discourse.” In The International Encyclopedia of Language and Social Interaction, ed. by Karen Tracy, Cornelia Ilie, and Todd Sandel, 1344–1348. Boston: John Wiley & Sons.  doi: 10.1002/9781118611463.wbielsi009 Lindström, Anna. 1997. Designing Social Actions: Grammar, Prosody, and Interaction in Swedish Conversation. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of California, Los Angeles. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2007. A Primer in Conversation Analysis: Sequence Organization. ­Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. doi: 10.1017/CBO9780511791208 Tracy, Karen. 1997. “Interactional Trouble in Emergency Service Requests: A Problem of Frames.” Research on Language and Social Interaction 30: 315–343. doi: 10.1207/s15327973rlsi3004_3 Whalen, Jack. 1995. “A Technology of Order Production: Computer-Aided Dispatch in Public Safety Communications.” In Situated Order: Studies in the Social Organization of Talk and Embodied Activities, ed. by Paul ten Have and George Psathas, 187–230. Lanham, Maryland: University Press of America and International Institute for Ethnomethodology and Conversation Analysis.

Appendix Transcripts below have three lines. The italicized top line shows Korean romanized according to the Yale system, representing actual sounds produced by the speaker. The second line displays a literal English translation of each word with a morpheme-by-morpheme gloss (see Abbreviations below the transcripts). The third line, or the full turn, provides an idiomatic English translation. Square brackets [ ] at the beginning of the idiomatic English translation indicate an occurrence of overlapping talk at that turn. Refer to the italicized line for the exact positioning of overlap onset.

(6)

Airline 90

1 C: (twu) si-ey: ↑pwusan ka-nun pihayngki-yo. two hour-temp pl go-attr flight-def ‘A flight going to ↑Pwusan at (two) o’clock:.’ 2



(3.2)

3 A: ney myech pwun-i-si-p-ni-kka? yes how.many cl:hon-cp-hon-pol-det-interr ‘Yes how many people?’ 4 C: -> yey:: han myeng:-i-kwu-yo¿ yes one cl-cp-conn-def ‘Yes:: one person: and¿’

5 A: yey:=ilpansek-ulo han pwun-i-si-kwu? yes economy.class-pt one cl:hon-cp-hon-conn ‘Yes:=one person for economy class and?’

6 C: -> yey=ce ↑khatu penho pwulle tuli-lkkey-yo:? yes dm card number call:conn give:hum-int-def ‘Yes=uh I’ll give (you) the ↑card number:?’

 Seung-Hee Lee 7 A: ney:ey? yes ‘Ye:s?’

8 C: ssi ceyi¿ C  J ‘CJ¿’ 9 A: ney:. yes ‘Yes:.’

10 C:

  number-def ‘ yey yey yey ˙HHHHH (0.5) kulayse wangpok-ulo yes yes yes so round.trip-pt 112

ha-si-ko¿ ko:: kyelcey-nun mal-i-cyo: do-hon-conn dm payment-top word-cp-comm:def ‘Yes yes yes ˙HHHHH (0.5) so please do the round  trip and¿ uh:: about the payment:’

113

(1.4)

115

(0.5)

117

(0.6)

119

(9.0)

121

mac-sup-ni-kka? be.right-pol-det-interr ‘Yes is the person giving this call (the  passenger) himself correct?’

114 A:

ney: yes ‘Yes:’

116 C: -> pica khatu: Visa card ‘Visa card:’ 118 A:

ney camsi-man kitalye cwu-si-p-syo¿ yes a.moment-only wait:conn give-hon-pol-juss:def ‘Yes please hold on just a moment¿’

120 A: => yey cenhwa cwu-si-n pwun ponin yes call give-hon-attr person:hon self

122 C: -> ponin-i-p-ni-ta [((full name)) ponin-i-ko¿ self-cp-pol-det-decl self-cp-conn  ‘[] (It’s) himself (it’s)  ((full name)) himself and¿’



Extended responding 

123 A:

[yey yes ‘[] Yes’

125 C:

˙hh ((seven-digit number)).

124 A: => yey yenlakche hana cwu-si-keyss-sup-ni-kka? yes contact.number one give-hon-dr-pol-det-interr ‘Yes would you give (me) one contact number?’

