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Файл:Композиция английской письменной речи. Учебное пособие.pdf
5. NARRATION
Clicking off the evening news and padding toward bed, Heloise suddenly
glimpsed, out of the corner of her eye, a shadow stretching across the living
room floor from under the drawn curtains.
“Wh – who's there?”
No response.
Edging backward toward the phone, her eyes riveted on the shadow, she
stammered, “I – I don't have any money.”
Still no answer.
Reaching the phone, she gripped the receiver and started to lift it from its
cradle. Just then . . .
Just now you've glimpsed the start of a narrative. A narrative relates a
series of events. The events may be real – as in histories, biographies, or news
stories – or imaginary, as in short stories and novels. The narrative urge stirs in
all of us, and like everyone else, you have responded almost from the time you
began to talk. As a child, you probably swapped many stories with your friends,
recounting an exciting visit to a circus or amusement park or an unusually funny
experience with your pet. Today you may tell a friend about the odd happening
in your biology laboratory or on the job.
Many classroom and on-the-job writing occasions call for narratives.
Your English instructor might want you to trace the development of some
literary character. Your history instructor might have you recap the events
leading to a major war, your sociology instructor have you relate your unfolding
relations with a stepparent or someone else, your psychology instructor ask you
to report on society's changing attitudes toward the treatment of insanity. At
work, a police officer may record the events leading to an arrest, a scientist
recount the development of a research project, a nurse report on a patient's
changing attitudes toward surgery, and a department manager prepare a brief
history of an employee's work problems.
Purpose
A narrative, like any other kind of writing, makes a point or has a purpose.
The point can either be stated or left unstated, but it always shapes the writing.
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Some narratives simply tell what happened or establish an interesting or
useful fact. The reporter who writes about a heated city council meeting or a lively
congressional committee hearing usually wants only to set facts before the public.
Most narratives, however, go beyond merely reciting events. Writers of
history and biography delve into the motives underlying the events and lives
they portray, while narratives of personal experience offer lessons and insights.
In the following conclusion to a narrative about an encounter with a would-be
mugger, the writer offers an observation on self-respect.
I kept my self-respect, even at the cost of dirtying my fists with violence,
and I feel that I understand the Irish and the Cypriots, the Israelis and the
Palestinians, all those who seem to us to fight senseless wars for senseless
reasons, better than before. For what respect does one keep for oneself if one
isn't in the last resort ready to fight and say, “You punk!”?
Harry Fairlie, A Victim Fights Back
Action
Action plays a central role in any narrative. Other writing often only
suggests action, leaving readers to imagine it for themselves:
A hundred thousand people were killed by the atomic bomb, and these six
were among the survivors. They still wonder why they lived when so many
others died. Each of them counts many small items of chance or volition –
a step taken in time, a decision to go indoors, catching one streetcar instead of
the next – that spared him. And now each knows that in the act of survival he
lived a dozen lives and saw more death than he ever thought he would see. At
the time, none of them knew anything.
John Hcrsey, Hiroshima
This passage suggests a great deal of action – the flash of an exploding bomb,
the collapse of buildings, screaming people fleeing the scorching devastation –
but it does not present the action. Narration, however, re-creates action:
When I pulled the trigger I did not hear the bang or feel the kick – one
never does when a shot goes home – but I heard the devilish roar of glee that
went up from the crowd. In that instant, in too short a time, one would have
thought, even for the bullet to get there, a mysterious, terrible change had come
over the elephant. He neither stirred nor fell, but every line of his body had
altered. He looked suddenly stricken, shrunken, immensely old, as though the
frightful impact of the bullet had paralyzed him without knocking him down.
At last, after what seemed a long time – it might have been five seconds, I dare
say – he sagged flabbily to his knees. His mouth slobbered. An enormous senility
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seemed to have settled upon him. One could have imagined him thousands of
years old. I fired again into tile same spot. At the second shot he did nut collapse
but climbed with desperate slowness to his feet and stood weakly upright, with
legs sagging and head drooping. I fired a third time. That was the shot that did
for him. You could see the agony of it jolt his whole body and knock the last
remnant of strength from his legs. But in falling he seemed for a moment to rise,
for as his hind legs collapsed beneath him he seemed to tower upward like a
huge rock toppling, his trunk reaching skywards like a tree. He trumpeted, for
the first and only time. And then down he came, his belly towards me, with a
crash that seemed to shake the ground even where I lay.
George Orwell, Shootingan Elephant
Orwell's account offers a stark, vivid replay of the slaying, leaving
nothing significant for the reader to infer.
