Embodied Activities in Face-to-face and Mediated Settings

Social Encounters in Time and Space

Embodied Activities in Face�to�face and Mediated Settings Edited by Elisabeth Reber and Cornelia Gerhardt

Embodied Activities in Face-to-face and Mediated Settings “Balancing expertly observed analyses of talk and other embodied conduct in interaction with lively and insightful discussions of larger methodological and theoretical questions posed by the study of these phenomena, this first-rate ­collection of studies is essential reading for anyone interested in social interaction as a point of production for the social life of humans.” —Geoffrey Raymond, University of California, Santa Barbara, USA “The rising interest in embodied interaction has produced a wealth of empirical research and insights into the manifold ways body parts, body ­movements, and sensory modalities participate in sense-making and social organization. But it has also moved viewpoints and displaced some of the categories of analysis of interaction phenomena. This book shows that the basic unit of embodied interaction is neither the utterance, the turn at talk, nor the action sequence, but the overall activity or course of action. Within commonly known activities human bodies are capable to some degree to tacitly understand what each other are doing, and this preconceptual, intercorporeal understanding grounds human interaction even in advanced, technological-mediated environments. This book reveals in vivid detail and in an astonishing array of activities— ranging from sports to meetings to surgery—how talk and bodily actions are intertwined. It not only demonstrates that intersubjectivity is grounded in intercorporeality but also that this grounding takes many different forms across and within activities. It is a pleasure to observe how each of the contributors engages fundamental theoretical concerns by investigating in detail how people and professionals bring about the simple and complex activities that make up their daily lives.” —Jürgen Streeck, University of Texas at Austin, USA “The volume by Gerhardt and Reber beautifully shows how an enormous variety of bodily resources is mobilized in various types of social interaction in order to perform actions.” —Arnulf Deppermann, Institute for the German Language IDS and University of Mannheim, Germany

“An impressive, well-considered selection of contributions on the timely topic of embodied interaction. The focus on activities in diverse social contexts provides a rich research perspective for substantive steps forward in our understanding of the practices of showing, looking, and seeing, indeed, of instructing how to and learning how to see, in real-life interaction.” —Neal R. Norrick, Saarland University, Germany

Elisabeth Reber · Cornelia Gerhardt Editors

Embodied Activities in Face-to-face and Mediated Settings Social Encounters in Time and Space

Editors Elisabeth Reber Institute of New Philologies, Modern Languages University of Würzburg Würzburg, Germany

Cornelia Gerhardt Department of English Saarland University Saarbrücken, Germany

ISBN 978-3-319-97324-1 ISBN 978-3-319-97325-8  (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-97325-8 Library of Congress Control Number: 2018950556 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2019 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, express or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover image: © Lidia Molina/Getty Images This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Preface

The contributions to this volume (but that by Darren Reed) have grown out of projects conducted within the scientific network “Multimodality and embodied interaction” (Conveners: Cornelia Gerhardt, Saarland University, and Elisabeth Reber, University of Würzburg, http://memi. uni-saarland.de/). This research network, funded by the German Science Foundation (DFG; reference number GE 1137/4-1), is a tool especially designed for researchers in the early stages of their career (but also addressing senior colleagues) to meet at workshop meetings on a regular basis and discuss their work with senior experts in the field. The network was concerned with the forms and functions of communicative practices in recordings of naturally occurring face-to-face encounters from an interactional, multimodal perspective: Analytic interests included the use of bodily (i.e., gaze, facial expression, gesture, bodily posture, and proxemics), phonetic-prosodic and linguistic resources as well as the manipulation of objects for action formation in different linguistic and cultural communities (including English, German, Dutch, French, and Mandarin Chinese). Settings under study ranged from informal contexts to institutional interaction. Aiming at developing methodologies of analysing embodied social interaction, the network v

vi     Preface

combined interdisciplinary, cross-linguistic and -cultural, and interactional aspects in its research. Members have a methodological background in Conversation Analysis, Interactional Sociolinguistics and Interactional Linguistics. We would like to thank all members as well as the invited guests to the network meetings, Ruth Ayaß (then University of Klagenfurth), Jörg Bergmann (University of Bielefeld), Elizabeth Couper-Kuhlen (University of Helsinki), Harrie Mazeland (who subsequently became a network member; University of Groningen), Geoffrey Raymond (UCSB), Margret Selting (University of Potsdam), and Jürgen Streeck (The University of Texas at Austin) for making this exciting network possible. Würzburg, Germany Saarbrücken, Germany

Elisabeth Reber Cornelia Gerhardt

Contents

Part I  Introduction—Theoretical and Methodological Issues 1

Embodied Activities 3 Cornelia Gerhardt and Elisabeth Reber

2

Activities as Discrete Organizational Domains 29 Harrie Mazeland

3

Practices for Showing, Looking, and Videorecording: The Interactional Establishment of a Common Focus of Attention 63 Lorenza Mondada

Part II  Objects in Space 4

Inspecting Objects: Visibility Manoeuvres in Laparoscopic Surgery 107 Jeff Bezemer, Ged Murtagh and Alexandra Cope vii

viii     Contents

5

‘Showing’ as a Means of Engaging a Reluctant Participant into a Joint Activity 137 Cornelia Gerhardt

6

Joint Attention in Passing: What Dual Mobile Eye Tracking Reveals About Gaze in Coordinating Embodied Activities at a Market 177 Anja Stukenbrock and Anh Nhi Dao

Part III  Complex Participation Frameworks 7

Multiparty Coordination Under Time Pressure: The Social Organization of Handball Team Time-Out Activities 217 Christian Meyer and Ulrich v. Wedelstaedt

8

‘Punch and Judy’ Politics? Embodying Challenging Courses of Action in Parliament 255 Elisabeth Reber

9

Assessments in Transition: Coordinating Participation Framework Transitions in Institutional Settings 299 Darren Reed

Part IV  Affiliation and Alignment 10 Embodying Empathy in Everyday and Institutional Settings: On the Negotiation of Resources, Rights, and Responsibilities in Comforting Actions 329 Maxi Kupetz 11 Negotiating Activity Closings with Reciprocal Head Nods in Mandarin Conversation 369 Xiaoting Li

Contents     ix

12 Position Expansion in Meeting Talk: An Interaction-Re-organizing Type of and-Prefaced Other-Continuation 397 Harrie Mazeland Part V  Epilogue 13 Epilogue 437 Cornelia Gerhardt and Elisabeth Reber Index 453

Notes on Contributors

Jeff Bezemer is a Reader in Learning and Communication and Co-Director of the Centre for Multimodal Research at University College London. His research is focused on inter-professional communication in health care settings and medical education. Working closely with health professionals he applies micro-interactional analysis to support improvement initiatives and publishes in surgical, medical, and nursing journals. Recent book publications include Introducing Multimodality (with Jewitt and O’Halloran), and Multimodality, Learning and Communication: A Social Semiotic Frame (with Kress), both published by Routledge. Alexandra Cope is a Senior Associate Tutor in the Department of Continuing Education at the University of Oxford and a Consultant Colorectal Surgeon at Frimley Health Foundation Trust where she is also a Training Program Director. Her Ph.D. analysed teaching interactions during operations and her ongoing research interests are in surgical education and decision-making in the operating theatre. Anh Nhi Dao  is a doctoral researcher at the University of Freiburg. She studied German and English Linguistics at the Universities of Freiburg xi

xii     Notes on Contributors

and Melbourne, Australia. In her dissertation project, she investigates the role of gaze, speech, and other bodily resources in establishing a joint focus of attention. Her work is based on mobile eye tracking video data of naturally occurring social interaction and is situated within the framework of multimodal conversation analysis and interactional linguistics. Cornelia Gerhardt  works as a Lecturer of Linguistics at the English Department of Saarland University, Germany. She has published on the media reception situation, the appropriation of media discourse through interaction (Ayass & Gerhardt, 2012. The Appropriation of Media in Everyday Life; Gerhardt, 2014. Appropriating Live Televised Football Through Talk; Frobenius, Eisenlauer, Gerhardt, 2014. Participation framework revisited: (New) media and their audiences/ users, Special Issue Journal of Pragmatics). She also has long-­standing involvements in language and football as well as culinary linguistics (2013, In Gerhardt, Frobenius, Ley. Culinary Linguistics: The Chef ’s Special ). Maxi Kupetz is currently a Junior Professor of Intercultural Communication and Teacher Training in the German Department at Martin Luther University Halle-Wittenberg, Germany. Her current research interests include interactional phenomena in the German L2 classroom, and the reconstruction of learning experiences of migrant children. She was trained in Conversation Analysis and Interactional Linguistics at University of Potsdam, Germany, from which she received a Ph.D. in Linguistics. She has authored the monograph Empathie im Gespräch (Empathy in Social Interaction), and her articles have appeared in journals such as Journal of Pragmatics and Novitas-Royal Research on Youth and Language. Xiaoting Li is an Associate Professor of Chinese Linguistics at the University of Alberta, Canada. Her research interests include interactional linguistics, conversation analysis, multimodal interaction, and Chinese linguistics. Her publications include Multimodality, Interaction, and Turn-taking in Mandarin Conversation (John Benjamins, 2014), Multimodality in Chinese Interaction (co-edited with Tsuyoshi Ono,

Notes on Contributors     xiii

Mouton de Gruyter, forthcoming), and articles in journals and edited collections on a variety of topics such as incomplete turns, causal conjunctions, bodily lean, and interactional units in Mandarin conversation. Harrie Mazeland worked until his retirement in 2014 as a Senior Lecturer at the Department of Language and Communication of the University of Groningen (the Netherlands). His research is primarily in the area of conversation analysis and interactional linguistics. Christian Meyer  was trained in anthropology, linguistics, and sociology and is now Professor and Chair of Sociology at the University of Konstanz. Before, he held permanent positions at the Universities of Würzburg (qualitative sociology) and Duisburg-Essen (communication studies). Meyer’s research focuses on the foundations of human sociality in a historical and cross-cultural perspective. This includes research on embodied interaction in such diverse fields as religion, sports, collaborative work, the media, dementia, the sciences and humanities, and everyday life. A recent book publication is Intercorporeality (OUP, 2017) that he edited together with Jürgen Streeck and Scott Jordan. Lorenza Mondada is a Professor of Linguistics at the University of Basel. Her research deals with social interaction in ordinary, professional and institutional settings, within an ethnomethodological and conversation analytic perspective. Her focus is on video analysis and multimodality, researching how the situated and endogenous organization of social interaction draws on a diversity of multimodal resources such as, beside language, gesture, gaze, body posture, movements, objets manipulations as well as multisensorial practices such as touching, tasting, and seeing. She has extensively published in J. of Pragmatics, Discourse Studies, Language in Society, ROLSI, J. of Sociolinguistics, and co-edited several collective books. Ged Murtagh is a Senior Lecturer in Clinical Communication in the Department of Surgery and Cancer at Imperial College London where he leads the Clinical Communication Programme for Medical Undergraduates. His research focuses on the investigation of communication in clinical contexts and how close examination of clinical

xiv     Notes on Contributors

communication can reveal insights into directions for improved practice for professionals and potentially improved health outcomes for patients. Elisabeth Reber  is a postdoctoral researcher and Lecturer for English Linguistics at the University of Würzburg, Germany. She has worked broadly on prosody, grammar, and embodiment in social interaction. In her postdoctoral thesis project, she has studied quoting as an evidential practice, examining a short-term diachronic corpus of Prime Minister’s Questions (1978–2013). Her main publications include the monograph Affectivity in Interaction: Sound Objects in English (John Benjamins, 2012), and the edited volumes Prosody in Interaction (with Dagmar Barth-Weingarten, and Margret Selting; John Benjamins, 2010) and Prosody and Embodiment in Interactional Grammar (with Pia Bergmann, Jana Brenning, and Martin Pfeiffer; Mouton de Gruyter, 2012). Darren Reed  is a Social Scientist and Senior Lecturer in the Sociology Department, University of York. His research encompasses the study of performance and musical instruction, and technological interaction with the environment. He deploys an ethnomethodological approach through the use of Conversation Analysis to verbal and embodied behaviours. He is a Co-Investigator on the EPSRC Digital Creativity Labs, The York City Environment Observatory, and the Cutting Edge Approaches for Pollution in Cities (CAPACITIE). Anja Stukenbrock is a Professor of German Linguistics at the University of Lausanne. She has been a Professor of German Linguistics at the University of Jena and at the University of Duisburg-Essen. After obtaining her Ph.D. at the University of Heidelberg, she has held positions as an Assistant Professor at the University of Freiburg/Br. and as a junior fellow at the Freiburg Institute for Advanced Studies (FRIAS) and achieved her Habilitation at the University of Freiburg/Br. Her research areas include grammar-in-interaction, deixis, multimodality, mobile eye tracking, linguistics and psychotherapy, history of linguistic ideologies and identities. Ulrich v. Wedelstaedt is a research fellow at the University of Konstanz. He studied sociology at Bielefeld University. His research focuses on detailed interaction analysis of situations of communication

Notes on Contributors     xv

under pressure. Beyond sports he has done research on communicative practices in anesthesia and war. In his dissertation project he works on the detailed reconstruction of the interaction before and during a boxing fight. A recent book publication he edited together with Christian Meyer is Moving Bodies in Interaction—Interacting Bodies in Motion. Intercorporeality, Interkinesthesia, and Enaction in Sports (JBP, 2017).

Part I Introduction—Theoretical and Methodological Issues

1 Embodied Activities Cornelia Gerhardt and Elisabeth Reber

1 Introduction1 With the advent of the video camera in data collection, there has been a general realisation of the importance of multimodality and embodiment among interactional (socio)linguistic scholars and conversation analysts. To complement their interest in talk as it develops in real time, the study of talk-in-interaction has expanded its scope to situated, visual interaction in space. This rather recent interest in multimodality and embodied interaction calls for a deepened understanding of how verbal, vocal, visual-spatial, and material resources are deployed by participants 1We

are indebted to Harrie Mazeland for his comments on an earlier draft of this paper.

C. Gerhardt (*)  Saarland University, Saarbrücken, Germany e-mail: [email protected] E. Reber  University of Würzburg, Würzburg, Germany e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 E. Reber and C. Gerhardt (eds.), Embodied Activities in Face-to-face and Mediated Settings, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-97325-8_1

3

4     C. Gerhardt and E. Reber

for meaning-making in social encounters. One level of organisation of these resources which has largely been neglected is that of embodied activities. This volume proposes the notion of ‘activity’ as a perspective on the thick descriptions that are now available to researchers through video-recordings of naturally occurring social interaction. We understand activities as coherent courses of action in which participants engage, sharing a joint goal and/or topic. This understanding is informed by Heritage and Sorjonen who use: the term activity […] to characterize the work that is achieved across a sequence or series of sequences of a unit or course of action – meaning by this a relatively sustained topically coherent and/or goal-coherent course of action. (Heritage and Sorjonen 1994: 4)

As Levinson points out, “we need to distinguish projects as courses of action from the sequences that may embody them” (Levinson 2013: 121). For instance, participants in question-answer sequences can pursue different courses of action, depending on their institutional role in, for example, courtroom interaction (cf. Levinson 2013) or parliamentary interaction. News delivery sequences are a good example of how conventionalised the link between sequence organisation, course of action as well as linguistic practices can be (Reber 2012). As regards social interaction performed through talk only, e.g. in telephone conversations, it has been argued that courses of action are organised in a sequential fashion which are minimally built as adjacency pairs of actions “implemented through talk” (Schegloff 2007: 9, cf. also 26), a view that has been challenged by Stivers and Rossano (2010) with regard to embodied, face-to-face interaction (cf. also the discussions in Stivers 2013; Levinson 2013). While research on how embodied interaction and the concurrent use of embodied resources are systematically organised for action formation is still in its beginnings, it is indeed a recently held view that an analysis of turn constructional units (TCUs; Sacks et al. 1974) as units for actions in embodied interaction not only involves linguistic units such as lexicogrammar and prosody but also what is achieved and made relevant through the full range of embodied resources in space (e.g. Keevallik 2013). Moreover, it has been

