旅游综合开发项目可行性研究报告.doc

are familiar to some extent with the  village (and hence the area) but not the characters.  Deixis  Because Deixis is speaker-related it can easily be used to indicate particular, and changing, viewpoint. In the following example from The Secret Agent, we see Mrs. Verloc’s actions from Mr. Verloc’s viewpoint: Mr. Verloc heard the creaky plank in the floor and was content. He waited. Mrs. Verloc was coming.   In addition to the perception and cognition verbs heard and waited and the indication of his inner  mental state (was content) we can see that Mrs. Verloc’s movement towards her husband is viewed  from Mr. Verloc’s position (coming). The fact that the events are only seen from Mr. Verloc’s  viewpoint is strategically important at this point in the novel. He does not realize that his wife is  about to kill him. Exercise: to understand the differences between points of view, study the Aesop’s fable.  The Ant and the Grasshopper Weary in every limb, the ant tugged over the snow a piece of corn he had stored up last summer. It  would taste might good at dinner tonight. A grasshopper, cold and hungry, looked on. Finally he could bear it no longer. “Please, friend ant, may I have a bite of corn?” “What were you doing all last summer?” asked the ant. He looked the grasshopper up and down. He knew its kind. “I sang from dawn till dark,” replied the grasshopper, happily unaware of what was coming next. “Well,” said the ant, hardly bothering to conceal his contempt, “since you sang all summer, you can dance all winter.” He who idles when he is young will have nothing when he is old. QUESTIONS In what point of view is the fable narrated? Rewrite the fable in third-person, selective omniscient point of view. First-person point of view (the ant being the narrator). First-person point of view (the grasshopper being the narrator). Objective point of view. Chapter Six Style What is Style?  “Proper words in proper places, makes the true definition of a style.” Jonathan Swift’s remarks lead us generally to thinking of modes of expression of a piece of fiction as the most characteristic of the author’s style. Thus style generally refers to how the author uses language in his/her work: to the author’s particular ways of managing words that we come to recognize as habitual or customary. A distinctive style marks the work of a fine writer: we can tell Latin expression: Stilus virus arguit (“The style proclaims the man”), and for this matter we are familiar with the experience of trying to guess the author of a piece of writing on the evidence of his/her language. Actually, style is a combination of two elements, the idea to be expressed and the linguistic traits or characteristics of the author. It is, as J.R. Lowell said, “the establishment of a perfect mutual understanding between the worker and his material”.  However, there has never been an agreement on the exact meaning of style in the history of literary criticism, and the further narrowing of its meaning brings us on to more controversial ground, where different definitions of style involve even conflicting views of the use of language in literature. There is a strong tradition of thought which restricts style to choices of manner rather than matter, of expression rather than content. Such separation between form and meaning is implied in the common definition of style as a “way of writing” or “mode of expression.” There is equally a strong literary tradition that emphasizes the inseparability between style and content; in Flaubert’s words: “It is like body and soul: form and content to me are one.” The distinction between what a writer wants to say and how it is presented to the reader underlies one of the early and persistent concepts of style: style as the “dress of thought,” as Wesley put it: Style is the dress of thought; a modest dress, Neat, but not gaudy will true critics please. This metaphor resonates with Renaissance and Neo-Classicist pronouncements on style. For example, the idea that style is merely the “adornment” or “covering” of thought or meaning is clearly expressed in the very meaning of John Lyly’s Eupheus, which can be plausibly taken as the first novel in English:  There dwelt in Athens a young gentleman of great patrimony, and of so comely a personage….This young gallant, of more wit than wealth, and yet of more wealth than wisdom, seeing himself inferior to none in pleasant conceits, THOUGHT himself superior to all in honest conditions, in-so-much that he deemed himself so apt in all things, that he gave himself almost to nothing, but practicing of those things commonly which are incident to these sharp wits, fine phrases, smooth quipping, merry taunting, using jesting without mean, and abusing mirth without measure. As therefore the sweetest rose hath his prickle, the finest velvet his brack, the fairest flower his bran, so the sharpest wit HATH his wanton will and the holiest head his wicked way. We can see clearly the