A few words of caution are in order here. Action entails not only exotic
events such as the theft of mass-destruction weapons, then the ransom demand,
then the recovery of the weapons and the pursuit of the villains. A wide variety
of more normal events also qualify as action: a long, patient wait that comes to
nothing, an unexpected kiss after some friendly assistance, a disappointing gift
that signals a failed relationship. Furthermore, the narrative action must all relate
to the main point – not merely chronicle a series of events.
Conflict
The events in our lives and our world are often shaped by conflicts that
need to be resolved. It should not be surprising then that conflict and its
resolution, if any, are crucial to a narrative since they motivate and often structure
the action. Some conflicts pit one individual against another or against a group,
such as a union, company, or religious body. In others, the conflict may involve
either an individual and nature or two clashing impulses in one person's head.
Read the following student paragraph and note how common sense and fear
struggle within the writer, who has experienced a sharp, stabbing pain in his side:
Common sense and fear waged war in my mind. The first argued that a
pain so intense was nothing to fool with, that it might indicate a serious or even
life-threatening condition. Dr. Montz would be able to identify the problem and
deal with it before it worsened. But what if it was already serious? What if I
needed emergency surgery? I didn't want anyone cutting into me. “Now wait a
minute,” I said. “It's probably nothing serious. Most aches and pains aren't. I'll
see the doctor, maybe get some pills, and the problem will clear up overnight. But
what if he finds something major, and I have to spend the night in the hospital
getting ready for surgery or recovering from it? I think I’ll just ignore the pain.”
Luis Rodriguez
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Point of View
Narrative writers may adopt either a first-person or third-person point of
view. In first-person narratives, one of the participants tells what happened,
whereas with third-person narration the storyteller stays completely out of the
tale. Narratives you write about yourself use the first person, as do
autobiographies. Biographies and histories use the third person, and fiction
embraces both points of view.
In first-person narration, pronouns such as I, me, mine, we, and ours
identify the storyteller. With the third person, the narrator remains unmentioned,
and the characters are identified by nouns and such pronouns as he, she, him,
and her. These two paragraphs illustrate the difference.
First-Person Narration
We would go to the well and wash in the ice-cold, clear water, grease our
legs with equally cold stiff Vaseline, then tiptoe into the house. We wiped the
dust from our toes and settled down for schoolwork, cornbread, clabbered milk,
prayers and bed, always in that order. Momma was famous for pulling the quilts
off after we had fallen asleep to examine our feet. If they weren't clean enough
for her, she took the switch... and woke up the offender with a few aptly placed
burning reminders.
Maya Angelou, Momma's Encounter
As this example shows, first-person narrators may refer to other characters
in the narrative by using nouns and third-person pronouns.
Third-Person Narration
In the depths of the city walk the assorted human creatures who do not
suspect the fate that hangs over them. A young woman sweeps happily from store to
store, pushing a baby carriage along. Businessmen stride purposefully into their
office buildings. A young black sulks down the sidewalks of his tenement, and an
old woman tugs her shopping basket across a busy thoroughfare. The old woman is
not happy; she has seen better days. Days of parks and fountains, of roses and
grass, still stir in her memory. Reaching the other side, she stops and strains her
neck upward, past the doorways, past the rows and rows of mirror glass, until her
eyes rest on the brilliant blue sky so far away. She looks intently at the sky for a few
minutes, noting every cloud that rolls past. And the jet plane. She follows the plane
with her deep-socketed eyes and for some unexplainable reason suspects danger.
She brings her gaze back to earth and walks away as the jet releases a large cloud
of brownish-yellow gas. The gas hangs ominously in the air for a while, as if
wanting to give humankind just a few more seconds. Then the cloud slowly
descends to the surface, dissipating as it goes. By the time it reaches the glittering
megalopolis, it is a colorless, odorless blanket of death.
Richard Latta
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Key Events
Any narrative includes many separate events, enough to swamp your
narrative boat if you try to pack them all in. Suppose you wish to write about
your recent attack of appendicitis in order to make a point about heeding early
warnings of an oncoming illness. Your list of events might look like this:
Awakened
Showered
Experienced acute but passing pain in abdomen
Dressed
Ate breakfast
Opened garage door
Started car
Drove to work
Parked in employee lot
Entered building
Greeted fellow employees
Began morning's work
Felt nauseated
Met with boss
Took coffee break
Experienced more prolonged pain
Walked to cafeteria
Ate lunch
Returned to work
Began afternoon's work
Collapsed at work
Was rushed to hospital
Visited bathroom
Underwent diagnostic tests
Had emergency operation in abdomen
A narrative that included all, or even most, of these events would be
bloated and ineffective. To avoid this outcome, identify and build your narrative
around its key events – those that bear directly on your purpose. Include just
enough secondary events to keep the narrative flowing smoothly, but treat them
in sketchy fashion. The pain and nausea certainly qualify as key events. Here's
how you might present the first attack of pain:
My first sign of trouble came shortly after I stepped out of the shower. I
had just finished toweling when a sharp pain in my lower right side sent me
staggering into the bedroom, where I collapsed onto an easy chair in the corner.