1  Embodied Activities     5

acknowledged that there are “nonverbal action sequences,” i.e. courses of actions which are achieved through physical actions only (Levinson 2013: 125). Findings like these show that the common understanding of action in Conversation Analysis—“the ascription or assignment of a ‘main job’ that the turn is performing” (Levinson 2013: 107)—must be revisited. Actions in embodied activities are not necessarily built exclusively through turns or turn-constructional units (TCU), i.e. through talk, but also involve non-verbal resources whose form cannot be described solely in terms of TCUs. Along these lines, we argue that participants perform activities through embodied interaction in creating meaningful actions, drawing on their linguistic as well as their bodily resources and objects in their material world in ways designed to meet their goals. We assume that this coherence of topic and/or goal across a course of action forms the core organising dimension of activities. As is illustrated by the contributions to the volume, further levels of organisation may vary and may— but do not necessarily have to—be distinguishing dimensions of what we call different activity types, making the notion of ‘activity’ a rather loose and flexible concept. The defining dimension of what we call ‘embodied’ activities is that they are performed face-to-face (even if the performance may be enacted for a split audience). This contrasts with activities that are performed with other mediums of communication, such as telephones and smartphones, Skype and/or instant messenger programmes (Frobenius and Gerhardt 2017). These types of mediums put constraints on the communicative resources available and thus the practices—ways of doing things—that participants may engage in to construct the activity (cf. Schegloff’s 2007: 231–250 related discussion of sequence as a practice, cf. also Heritage 2010; Schegloff 1997). There are some activities which may be limited to certain types of mediums altogether: For instance, cooking together appears only to be done face-to-face. As regards space, participants in embodied interaction are typically co-present. Here activities can be performed with participants either located in space or moving through space, or doing a mixture of both as in, for example, guided tours. We assume that their positioning is reflective of ‘fixed-feature’, ‘semi-fixed feature’ and ‘informal’ space (Hall 1969), which in its turn provides for specific activity

6     C. Gerhardt and E. Reber

types. Although activities are produced in a material world with objects naturally present, there are activity types whose goal it is to manipulate and even transform objects and space in various ways, as for instance in abdominal operations. The participation framework (Goffman 1979) contextualised by participants in activities may be transformed in situated ways and yet the participant roles—especially in ‘formal’ settings (Atkinson 1982)—may both be constitutive of an activity and at the same time shaped by it (for mediated settings, cf. Gerhardt et al. 2014). Turn allocation (which can be mediated in formal settings) is further constrained by participant roles. Activities may or may not be temporally bounded in advance in that they have to be completed in a fixed time span (or not). Participants can display ‘alignment’ with an activity, i.e. they can support its progress (Stivers 2008). Participants can show ‘affiliation’ (Stivers 2008), i.e. side, with a stance displayed. Although this list may not be complete, we argue that each of these dimensions may be oriented to by participants when enacting embodied activities. Moreover, activities can form part of a larger coherent whole, a project (Robinson 2003). Although all of these dimensions are present in the following chapters, there are three that are noticeably shared and will provide a framework for the sections in the volume: The contributions assembled in the section Objects in Space focus on activities where material objects are manipulated in interaction, such as, in surgery, ­specific parts of organs, in a child’s bedroom, toys, or, at a ­market, goods for sale. The section Complex Participation Frameworks offers work on embodied activities which are performed in front of a (split) audience, drawing on recordings of music masterclasses, handball time outs, and British Prime Minister’s Questions. The chapters in the third section, Affiliation and Alignment, home in on practices and actions across a variety of settings, private and institutional, where people side with each other, orienting to the progressivity of the evolving sequence. On a general note, the volume aims to revisit the concept ‘activities’ and neighbouring notions from a multimodal perspective and to extend the repertoire of activities studied from an interactional perspective. Informed primarily by the methodological approaches of Conversation Analysis and Interactional Linguistics with a focus on multimodality and embodied interaction, the contributions to this volume present

1  Embodied Activities     7

studies of specific activities grounded in the analysis of video recordings of naturalistic and naturally occurring, mediated and unmediated, faceto-face interaction in Chinese, Dutch, English, French, and German. The volume begins with a theoretical-methodological discussion about: 1. how activity types can be differentiated along a language-body continuum and 2. how video data, on whose basis activities are analysed, are constituted. In what follows, authors analyse specific activities addressing the questions of: 3. how embodied resources are recruited to perform tasks and actions specific to certain types of activities and the transitioning between activities, and 4. how a specific activity type brings about the mobilisation of a specific embodied resource to perform specific tasks and actions. The introduction is structured such that Sects. 2 and 3 will provide a review of past research on activities and Sect. 4 provides a summary of the contributions to the volume.

2 The Advent of Key Notions Activities as meaningful social constructs have been an object of study at least since the middle of the last century. This section will trace the notion ‘activity’ and also neighbouring concepts such as ‘practice’ in different disciplines. Terms such as ‘activity’ or ‘practice’ are oftentimes employed without any concrete references. In laying open the tradition of these terms, we will concurrently try to anchor this volume in the research tradition. In the middle of the last century, a number of researchers became interested in the interplay between language and human action.

8     C. Gerhardt and E. Reber

Wittgenstein may have been the first in modern linguistics who, in his Philosophical Investigations (1958 [1953]), stresses the inextricable nature of ‘speaking’ and ‘activity’ in his idea of language games: “Here the term ‘language-game’ is meant to bring into prominence the fact that the speaking of language is part of an activity, or a form of life” (Wittgenstein 1958: 11). Language is not a closed system of mental entities, but part of an activity, embedded in human projects and undertakings. Two builders working together on a construction site (1958: 3) exemplify Wittgenstein’s idea that utterances are inseparable from their context of use.2 As this volume illustrates, it is not only in what Wittgenstein calls “primitive” (1958: 3) language games that a general knowledge of the activity under way is required for participants to understand what linguistic utterances mean; rather, participants must also comprehend the context-specific use of vocal resources, gestures, body movements, and other communicative resources. Even though, from a grammatical point of view, there may be a lack of complexity in the language use of the imagined builders above, activities situated in the material world are far from simple (cf. Workplace Studies, e.g. Luff et al. 2000; or Goodwin 1994). With vast impact on the psychology or cognitive reality and hence the conceptualisation of ‘activities’, for Wittgenstein, rather than some core feature, it may 2However, the examples Wittgenstein gives following this quote, for the most part, do not represent activities for us. His list seems to comprise actions or practices or speech acts rather than activities. Devoid of the context of use, their exact nature is impossible to determine though.

Giving orders, and obeying themDescribing the appearance of an object, or giving its measurementsConstructing an object from a description (a drawing)Reporting an eventSpeculating about an eventForming and testing a hypothesisPresenting the results of tables and diagramsMaking up a story; and reading itPlay-actingSinging catchesGuessing riddlesMaking a joke; telling itSolving a problem in practical arithmeticTranslating from one language to anotherAsking, thanking, cursing, greeting, praying. (Wittgenstein 1958: 11–12)

1  Embodied Activities     9

also be ‘family likeness’ that allows the recognition of types of activities in that they resemble each other and share overlapping features. While Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations can be counted as one of the ground-breaking publications in this domain, the often unclear and fragmented nature of his writings also resulted in a number of problems: “Wittgenstein’s failure to make a distinction between speech acts and the activities they are used in” (Levinson 1992: 96f ) or his “abstention from a distinction between speech acts and speech events, both of which fell under the rubric of ‘language games’” (Levinson 1992: 98) seem to echo in the literature until today in that the language used within activities (and other resources used, such as gestures), the practices employed by the participants to pursue their goals, and the activities that provide for the meaningful overall organisation are often collapsed into one fuzzy category. It may not always be relevant to make these distinctions; analytically, however, they must be teased apart for an understanding of the organisation of embodied interaction. When discussing activities in interaction, speech act theory from the Philosophy of Language made an important contribution. Austin’s title How to do things with words (1962)3 illustrates that using language means acting in the world. So when speaking, people are not only saying something (the locutionary act), but they are also mainly performing actions, more or less explicitly (illocutionary acts like ‘greeting someone’ or ‘sending someone to prison’). While this volume also holds the fundamental tenet that people use language to get things done, we do not embrace classical Speech Act Theory (Searle 1969) because of its neglect of context (both linguistic context as well as exogenous contexts of use) and its disregard of forces such as sequentiality or temporality, the role of the recipient in interaction, and other resources such as facial expressions or gestures. One cannot logically deduce the meaning of an utterance from its intrinsic qualities as a specimen of a speech act 3The

years of publication both of Wittgenstein’s (1953 for the first (bilingual) edition) and Austin’s (1962) works may be misleading. Wittgenstein finished the first part from which we quote here in 1945 (Wittgenstein 1958: vi–vii) and Austin lectured in 1955 (cf. the subtitle The William James Lectures delivered in Harvard University in 1955 ).

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(cf. also Schegloff 1988; Drew and Couper-Kuhlen 2014 for a critical discussion of Speech Act Theory). In linguistic anthropology, Dell Hymes proposed an Ethnography of speaking (1962) to describe the use of language as part of social life. The ‘SPEAKING grid’ allows for the classification of different speech events according to Setting or scene, Participants or Personnel, Ends (goals/ purposes and outcomes), Act characteristics (form and content of talk), Key (tone, manner, or spirit in which an act is done), Instrumentalities (channel or code), Norms of interaction and of interpretation, and Genres (categories or type of speech act and speech event) (Hymes 1972). Ethnography as well as social anthropology and sociolinguistics stress the inseparable nature of language, culture, and society (Bauman and Sherzer 1975). While Hymes’ idea of a taxonomy of activities may be debatable (Levinson 1992: 70), for the conceptualisation of ‘activity’, the ethnographic enterprise highlights the importance of empirical work on situated discourse to reveal the systematic use of resources available to convey social meaning. The notions ‘speech situation’ and ‘speech event’ have been proposed in ethnography and sociolinguistics to capture different types of activities (Hymes 1972). Speech situations like “ceremonies, fights, hunts, meals, lovemaking, and the like […] may enter as contexts into the statement of rules of speaking as aspects of setting (or of genre)” (Hymes 1972: 56). Speech events are “activities, or aspects of activities, that are directly governed by rules or norms for the use of speech” (Hymes 1972: 56). Speech events can then be broken down into (one or more) speech acts, and, according to Hymes, the status of a speech act may also depend on factors such as intonation or sequential position (1972: 57). While the grammar-like nature of ethnographic description has been criticised (Brown and Levinson 1979; Bourdieu 1977; cf. Gumperz 1999), its focus on empiricism and context of talk as an indispensable factor remain undisputable. This is also evident in the definition of speech events: “In interactional sociolinguistics, speech events are not exogenously defined, fixed givens, but have to be recreated by the participants through their talk” (Gumperz 1999: 455). Gumperz states further:

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Speech events (and genres) are schemata or frames, embodying presuppositions associated with ideological values and principles of communicative conduct that in a way bracket the talk and thereby affect the way in which we assess or interpret what transpires in the course of the encounter. (Gumperz 1999: 456)

In that sense, speech events may be seen as another formulation of what we would consider activities. With regard to the psychological reality of activities, i.e. Gumperz’s referring to schemata or frames, the studies collected in this volume pursue the idea that participants do orient to some overarching form (an activity) that is socioculturally acquired, but as a phenomenon that emerges locally in the interaction, context bound. In sociology, Erving Goffman calls “the natural unit of social organisation in which focused interaction occurs a focused gathering, or an encounter, or a situated activity system” (1961: 7–8, emphasis in the original). In focused interaction, people decide to do something together over a certain period of time, e.g. hold a conversation.4 Properties of situated activity systems are embarrassment, maintenance of poise, capacity for non-distractive verbal communication, adherence to a code regarding giving up and taking over the speaker role, and allocation of spatial position. Furthermore, a crucial attribute [is] the participant’s maintenance of continuous engrossment in the official focus of activity. (Goffman 1961: 10–11)

For the participants, arrangements:

an

encounter

involves

communication

a single visual and cognitive focus of attention; a mutual and preferential openness to verbal communication; a heightened mutual relevance of acts; an eye-to-eye ecological huddle that maximises each participant’s opportunity to perceive the other participants’ monitoring of him. (Goffman 1961: 17–18) 4People

do this rather than, for example, just changing their behaviour because of someone’s presence, which represents unfocused interaction.

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All of these, including the beginning and ending of encounters, may be acknowledged through expressive signs: “A ‘we rationale’ is likely to emerge, that is, a sense of the single thing that we are doing together at the time” (1961: 18, emphasis in the original). Goffman’s examples of situated activity systems include “a tête-à-tête; a jury deliberation; a game of cards; a couple dancing…, love-making, boxing” (1961: 18). To summarise Goffman’s concept [1972] (1961: 95–96), Mazeland and Berenst write that he developed it to describe repetitive encounters in social establishments in which an individual is brought into face-to-face interaction with others for the performance of a single joint activity, a somewhat closed, self-compensating, self-terminating circuit of interdependent actions. (Mazeland and Berenst 2008: 62–63)

As the expression “situated” stresses, Goffman’s important contribution to ‘activities’ lies in the idea that people do not passively follow preconceived fixed scripts, but actively work together to make activities come into being, then and there, for the participants. Similar to the differentiation between speech events and speech situation, Goffman also suggests that situated activity systems or encounters may be governed by a larger structure, the domain: “Of course, what definition of the situation the encounter will be obliged to maintain is often determined by the social occasion or affair in whose domain the encounter takes place” (Goffman 1961: 19, emphasis in the original). With a similar interest in everyday life, Garfinkel (1967) proposes ethnomethodology (a pillar of Conversation Analysis, cf. below), i.e. descriptions of member’s methods, as accounts of practices allowing the accomplishment of activities, indexically and reflexively constituting them at the same time. In his framework, “familiar scenes of everyday activities, treated by members as the ‘natural facts of life,’ are massive facts of the members’ daily existence both as a real world and as the product of activities in a real world” (Garfinkel 1967: 35). In other words, by doing what we do, we create the world we live in. Together with Sacks, Garfinkel describes the following formal structures for everyday activities as being available for our understanding:

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(a) in that they exhibit upon analysis the properties of uniformity, reproducibility, repetitiveness, standardisation, typicality, and so on; (b) in that these properties are independent of particular production cohorts; (c) in that particular-cohort independence is a phenomenon for member’s recognition; and (d) in that the phenomena (a), (b), and (c) are every cohort’s practical, situated accomplishment. (Garfinkel and Sacks 1970: 346)

In this vein, activities are orderly phenomena. They are achievements by people, efforts to create coherence in everyday life as well as in specialised domains, based on the co-operation of members and their linguistic competence. In this framework, activities are not based on cognitive structures, but accomplished by people engaging in observable practices (for practices, cf. also below). A scholar who has been interested in activities for a long time is Levinson. Based on Wittgenstein’s idea of the language game, Levinson proposes ‘activity types’ as: a fuzzy category whose focal members are goal-defined, socially constituted, bounded, events with constraints on participants, setting, and so on, but above all on the kinds of allowable contributions. Paradigm examples would be teaching, a job interview, a jural interrogation, a football game, a task in a workshop, a dinner party, and so on. (Levinson 1992: 69, emphasis in the original)

In contrast to Hymes’s speech event (1972), Levinson’s activity types do not have to be co-existent with speech. The notion is fuzzy, because borderline cases exist, and gradual in that such social episodes range from prepackaged to unscripted. This cline may correspond to levels of formality which co-occur with style choices. Hence, Levinson proposes that activities vary according to the grade of integration of talk. So activity types may consist of talk only (e.g. a telephone conversation or lecture), or talk may be non-occurring or incidental only (e.g. a game of football) (1992: 70). Levinson subdivides the structure of an activity into episodes. Each episode includes: any prestructured sequences that may be required by convention, the norms governing the allocation of turns at speaking, and so on. There

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may, further, be constraints on the personnel and the roles they may take, on the time and the place at which the activity can properly take place. There are also more abstract structural constraints, having to do with topical cohesion and the functional adequacy of contributions to the activity. (Levinson 1992: 71)

Furthermore, wherever possible I would like to view these structural elements as rationally and functionally adapted to the point or goal of the activity in question, that is the function or functions that members of the society see the activity as having. (Levinson 1992: 71 emphasis in the original)

This structural rather than taxonomic approach (cf. Hymes 1972) allows for a focus on a few basic principles. On the one hand, there are structural constraints on allowable contributions. On the other hand, as a mirror image, activities come with a set of inferential schemata that are activity specific and again tied to the structural properties of the activity. Hence, utterances are only meaningful with knowledge about the particular constraints and structural properties of the activity in question, including the general assumption of cooperation (Grice 1975) and general knowledge about the organisation of interaction (Sacks et al. 1974). Inferences tied to specific activities can then be conceptualised as relaxing, to different degrees, parts of Grice’s maxims, or the maxims must be taken as “specifications of some basic unmarked communication context” (Levinson 1992: 78). Hence, activities represent marked or special cases that deviate from these general norms. Referring to Wittgenstein, Levinson differentiates between the rules of language use within an activity (the language game), the activity, and “particular strategies or procedures within the activity” (lower-order structures) (1992: 92). In his view, strategies and procedures (what we will call ‘practices’, see below) are intrinsically tied to activities in that they are “rationally adapted to achieving the overall goals” (1992: 93) of the activity. Thus, according to Levinson (1992), the verbal part of activities, the language game, depends on the chosen procedures that allow realising the goals of the participants, and the different levels of organisation are coherent overall.