Abbreviations attr comm cp def dm hon int juss pol temp

Attributive Committal Copula Deferential Discourse Marker Honorific Intentional Jussive Polite suffix Temporal particle

cl conn decl det dr hum interr pl pt top

Classifier Connective Declarative Determinative Deductive Reasoning Humble Interrogative Place Particle Topic

Accepting remote proposals Anna Lindström Uppsala University

This study focuses on the preferred sequence trajectory of remote proposals. A remote proposal is a request, invitation, or related proposal that cannot be immediately satisfied. The data consists of 34 remote proposal sequences drawn from recordings of Swedish telephone conversations. The analysis shows that although remote proposals are formatted as yes no interrogatives, an affirmative response token is insufficient as a claim of alignment with the proposal. An additional unit of talk is required where the accepter enacts a stance that demonstrates a commitment to fulfill the remote proposal. Keywords:  Alignment; Conversation Analysis; Grammar And Interaction; Remote Proposals; Responses; Sequence Organization; Swedish Conversation

1.  Introduction From the earliest conversation analytic work on adjacency pairs (Sacks [1987] 1973) it was established that first pair parts are designed for, and prefer, responses that are contiguous with, and that are aligned to, in agreement with and accept them (Sacks 1987). Such responses, it was observed (Heritage 1984; Pomerantz 1975; 1984) were ordinarily brief and unelaborated. Dispreferred responses, by contrast, tend to be delayed and expanded in various ways. Thus, while preferred responses have been described as being formatted in minimal turns, for example a single TCU, dispreferred responses are in other words generally associated with turn expansion (Heritage 1984; Pomerantz 1975; 1984; Sacks 1987 [1973]; Schegloff 2007: 58–81). Absent from this discussion, however, is a systematic examination of how minimal or substantial accepting second pair parts should be. Sacks, Schegloff and Jefferson (1974) demonstrated that turn-taking is a socially organized system which “allocates single turns to single speakers; any speaker gets, with the turn, exclusive rights to talk to the first possible completion of an initial instance of a unit type [italics added]” (p.  706). Speakers are thus ordinarily entitled to a single turn constructional unit (TCU) with the turn reaching possible completion after that TCU. Turn-taking pressures exist, therefore, for acceptances to be managed within the confines of a single unit. However that unit may range

doi 10.1075/pbns.273.07lin © 2017 John Benjamins Publishing Company

 Anna Lindström

from lexical through clausal to sentential. An acceptance may be accomplished with ‘Sure’, ‘Yes’, ‘Yes please’, ‘Yes I’d love to’ etc. with prosodic resources deployed to convey that each of these is being presented as a single TCU. Moreover turns may be expanded with additional TCUs to the same effect, e.g. ‘Yes. I’d love to.’. This study explores sequential environments where expanded TCUs or turns are required to accomplish a preferred responsive action.1 I focus on accepting responses to remote proposals, i.e. proposals that require recipients to make a commitment to engage in a future course of action. Excerpt (1) shows a remote proposal sequence.2 (1) C OFFEE(GRU8A). Telephone conversation. The assessment in line 21 refers to Malena’s description of a blazer that she recently purchased. Fika in line 23 is a colloquial term for having a cup of tea or coffee together.

21 L:

=Perfekt (hörrudu:), Perfect (listenyou) Perfect (my friend)

22 M: -> ­ ↑ 0Ja0 >ska’ru inte komma hit å Yes will’you not come here to Yes why don’t you come here for 23 -> fika sen¿ Ja de kan ja gö:ra? Yes that can I do Yes I can do that

25 M:

Ja: när’u har simma? ((upbeat)) Yes when’you have swum

The proposed action, that Lisa come over for coffee, cannot be immediately satisfied since the parties are talking on the telephone. Malena’s turn in line 22 both asks and

.  The study draws on analyses originally presented in my doctoral dissertation (Lindström 1997). I would like to thank Emanuel Schegloff, John Heritage, Steve Clayman, Gene Lerner, Geoff Raymond, and Trine Heinemann for excellent comments on different versions of this manuscript. This is one of several investigations in the project Language and social action: A comparative study of affiliation and disaffiliation across national communities and institutional contexts (financed by the Swedish Council for Working Life and Social Research and the Swedish Research Council). .  Names of persons and places have been changed in the transcripts. The first translated line provides a word-by-word translation that is intended to convey word order. The wordby-word translation is sometimes complemented by an idiomatic translation in the third line.