Biting my lip to hide my groans, I sat twisting in agony as the pain gradually
ebbed, leaving me gray faced, sweat drenched, and shaken. What, I asked
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myself, had been the trouble? Was it ulcers? Was it a gallbladder attack? Did I
have stomach cancer?
This passage convinces, not just tells, the reader that an attack has
occurred. Its details vividly convey the nature of the attack as well as the
reactions of the victim. As in any good narrative, the reader shares the
experience of the writer, and the two communicate.
Dialogue
Dialogue, or conversation, animates many narratives, livening the action
and helping draw the reader into the story. Written conversation, however,
doesn't duplicate real talk. In speaking with friends, we repeat ourselves, throw
in irrelevant comments, use slang, lose our train of thought, and overuse
expressions like “you know,” “uh,” and “well.” Dialogue that reproduced real
talk would weaken any narrative.
Good dialogue resembles real conversation without copying it. It features
simple words and short sentences while avoiding the over-repetition of phrases
like “she said” and “he replied.” If the conversation unfolds smoothly, the
speaker's identity will be clear. To heighten the sense of reality, the writer may
use an occasional sentence fragment, slang expression, pause, and the like, as in
this passage:
Mom was waiting for me when I entered the house.
“Your friends. They've been talking to you again. Trying to persuade you
to change your mind about not going into baseball. Honey, I wish you'd listen to
them. You're a terrific ballplayer. Just look at all the trophies and awards you've
...” She paused. “Joe's mother called me this morning and asked if you were
playing in the game on Saturday. Davey, I wish you would. You haven't played
for two weeks. Please. I want you to. For me. It would be so good for you to go
and~-and do what you've always...”
O.K., Mom, I'll play. But remember, just for you
Note the mother's use of the slang expression “terrific” and of sentence
fragments like “your friends” and “for me” as well as the shift in her train of
thought and the repetition of “and.” These strategies lend an air of realism to the
mother's words.
Planning and Drafting the Narrative
Most of the narratives you write for your composition class will relate a
personal experience and therefore use the first person. On occasion, though, you
may write about someone else and therefore use the third person. In either case
make sure the experience you pick illustrates some point. A paper that indicates
only how you violated a friend's confidence may meander along to little purpose.
But if that paper is shaped by some point you wish to make – for instance, that you
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gained insight into the obligations of friendship – the topic can be worthwhile.
To get started, do some guided brainstorming, asking yourself these questions:
1. What experience in my life or that of someone I know would be worth
narrating? What point does this experience illustrate? (Try to state the point in
one or two sentences.) What people were involved and what parts did they play?
2. When you have pinpointed a topic, use further brainstorming to garner
supporting material. Here are some helpful questions:
3. What background information is necessary to understand the events?
4. What action should I include?
5. What is the nature of the conflict? Was it resolved? If so, how?
6. Which events play key roles, which are secondary, and which should
go unmentioned? Is any dialogue necessary?
Before you start to write, develop a plot outline showing the significant
events in your narrative. For each one, jot down what you saw, heard, or did,
and what you thought or felt.
Use the opening of your paper to set the stage for what follows. You
might tell when and where the action occurred, provide helpful background
information, note the incident that activated the chain of events, or identify the
problem from which the action grew. If you state your main point directly, do it
here or in the conclusion.
The body of the narrative should move the action forward until a turning
point is about to be reached. Build the body around your key events. To avoid
stranding your reader, use time signals whenever the development of the action
might be unclear. Words, phrases, and clauses like now, next, finally, after an
hour, and when I returned help the reader understand the sequence of events.
Don't get carried away, though; a paper loaded with time signals makes the
sequence seem more important than the events themselves. Finally, think about
how you can best use conflict and dialogue to heighten narrative interest.
The conclusion should tie up any loose ends, settle any unresolved
conflicts, and lend an air of completion to the narrative. Effective strategies to
think about include introducing a surprise twist, offering a reflective summary of
the events, noting your reaction to them, or discussing the aftermath of the affair.