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Another key notion that has gained in importance in the conceptualisation of activities in interaction is the notion of ‘practice’ that can be traced back to Bourdieu and his insistence that social conduct, even though constrained by objective structures, is not the automated outcome of the application of pre-formulated rules, but is located in time and space, undertaken by actors with their own competences, identities, and goals (1977). Lave and Wenger’s ‘communities of practice’ (1991) have been widely applied to theories of learning as well as fields such as sociolinguistics. Practices in this framework are shared repertoires of resources that are based on sustained interaction between members. They do not represent fixed cognitive schemata in the heads of individuals, but are empirically observable, negotiable, and locally achieved and concerted by actors in such communities. Focusing on the use of the term ‘practice’ in conversation analytic tradition, Garfinkel in his ethnomethodological project uses ‘practice’ in local synonymy with ‘practical actions’ and ‘indexical actions’ as methods for people to accomplish activities (Garfinkel 1967; see also above). Together with Sacks, Garfinkel exemplifies members’ ‘practices of formulating’ (1970: 350ff.). More recently (but see also below), Schegloff cautions researchers: not to abdicate analytic responsibility to some one-to-one practice/action pairing, but to remain alert to an action-formation resource pool, in which practices, deployed always in some position, can accomplish different actions; and actions can be accomplished through a variety of situated practices. (Schegloff 1997: 505, emphasis in the original)

In other words, one practice can fulfil different functions in different activities by virtue of its potential to bring about different actions. One and the same activity consisting of sequences of actions may be performed with the help of different practices. And, in turn, the accomplishment of an action in a meaningful sequence does not pre-suppose a specific practice. One last notion needs to be mentioned here: besides ‘action’, ‘activity’, and ‘practice’, the term ‘project’ has gained in popularity to convey one (or more) speaker’s attempt to launch a specific sequence of actions

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(cf. Levinson 2013: 119ff.; Clark 1996: 205ff.). In contrast to the other terms discussed here, its use in the field of language as action seems more recent. What unites all of these notions is not only that they are frequently used in the literature—the Latin root ‘act’ and its derivations probably unavoidably—but that they are often used without any reference to a specific source or tradition or an in situ definition that would clarify their exact use. This discussion of these notions can be taken as a backdrop to the papers in this volume, unless otherwise stated.

3 Embodied Activities: Empirical Findings from Studies in Conversation Analysis Drawing on Garfinkel’s understanding of ‘activity’ (1967), studies informed by Conversation Analysis have provided emic descriptions of embodied activities in social interaction since the late 1970s. The main concerns have concentrated on the initiation, closing, and internal organization of activities and the role of embodied resources in these contexts, yielding a minute analysis of the interaction of vocal, verbal, and visuo-spatial cues (e.g. Goodwin 1980a, b; 1984; Heath 1982, 1984). For instance, M. Goodwin (1980a) describes these core features of what she calls the ‘he-said-she-said’ activity: The he-said-she-said activity is constructed through an underlying set of cultural procedures that provides a particular ordered field of events, including such things as relevant actions and identities for participants in both the past and present. Phenomena within this field do not obtain their meaning in isolation, but rather from their position within the entire structure. Thus, categories of person, the structure and interpretation of events, forms of action, and the sequencing of these phenomena through time are interdependent aspects of a single whole. (Goodwin 1980a: 689)

This early work has laid the groundwork for the study of activities to date. It is commonly agreed that activities are sequences of actions produced and shaped by an overall structural organisation which participants construct and orient towards as a coherent whole. This overall

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structural organisation is locally achieved in time, space, and interaction and shows an intrinsic reflexivity of participants’ actions (cf. Robinson 2013). At the same time, these actions are reflexive of participants’ understanding of the activity or multiactivities at hand. Despite the above-mentioned early work grounded in video analysis, fundamental findings with respect to the structural organisation of activities were made on the basis of audio recordings. Activities may involve frequent turn-taking (e.g. question-answer sequences in medical encounters; Heritage and Sorjonen 1994) or c­onsist of longer multi-unit turns where turn-taking is suspended (e.g. story-­telling; Jefferson 1978). They may be organised through a minimal sequence, i.e. a single adjacency pair, e.g. a greeting (Sacks 1972; Schegloff 2007), or they may come in ‘big packages’ (Sacks 1992: 354), i.e. longer, more extended sequences, such as troubles talk (Jefferson 1988). An important distinction in Conversation Analysis is between what is traditionally labelled mundane versus institutional interaction. There has been substantial work on the turn-taking organization, participation framework, and action design in institutional activities and how these aspects contrast with those observed in mundane encounters (e.g. McHoul 1978 on classroom interaction, Atkinson and Drew 1979 on courtroom trials, and Clayman and Heritage 2002 on news interviews). What is not yet fully understood is how embodied practices might pertain to and differ in the accomplishment of institutional or everyday activities. A question related to this is how embodied practices makes activities more or less “formal” (Atkinson 1982). What has recently become a research field in its own right, the work on “multi-activity” (Goodwin 1984; Mondada 2008, see also the contributions to Haddington et al. 2014) impressively provides evidence about what can be gained by analysing activities using video analysis. The term was coined following the observation that participants can engage in more than one activity at the same time, e.g. when engaging in story-telling and eating at a dinner table conversation (Goodwin 1984), when working at a computer and talking to a client during telephone calls at a call centre (Mondada 2008) or the multi-activities occurring when people watch televison (Gerhardt 2006, 2007, 2014) or use other media (Ayass and Gerhardt 2012). Here “parallel activities

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can be either autonomous or interrelated, and their status is not always given a priori and definitely. Instead their status is acquired during the unfolding of these activities and thanks to their temporal and functional coordination” (Mondada 2008: para. 53). Other more recent lines of research have been concerned with aspects of space (e.g. Auer et al. 2013; Haddington et al. 2013) and the manipulation of objects in embodied interaction (e.g. Nevile et al. 2014), without having a special focus on the concept ‘activity’. Despite this relevance of activities to the social organisation of mundane and institutional interaction, it has been noted that the concept of the ‘activity’ as a unit of interaction is often far from clear. Linell (2009; see also 2010) notes that little attention has been paid to the description of activity types in Conversation Analysis: Activity types are a central concept in Conversation Analysis (CA) […], especially in its application to talk at work (Drew and Heritage 1992: 22). Yet, it usually remains a relatively pre-theoretical notion in CA and elsewhere; one would let one’s data collection be governed by considerations of activity type (i.e. one collects a corpus of talk from activity type X), but it is unusual to find a critical discussion of what constitutes a particular activity type. (Linell 2009: 202)

To conclude, before the technology of video cameras became available to a broader audience in Conversation Analysis, the pioneering work on embodied (multi)activities in face-to-face interaction was conducted by a small group of researchers side-by-side with scholars generating key findings on activities based on audio recordings. Today, video recording represents the state of the art of data collection and constitution in Conversation Analysis and Interactional Linguistics. Not only does this visualisation of data allow new insights into the rich semiotic resources used in face-to-face interaction in general, it also opens up the possibility of a largely unexplored field of research: on how embodied practices are used in specific (multi)activities and how goals pursued in a (multi)activity become visible in specific embodied practices in time and space. Beyond expanding our understanding of social activities and their embodied contextualisation in particular, this research offers the

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opportunity to reflect on the methodologies used for the constitution and analysis of video data as well as on our understanding of interactional units and processes in general.

4 Overview of Papers in the Volume Following this introduction, the volume opens with two contributions which discuss theoretical and methodological issues in the analysis of activities and embodied interaction as such. To explore how activity types can be differentiated, Mazeland describes two activities that stand on either end of a continuum: two friends making an appointment for going to the movies in a phone call and a nurse putting on compression stockings in a caretaking interaction. He argues that the former is exemplary of activities where talk “entirely or almost entirely” constitutes the base line, while the latter stands for activity types with “a series of physical actions or tasks as their base line”. Discussing the methodological and theoretical implications of camera work when collecting video data, Mondada analyses visual conduct from two perspectives: that of participants in a guided tour as well as the researcher’s in situ practices of video recording for conversation analytic study. She finds that both participants and the filming researcher face problems in constituting the common focus of attention: Intense interactional work is required by participants, which has to be documented in its full sequential and embodied detail by researchers. The remainder of the volume has been structured according to three organising features of activities that cut across the diverse chapters focusing on single activities: objects in space, complex participation frameworks, and affiliation and alignment. The chapters in the section Objects in Space are concerned with how participants traverse and/or interact with their material world, as well as manipulate, transform, and make relevant parts of this material world to engage in evolving activities. In doing so, engaging in an activity may manipulate, transform, and make relevant parts of this material world.

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Bezemer, Murtagh and Cope discuss a particularly challenging gallbladder operation performed through laparoscopic surgery by consultant surgeons and surgical trainees at a London teaching hospital. On the one hand, the surgeons identify and negotiate the physical structure of the patient’s body to turn it into meaningful entities for the activity under way, seeking agreement and joint decision-making across the team before the highly consequential cutting of the tissue. On the other hand, in the specific case discussed here, the challenges of the “object”, i.e. the patient’s unclear anatomy, also forces a negotiation of the participants’ roles, in that the consultant surgeon (the “teacher”) signals uncertainty and the surgical trainee makes unsolicited proposals. So here the object has an impact not only on the practices employed, but also on the very roles that may seem exogenous for this particular activity of surgery in a teaching hospital. Gerhardt examines the activity of tidying a room (Zimmer aufräumen) in a single case analysis of a dyadic German interaction between a father and his eight-year-old daughter. Her analysis concentrates on the father’s practice of ‘showing’ (rather than e.g. ‘pointing’) as a realisation of one action in a sequence of actions which is functional in both keeping his daughter aligned with and engaged in the ongoing activity and constructing her as an expert with the epistemic authority to decide what to do with the object shown. It demonstrates how the affordances of the physical context shape the affordances of the embodied activity and how the embodied activity transforms the physical context. The contribution by Stukenbrock and Dao shows how gaze is relevant for participants in achieving joint attention on an object which is treated as a possible buyable by people shopping at the farmer’s market. The methodology of how the data were generated presents an innovative approach to multimodal analysis and deviates from traditional ways of collecting data within Conversation Analysis and Interactional Linguistics: The recordings were made by participants wearing mobile eye-tracking devices, which provide the analyst with a quasi-naturalistic impression of participants’ gaze. In sum, the section Objects in Space continues the methodological discussion by Mondada, in that Gerhardt shows how the structuring

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and transforming of the socio-material world constitutes an essential feature of the activity, observing the interaction from a static external vantage point, and Bezemer and Murtagh, as well as Stukenbrock and Dao, base their analyses (at least in part) on observations through a device merged with participants’ seeing.5 In doing so, these research papers enrich the methodological discussion with respect to a topic— objects in space—which has already long been an interest in studies on embodied interaction. This stands in contrast to the topics of Sects. 2 and 3, the handling and performance of complex, mediated participation frameworks as well as of affiliation and alignment, which are largely under-researched (but see e.g. Arnold 2012; Kupetz 2015; Stivers 2008) from an interactional, embodied perspective. The section Complex Participation Frameworks subsumes chapters where activities are performed for and against the backdrop of various public audiences. Meyer and von Wedelstaedt’s paper is concerned with the multimodal, interactional organisation and achievement of handball timeouts in the German first handball league and the junior national team. The multimodal analysis expands on other approaches to embodied interaction by not only including the verbal, vocal, visual, and spatial but also intercorporeal resources deployed by coaches and players to achieve a meaningful whole in a challenging environment of noise and distraction. Accordingly, human action is conceptualised as an intercorporeal ‘gestalt contexture’. Meyer and von Wedelstaedt find that handball time-outs are structured in terms of a sequence of nine activities which are constituted in finely coordinated, collaborative, and often intercorporeal ways. Reber examines British Prime Minister’s Questions (PMQs), analyzing a specific activity performed across question-answer sequences between the Leader of the Opposition (LO) and the Prime Minister (PM). The study finds that enticing questions represent a resource for the LO to set the agenda of an adversarial activity, in soliciting a pre-figured answer on the part of the PM which is used as the basis for an accusation in 5This

point was raised by Harrie Mazeland.

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what follows. The analysis addresses aspects of action design and sequential organisation in light of the complex, mediated participation framework at PMQs and shows how participants use vocal, verbal, and visual resources—in particular gaze, gesture, body posture, and proxemics as well as the manipulation of objects—to display (epistemic) authority, dominance, and power relations in time and space. Reed’s work on musical masterclasses focuses on a point of transition between two participation frameworks in this public instructional interaction. He traces the moment when the performance of the musicians is closed by applause from the audience and the master starts teaching the student. With the help of minutely placed assessment receipts such as well done, the participation framework is changed; the musician turns to student; public performance turns to dyadic instruction. All in all, the contributions to the section Complex Participations Frameworks illustrate the finely tuned micro-management of different resources in a diversity of settings. In all of them, the participants perform activities in front of audiences, being co-present and/or mediated through cameras which may or may not (explicitly) be addressed or—in Meyer and von Wedelstaedt’s case—even be battled against, providing new insights into the staging of social interaction in the public sphere. The chapters in the last section show how issues of Affiliation and Alignment are negotiated and accomplished in diverse ways across various activities. All papers focus on the sequential unfolding of practices through which participants display affiliation and alignment with the ongoing activity. However, the real beauty of these three studies is to observe how affiliation is only one dimension made relevant here and how this may account for the variety of resources used and the amount of extra interactional work required in the respective contexts analysed. Kupetz presents the results of a study of how comforting actions are embodied and organised in adult-child interaction across different contexts: between mother and child at home, teacher and student at school, and—in a mediated setting—the German chancellor and a child in a TV broadcast. One can witness that these are embedded in the same sequential structure: potentially stressful event/display of mental or physical distress—acknowledgement—(ongoing) displays of distress—comforting actions—orientation to ‘business as usual’/‘achievement of remedy’.

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Li shows how the closing of face-to-face activities can be negotiated in exploring the interactional functions of temporally and sequentially adjacent head nods between the recipient and the current speaker in video recordings of Mandarin Chinese conversational tellings. She finds that the recipient’s head nod at the possible completion of a telling is closing-implicative. This practice is reciprocated and aligned with by the teller using head nods and summary statements. Finally, Mazeland proposes the term ‘position expansion’ for turns by next speakers that piggyback prior turns and elaborate a stated position. Position expansion is achieved by being next turn (adjacent placement), and-prefacing, and by syntactically incorporating the utterance into the prior turn (constructional dependency). Most importantly, as social actions, position expansions have to contribute to the action undertaken in the prior turn, functioning as potential elements of a larger activity pattern.

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Reber, Elisabeth. 2012. Affectivity in interaction: Sound objects in English. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Robinson, Jeffrey D. 2003. An interactional structure of medical activities during acute visits and its implications for patients’ participation. Health Communication 15 (1): 27–59. Robinson, Jeffrey D. 2013. Overall structural organization. In The handbook of conversation analysis, ed. Jack Sidnell and Tanya Stivers, 257–280. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Sacks, Harvey. 1972. On the analyzability of stories by children. In Directions in sociolinguistics: The ethnography of communication, ed. John J. Gumperz and Dell Hymes, 325–345. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. Sacks, Harvey. 1992. Lectures on conversation, volume II, ed. Harvey Sacks, Gail Jefferson, and Emanuel Schegloff. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. 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. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1988. Presequences and indirection: Applying speech act theory to ordinary conversation. Journal of Pragmatics 12 (1): 55–62. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1997. Practices and actions: Boundary cases of other-­ initiated repair. Discourse Processes 23 (3): 499–545. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2007. Sequence organization in interaction: A primer in conversation analysis. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Searle, John R. 1969. Speech acts. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Stivers, Tanya. 2008. Stance, alignment and affiliation during story telling: When nodding is a token of preliminary affiliation. Research on Language in Social Interaction 41 (1): 29–55. Stivers, Tanya. 2013. Sequence organization. In The handbook of conversation analysis, ed. Jack Sidnell and Tanya Stivers, 191–209. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Stivers, Tanya, and Federico Rossano. 2010. Mobilizing response. Research on Language in Social Interaction 43 (1): 1–31. Wittgenstein, Ludwig. 1958 [1953]. Philosophical investigations. Oxford: Blackwell.