elaborate parallelistic structure of the three sentences, and the parallelisms are reinforced by frequent uses of alliteration (indicated by italics). As Leech and Short analyze (Style in Fiction, 1981), the architecture of parallelism is to some extent in counterpoint with the grammatical structure of the sentence so that the main verb (shown in capitals) occurs in mid-parallelism and forms a concealed center of gravity, balancing subject against predicate. It is obviously the aesthetics of form that tends to attract the reader’s attention here rather than the meaning. We might plausibly say that Lyly has embroidered an elaborate garment round the simple idea “Eupheus was a young dandy.” If “adornment” is to be identified in linguistic patterns which have little semantic function, we can point to the alliterations clustered in the end of the third sentence. We can also point to grammatical parallelism which, though not devoid of content, seem merely to play a role of embellishment, providing further examples of a concept already expressed: “The sweetest rose hath his prickle” already conveys the meaning “even the best things are alloyed with bad,” and thus the repetition of the pattern in “the finest velvet his brack, the fairest flower his bran’ is redundant Lyly might not have, then, added the last piece of pattern unless he had elaborated on the alliterative function of “holiest head” and “wicked way.” However, the elaboration of form will inevitably bring an elaboration of meaning. The repetition of parallel of examples from different experience (“rose…velvet…flower…wit…head”) spurs our association with the generality of a didactic principle which is otherwise seen to be particular. The repetition in “wit…wealth…wisdom” is not mere repetition but a progression implying an increasing weightiness of the qualities listed. The parallelism of “inferior to none in pleasant conceits” and “superior to all in honest conditions” gives a schematic balance to the image of something light (“pleasant conceits”) being weighed against something heavy (“honest conditions”), underlining the faulty logic of Eupheus’s youthful mind. So the schematism of form aims at the ideas being presented. A more general and tenable definition of style is the “manner of expression”: every writer necessarily makes choices of expression, and it is in these choices, in his/her “way of putting things,” that style resides. This definition of style abides by the belief that there can be different ways of conveying the same content and draws parallels with other art forms such as music, painting and architecture, and to varied activities such as playing the piano or playing tennis for elucidation. In such activities, there some invariant rules that must be followed but there are also variant ways in which the individual may perform them. Such an analogy is employed by Richard Ohmann:  A style is a way of writing….In general, [style] applied to human action that is partly invariant and partly variable….Now this picture leads to few complications if the action is playing the piano or playing tennis…But the relevant division between fixed and variable components in literature is by no means so obvious. What is content, and what is form, or style? The attack on a dichotomy of form and content has been persistent in modern criticism; to change so much as a word, the argument runs, is to change the meaning as well. This austere doctrine has a certain theoretical appeal….Yet at the same time this doctrine leads to the altogether counterintuitive conclusion that there can be no such thing as style, or that style is simply a part of content.  To put the problem more concretely, the idea of style implies that the words on page might have been different, or differently arranged, without a corresponding difference in substance. (“Generative Grammars and the Concept of Literary Style”, 1964) To back up his argument that there are different ways of saying the same thing, Ohmann offers the following paraphrases of “ After dinner, the senator made a speech”: When dinner was over, the senator made a speech. A speech was made by the senator after dinner. The senator made a postprandial oration. And points out that these are variants of the original in a sense which is not true of, say, “Columbus was brave” or “Columbus was nautical.” The differences among (1)-(3) are chiefly grammatical; and the grammatical, rather than lexical, aspect of style is the one on which Ohmann concentrates. Thus in the analysis of a writer’s style in a work of fiction, we should study what the writer has written against the background of what he /she might have written; we should search for some significance, which we may call stylistic value, in the writer’s choice to express his/her sense in this rather than that way.  