Revising the Narrative
As you revise, ask yourself these questions:
1. Have I made the point, stated or unstated, (hat I intended?
2. Does all of the action relate to the main point?
3. Is the conflict handled appropriately?
4. Have I included all of the key events that relate to my purpose? given
each the right emphasis? used time, indicators where needed?
5. Is my point of view appropriate? Does my dialogue ring true?
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Exercise. Write a personal narrative about an experience that
1. altered either your opinion of a friend or acquaintance or your views
about some important matter;
2. taught you a lesson or something about human nature;
3. caused you great sorrow or joy;
4. acquainted you with some previously unrecognized trait of your
character or personality;
5. brought about a significant change in the way of your life.
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6. PROCESS ANALYSIS
“Hey Bill, I'd like you to take a look at Mr. Gorgerise's car. He's really
fuming. Says the engine's burning too much oil, running rough, and getting poor
mileage. Check it out and see what you can find.”
Bill begins by removing the spark plugs, hooking a remote-control starter
to the starter in the car, and grounding the ignition to prevent the car's starting
accidentally. Next, he fits a compression pressure gauge into the spark plug hole
by cylinder number one, starts the engine, and reads and records the pressure;
then he does the same for each of the other cylinders. Finally, he compares the
readings with one another and the automaker's engine specs. The verdict? An
excessively worn engine that needs rebuilding. Bill has carried out a process,
just one among many that fill his workdays.
As we pursue our affairs, we perform processes almost constantly,
ranging from such daily rituals as brewing a pot of coffee and flossing our teeth
to taking a picture, taping a compact disc, preparing for a date, or replacing a
light switch. Often we share our special technique for doing something – for
example, making chicken cacciatore – by passing it on to a friend.
Many popular publications feature process analyses that help readers to
sew zippers in garments, build catamarans, live within their means, and
improve their wok technique. Process analysis also frequently helps you meet
the writing demands of your courses. A political science instructor may ask
you to explain how your state's governor won nomination, or a biology
instructor may want an explanation of how bees find their way back to the
hive. Another instructor may call for directions relating to some process in
your field – for example, analyzing a chemical compound, taking fingerprints,
or obtaining a blood sample.
On the job, a greenhouse crew leader may provide summer employees
with directions for planting various kinds of shrubs and flowers. A technical
writer may prepare a list of steps for workers to follow when unloading a
particular solvent from a tank car. A Sanitation Department technician may
write a brochure telling city residents how to get paper, glass, and metal trash
ready for recycling. As these examples show, a process can be nontechnical,
historical, scientific, natural, or technical.
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Kinds of Process Analysis Papers
Process papers fall into two categories: those intended for readers who
will perform the process and those intended to explain the process for
nonperformers. Papers in either category can range from highly technical and
sophisticated to nonspecialized and simple.
Processes for Readers Who Will Perform Them. The audience for these
papers may be technical and professional personnel who need the information to
carry out a work-related task or individuals who want to perform the process for
themselves.
A how-to-do-it paper must include everything the reader needs to know in
order to ensure a successful outcome. Its directions take the form of polite
commands, often addressing readers directly as “you.” This approach helps
involve readers in the explanation and emphasizes that the directions must, not
merely should, be followed. Here is an illustration:
To prepare a bacterial smear for staining, first use an inoculating loop to
place a drop of distilled water on a clean glass microscope slide. Next, pass the
loop and the opening of the tube containing the bacterial culture to be examined
through a Bunsen burner flame to sterilize them. From the tube, remove a small
bit of culture with the loop, and rub the loop in the drop of water on the slide
until the water covers an area one and one-half inches long and approximately
the width of the slide. Next, reflame the opening of the culture tube to prevent
contamination of the culture, and then plug it shut. Allow the smear to air dry,
and then pass the slide, smear side up, through the flame of the burner until it is
warm to the touch. The dried smear should have a cloudy, milky-white
appearance.
Darryl Williams
Processes for Readers Who Won't Perform Them. These kinds of papers
may tell how some process is or was performed or how it occurs or occurred. A
paper might, for instance, detail the stages of grief, the procedure involved in an
operation, the role of speech in the development of children's thinking, or the
sequence involved in shutting down a nuclear reactor. These papers serve many
purposes – for example, to satisfy popular curiosity; to point out the importance,
difficulty, or danger of a process; or to cast a process in a favorable or
unfavorable light. Even though the writers of such papers often explain their
topic in considerable detail, they do not intend to provide enough information
for readers to carry out the process.
Papers of this sort do not issue polite commands or address the reader as
“you.” Instead, the writer uses the first person (I, we), the third person (he, she,
it, or some noun), or the passive voice, in which the subject of the sentence
receives, rather than performs, the action, and the doer is unnamed.
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