2 Activities as Discrete Organizational Domains Harrie Mazeland

1 Introduction The idea that speakers convey actions in turns at talk is central to the analysis of talk in conversation analysis. It locates ‘actions’ like questioning, answering, inviting, or informing in turns as moves in sequences of action in which participants in talk-in-interaction organise local communicative projects (cf. Schegloff 2007). The notion ‘activity’ is usually reserved for more encompassing courses of action, although the scale to which the notion applies may vary. Levinson (1992 [1979]) illustrates the ‘sociological’ notion ‘activity type’ primarily with cases at the level of ‘speech events’ (cf. Hymes 1972). He takes the notion ‘activity type’ to refer to: a fuzzy category whose focal members are goal-defined, socially constituted, bounded, events with constraints on participants, setting and so on,

H. Mazeland (*)  University of Groningen, Groningen, The Netherlands e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 E. Reber and C. Gerhardt (eds.), Embodied Activities in Face-to-face and Mediated Settings, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-97325-8_2

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but above all on the kinds of allowable contributions. Paradigm examples would be teaching, a job interview, a jural interrogation, a football game, a task in a workshop, a dinner party, and so on. (Levinson 1992: 69)

Levinson’s main examples are cross-examinations in the court room and teaching in the classroom (1992: 80–97). He shows for both activity types how ordered series of question-answer sequences are used to build an argument (cross-examination) or to get pupils to learn by guided discovery. The activity not only determines the setting-specific function of a question series, it also has recognizable consequences for the design of the sequence—notably whether a third-position expansion occurs (absent in cross-examination) and how it is shaped (providing an evaluation in teaching). Levinson focuses on the discussion of activity types that are ‘coextensive’ with episodes in clearly delineated institutional settings. This possibly explains why his notion of activity remains relatively large scale. Activities that participants organise in ordered series of sequences and/or differently organised forms of talk are not discussed in extenso.1 The pioneering work here has been done by Jefferson.2 She showed that ‘troubles talk’ should be considered “a discrete organizational domain, shaping the interaction in distinctive ways” (Jefferson 1988: 438). The analytic focus is on the examination of the practices “through which speakers manage their talk as specifically troubles talk” (Drew et al. 2015: 19). For example, it is through such practices that participants in ordinary conversation approach a recognizable, mutually warranted entry into troubles talk as a distinct activity. They cautiously negotiate whether and how they will or will not align as troubles-teller and troubles-recipient. They are involved in doing troubles talk as a

1Heritage and Sorjonen’s characterization in a 1994 publication allowed for a more local understanding of the term ‘activity’: the work that is achieved across a sequence or series of sequences as a unit or course of action—meaning by this a relatively sustained topically coherent and/or goal-coherent course of action. (Heritage and Sorjonen 1994: 4) 2See

Drew et al. (2015) for an insightful appreciation of Jefferson’s work on troubles talk.

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distinct activity by ongoingly managing a fragile exchange of troubles delivery and affiliative recipient work. The interaction is carefully navigated around the pressure of doing ‘business as usual’, and the participants return to this ‘usual’ state by moving stepwise away from the troubles in a minimally disruptive, troubles-teller attentive manner (see the collection of papers on troubles talk in Jefferson 2015). The overall troubles-telling sequence has a rough order of specifiable, partially tightly organised segments, but the order of segments itself is weak and as flexible as is necessary to deal with the local development of the talk. Not all segments evolve according to general principles of sequence organisation (cf. Schegloff 2007) and conversational turn-­taking (cf. Sacks et al. 1974). In its core segments, the sequence provides for organisations that break away from tight, locally processed forms of adjacency-pair organisation (see also Sacks 1992: 561–562). The troubles-teller delivers multi-unit tellings, whereas the relational involvement of the participants allows for the emotion-governed lifting of general turn-taking orientations (cf. Jefferson 1988).

1.1 Example 2.1: Reporting As a less difficult, but still rather complex example of an activity that emerges in the course of conversational interaction, I will discuss several fragments from a report episode in a business-like telephone call between the coach of an amateur soccer team and a board member of the soccer club. The team plays in a high amateur league under semi-professional conditions. The reason for the call was to reschedule an appointment of the caller (the coach or ‘C’) and the called person (the board member or ‘BM’) with a player whose contract has to be renewed.

1.1.1 Launching the Activity During the talk in which they changed their appointment, C had mentioned in a by-the-way manner that he had an evaluation session the other day with the players on his team. Later in the call, BM uses this as

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a warrant for initiating a topic shift by inquiring interruptively after this meeting: (2.1a) Initiating the delivery of the report

I can only discuss some of the practices through which both participants launch the new topic as a distinct type of activity. Note first that BM’s inquiry (how was the evaluation. was it a bit u:h reasonable?, lines 2–3) not only introduces a new topic, it also sets up a framework for a specific type of response. The interruptive placement of the turn itself indicates a different set of relevancies than those of the current speaker.

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And the design of the turn—a series of two questions in which the second is a specifying paraphrase of the first (cf. Bergmann 1981)—casts it as a ‘topic opener’ that invites the co-participant to respond with an answer that is “more than an answer long” (Sacks 1992: 565–566). Note further that the coach begins the response turn with an ordered series of preliminaries. First a generalizing formulation of what is mentionable about the evaluation session (in itself also … a couple of critical remarks, lines 4–5), followed by a comment that indicates how he is going to deal with the critique of the players on his team (…that make sense indeed, line 5). The coach then nominates the thematic domain of the critique (often in organisational respect, line 6), before finally announcing the first report item with for example in line 8. In the preliminaries, the speaker not only projects the delivery of a longer report, but also sets up the framework for the professional, neutral style in which he is going to tell about an evaluation session in which he himself was a party. Note finally BM’s continuer jah (yes, line 7) by which he aligns himself as the recipient of the longer project that C is recognizably working up to. In a series of three turns, the participants have not only changed the topic, they have also installed a different turn-taking framework in which they temporarily move away from coordinating the progression of the talk as a succession of adjacency-pair sequences to an organisation that is guided by the progression of the report that the primary speaker is going to deliver (cf. Houtkoop and Mazeland 1985).

1.1.2 Delivering the Report The report itself is structured as a list of topics. Each topic is first announced in a preliminary topic-nomination component with a phrasal construction such as uitwedstrijden (away matches, line 8 of (2.1a) above), or over de omgang met (…) met name de jongeren (about my dealings with particularly the younger players, lines 37–38 of (2.1b)):

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(2.1b) Continuation of the report (15 lines left out)

The transition to a next topic in C’s report is 3 out of 6 times prefaced with the particle nou (in this environment similar to English now ), as in line 37 of (2.1b). This way of introducing a next report item portrays it as if it is taken from an informal agenda (cf. Button and Casey 1988). It is not just any new topic, but ‘the next’ topic in a more or less ordered list of issues. The particle works as a “marker of position” (cf. Sacks

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1992: 557): it is a sequential technique that is used for linking the new topic to the list of items in the speaker’s report (Mazeland 2016). The discussion of a report item itself displays a loose structure. The soccer coach first describes the general tenor of an issue raised by his players in the evaluation session, and after providing more details, he reports his reaction in the session itself or he tells how he thinks about this now. This evaluative stage is not only closure-implicative for the current report-item, it is also a place where the report recipient may join the discussion. See lines 31–34, where BM tells about his own experiences with arriving at a match too early. The activity role as report recipient / report assessor is carefully ­managed. Apart from aligning to the primary speaker’s project as a recipient with a continuer (line 29, for example), BM also manifests himself as an expert on the issues C is reporting about. See, for example, his quasi-surprised repeat of eerder (earlier ) in line 10 of extract (2.1a): toch nog eerder (still even earlier ). But note that he also goes on with a continuer, jah (yes, line 12). This blocks the sequential implicativity of the comment in the first part of his turn, and it neatly shows how BM gives priority to the progression of the report by almost immediately returning to the recipient role. BM does not always stick to his role as report recipient. The report sequence is vulnerable to merging with an alternative activity in which the same topic is developed within a different activity framework. BM’s perspective display in lines 31–32 has the potential to evolve into a more elaborate telling about his own experiences as the coach of a soccer team. He then would become the primary speaker and C would be caught in the role of (second) story recipient. C’s attempts to take the floor back again in line 33, and the affiliative way of doing agreement with which he subsequently closes the matter, jaA precies: (yes exactly ), successfully block this kind of ‘activity contamination’ (cf. Jefferson and Lee 1981). The activity framework thus requires permanent monitoring to keep the activity on track. Possible derailments are met by renegotiating the framework, as can be seen in the hesitant manner in which C subsequently makes the transition to the next report item (lines 36–37 in (2.1b)).

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1.1.3 Closing the Report The participants may also ‘boundary off’ the closing of a report from the activity that follows it (cf. Jefferson 1984: 198). Compare the fragment below. It is from the discussion phase of a report item about the different coaching style of the assistant coach. The activity framework has already been loosened. The participants shifted the activity framework once when they began discussing a remaining issue as a problem-­ solving matter. The current report item itself deals with a sensitive subject. It is raised late in the series of report items, possibly showing the reporter’s scruples about criticizing his closest colleague: (2.1c) Closing the report (about 5 minutes after the initiation of the report ) BM comments on C’s report about the different coaching style of the assistant trainer.

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The report deliverer uses practices that seem to be specifically designed for indicating and negotiating closure of the report. For example, the repetition of a phrase that was also used in the preliminaries of the report by the report deliverer. At the start of his project, the coach used the phrase ‘n paar kritische opmerkingen (a couple of critical remarks (lines 4–5 in (2.1a)) in order to characterise the criteria for sampling reportable issues. He re-uses this phrase in the evaluation section of the current report item, kritische opmerking (critical remarks, line 245 in (2.1c)). This kind of repeat of a phrase that was used in the set-up stage may work as a device for marking the possible completion of the whole project. It signals the closure of the full circle (cf. Schegloff 2011; Mazeland 1992: 355). The final clue is the 1.2-second silence in line 249. This is the first time during the whole report episode that the coach does not hurry to self-select as next speaker in an environment of imminent closure of the current report item in order to make a transition to the next report item. His co-participant treats this gap as a suitable position for raising another issue in a different activity framework (lines 250–252). BM shifts the activity to getting a commitment that something will be taken care of (the players that leave C’s team have to return their club outfits). This definitively seals the closure of the report episode and clearly delimits the current activity from the preceding one. (2.1d) Repeat detail Extract (2.1c)

Note finally that the next activity is also distinguished from the activity that precedes it. BM uses an ordered array of practices at the beginning of his turn in lines 250–252 in order to mark the activity-framework-­shifting status of his turn. The turn-initial particle hee (hey, line 250) works as an alert to a departure from the current line of talk. The self-repair from maar

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(but ) to en (and ) indicates that the speaker is working on how to tie the action in his turn to the preceding interaction. The following component with the phrase nog één dingetje (one more thing ) ties the new topic to the list of issues to be handled in the call. The inserted address term Hans, immediately after this component, articulates the seriousness of the project that is to be launched in this turn (cf. Clayman 2010: 173–179). It is only after this series of prefatory practices that BM nominates the topic of his project in a separate preliminary turn-construction component (about the clothing and all, line 251 ), before, eventually, delivering the exhortation that it was all about, let’s do this now u::h that they return the clothing and the like (lines 251–252). By heavily ‘front-loading’ the beginning of his turn with various types of organisational information (Levinson 2013), the speaker helps his interlocutor align with the new organisational configuration. In summary, participants in ordinary conversation bring about an activity such as reporting in a larger stretch of talk that is organised as a ‘discrete organizational domain’ (Jefferson 1988). The activity is set off against the preceding talk and the talk that follows it. The participants orient to turn-taking restrictions that provide systematic opportunities for the production of multi-unit turns by the report deliverer. The reporter acts as primary speaker whereas the interlocutor aligns as report recipient / report assessor. The progression of the talk is partially organised in terms of an ordered succession of report-items that the reporter delivers in multi-unit turns. The report items are also structured. The primary speaker first elaborates on the reported issue and after this, the report may be ‘interactionalised’ in an evaluative section that is potentially closure implicative. The participants have to do coordinated work to keep the activity on track, but derailments may develop because of overlap with alternative activities and the organizational and interactional roles that are associated with them. At all levels of the organisation of their project, the participants use an activity-fitting array of practices through which they shape their interaction as a report.

2 Activities and Adjacency Pair Organisation The report sequence discussed in the previous section is primarily organised as a form of topical organisation combined with turn-taking restrictions that enable the primary speaker to deliver tellings in long

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multi-unit turns. Only specific segments are organised in terms of adjacency-­pair sequences, most notably the launching of the activity, its closure, and the segments in which the participants jointly evaluate a reported issue. Adjacency-pair organisation is relied on particularly in environments in which the interactional configuration is reconfigured or when the interaction within the activity framework requires a more co-agentive type of involvement. Conversationalists also accomplish activities that are primarily organised as a succession of adjacency pairs. Adjacency pair organisation is a major research area in conversation analysis (cf. Schegloff and Sacks 1973; Schegloff 2007). The focus is on how participants organise communicative projects in sequences that are formatted as an adjacency pair of complementary actions, such as question/answer, request/decision, compliment/appreciation, informing/receipt, or greeting/counter-­greeting. How participants arrange such sequences into a larger series in which they bring about activities has been investigated less. This is surprising because even a simple mundane activity may require a series of multiple, often expanded adjacency-pair sequences.

2.1 Example 2.2: Making an Appointment Consider, for example, the course of action in which two friends make an appointment in a phone call. The caller launches the activity with a proposal to go to the movies in the reason-for-the-call slot after the opening section of the call: (2.2a) Going to the movies

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Although Peter’s acceptance of the proposal to go to the movies completes the sequence, it does not complete the activity. On the contrary, the proposal sequence sets up an activity framework for a larger course of action in which the participants will work out the details of their plan. Fred’s follow-up question, welleke? (which-one?, line 14), launches an expanded sequence in which he and his friend choose the film they want to go to. This sequence is only the first in a series of sequences, in each of which the participants decide on a relevant detail of the project. The transcription of the stretch of talk in which the friends accomplish the activity is too long to discuss in detail. The whole episode lasts about 3 minutes and 20 seconds (185 lines in the transcription). The activity develops along a trajectory with successive steps such as selecting a movie and finding out which cinema is showing it and at what time. The final issue concerns how and where they will meet: (2.2b) Going to the movies

The participants develop the activity in a series of successive steps that are functionally ordered toward the achievement of its goal (cf. Levinson 1992: 71; Rehbein 1977: 108). Each step is organised as an adjacency pair sequence. If necessary, the participants expand the

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sequence in ways that overcome problems with the successful completion of the sequence. Each next sequence builds on the outcome of the prior one (cf. Schegloff 2007: 213–215). The dependency on the previous sequence is usually highly visible in the design of the turn with which a speaker initiates the next sequence. The domain of the follow-up question welleke? (which one?, line 14 in (2.2a)), for example, is to be retrieved from the topic of the preceding sequence. And the proposal at the beginning of (2.2b) above, zuwwe dan daarvoor afspreken (shall we meet then there-in front of (it), line 142), is not only presented as a consequence of the preceding interaction with the adverbial dan (then ), it is also marked for referential and topical continuity across sequences with the pronominal compound daarvoor (there-in-front-of ). A final example is the design of the question that Peter asks about the theater that is showing the movie they have chosen: (2.2c) Going to the movies [detail]

Peter’s question is and-prefaced. The preface functions as a sequential conjunction that coordinates the upcoming sequence with the activity it is contributing to (cf. Heritage and Sorjonen 1994). The structure of the sequences in which the activity evolves may reflect their function in the series. The opening sequence—the proposal/decision sequence in (2.2a)—does not get post-expansion (cf. Schegloff 2007: 115–168). Instead of sealing it as a unit in its own right with a sequence-closing third like okay or great!, the participants treat it as just the beginning of a larger project by immediately continuing with the selection of the film they want to go to: welleke (whichone, line 14). Only after having decided on a list of details do the participants close the series of sequences with a couple of activity-closing sequences that turn the now-specified proposal into a definitive arrangement (cf. Houtkoop-Steenstra 1987: 101–140). See Extract (2.2d). Peter

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first does a request for confirmation of a necessary consequence of the arrangement (line 180) and then finally concludes with a summary assessment of the outcome of the work they did in the preceding sequences (line 191): (2.2d) Activity-closing sequences

The concluding sequences deal with the overall structural organisation of the activity (cf. Robinson 2013). Their design, placement, and function are different from those of the sequences in which the details are settled. Note, for example, that their structurally marked position— at a point at which the activity is possibly complete—is signalled by the turn-initial particle nou (literally: now, lines 180 and 191). Dutch speakers use this particle to mark transitions between activities or between subsequent phases of activities (Mazeland 2016). The participants thus attend to the formal structure of the activity in the design and placement of turns with sequence-initiating actions.