Accepting remote proposals 

invites, the question ‘will you not come here for coffee later’ being the vehicle for the invitation (cf. Schegloff 2007: 75–76). The turn-initial response token ‘Ja’ accepts the invitation while the expansion ‘I can’ displays Lisa’s stance toward the the impending get-together by articulating her availability to come over. The stress on the verb (gö:ra) conveys enthusiasm. Malena’s subsequent proposal of a time for the get-together ‘when you have swum’ shows that she heard Lisa’s prior turn as an acceptance and her upbeat tone matches Lisa’s enthusiasm. The analysis of the preferred sequence trajectory of remote proposals contributes to research on the relationship between the organization of action and turn design (Stevanovic 2013; Stevanovic and Peräkylä 2012). Sacks (1987 [1973]) first observed the interaction between agreement and contiguity in conversation. Focusing on agreement and disagreement in question-answer sequences he showed that an agreement tends to be produced contiguously while a disagreement “may well be pushed rather deep in to the turn that it occupies” (Sacks 1987 [1973]: 58; cf. Pomerantz 1984). The interaction between agreement and contiguity is also apparent in sequences where the initiating turn includes two questions as in the following example. (2) (Sacks 1987 [1973]: 59–60)

1 A: 2 3 B: 4

Well that’s good uh how is yer arthritis. Yuh still taking shots? Yeah. Well it’s, it’s awright I mean it’s uh, it hurts once’n a while but it’s okay.

Sacks noted that for these sequences, there is a reversal of the order of answers and questions so that the answer to the second question is produced first. This responsive structure preserves the contiguity between the second question and its answer across the sequence. Questioning as an interactional practice that sets in motion a specific set of options for responding was further explored by Raymond (2000; 2003). Raymond focused on yes/no type interrogatives (abbreviated as YNI). Building on previous work on the preference organization of different actions on the one hand, and the linguistic design of questions on the other, he showed “that the grammatical form of a FPP sets a third preference, one that can exert a more general constraint on the forms responding actions should take” (Raymond 2003: 944). Raymond argued that recipients of YNIs “are placed in a highly defined situation of choice” in that they can either format their response in a way that conforms with the grammatical form of the FPP or they can design a response that is non-conforming (Raymond 2003: 963). Two elements of response comprise type-conformity with a YNI. First the responsive turn should contain the words ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ (or related tokens of that type, such as ‘Yeah’, ‘Yep’, ‘Nope’ etc.). Second, the type-conforming response should occur in turn-initial position. Where the type-conforming response is delayed within a responsive turn, it

 Anna Lindström

is appropriate to speak of deferred type-conformity, which is often done “for cause” (Heritage and Raymond 2005; 2012). Excerpt (3) shows a YNI with a type-conforming response.3 (3) (Raymond 2003:  948) (HV=Health Visitor, M=Mother)

1 2 3 4

HV:  M: HV:

How about your breast(s) have they settled do:wn [no:w.    [Yeah they ‘ave no:w yeah.= =(   ) they’re not uncomfortable anymo:re.

The mother’s turn-initial affirmative response token conforms with the grammatical format of the health visitor’s YNI. Raymond argued that type-conforming responses “accept the terms and presuppositions embodied in a YNI” (Raymond 2003: 949). For the example above, the mother’s type-conforming response accepts the proposal embedded within the Health Visitor’s YNI that her breasts have been a source of discomfort. Type-conforming responses are contrastive with non-conforming ones which treat the design of the YNI and the action it delivers as problematic (Raymond, 2003: 949). Excerpt (4) shows a YNI with a non-conforming response.4 (4) Raymond, 2003:948) (HV=Health Visitor, M=Mother)

1 HV: Mm.=Are your breasts alright. 2 (0.7) 3 M: -> They’re fi:ne no:w I’ve stopped leaking (.) 4 so: 5 HV: You didn’t want to breast feed,