The above notion of style as “dress of thought” or as manner of expression” consists in the assumption that there is some basic sense that can be preserved in different renderings of words or sentence structures. This is not likely to be challenged in everyday uses of language. But in literature, particularly in poetry, paraphrasing becomes problematic. For example, the metaphor in “Come, seeling night, / Scarf the tender eye of pitiful day” (Macbeth, III. ii. 46-47) denies us a paraphrase in either a literal sense or a hidden meaning. Any paraphrase would devoid it of its richness of implications that induces us to find interpretations beyond the meanings captured by paraphrasing. Such a metaphor, as Terence Hawkes says, “is not fanciful embroidery of the facts. It is a way of experiencing the facts.” (Metaphor, 1972) Literary devices, in addition to metaphor, such as irony, ambiguity, pun, and even images, poetry. With deliberate consideration of this fact, some theorists, especially the New Critics, reject the form-meaning dichotomy and they tend to see sense and style as one thing, as Wimsatt asserts:  It is hardly necessary to adduce proof that the doctrine of identify of style and meaning is today firmly established. The doctrine is, I take it, one [emphasis mine] from which a modern theorist can hardly escape, or hardly wishes to. (The Prose Style of Samuel Johnson, 1941.) It is to be noted that the emphasis upon the artistic integrity and inviolability of their works is echoed not only in poets but also in many prose writers, and we can find an articulation in Tolstoy’s words: “This is indeed one of the significant facts about a true work of art—that its content in its entirety can be expressed only by itself.” Critics holding such as idea about style tend to look at a work of fiction as a verbal artifact. They believe that in such a verbal artifact there can be no separation of the author’s creation of the plot, character, social and moral life, from the language in which they are portrayed. As David Lodge puts it: “The novelist’s medium is language: whatever he does, qua novelist, he does in and through language, Lodge is ready to see no difference between the kind of choice a writer makes in calling a character “dark-haired” or “fair,” since all the choices a writer makes are a matter of language. Lodge also argues that there is no essential difference between poetry and prose and that the following tenets apply to both:  It is impossible to paraphrase literary writing; It is impossible to translate a literary work; It is impossible to divorce the general appreciation of a literary work from the appreciation of its style. Perhaps Lodge’s statements sound rather arbitrary since we do have a great number of translated literary works in various languages, including poems, in which the essential artistry remains (though something must have been lost), and paraphrasing sometimes can be said to be one of important methods for a basic understanding and appreciation of the essential literariness of a literary work and is often employed in the teaching of literature. Whatever notion a person may have towards style, it is important to understand that language in fiction is the focus in our analysis of style. At the same time language is used to project a world beyond language itself, and our analysis of language can never exclude our general knowledge and understanding of the real world. Therefore, a linguistic approach to style is frequently employed in stylistic studies. Among such practices, critics generally try to determine the features of style, or style markers, the linguistic items that only appear or are typical or most or least frequent in a work of fiction. We thus need to make comparisons and contrasts so as to find out the differences between the normal frequency of a feature and its frequency in the text or corpus. Of course, features can register on a reader’s mind in his/her recognition of style, and doubtlessly the degree to his /her recognition of these features as they are salient will vary, and the degree to which the reader responds to these features in a given reading will also vary according to a number of factors, such as his/ her attentiveness, sensitivity to style markers and previous reading experience. (Leech and Short, Style in Fiction, 1981)  Foregrounding Foregrounding, artistically motivated deviation or defamiliarization of language or structure or other basic elements, according to Russian Formalists, makes a literary work literary. By determining what is foregrounded or defamiliarized we can distinguish a grounding may be qualitative, --a breach of some rule or convention of English such as the present tense of the link verb “be” in Jesus words in the Authorized Version of St John’s Gospel: “Before Abraham was, I am” and the use of “now” in a sentence of past tense in the beginning paragraph of Hemingway’s “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place”: “…and now at night it was quiet…” –or it may be simply quantitative, ie. Deviation from some expected frequency, for instance, the repetition of “nada” in the older wa