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3 Activities with a Baseline of Mutually Coordinated Practical Actions Activities differ with respect to the degree in which they are constituted by talk. For a major class of activities, the baseline of the activity is a course of action that consists of a series of progressively ordered interactional moves and related practical actions (e.g. moving heavy furniture, filling a tank with gasoline, getting a haircut, going for a walk, or checking a train ticket). Talk is primarily used to coordinate the progress of the course of action and also for relational functions. At the other end of the continuum, we see activities of which the baseline is entirely or almost entirely constituted by talk (e.g. reporting, making an appointment, making an emergency call, or deciding on a pupil’s promotion to a next grade level in a report card meeting). The participants measure the progress of this latter type of activity in terms of the outcome of the successive sequences in which the activity unfolds. In activities that have a series of practical actions or tasks as their baseline, the participants measure the progress of the activity in terms of the completion of successive tasks. They use talk for coordinating the progress of practical actions, but the activity context is provided by the structure of the task(s) to be completed and the way in which multiple tasks are serialised.

3.1 Example 2.3: Putting on Compression Stockings Consider, for example, the following extract. It documents the last 30 seconds of the performance of a simple, mundane task in a caretaking interaction in a nursing home for the elderly (Wanders 2004). Mr. H. dresses himself in the morning, but a caretaker comes by to put on his support stockings. The extract begins at a point at which the caretaker (CT) is almost ready to put on the second support sock (Still 2.1). Mr. H. sits in an armchair with his right leg stretched out within the operation scope of CT’s hands and arms. CT’s ‘project position’ (Lerner and Raymond forthcoming) is on the side of Mr. H’s legs, with the upper half of her body bent over the legs. When both support socks are on, the normal socks have to be put on again. CT has put one normal sock on the coffee

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table on the other side of her work space, whereas Mr. H. has kept the other one in his hand after having taken it off himself: (2.3) Putting on support stockings in a caretaking interaction. ▼ Indicates the point at which a still is taken from the video recording of the interaction.

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The caretaker and care recipient collaborate in accomplishing a routine course of action with a projectable sequential structure. Each discrete subtask has a recognizable formal structure, with projectable task completion zones. The subtasks are ordered in a way that allows for anticipation of

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the kind of task that will follow next. This enables the participants to pre-­ emptively attune their respective task-oriented positions and postures so as to facilitate the smooth performance of subsequent tasks. Compare, for example, the “task-transition space” (Lerner et al. 2011: 44) that develops when CT lays the stocking slider on the coffee table (Stills 2.3 and 2.4). Putting away the slider marks the completion of the stage in which the second support stocking is pulled on, whereas CT’s next action—picking up the sock right next to the place where the slider is set—marks the beginning of the next stage in which the normal socks will be pulled over the support stockings. When CT lays down the slider, Mr. H. slightly lowers his right leg. However, he does not lower it to the floor and he keeps his leg stretched out (Still 2.3). As soon as CT bends back and gets upright, CR lifts his leg again toward a height that facilitates the performance of CT’s projectable next action. He does so even before CT announces the next task round by describing its target state, kousen d’r weer bij aa:n! (socks on again, Still 2.4). The participants are thus demonstrably oriented to the formal structure of the practical task they are involved in (Lerner et al. 2011: 44.), and they use it as a resource for coordinating both the performance of subtasks and the transition from one subtask to the next. A similar coordinated use of the task-transition space can be observed when CT signals she is ready with putting on the first sock with a kind of ‘finishing touch’ of smoothing the sock (Stills 2.5 and 2.6). Talk does not determine the formal structure of the development of the activity. However, talk does occur—for example when CT says zo: da(n) (so then ) just before she pulls the sock slider from Mr. H’s left leg (Still 2.2). Her remark articulates the arrival at a structurally projectable ‘pre-­completion point’ (Schegloff 1996) in the subtask’s trajectory, not only projecting the action that will finish the subtask, but also enabling Mr. H. to anticipate the brusque dynamics of her pulling away the sock slider. Note that CT’s remark does not get a verbal response from Mr. H. and its absence is not treated neither as noticeable or repairable (cf. Schegloff 1987). “What is being sustained is not a state of talk” but the activity (Goffman 1981: 143). CT’s utterance refers to a specifiable point in the progression of the subtask; it gets its significance from its placement at that position. Stretches of talk in the course of the unfolding activity may be organised as an adjacency pair of actions. CT’s announcement kousen d’r weer bij aa:n! (socks on again, Still 2.4), for example, gets an

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acknowledgement from Mr. H, j:ah. (yes. ). But the baseline of the activity still may overrule the sequencing of turns at talk, even if the series of turns seems to be ordered sequentially as an adjacency pair of actions. Compare the stretch of talk from which Still 2.7 is taken: (2.3a) Finishing the support stockings task (Still 2.7)

Mr. H’s thanks in line 03 is not a response to the action in the turn it comes after. It is a redoing of the turn he began immediately after CT’s nou! (literally ‘now ’) in line 01, but which he gave up when CT also continued her turn (cf. Local et al. 2010). The target of Mr. H’s thanks is the activity and the announcement it comes after. Its placement is oriented to CT’s signalling that she is ready with the transition marker nou (cf. Mazeland 2016; see also Robinson and Stivers 2001; Keevallik 2010). The completeness of the whole activity is not only foreshadowed by CT’s finishing touch movements toward the end of the completion of the foreseeably final subtask (see Still 2.6), it is also embodied by CT getting upright and moving away from the work space (Still 2.7). So a precisely structured array of practices from multiple semiotic resources configure the point after nou! as an opportunity for expressing thanks for the completion of the activity as a whole (cf. Goodwin 2013). In order to understand Mr. H.’s thanks correctly, it should thus be positioned along the baseline of the activity, not at its ‘talk location’ in the series of turns in which it also occurs (cf. Levinson 1983: 348). The formal structure of the activity and the multimodal signalling of its completion create the sequential slot for Mr. H’s thanks.

4 Activity as a Framework for Making Sense In his 1992 paper on activity types, Levinson approached the problem of how to account for members’ ascription of action meaning in a way that would remain typical for linguistic pragmatics in the following

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decades. In this view, “each clearly demarcated activity” is associated with “a corresponding set of inferential schemata” (Levinson 1992: 72ff.). The inferences bridge the difference between the ‘literal meaning’ of an utterance and its actual force in the context of a specific activity. As an example, Levinson discusses utterances that have the force to announce the beginning of an activity, like: (L) It’s five past twelve. (1992: 72)

Under the right conditions—like the scheduling of a meeting at the time referred to in the announcement, the presence of all necessary personnel, and (L) being uttered by the person whose designated task it is to begin the meeting—(L) might be heard as starting a meeting. Levinson discusses several, not necessarily mutually exclusive models of the inferential schemata that participants use to move from literal to action meaning.3 In its most persistent form, this approach boils down to constructing some kind of context-independent meaning of an utterance in an unmarked communication context, and then applying one or several inference-making ‘transformations’ in order to arrive at the action meaning that participants observably orient to in the actual, ‘specific’ activity. An approach that is more in line with Jefferson’s focus on the examination of the practices through which participants manage their talk as moves within an activity framework is to analyse an utterance in its environment of use ‘as a unit’. The unit works as a practice for doing an action in the course of the interactional realisation of a specific activity. In the case of (L), for example, stating the current time in an environment of use in which the meeting that people are gathering for is scheduled to begin at that time works as a practice for starting that meeting.4 3The 3 most important types of inferential reasoning that Levinson (1992) considers are (i) Grice’s model of conversational maxims; (ii) inference-making based on detailed situational knowledge and its structuring in frames and scripts; and (iii) inference-making relying on expectations about the structural organization of conversation. 4A serious examination of example (L) should also include information about the exact placement of the utterance, a comparative consideration of its design (e.g. why is ‘five minutes past X’ relevant), a detailed description of its productional features such as the occurrence of a turn-initial operator such as u:h(m) (cf. Atkinson et al. 1978) or of the prosody of the utterance (relative loudness, for example), the type of participation framework that is signalled by the embodied behaviour of the speaker and the audience (gaze, seating positions; see Goodwin 2000), and situational information about the setting for the gathering.

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Members understand the utterance cast in its environment of use as a practice for doing a situated action. The ‘activity-context’ (cf. Lerner et al. 2011: 44) offers the framework for the formation and interpretation of actions. Consider once more, for example, the question welleke? (which-one, line 14) which occurs immediately after Peter has accepted his friend’s proposal to go to the movies together (Sect. 1): (2.2e) Going to the movies; repeat and continuation of the interaction in Extract (2.2a)

Fred’s question is not asking for information about something that he does not know but assumes Peter does (cf. Heritage 2012). Instead, the use of the question-word question initiates a phase of selecting the movie they will go to. Peter’s counter in line 16 shows this clearly: He is not answering a question but is giving back the responsibility for selecting a movie. The question

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is the next move in the ‘language game’ the participants have set up in the previous sequence when they agreed to go to the movies together (Levinson 1992: 81; Wittgenstein 1958: 11). The conditions for responding are not established by the question itself. Its design features—most notably, its elliptic format—index its environment of use as the basis for making sense of its purpose (cf. Pomerantz 1988, 2017; Lee 2011; Walker et al. 2011).

4.1 Example 2.4: Assessing a Product in a Telemarketing Call The activity-context also explains how participants understand an action simultaneously in its local sequential context and within the larger trajectory of the activity. They do not just take an action at face-value but also take into consideration its impact on the larger course of action. See the following extract from a telemarketing call in which a telemarketer tries to sell a financial product (Mazeland 2004). After having described the product’s main advantages—it multiplies a savings deposit within a period of three years—the telemarketer (Tm) invites the prospect (Pr4) to evaluate the product by asking how this sounds (line 33). The prospect responds in a way that displays her understanding of the question’s purpose within the larger activity framework (lines 35–36): (2.4) Telemarketing call

The response turn in lines 35–36 is formatted as a compound turn-constructional unit in which a contrast is set up (cf. Lerner and

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Takagi 1999). In the first part of the contrast pair, the prospect answers Tm’s question with a rather positive assessment of the product, ja:h ‘t- … ‘t klinkt allemaal wel: (well it- … it sounds alright indeed, line 35). In the second part, however, she then says she is not interested in the product (but I am … actually not very much interested in it, lines 35–36). Note that the response turn is produced from its outset as a dispreferred second (cf. Pomerantz 1984): It is delayed, its beginning is hesitant and disruptive, and the more clearly disaffiliating part only comes in the second half of the turn (lines 34–35). This might seem strange because a positive evaluation of the product would be in agreement with the type of answer favoured by Tm’s question (cf. Clayman and Heritage 2002). But the prospect shows that she is also faced with the problem that a positive assessment in itself may be legitimately treated as a ‘go-ahead’ for an unobstructed continuation of the sales trajectory (cf. Schegloff 2007: 30ff.). By continuing with a statement that she is not interested, she blocks an understanding of the first part of her answer as a go-ahead. So the action in the second part of the response turn, that is, the part of the turn in which the speaker deals with the impact of her answer at the level of the activity, dominates the formatting of the turn as a whole (cf. Schegloff 2007: 76–78). The prospect understands the telemarketer’s question not just as the first pair-part of an isolated sequence in which she is invited to give her opinion, she also treats it as a move within the larger trajectory of the activity.

5 Situated Activity System Goffman developed the notion ‘situated activity system’ to describe repetitive encounters in social establishments in which an individual is brought into face-to-face interaction with others for the performance of a single joint activity, a somewhat closed, self-compensating, self-terminating circuit of interdependent actions. (Goffman 1961 [1972]: 84–85)

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Although the concept ‘situated activity system’ is not an analytic notion,5 I find it useful because it helps to understand the multi-layered, ‘laminated’ character of human activity in task-specific settings (Goodwin 2013). ‘Communities of practice’ (Wenger 1998) that perform a recurrent task—like helping every morning with putting on compression stockings (Sect. 3)—develop a repertoire of ways of organizing and facilitating them. The repertoire provides guidelines for how to perform activities in more or less standardised settings, it distributes tasks and associated roles over participants and it provides tools and routines for performing tasks. The members of a community of practice adapt, innovate, and archive their repertoire depending on the requirements of the circumstances. Novices learn the repertoire at least partially by taking part in the realisation of the activity itself (Lave and Wenger 1991; Goodwin 1994, 1997; Hanks 1996). The notion ‘situated activity system’ provides a framework to analyse the interplay of the semiotic resources participants rely on relative to the activity in which they are used.

5.1 Example 2.5: Deciding About a Pupil’s Promotion in a Report-Card Meeting The linguistic practices in the repertoire of a community of practice are saturated with knowledge, insights, and skills for doing actions in a situated activity system (cf. e.g. Goodwin 1996, 1997; Goodwin and Goodwin 1996; Good and Beach 2005; Nevile 2007; Pekarek-Doehler 2002). I want to illustrate this with a fragment which is taken from a report-cart meeting in which a team of teachers decides on the future school careers of the pupils in a so-called brugklas (bridging class; see Berenst and Mazeland 2008; Mazeland and Berenst 2008). The bridging class is the first general year of a specific type of secondary school in the Netherlands. After this year, the pupils can continue school in the

5Goffman’s

notion ‘situated activity system’ is just one of the many concepts and theories that have been proposed in the literature. Lahlou (2017: 221)—who uses the term ‘installation’ for a theory that focuses on how artifacts “guide users in their activity” through culturally constructed situations—rightly points out that the plethora of concepts is typical of most important phenomena.

2  Activities as Discrete Organizational Domains     53 Table 2.1  The teaching team’s standardised measurement system for allocating pupils Pupil summary score

Allocation

96 or more 89–95 77–88 71–76

Promotion to HAVO-2 Discussion zone HAVO-2 Promotion to MAVO-2 Discussion zone MAVO-2

second grade of either MAVO (a mid-level type of secondary school), or in HAVO (a higher-level type of secondary school).6 In the report-card meeting from which Extract (2.5) is taken, the math teacher acts as the main curator of the repertoire of this community of practice. He has already prepared a spreadsheet with an overview of the pupils’ end results for each separate subject and a summary score that is calculated by adding the results up in a weighted manner. This score is used as part of a measurement system for determining whether the promotion of a pupil is a routine decision or needs further discussion. At the beginning of the meeting, the math teacher lists the rules of the system (see Table 2.1). His summary also serves as an instruction for a novice member in the team. Only pupils whose results assign them to a discussion zone are discussed more elaborately before the team makes a decision by voting about the alternatives at hand. The team prefers decisions by ample majority. The ‘actual’ work of discussing pupils in the report-card meeting is organised by looking at each pupil in the order in which s/he is listed on the spreadsheet. The math teacher who is also the informal chair indicates how the pupil in question should be handled according to the sorting rules. If the rules put a pupil into a discussion zone, he launches a discussion round. See lines 1–9 in Extract (2.5). Fabienne has a summary score that puts her into the discussion zone HAVO-2. The team has to decide whether she will be promoted to the next grade in HAVO (the higher type of high school) or whether she will continue at the MAVO level. The teacher for Dutch is the first to give his opinion (line 11). He thinks Fabienne should not go into the higher level school and he accounts for 6“MAVO”

is an acronym for ‘mid-level general secondary education’, “HAVO” for ‘higher general secondary education’.

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his position with an ample report of his experiences (lines 13–25). The teacher for French then joins his position and accounts for it by repeating the Dutch teacher’s concluding assessment (lines 29–31): (2.5) Report-card meeting. MA: math teacher; DU: Dutch; FR: French

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At all levels of interactional organisation, the interaction in this fragment is shaped with the help of tools and routines that are part of the team’s repertoire for deciding about pupil careers. Turn-taking in discussion episodes, for example, is organised in a way that gives each teacher ample opportunity to develop their position and to account for it in multi-unit turns such as DU’s report in lines 11–25 (cf. Houtkoop and Mazeland 1985; Boden 1994). The format and the content of the evidence on which the Dutch teacher bases his judgement are also constrained by community-­specific ideas about what counts as a viable account. He does not tell a story about a single event but reports about patterns in Fabienne’s conduct (lines 13–23; cf. Rehbein 1984). The opposition that DU builds between being good at reproducing knowledge (lines 14–15 and 21–22) but not being able to develop understanding and insight (lines 16–19 and 23) is also in line with shared norms about what makes a pupil suited for a HAVO career (cf. Berenst and Mazeland 2008). The orientation to the activity system also explains how a seemingly neutral, descriptive term like MAVO pupil can be used for taking a position in the decision-making discussion (cf. Bergmann 1991; Jayyusi 1984). In his concluding summary assessment, the Dutch teacher characterises Fabienne as a good MAVO pupil (line 25), and the French teacher repeats this evaluative categorisation as a formulation of her agreeing position in line 31. In the context of the deliberation about Fabienne, this assessment works as a positive way of stating that

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Fabienne cannot be promoted to HAVO-2. The measurement system and the sorting rules shape the discussion of a disputable case as a decision about mutually exclusive alternatives. If a pupil is classified as a good exemplar of the lower ranked option, the binary design of the sorting system provides the basis for understanding this as saying that she is not eligible for promotion to the (higher ranked) alternative option. Sorting pupils in the report-card meeting thus is a task for which the community of practice has developed a partially routinised, task-specific activity system with its own modes of interactional organisation, tools, procedures, and norms, including specialised devices for categorizing and evaluating pupils. It makes the work of deciding about pupil careers in the school both interactionally feasible and institutionally accountable.