In contrast with the query in Example 3, the Health Visitor’s YNI in Example 4 presumes that the mother has not experienced problems with her breasts in the past. A conforming response by the mother would have accepted this presupposition. The non-conforming response that the mother in fact produces rejects it. In this example, the grounds for rejection are articulated through the stress on “no:w” and the subsequent reference to prior leakage. Raymond’s analysis of responses to YNIs shows that the design of the response to a YNI, in terms of the presence or absence of a turn initial affirmative or negative response token is part and parcel of a normative structural and interactional o ­ rganization where

.  The example is drawn from an audio-taped recording of an institutional interaction namely a homevisit made by a British Health Visitor nurse to a mother who has recently given birth to a child. .  Examples 3 and 4 are from two different visits and involve two different health visitors and mothers.



Accepting remote proposals 

type-conformity is preferred over non-conformity. The remote proposal examples that form the basis for the analysis presented in this paper include sequences that are initiated as YNIs. I develop the research on alignment and type conformity by showing that an affirmative response token is insufficient as a claim of alignment with a remote proposal. An expanded TCU is required in which the accepters display their stance towards fulfillment of the remote proposal. The pacing between the turn initial affirmative token and its expansion gives the recipient a first indication of whether the remote proposal is likely to be accepted or rejected. The design of the responses to remote proposals is the product of an interactional practice that represents a normative preference that is demonstrably oriented to by parties in talk-in-interaction (­Heritage 1984). Departures from the norm are accountable (Garfinkel 1967). The paper is organized as follows. I begin by contrasting remote proposals with proposals for actions that can be immediately fulfilled and situate the findings of my study vis-a-vis previous work on the structure of remote proposal sequences. I then introduce the data for the study. This is followed by a discussion of the social and syntactic design of the FPP in the remote proposal sequence. The subsequent analysis of the SPP in the remote proposal sequence centers on cases that establish the central analytical claim of this study namely that alignment with remote proposals requires an expanded response where the recipient not merely accepts the terms and presuppositions of the remote proposal but also enacts a stance towards its fulfillment.

2.  Remote proposals The analytic distinction between remote and immediate proposals was first made by Houtkoop Steenstra (1987). In line with her work, I use the term proposal to refer to a range of initiating actions such as requests, invitations, and offers. An immediate proposal sequence involves a proposal that is fulfilled on the spot. One such example is shown in (5) which is drawn from a video-recording of an interaction where a Swedish home help provider visits a senior citizen in her home to assist with personal hygiene and household tasks. (5) [ VD3:1] The home help (HH) has recently returned to Sweden from a vacation in Spain. Prior to this excerpt the senior citizen (SC) has asked about this trip. The senior citizen is seated and rests her hands on her walker. The home help is standing in front of the senior citizen facing her. 01 HH:

Ja::: de har vari så fint väder därnere, Yes it has been such nice weather downthere Yeah the weather has been so nice down there

 Anna Lindström





02 SC: 03 HH:





x [DuYou Hey [ti skillnad från här,  to difference from here in contrast to here z

04 SC: -> Vill du tala lite närmare. Will you speak a little closer Could you speak a little closer 05 HH:

De (.) har varit så fint väder It has been such nice weather The weather has been so nice

07 SC:

[Ja de förstå:r ja,  Yes that understand I Yes I can understand that

06 [därnere,  down there

08 HH: 09 10 SC:

.hJa Yes (0.6) Ja har en dotter som e på Sardinien, I have a daughter who is on Sardinia I have a daughter on Sardinia

  x SC raises her hand and makes a beckoning gesture.   z HH leans forward toward SC and rests her hands on SC:s walker.

The senior citizen’s request in line 4 is preceded by a beckoning gesture in line 2 (marked with x above the transcript). The home help responds to the beckoning by leaning forward during the senior citizen’s turn. She fulfills the request to speak a little closer at the first TRP of the senior citizen’s turn by leaning toward her and repeating the second TCU of the turn that occasioned the beckoning and the request (i.e. line 1). The senior citizen’s claim of understanding in line 7 coupled with her initiation of a next relevant action – a telling about another part of Southern Europe (the area that the home help has just described) – indexes satisfaction with the home help’s response. In contrast with proposals that can be immediately fulfilled, remote proposals require the recipient to make a commitment to a course of action that will be ­performed in the future. Example (6) shows a remote proposal. It is drawn from Houtkoop Steenstra’s corpus of Dutch telephone conversations.