6 Conclusions Human actors organise joint activities as discrete organizational domains. Participants actively delimit the activity from preceding, following, and/or parallel activities. The activity itself is accomplished through the use of ensembles of practices that make actions and organizations recognizable as actions and organizations in, for, and of a specific type of activity. The focus of the paper was on small-scale activities in which participants cooperate to reach an outcome of a goal-directed course of action in a situated, locally controlled series of interactionally organized steps. Each step is characterised by its position in the series and all steps are organised as little projects that contribute to the progression of the activity. The order of steps may be cumulative (examples 2.2 and 2.4), cyclical (example 2.1), or a mixture of these forms (example 2.5). If talk constitutes the baseline of the activity, its overall progression may be organized in terms of its topical development in and around a series of multi-unit turns, or it may develop primarily as a succession of adjacency-pair type sequences with each next sequence building on the outcome of the preceding one. Talk has a different role in activities with a baseline consisting of practical actions (example 2.3). In such cases, it helps to coordinate actions and to mark interactionally relevant points

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in the development of the interaction, or it is used to mark boundaries and to coordinate transitions. Steps have a recognizable formal structure with respect to preliminaries, beginning types, the direction of development, realization stages, and the completion state. Participants orient to this structure in order to anticipate interactionally relevant developments within and between steps. The setting of routine activities may be usefully conceptualised as a situated activity system. Such ensembles are a part of a community’s repertoire that provides ways of organizing and understanding activities. Participants make sense of an utterance by analysing its features together with its environment of use as a unit. Both the local sequential context and the wider activity context contribute to the course-of-action meaning of a turn at talk and human actors orient to its multi-layered character by taking both levels into account. They integrate different semiotic fields, each of which contributes “in a simultaneous as well as a sequential fashion … to the differential meaning-making practices that work together” (Goodwin 2013: 12) to construct particular actions as moves in, for, and of an ongoing activity.

References Atkinson, Max, Ted Cuff, and John Lee. 1978. The recommencement of a meeting as a member’s accomplishment. In Studies in the organization of conversational interaction, ed. Jim Schenkein, 133–153. New York: Academic Press. Berenst, Jan, and Harrie Mazeland. 2008. Typifying and sorting: The construction of pupil-identity types in staff meetings. In Interaction in two multicultural mathematics classrooms: Mechanisms of inclusion and exclusion, ed. Jeanine Deen, Maaike Hajer, and Tom Koole, 235–265. Amsterdam: Aksant. Bergmann, Jörg. 1981. Frage und Frageparaphrase: Aspekte der redezuginternen und sequentiellen Organisation eines Äusserungsformats. In Methoden der Analyse von Face-to-Face-Situationen, ed. Peter Winkler, 142–182. Stuttgart: Metzler. Bergmann, Jörg. 1991. Deskriptive Praktiken als Gegenstand und Methode der Ethnomethodologie. In Sinn und Erfahrung. Phänomenologische Methoden in den Humanwissenschaften, ed. Max Herzog and Carl Graumann, 86–102. Heidelberg: Asanger Verlag.

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Boden, Deirdre. 1994. The business of talk: Organizations in action. Cambridge: Polity Press. Button, Graham, and Neil Casey. 1988. Topic initiation: Business-at-hand. Research on Language and Social Interaction 22: 61–92. Clayman, Steven E. 2010. Address terms in the service of other actions: The case of news interview talk. Discourse and Communication 4 (2): 161–183. Clayman, Steven E., and John Heritage. 2002. Questioning presidents: Journalistic deference and adversarialness in the press conferences of U.S. presidents Eisenhower and Reagan. Journal of Communication 52 (4): 749–775. Drew, Paul, John Heritage, Gene Lerner, and Anita Pomerantz. 2015. Introduction. In Talking about troubles in conversation, ed. Gail Jefferson, 1–26. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Goffman, Erving. 1972. Role distance. In Encounters: Two studies in the sociology of interaction, ed. Erving Goffman, 73–134. London: Penguin (first published by Bobbs-Merrill, Indianapolis 1961). Goffman, Erving. 1981. Footing. In Forms of talk, ed. Erving Goffman, 124– 159. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Good, Jeffrey S., and Wayne A. Beach. 2005. Opening up gift-openings: Birthday parties as situated activity systems. Text 25 (5): 565–593. Goodwin, Charles. 1994. Professional vision. American Anthropologist 96 (3): 606–633. Goodwin, Charles. 1997. The blackness of black: Color categories as situated practice. In Discourse, tools and reasoning: Essays on situated cognition, ed. Lauren B. Resnick, Roger Säljö, Clotilde Pontecorvo, and Barbara Burge, 111–140. Berlin and New York: Springer. Goodwin, Charles. 2000. Action and embodiment within situated human interaction. Journal of Pragmatics 32 (10): 1489–1522. Goodwin, Charles. 2013. The co-operative, transformative organization of human action and knowledge. Journal of Pragmatics 46 (1): 8–23. Goodwin, Charles, and Marjorie H. Goodwin. 1996. Seeing as a situated activity: Formulating planes. In Cognition and communication at work, ed. Yrjö Engeström and David Middleton, 61–95. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Goodwin, Marjorie H. 1996. Informings and announcements in their environment: Prosody within a multi-activity work setting. In Prosody in conversation, ed. Elizabeth Couper-Kuhlen and Margret Selting, 436–461. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hanks, William F. 1996. Language and communicative practices. Oxford and Boulder: Westview Press.

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Heritage, John. 2012. Epistemics in action: Action formation and territories of knowledge. Research on Language and Social Interaction 45 (1): 1–29. Heritage, John, and Marja-Leena Sorjonen. 1994. Constituting and maintaining activities across sequences: And-prefacing as a feature of question design. Language in Society 23 (1): 1–29. Houtkoop-Steenstra, Hanneke. 1987. Establishing agreement: An analysis of proposal-acceptance sequences. Dordrecht: Foris. Houtkoop-Streenstra, Hanneke, and Harrie Mazeland. 1985. Turns and discourse units in everyday conversation. Journal of Pragmatics 9: 595–619. Hymes, Dell. 1972. Models of the interaction of language and social life. In Directions in sociolinguistics: The ethnography of communication, ed. John Gumperz and Dell Hymes, 35–71. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston. Jayyusi, Lena. 1984. Categorization and the moral order. Boston: Routledge. Jefferson, Gail. 1984. On stepwise transition from talk about trouble to inappropriately next positioned matters. In Structures of social action: Studies in conversation analysis, ed. Maxwell Atkinson and John Heritage, 191–222. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jefferson, Gail. 1988. On the sequential organization of troubles-talk in ordinary conversation. Social Problems 35 (4): 418–441. Jefferson, Gail. 2015. Talking about troubles in conversation, ed. Paul Drew, John Heritage, Gene Lerner, and Anita Pomerantz. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Jefferson, Gail, and John Lee. 1981. The rejection of advice: Managing the problematic convergence of a trouble-telling and a service encounter. Journal of Pragmatics 5 (5): 399–422. Keevallik, Leelo. 2010. Marking boundaries between activities: The particle nii in Estonian. Research on Language and Social Interaction 43 (2): 157–182. Lahlou, Saadi. 2017. How agency is distributed through installations. In Distributed agency, ed. N.J. Enfield and Paul Kockelman, 221–229. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Lave, Jean, and Etienne Wenger. 1991. Situated learning: Legitimate peripheral participation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lee, Seung-Hee. 2011. Responding at a higher level: Activity progressivity in calls for service. Journal of Pragmatics 43: 904–917. Lerner, Gene, and Tomoyo Takagi. 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 31 (1): 49–75. Lerner, Gene and Geoffrey Raymond. forthcoming. Adjusting action: Some elementary forms of social co-ordination in interaction. University of California Santa Barbara (mimeo).

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Lerner, Gene, Don Zimmermann, and Mardi Kidwell. 2011. Formal structures of practical tasks: A resource for actions in the social life of very young children. In Embodied interaction, ed. Jürgen Streeck, Charles Goodwin, and Curtis LeBaron, 44–58. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Levinson, Stephen. 1992. Activity types and language. In Talk at work, ed. Paul Drew and John Heritage, 66–100. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (first published in Linguistics 17(5–6), 1979, 356–399). Levinson, Stephen. 1983. Pragmatics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Levinson, Stephen. 2013. Action formation and ascription. In The handbook of conversation analysis, ed. Jack Sidnell and Tanya Stivers, 103–130. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Local, John, Paul Drew, and Peter Auer. 2010. Retrieving, redoing, and resuscitating turns in conversation. In Prosody in interaction, ed. Dagmar Weingarten-Barth, Elisabeth Reber, and Margret Selting, 131–160. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: Benjamins. Mazeland, Harrie. 1992. Vraag/antwoord-sequenties. Amsterdam: Stichting Neerlandistiek VU. Mazeland, Harrie. 2004. Responding to the double implication of telemarketers opinion queries. Discourse Studies 6 (1): 95–119. Mazeland, Harrie. 2016. The positionally sensitive workings of the Dutch particle nou. In NU/NÅ: A family of discourse markers across the languages of Europe and beyond, ed. Peter Auer and Yael Maschler, 377–408. Berlin and Boston: Walter de Gruyter. Mazeland, Harrie, and Jan Berenst. 2008. Sorting pupils in a report-card meeting: Categorization in a situated activity system. Text and Talk 28 (1): 55–78. Nevile, Maurice. 2007. Action in time: Ensuring timeliness for collaborative work in the airline cockpit. Language in Society 36 (2): 233–257. Pekarek Doehler, Simona. 2002. Mediation revisited: The interactive organization of mediation in learning environments. Mind, Culture, and Activity 9 (1): 22–42. Pomerantz, Anita. 1984. Agreeing and disagreeing with assessments: Some features of preferred/dispreferred turn-shapes. In Structures of social action, ed. Max Atkinson and John Heritage, 57–101. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pomerantz, Anita. 1988. Offering a candidate answer: An information seeking strategy. Communication Monographs 55: 360–373. Pomerantz, Anita. 2017. Inferring the purpose of a prior query and responding accordingly. In Enabling human conduct: Naturalistic studies of

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3 Practices for Showing, Looking, and Videorecording: The Interactional Establishment of a Common Focus of Attention Lorenza Mondada

1 Introduction Practices of showing and looking at objects, as well as gazing at each other, are fundamental within the organization of social interaction in general and for the way ‘visuality’ is actively achieved and sustained by the participants in particular. Despite a ‘video turn,’ or ‘visual turn’ or ‘multimodal turn,’ in conversation analysis, and despite the booming interest in video studies of the multimodal organization of actions in interaction in their verbal and embodied details, the specific ‘visual’ dimensions of both social action and video data remain neglected. For instance, ‘embodied’ conduct is often considered to be constituting the ‘visible’ aspect of social interaction—regardless of whether the participants are looking at or seeing them. Likewise, the relation between the visibility of human action ‘for the participants’ vs. ‘for the analysts’ has been mostly ignored, in absence of systematic reflections about L. Mondada (*)  University of Basel, Basel, Switzerland e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 E. Reber and C. Gerhardt (eds.), Embodied Activities in Face-to-face and Mediated Settings, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-97325-8_3

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the specific details of video shoots and their analytical consequences, limitations, and possibilities. By articulating participants’ practices of looking and showing with camerapersons’ practices of ‘videoing’, this paper addresses issues of visibility in terms of practices for establishing and maintaining a common focus of attention. Thereby, it treats the problems of participants and the problems of camerapersons—­ considered as a type of co-participant—as interrelated. Thus, the paper explores issues concerning visual conduct in social interaction and practices of video recording this, in relation to three related issues. First, it addresses the ways in which the ‘visual practices’— of showing, looking, seeing—of participants engaged in a social interaction are achieved. These practices are investigated by focusing on a particular action and sequential environment, such as talking and pointing at a new object in the surroundings, thereby initiating a new sequence. They share some aspects with practices studied in linguistics in terms of constructions and practices for introducing new referents in talk. Introducing a new object in talk—when this object is co-present and visible—is indissociable from embodied practices of showing, looking, and seeing. This opens up a field of inquiry concerning ‘instructed vision’ and more generally visual perception as an intersubjective, social, publicly displayed, interactively organized phenomenon. Second, the paper discusses the way multimodal resources in social interaction are mobilized, implementing ongoing actions in an intersubjective and public way. The analysis focuses on participants building their emergent action in a linguistic and embodied way, and co-participants interpreting, ‘seeing,’ and recognizing this multimodally ordered action as meaningful. This focus on multimodality includes an interest not only in talk, gesture, and gaze, but more radically in the entire body—body posture, orientation, body-torque, and body movements. This not only concerns the individual participants, and their simple coordination, but also concerns the interactional space they visibly, dynamically, and specifically design and configure within the ongoing course of action. Third, these multimodal visual practices are related to the organization of ‘video practices’ and more precisely of ‘camera work’ during the activity of video recording the visual practices of the participants. This interest in video is not a purely methodological one—treating

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video as a resource for multimodal analysis. It is rather an analytical interest—treating video as a topic. Exploring these issues together means to engage seriously in what could be termed a ‘visual turn’ in conversation analysis and ethnomethodology. This entails not only the exploitation of visual details for a multimodal analysis, but more radically a conceptualization of visuality in social interaction. In this introduction I sketch these three areas, before exploring them on the basis of an empirical analysis of a perspicuous setting. The setting is a guided visit in which participants walk in a garden and successively point at different objects in the environment. Thereby, they initiate new sequences, which also establish a common focus of attention. This setting is ‘perspicuous’ in the sense that the visual practices achieved by the participants confront them with a series of practical problems that address the praxeological issues lying at the core of visual practices, multimodal conduct, and camera work. The participants are involved in a mobile activity, in which guided perception, instructed vision, and the establishment of joint attention is an interactional achievement relying on the reorganization of their bodies, their visual orientations, their engagement in one or the other action/sequence/visual focus, and their responses. This also concerns another participant, the camera operator, who encounters the same challenges, while anticipating and following the current visual engagements of the video-recorded participants.

1.1 Multimodally Organized Actions Multimodal analysis is based on two complementary dimensions, which merge in the organization of social interaction. On the one hand, conduct is formatted in a verbal and embodied way by participants, building complex multimodal Gestalts, composed by talk, gesture, head movements, gaze, facial expressions, body postures, and movements that are publicly displayed to the co-participants (Mondada 2014c). On the other hand, the actual conduct is seen—or at least “seen but unnoticed” (Garfinkel 1967)—by the co-participants, who constantly monitor, consider, and orient to it, interpreting it as audible and visible—as well

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as tactile—cues. The visible dimension of social conduct refers to what is exhibited and seen in social interaction. I do not summarize here the issues about multimodality and the visibility of social interaction—which I have discussed in a recent paper (Mondada 2014a, 2016). In this paper, I focus on visible conduct, and consequently on how the participants’ actions are gazed at, seen, and perceived, seen but unnoticed in the routine unfolding of social interaction. This visual perception of embodied conduct is often taken for granted by video analyses that often infer from embodied conduct its visual character. But this supposes that they are seen: detailed analyses of the visual practices, and more generally of the visual orientation, of the co-participants that take into account the visual cues of their environment are still scarce (see, for example, Kidwell 2005).

1.2 Visual Practices Visual practices of showing, looking, seeing, gazing, glancing, noticing, and so on are omnipresent in social life. They are fundamental for participating in social interaction; moreover, they can constitute specific activities on their own: searching for someone in a crowd, birdwatching, surveilling, admiring paintings in an exhibition, etc. A good example of these practices and their study can be found in the field of medicine: professional vision, visibility, as well as the achievement and negotiation of what is visible through in situ reading activities are pervasives features of medical contexts (see Hartswood et al. 2002 on mammographies Nishizaka 2011 on ultrasound, and Rystedt et al. 2011 on radiology). The visibility of the operating theatre is a crucial condition for surgery too: the visibility does not pre-exist the surgical procedure but has to be achieved through it (Koschmann et al. 2011; Mondada 2007—see also Hirschauer 1991; Aanestad 2003 from a broader sociological perspective). Visible phenomena—like anatomy—are not only offered to situated medical inspection but are actively and collectively achieved through using medical teams, realized moment by moment through various situated practices, among which the positioning and maneuvering of the video camera are central

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(Mondada 2014b). Moreover, visible phenomena can also be displayed for teaching purposes, where they enable trainees to discover, identify, and inspect relevant phenomena as the procedure unfolds (Svensson et al. 2009 on surgery, Lindwall and Lymer 2014 on odontology). For instance, the work of Christian Heath and associates has explored visual practices of professionals in a variety of settings: monitoring the attention of physicians and patients in medical encounters (Heath 1986); coordinated monitoring of each other’s attention and mutual visibility of conduct in underground control rooms (Heath and Luff 2000); discovering relevant details on control screens and seeing them together (Heath and Luff 2000); and noticing curious details, establishing common focuses of attention and looking together at exhibits in museums (Heath et al. 2002). These studies show the importance not only of visual practices but also of visual objects offered up to scrutiny (maps, visualizations, Munsell color charts, screens, paintings, etc.). In this respect, the work of Charles Goodwin has been of tremendous impact, ever since his study on ‘professional vision’ (1994), where he provides a description of the sharply alternate interpretations offered by the courtroom defense and prosecution of the same video clip shown as evidence in the famous Rodney King trial in 1992. The unedited video footage of the violent arrest of Rodney King was recorded by a bystander. Invoking different ‘coding schemes’, each party provided a reasonable and yet incompatible set of instructions to see what was recorded on video as either evidence of a group of policemen clearly beating up a defenseless black man or standard police procedure for a suspect visibly resisting arrest. The very co-existence of such incompatible views of the same video clip demonstrates that the intelligibility of video is not given, but is achieved. Further work by Goodwin concerns objects and spaces like the Munsell chart and the color of dirt, as scrutinized by archeologists (1999)— where again the visual features of objects and the surroundings are the result of practices of looking, categorizing, and seeing. These pioneering studies have made it possible to work on visual conduct, visual perception, visual awareness, and joint attention in a way that is not mentalistic, but embodied and situated, and interactionally organized.

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1.3 Camera Work The visual dimensions of social life are captured by film and video in various professional and ordinary activity settings—through practices that can be submitted to analysis. This video analysis of video practices (Broth et al. 2014) concerns professional, amateurs, and researchers alike. In an important study, Douglas Macbeth (1999) analyzes the production of an ethnographic documentary film, and more specifically the camera shot as particular form of looking-with-a-camera, one that is “both a record of the affairs witnessed, and a record of the witnessing too, where the work of looking itself is sometimes especially in view” (Macbeth 1999: 164). This paves the way for a “praxeology of seeing with a camera” (1999: 151) that considers video shooting as an embodied exercise of inquiry and analysis (1999: 151), and as the “work of assembling visible social fields” (1999: 152). The study of camera work offers insights not only into video practices (the actual work of the camera operator), but also into how seeing with a camera builds an understanding of what is being recorded. The movements of the camera both adjust to the on-going action and re-shape it: the camera work and recorded action mutually configure each other. These studies have inspired a number of ethnomethodological and conversation analytic studies showing that camera movements, technical choices, and perspective-making are an integral part of social activities. This body of literature has shown that the visual field fabricated by the camera work but also produced by its interpretation and use in situ is a practical achievement, mobilizing technologies, arranging local spatial and material environments, and deploying professional gestures and body movements, while being both embedded in talk-in-interaction and synchronized with it (see for example Broth 2009 about directing and editing cameras for a live TV show; Heath and Luff 2000 about camera surveillance in the London underground; Mondada 2003 about the use of endoscopic cameras in surgery; Schmitt 2007 about camera work on a film stage). This chapter shows that video research practices are inextricably articulated with the detailed timed emergence of participants’ visual conduct. More specifically, it shows that the practical problems encountered by the researcher video-recording the scene, and by the participants

3  Practices for Showing, Looking, and Videorecording …     69

establishing a common focus of attention, can converge in the detailed organization of a course of action.

2 Data and Video-Recording Set up: Guided Visits as a Perspicuous Setting In order to show the intricacies between multimodal organization, visual practices, and the practical problems of the cameraperson filming them, I focus on a series of sequences extracted from the video-recording of a guided visit. Guided visits (Birkner and Stukenbrock 2010; Broth and Lündström 2012; De Stefani 2010; Mondada 2005, 2012a, 2014c) are a perspicuous setting for the study of verbal and visual referential practices, guided perception, and mobile interactions, since they involve the guide moving from one place to another and pointing out details of the environment to the participants. These aspects raise challenging questions about video documentation, involving one or more mobile cameras trying to capture the movements of the participants and the objects they look at (Mondada 2014b). The data analyzed in this paper are extracted from a guided visit that took place in an experimental garden of a campus in a French city. The visit was led by the gardener, Luc, and the cultural representative of the site, Jean, who guided two visitors, Yan and Elise. The visit was video-recorded by four cameras: one mobile ‘steady cam’ on the group, one mobile ‘meta-camera’ filming the entire scene, including the first cameraperson, and two camera glasses, worn by the two visitors.1 Thus, two types of camera were used: traditional ones, producing a perspective on the participants, and camera glasses, producing something approaching the perspective of the 1The

video recording was made by myself holding the main camera; Elise and Yan were wearing camera glasses and the entire scene was filmed by Isabel Colon, producing a meta-view of the video recording. The names of the filmed participants are pseudonyms. All participants have given informed consent to the filming, the transcription, and the use of both of them in scientific contexts and their publication in scientific books or journals.

70     L. Mondada

participants—although offering a frame limited by that technology and not equivalent at all to the complexity of human vision.2 This type of guided visit is an exemplary setting for the study of how participants show and discover the details of their environment, and how they instruct and are instructed to see them. The way a new referent is introduced in talk is embedded within the way a new focus of joint visual attention is established. Thus, issues that have been treated independently in linguistics (introduction of new referents/topics, deixis) and psychology (joint attention) are interconnected—studied here not as cognitive or individual processes but rather as intersubjective achievements in social interaction. In what follows, I focus on two related issues: on the one hand, the practical problems encountered by the participants, and more specifically by the guide trying to establish a common focus of attention; and on the other hand, the practical problems faced by the cameraperson trying to coordinate with the detailed and emerging unfolding of the participants’ actions. The data provide an exemplary setting for discussing these two issues—the participants’ emic perspective on the action and the cameraperson’s situated proto-analysis of the scene (Mondada 2006, 2012b, 2014c, 2016)—which are both fundamental for the analysis of the collective perception and visual interpretation of social action.

3 Introducing a New Referent, While Walking vs. Stopping The analysis focuses on several episodes in which, during a portion of the visit, the participants introduce a new sequence and a new referent. These episodes follow one another as the visit unfolds in the garden. They provide a number of instances of practices, resources, and configurations through which a new object is introduced, pointed at, and looked at. Thus, the analysis focuses on different methods for 2These camera glasses offer a view that is more restricted than that of the human eye and that is located between the eyes, i.e. a bit higher than the human gaze. Nevertheless, they are useful for capturing movements of the head and of the global visual frame as it unfolds in time. For early use, discussions, and analyses of this technological device, see Zouinar et al. (2004).

3  Practices for Showing, Looking, and Videorecording …     71

introducing a new object into the joint focus of attention of the participants, and reflects on their variations as well as systematicity. The first excerpt offers an example of two ways of introducing a new referent, the first while walking (Yan asks a question about the insects in the garden), the second while stopping in front of an object (Jean points at a mirror on the ground that he will then comment on). I first reproduce the excerpt with its simplest transcription; I will then successively refine the transcription further below. Excerpt 3.1

3.1 JEAn 1

YAN

2

LUC fig

YAN ELIse LUC et les insectes# and the insects then are there [(more) insects -] [well here you-] #fig.3.1

3 [this year] then? 4 5 6

LUC [well there] (0.3) LUC you will see,

7 8

ELI YAN

9 10 YAN 11 JEA 12 13 LUC

[(.) you will e- I have [ah hHH

]serve -] -]

une surp[rise, a surprise for you, [ahha= =I just allow my tion the installation in the context of::: des miroirs.= of the mirrors.=

14 JEA 15 ELI

=of the carte blanche given to the plastic arts association, [mhm

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In this first fragment, two sequences are initiated, each introducing a new referent. First, while they are walking, Yan asks a question (line 1, Fig. 3.1) about the insects living in the garden and the gardener, Luc, answers (lines 2, 4, 6, 9), offering an announcement about future objects to be seen during the visit, which is responded to by two change-of-state tokens from both visitors (lines 7–8, 10). Second, Jean points to a new object (line 11)—a mirror lying in the middle of shrubs—refocusing the attention of the participants and then offering an explanation. These two actions, each introducing a new referent, are quite distinct: the first is a question uttered by a not-knowing participant, and addressed to the guide; the second is an explanation initiated by an expert. The first refers to a not-yet-visible object expected to be found in the garden, whereas the second points to an object in the environment. The first does not imply any focus on a specific detail in the environment, whereas the second points to a co-present object. I focus on the specificities of these two sets of practices in the next sections.

3.1 Introducing a New Referent While Walking Let’s focus on a more detailed transcription of the first sequence. The excerpt is reproduced below in a multimodal transcription. For this transcription, I have used the main camera view and synchronized it with the views filmed with the camera glasses. The multimodal transcript follows the conventions I have been developing during the last decade. It is organized along several lines for each distinct conduct, characterized by their distinct temporality. I have roughly distinguished between gestures (G), gaze and head positions (H), and body movements, especially walking (W). The separation of these conducts in specific lines is not an a priori decision, which would be related to an a priori schematization of the body, but an empirical decision made on the basis of what the participants’ conducts make distinctively relevant. For instance, these conducts have specific temporal features and trajectories, and are not isochronic (they have different temporalities and their beginnings, ends, and trajectories do not start and unfold at the same moments) although they are finely coordinated: so, for example, participants can do a gesture and look at each other while continuing

3  Practices for Showing, Looking, and Videorecording …     73

to walk or stopping in a way that is perfectly coordinated, though the beginnings and ends of these actions may not be synchronized. This first sequence is initiated by Yan; it deals with insects in general and targets the expertise of the gardener rather than a particular object to be seen. This is observable in the fact that in this first sequence the participants favor mutual gaze over a gaze towards the environment. Let’s first have a look at Yan’s question. Excerpt 3.1a (lines 1–4 of Excerpt 3.1) 1.12], d) meta-camera on the

camerawoman [01_26.32])

((the group is continuously walking forwards during this except)) ! 1 YAN |%et !les in sectes% alors? y en% a# [ plus [and the insects then, are there [more insects 2 LUC [ alors vous-] [well there you-] yaG !gesticulates and leans towards Luc----------------! yaH |looks at Luc------------> elH %turns to Yan----%turns to Luc--%looks at Luc------> luG luH --------------> fig #fig.3.2

figure 3.2a cam gl Elise

3 4

LUC yaH elH luG luH fig

figure 3.2b cam gl Yan

figure 3.2c global view

figure 3.2d meta view

[ce|tte] % |rs?% # [this] year then? [alors [well there] ->|looks in front|looks at Luc---> -->%looks away---%looks at Luc---> oints up forward--> --> looks at Yan---> #fig.3.3

figure 3.3a

figure 3.3b

figure 3.3c

74     L. Mondada

The group is walking along the path, entering the garden (Fig. 3.2). Just before the excerpt begins, they had stopped—the present sequence is initiated as they are moving forward again. The camerawoman begins to walk slowly backwards on the first words of the question, then walks and films without discontinuities during the sequence (see Sect. 3.3). Luc walks slightly ahead: When Yan initiates his question (line 1), looking, gesticulating, and leaning towards him, Luc looks back to him. In the meantime, Elise first turns to Yan, at the beginning of his turn, then immediately (as soon as insects are mentioned) turns to Luc, projecting that he is the recipient and expert answerer of Yan’s turn. So the very first words of the emerging question put the participants in movement; they promptly (re)configure the participation framework constituted by the questioner, the questioned, and a hearer. This participation framework is also implemented through the arrangement of the bodies, forming an interactional space (Mondada 2009) where Yan, Luc, and Elise are mutually turned to each other, while Jean remains external to the configuration they form (Fig. 3.2c). The format of Yan’s turn is constituted by two questions. The first begins with et (and )—although there is no previous action of this sort before—and is followed by a nominal phrase, les insectes (the insects ), and the particle alors (so ). This initial TCU has no verb, and just mentions the topic that will be the object of the next more extended question. This topic is treated as known-in-common or at least expected—by the et (and )-preface and by the definite article. After this first interrogative TCU, a second one is uttered, y en a plus (there are more, line 2), which is a new mention of the right dislocated referent and a temporal location, ending with the same particle (lines 1, 3). Luc’s bodily response is immediate: He turns to Yan on the first mention of insectes and begins the trajectory of a gesture as soon as the first TCU is completed; at the very beginning of the second, he begins to answer in overlap (line 2, continued in 4). These early responses confirm the expectable character of the question and the topic, as well as the entitlement and epistemic authority of Luc for the matter at hand (Heritage 2012; Mondada 2013). At the end of the second TCU (3), the three participants convergently orient to both the completion of Yan’s turn and the imminent answer by Luc, already sketched in overlap (lines 2, 4). Both Yan and Elise have shortly looked away while the question is emerging, and now

3  Practices for Showing, Looking, and Videorecording …     75

look back at Luc. Luc was also looking away, and now looks back at his recipient, Yan. He initiates a pointing gesture while uttering a pre-beginning in overlap (lines 2, 4), before re-starting his turn in the clear (line 6) after a short pause. Let’s look at his answer in the clear. Excerpt 3.1b (lines 5–10 of Excerpt 3.1) 5 6

LUC

7 8

ELI YAN luG luH yaH elH fig

9 10 YAN luG luH yaH fig

(0.3) vous al lez voir, % [(.)|vous allez you will see, [(.) you will e[ah hHH#

-

je vous| I have

]serve

-] -] -

--> --> looks forward----------------- turns to Yan-> |looks in front---------|looks Luc-> --->%looks away/at mirror---> #fig.3.4 une surp[|ri #se, a surprise for you, [|ahha= ----> looks away --> #fig.5

figure 3.4a

figure 3.4b

figure 3.5a

figure 3.5b

figure 3.4c

figure 3.5c

figure 3.4d

figure 3.5d

Luc’s response in the clear is formulated by using the future tense (futur proche), vous allez voir (you will see ): he projects a future phase of the visit—which was already projected by his gesture pointing up and forward in line 4, co-occuring with his gaze forward. He looks forward again at the end of this first TCU. Yan does the same, looking forward (Fig. 3.4b) and producing an extension of his question, in the form of an account (line 8). Elise looks away (Fig. 3.4a) while she produces a

76     L. Mondada

change-of-state token and some laughter (line 7). She focuses on an object she encounters in her visual trajectory (Fig. 3.5a). Thus, all participants orient to this as a first complete TCU. But Luc continues his response. In overlap with Yan, he initiates a new verbal construction in the future tense, and then abandons it, still in overlap. He turns briefly to Yan, and produces an announcement: je vous réserve une surprise (I have a surprise for you, lines 6–9). This announcement confirms the emergent pattern of his answer, which does not directly address the topic of the insects introduced by Yan but refers to an event, possibly related to it, to be seen later on in the visit. Luc postpones the treatment of the topic to a further moment and refuses to treat it in a purely verbal way, in absence of visual access to the referent. Yan responds with a change-of-state token (line 10). At this point, all participants look away and the interactional space of that sequence dissolves.