Accepting remote proposals  (6) (Houtkoop Steenstra 1987: 117 and Houtkoop Steenstra 1987: 184)5 R appears to be calling H to talk to a woman (W) who is not home.

1 R: -> Misschien wil je aan haar vragen of ze mij: even Maybe you would ask her to ca:ll 2 3 4 H:

be:lt? me:? (0.3) Ja:. Dat kan ik doen.= Ja:. I can do that.

R’s request that H ask W to call him cannot be immediately fulfilled as W is not home. The design of the response to the remote proposal (line 4) above is strikingly similar to the response that was shown in excerpt (1) presented at the outset of this paper, in that there is a turn initial affirmative response token ‘ja’ followed by a stance marker ‘Dat kan ik doen’ in example (6) and ‘de kan ja gö:ra’ in excerpt (1). There are parallels between Houtkoop-Steenstra’s study and the study at hand. Like Houtkoop-Steenstra, I analyze the trajectory of remote proposals and I draw most of my examples from recordings of private non-institutional telephone conversations. My analysis of Swedish data corroborates Houtkoop’s Steenstra’s observation that a turn initial affirmative response token such as ja is a weak agreement that cannot complete a claim of alignment with a remote proposal (Houtkoop Steenstra 1987). By exploring continuations as well as absences after the initial response token, I explicate what it takes for speakers to claim full acceptance with a remote proposal.

3.  Data The study is based on 34 remote proposal sequences with accepting or granting second pair parts (SPPs) drawn from a larger collection of action requests, invitations, and proposals. The data consists of audio recordings of naturally occurring Swedish telephone conversation. The recordings were made in three Swedish households during 1991. I will also show contrastive cases from a corpus of video-recordings of interactions between senior citizens and home help providers in the Swedish home help ­service. These recordings were made during 1998. The practices for data collection and analysis have been reviewed and approved by the ethics board of the Swedish Research Council.

.  I have integrated the Dutch original transcript with the English translation. The Dutch and English version were presented separately in Houtkoop Steenstra’s study.

 Anna Lindström

4.  The social and syntactic design of remote proposals Interactants have a range of alternatives at their disposal for launching remote proposals. Focusing first on the social design of the remote proposal, it is evident that speakers can choose to design the proposal in a way that either minimizes or maximizes the burden that fulfillment of the remote proposal would impose on the recipient. The speaker can launch the proposal in a way that either positions her as a benefactor or as a beneficiary of the proposed action (Clayman and Heritage 2014). The analytic distinction between benefactor and beneficiary identities has been introduced by Zimmerman (2004) and draws on research by Jörg Bergmann (1993) on the moral accountability in citizen calls to a German fire department. Bergmann established that callers could report events in a way that positioned them either as persons who act out of a sense of civic duty and in service of the fire department, or as individuals who would personally benefit from the services of the fire brigade (Bergmann 1993: 11–12). Excerpt (7) shows a remote proposal where the speaker minimizes the imposition that alignment with the proposal might entail for the recipient, and presents the proposal that frames the recipient as the beneficiary: (7) VISIT (MOL1A). Telephone conversation. 01 A: >Hörru ja tänkte höra ifall  Listen I thought hear in case Listen I was thinking about asking if

02 ni ville ha en liten påhälsning¿< you wanted have a small visit you wanted to be paid a small visit

The activity proposed with this remote proposal is minimized in several ways. The diminutive modifier (liten) in line 2 suggests a short rather than extended visit. The prototypical Swedish word for visit is besök. The word used here, påhälsning, denotes an unexpected visit as in the idiomatic expression få påhälsning av tjuvar ‘be paid a visit by thieves’. This lexical choice may reflect an orientation by the speaker to the delicacy of the fact that she is in effect inviting herself to her interlocutor’s home (cf. excerpt (1) which shows a regular invitation). The delicate character of the proposal is also evident in the indirect formulation jag tänkte höra ifall ‘I was thinking about asking if ’ as well as the use of past tense, ni ville ‘you wanted’. The benefactor identity established in excerpt (7) promotes the possibility of alignment with the remote proposal. Excerpt (8) shows a case where the speaker of the remote proposal enacts the identity of beneficiary by formulating the remote proposal more from the point of view of her own and her children’s interests rather than her interlocutor’s. Monika is calling Liv – her children’s day care provider – to figure out when to pick up her ­children from day care. The children are in the midst of watching a video film.



Accepting remote proposals 

(8) QUARTER PAST FOUR (VAT11A). Telephone conversation. 01 Liv: 02 03 04 Mon: 05 Liv: 06 Liv:

07 Mon: ->

Ja de håller på en- en- de håller på en Yes ‘t holds on one- one it holds on one Yes it lasts for one- one- it is on for an ti:mme men dom har no titta hour but they have probably watched en kvartfifteen minutes Ja: [men va bra:, Yes but what good Yes but that’s good



[ungefä:r       approximately

(Så [den e no klar till (So it’s probably done til (So it’ll be probably be over by)

)

[Ja men då kommer ja lagom       Yes but then come I just in time Yes but then I’ll come at the right

08

till en [kvart över fyra ungefär då, to one quarter past four approximately then time if I come around a quarter past four then

10 Liv:

Aa, De går br[a de, Yes ‘t goes well that Yes that will be okay

09 Liv: [Ja:rå,  Yesthen  Alright

11 Mon:

[Ja  de e fi:nt de, Yes ‘t’s fine  that Okay fine

Liv is calculating when the video film will be over in her turns in lines 1–3 and 5. Monika interjects at line 4 by assessing the information that can be deduced from Liv’s turn so far, namely that there is 45 minutes left of the video film. Instead of ­responding to this assessment, Liv completes her turn with a modifier ‘approximately’ and she continues by beginning to state the time at which she estimates the movie will end. Monika interdicts this continuation to make a remote proposal where she specifies the time when she thinks it would be appropriate for her to pick up the children. Liv’s concessive tone i.e. the ‘alright’ in line 9 and the permissive ‘yes that will be okay’ in line 10 resonates with my analysis that Monica has pursued this proposal

 Anna Lindström

as a ­beneficiary, who acts out of her own and her children’s, rather than Liv’s, circumstances and interests. In terms of turn design, the affirmative response token is typically produced as a turn preface rather than as its own TCU. This is evident in the pacing of the talk as in the arrowed turn of excerpt (9) where the speaker moves from the affirmative response token Ja: to the next increment of the turn, ‘we would love to’, without any intonational break, hitch, or perturbation. (9) VISIT (MOL1A). Telephone conversation.

01 A:

02

>Hörru ja tänkte höra ifall Listen I thought hear in case Listen I was thinking about asking if ni ville ha en liten påhälsning¿< you wanted have a small visit you wanted to be paid a small visit

03 V: ->­ ↑Ja: de vill vi gärna?­ ↑    Yes that want we gladly   Yes we would love to

Syntactically, the second component in line 3, literally translated as ‘that want we gladly’ is designed as a free-standing TCU as it includes a subject, predicate, and object. The affirmative response token’s status as a preface is thus realized through prosody. In other cases the syntactic construction of the talk after the affirmative response token indicates that it is meant to be understood as a continuation rather than as a new TCU. The turn-initial affirmative response tokens in my corpus of remote proposal sequences were typically produced as turn prefaces rather than as free-standing tokens. This is compatible with pressures from the turn-taking organization that tend to confine speakers to single TCUs, and suggests that speakers tend to produce their talk to have the affirmative response token heard within the context of a larger turn rather than as a response in its own right.

5.  Analysis The analysis of the structure of affiliative responses to remote proposals will be organized as follows. First, I will discuss examples where the affirmative response token and the stance marker are produced as one unit. This will be followed by a set of cases where there is a delay between the response token and the stance marker. Interactants’ demonstrable orientations toward these delays reveal the normative structure of remote proposal sequences. In excerpt (10), the first and second components of the aligning turn are delivered as one unit.



Accepting remote proposals 

(10) AFTERNOON VISIT (VAT4B). Telephone conversation. 28 N:

29 30 L:

31 N: 32 L:

[>Ja,kommer’ru va he:mma på    Yes will’you be home on    Yes will you be home in the eftermiddan