3.2 Introducing a Visible New Referent and Stopping Exactly as the previous sequence comes to a closure, Jean initiates a new one. He points to a mirror on the ground, representing an art installation, and introduces an explanation about it, j’me permets juste, (.) voilà:, c’est l’installation (I just allow myself, (.) there it is:, it’s the installation, line 11). The establishment of a new common focus of attention requires quite a lot of interactional work by the participants, who encounter and respond to particular practical problems. For Jean, the practical problem is raised by the fact that the group is moving forward along the footpath; Luc is ahead of the group, and they have already passed the object Jean points at in line 11. Moreover, Jean is walking on the right margins of the path, at a slight distance from the group, and slightly behind it. This mobile arrangement of the bodies is not favorable for showing and pointing to the object he introduces in this new sequence. And actually, Jean was already turning towards the mirror in line 6: Excerpt 3.1c (detail of line 6) 6

LUC jeH jeG

vous

allez voir, - je vous p[rise, ............ looks to his left--------> ........ raises Rhand---- lowers Rh

3  Practices for Showing, Looking, and Videorecording …     77

Excerpt 3.1d (lines 11–15 of Excerpt 3.1d) 11 JEA jeG elH luH yaH fig 12 jeG luH yaH fig

 | e| permets ju est| =I just allow myself, points on his left-----------------------------> >>looks at mirror-->

-> |...turns to Jea on his right--|pivots| fig. 3.6 fig. 3.7 : | tion  the installation in the context of::: ------> ,,,,, ---> -|turns to his left---->> fig. 3.8 fig. 3.9

figure 3.6a

figure 3.6b

figure 3.6c

figure 3.7a

figure 3.7b

figure 3.7c

figure 3.8a

figure 3.8b

figure 3.8c

figure 3.8d

figure 3.9a

figure 3.9b

figure 3.9c

figure 3.9d

78     L. Mondada 13 LUC luH 14 JEA 15 ELI fig

des miroirs.= of the mirrors.= -> --->> rte blan [ =of the carte blanche given to the plastic arts association, [mhm fig. 3.10

figure 3.10c

figure 3.10d

During Luc’s answer, Jean looks to his left (see Fig. 3.5c), towards Luc but also, continuing to the left, where there is a mirror on the ground. He raises his right hand, pointing to it, but promptly withdraws it. At this point, nobody is paying attention to him: Luc is still uttering the middle of his turn and Yan is looking at Luc. Only Elise, who is the last in the group, is looking towards the left (Figs. 3.4a and 3.5a)—and could ­constitute a possible recipient for Jean’s gesture. Consequently, Jean waits until Luc has completed his turn, and Yan’s and Elise’s change-of-state tokens have closed the previous sequence. Only then does he initiate his new sequence. Jean’s turn initiating the new sequence is formatted in a way that does not mention the referent straight away, but delays it, first by prefacing the action he is doing (which is not explicitly mentioned), second with a micro-pause, and third by using a deictic form that also works as a discourse marker and a presentative (voilà, line 11). Only then does he introduce a presentative construction mentioning the referent, c’est l’installation (it’s the installation, lines 11–12). While initiating his turn, Jean points again to the mirror (Fig. 3.6c). At this moment, as the participants walk in front of him and have already passed the object he is pointing to, his practical task consists of redirecting their attention to his action and onto the targeted object. While this is easy for Elise, who is already looking at the mirror (Fig. 3.6a)—and whose gaze has encountered this intriguing object already before (see above, line 7; Figs. 3.4a and 3.5a)—this requires more time for Yan and Luc, who are looking forward.

3  Practices for Showing, Looking, and Videorecording …     79

When Jean initiates the sequence, Yan first moves his gaze towards him (Figs. 3.6b and 3.7b), then he redirects it towards the place Jean is pointing to, moving fast over the trees (Fig. 3.8b) and finally arriving on the mirror (Fig. 3.9b). Thus, Yan is sensitive to Jean’s action and responds to it, first by looking at the speaker on his right and then by pivoting on his left and searching in the shrubs for the object Jean is pointing at (line 7). Luc looks at the mirror later on (line 11), before the referent is named. Thus, Jean’s action is adjusted to his main recipients and to their availability. Its turn format is timely fitted with the responsive reorientations of the recipients, in such a way that when the referent is finally mentioned (line 12), all participants are gazing at it (see Figs. 3.8c and 3.9c). During Jean’s turn, the participants’ bodies are progressively rearranged, constituting a new interactional space shaped by their positions and posture as well as by their new orientation towards the object. Luc’s participation in Jean’s turn, which he collaboratively completes (line 13) displays his epistemic stance: by naming the referent, he displays that he knows it; by looking immediately away, he displays that he is not the unknowing recipient of the explanation that follows. In this way, Luc skillfully both participates in and withdraws from the interactional space created by Jean (Fig. 3.10c).

3.3 Video-Recording the Initiation of a Sequence Establishing a New Focus of Joint Attention The transition from the first to the second sequence raises a practical problem for the camerawoman too. She is walking backwards, preceding the group moving forward, along a trajectory she has to anticipate (Figs. 3.4d and 3.5d). The mobile video recording of a mobile group requires constant adjustments to its movements, adapting to the rhythm and the pace of the participants’ steps but also to their possible stops. Moreover, it requires an identification of what the participants are ­looking at—taking into account their different visual orientations. Whereas Yan’s question is uttered while the group is moving forward, Jean’s turn stops the group and redirects the collective attention backwards. The camerawoman has been slowly but continuously walking back until this moment; at this point, she adjusts to Jean’s movement

80     L. Mondada

and action, when he establishes a new interactional space for a new focus of joint attention: Excerpt 3.1e (details of lines 11–14) 11 JEA fig cam 12 cam fig 13 LUC 14 JEA cam fig

 = =I just allow myself, (.) there it is:, fig. 3.11 1 step backwards--------------- dans c :: the installation in the context of::: 1 step backwards---------- 1 step backwards- 1 lat step left-> fig. 3.12 des miroirs.= of the mirrors.= =d arte blanche ciation ques, =of the carte blanche given to the plastic arts association, -> 1 lat step to left 1 lat step to left 1 step to the right-- fwd->> fig. 3.13 fig. 3.14

figure 3.11

figure 3.12

figure 3.13

figure 3.14

figure 3.11 cam

figure 3.12 cam

figure 3.13 cam

figure 3.14 cam

The camerawoman continues to walk back during lines 11 and 12; on the presentative construction, she makes a significant step backwards, which produces a wider frame (Figs. 3.11 and 3.12; see Fig. 3.6d supra ). With her lateral step to the left of the image (Fig. 3.13; see Figs. 3.6d and 3.7d supra ) she tries to access what has attracted the attention of the participants, although it is covered by Luc’s body, which occupies the middle of the image. Finally, her lateral step to the right allows the mirror to be seen, now on the right of Luc, behind him

3  Practices for Showing, Looking, and Videorecording …     81

(Fig. 3.14). The movement of the camera produces a better frame for documenting the bodily orientation and attention of the participants. Thus, the movements of the camerawoman exhibit her search for the right frame, which can include the object looked at and all of the participants. These movements show the practical solution she finds to solve a problem of depth of field, since Luc, who is the most visible participant in the foreground, is disengaged from the sequence initiated and developed by Jean, and is already focusing on the next object, the tree in front of him (see infra ). The analysis shows that the production of the video image is the product of an embodied practice of looking-with-a-camera that achieves the visibility (the visual accountability) of the event for the cameraperson. It also shows that this accountability is produced on the basis of a situated interpretation of the embodied conduct of the participants, responding moment by moment to the temporally emergent and sequential organization of their action. In this sense, the work of the cameraperson is deeply embedded within the emerging action of the participants; in turn, it makes this action visible for the analyst. Reflexively, it might also produce some accountability for the participants themselves, who might adjust and coordinate to the movements of the camera, producing an extra layer of public accountability of their own actions.

4 Preparing the Introduction of the Next New Visible Object When Jean is about to finish his explanation about the mirror, a new sequence is initiated by Luc, directing the attention of the visitors towards a tree. This new sequence is another instance of the introduction of a new visible referent; it is also another instance of the preparation for this introduction while the previous sequence is still occurring. Luc carefully adjusts to Jean’s sequence completion and prepares the next action:

82     L. Mondada

Excerpt 3.2 1

JEA

2

cam yaH elH luH JEA jeW luW luG fig

(

dans le jardin in the garden steps slowly back--> >>focused on the mirror--> >>focused on the mirror--> l.7 >>looks forward--> por*tes. and this --->*one step forward-----------* holds out R hand-> #fig. 3.13

figure 3.13a 3 jeW luG fig

) dans: in:

figure 3.13b

figure 3.13c

figure 3.13d

p li#cation des miroi rs. this is where the explanation for the mirrors comes from. ----------> --> touches a fruit--> #fig.14

figure 3.14a

figure 3.14b

figure3.14c figure 3.14d

3  Practices for Showing, Looking, and Videorecording …     83

4 5

6

YAN

(0.5) et p although,

yaH jeW luG LUC luG

-> --->

7 8

jeH yaH LUC luG yaH elH cam fig

looks forward--> --> # eh # SEe, eh we were talking about that a while ago. ----> -turns from mirror towards Luc--> -> #fig. 3.15 #fig. 3.16

figure 3.15a

figure 3.16a

figure 3.15b

figure3.15c figure 3.15d

figure 3.16b

figure3.16c figure 3.16d

9 luG

the saskatoon berries, -

10 yaH elH 11 YAN yaG luG fig 12 ELI

--> looks at the fruit-->> !touches the fruit-->> -->> #fig. 3.17 [ah/ ((continues))

figure 3.17a

figure 3.17b

figure3.17c figure 3.17d

84     L. Mondada

As Jean is about to finish his explanation, two participants project his imminent completion: first, the camerawoman, who is already beginning to walk slowly back on line 1; then Luc, who begins to walk forward soon afterwards (line 2; Figs. 3.13c and 3.13d). The camerawoman continues walking until the very beginning of Luc’s turn, which initiates a new sequence (line 8): Thus, she projects the prior sequence completion by walking back, and she responds to the next sequence initiation by stopping. In lines 1–3, Jean completes his explanation. His turn construction, uttered with an increasingly lower voice and closing intonation, provides several possible completion points: after the title of the art work (line 2), after the final particle voilà (line 2), and at the end of the increment (added line 3). The imminent completion is also bodily projected by him making a first step forward at the first possible pre-completion (on portes, line 2) and by Luc, who begins to walk even sooner, as Jean mentions the title. Leaving the static position focused on the previous object and walking towards the next constitutes an embodied way of achieving completions and transitions (Broth and Mondada 2013). Luc prepares the next step by extending his right hand and touching the fruit of a tree which is located next to him (Fig. 3.14c). But when Luc first touches the fruit, nobody is looking at him—as was also the case with Jean’s first gesture towards the mirror in the previous sequence (cf. supra ). The main recipients of the guided visit, Yan and Elise, are still bodily oriented towards Jean and towards the object he was explaining, the mirror (Figs. 3.13a and 3.13b, 3.14a and 3.14b). Interestingly, Luc retracts his hand (line 5) while Yan is still producing a sort of conclusion responding to the previous explanation (line 5). Luc deploys his arm again while taking an inbreath (line 6)—both movements work as projectors of a next turn (and initiators of the next sequence). During the pause that follows, Yan turns to Luc (line 7) (Fig. 3.15b). At that point, Luc points to the fruit and initiates a description of the next object, les amélanches (the saskatoon berries, lines 8–9). Elise turns to him too (Fig. 3.16a shows her gaze moving over the trees) as soon as he has uttered the turn-initial VOyez (see, line 8), working as an attention-getting device, and as he inserts a parenthetical remark about the fact that he has already spoken about these plants before (8). At the end

3  Practices for Showing, Looking, and Videorecording …     85

of it, Yan’s gaze has reached the fruit (Fig. 3.16b), while Elise’s gaze is still moving towards it (Fig. 3.16a). When Luc’s turn is responded to by the recipients displaying their change of state (ah produced by Yan and Elise in lines 11–12), Elise has reached the fruit (Fig. 3.17a), while Yan is still focused on it (Fig. 3.17b); he touches the fruit as he produces his ah. The response and the attention on the object are formatted in visual, vocal-verbal, and tactile ways. In sum, the construction of this turn initiating a new sequence and introducing a new visible object is finely coordinated with securing the attention of the main recipients and is adjusted to the delays of the (re-) establishment of joint attention. The camera adjusts to this global reconfiguration of the interactional space, too. The camerawoman, who was walking back as the previous sequence was coming to a close, stops and remains focused on the scene (Figs. 3.15d, 3.16d, 3.17d). This time, the action is taking place right in front of the camera, and the gestures of the participants pointing to and touching the object are directly accessible, visible in the middle of the camera frame. The camera just stays where it is.

5 A Failed Attempt to Introduce a New Object: Pointing and Assessing the Next Referent In Excerpt 3.1, Jean prepared the introduction of a new object while Luc was answering Yan’s question; in Excerpt 3.2, Luc prepared the introduction of the next object while Jean was finishing his explanation. In the next excerpt, as the group is still appreciating the berries introduced by Luc, Jean spots, prepares, and projects the treatment of the next visible object in the environment. The excerpt begins as Luc, Yan, and Elise are still engaged in an exchange about the fruit: Yan develops Elise’s allusion (lines 1–2) about the risks of eating wild fruit, followed by Elise commenting on that (lines 3–4). The sequence is brought to a possible completion by Luc’s and Yan’s terminal assessments (5, 6), exhibiting their shared evaluation of the fruit they are tasting.

86     L. Mondada

In parallel (for an analysis of multiple parallel extended sequentialities unfolding at the same time, see Mondada 2012a), Jean begins to move (Fig. 3.19c) and walk forward (line 3), across the interactional space constituted by Yan, Elise, and Luc. From this point on, he initiates a new series of projections, looking at a flower on the ground, while the others further expand the extended sequence about the fruit plant. Excerpt 3.3 1

YAN yaH elH luH

2 3

luG ELI jeW cam fig

[oh but I will no:t, >>looking at Luc--> >>looking at Luc--> >>looking at YAN and ELI---> # -[.h # [.hh]HH vous êtes que [.h [.hh]HH you are only forward---> steps back->> #fig. 3.18

figure 3.18a

figure 3.18b

figure 3.18c

4 two who it that.

[okay?

5

LUC

#BON/]|% -->|looks at the fruits--> |looks at the fruits--> #fig. 3.19

6

yaH elH fig YAN

3  Practices for Showing, Looking, and Videorecording …     87

figure 3.19a

figure 3.19b

figure 3.19c

7 8

yel luH JEA

...walk forward-----> fi:#que,

jeW jeG fig

touches the flower-->> #fig. 3.20

figure 3.20a

9

---> (.)

figure 3.20b

((0.5) yel elG luH fig

figure 3.20c

+(1.2 ) # -

--

figure 3.21a

10 YAN >

+takes a fruit----->> -->> #fig. 3.21

figure 3.21b

figure 3.21c

ès bon,< ry good,<

As Elise and Luc are engaged in tasting the fruit, both visitors ironically express a concern that they could become ill because of the fruit; both then orient to Luc as an expert (lines 1–4) and look at him (Figs. 3.18 and 3.19).

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Luc produces a positive assessment (line 5), responded to by Yan with an upgraded one (line 6). At this point, a possible sequence completion is observable: The group actually steps forward and Luc looks in front of him. This is the moment at which Jean proffers a positive assessment (line 8) that begins and terminates with a dislocated pronoun, ça (this ), which is not referring to the amélanche but to the new plant he has found on his way: He stops and touches that flower. Jean’s assessment can be heard as a self-addressed turn, as him speaking aloud toward the beauty of nature; it can also be heard as a noticing that is publicly shared with the co-participants and that in fact initiates a new sequence, introducing a new focus of attention. But nobody responds to Jean. Luc probably not only hears his positive assessment, but also sees him looking at the flower (Fig. 3.20): He is bodily oriented to the closing of the previous sequence and to the progression of the visit. But during the pause following Jean’s assessment (line 9), instead of responding, Luc turns back to Yan and Elise. He reorients to them, seeing them still engaged with the previous object: After the assessment sequence (lines 5–6), both Yan and Elise are still looking at the fruit (Figs. 3.20 and 3.21). Thus, even if the assessment sequence is complete, the episode dedicated to the amélanche is not closed. Luc is confronted to two possible sequential trajectories, one to expand the previous sequence introduced by him, the other to align with the new one introduced by Jean, and he favors the former over the latter. While Elise is not only looking, but also grasping more fruit (Fig. 3.21a), Yan proffers a new assessment (line 10). Thus, Jean’s possible initiation of a new sequence dedicated to an alternative plant does not succeed here—nonetheless he continues to stay close to the flower and to touch it. Thus, the permanence of his position in space and his tactile relation to the object postpone and project later possible referential treatments of that object. Interestingly, the participant who responds to Jean’s action is the camera operator: She steps back slowly but continuously during this fragment, adjusting to Jean’s walk forward (in Fig. 3.18d the camera is still immobile; in Figs. 3.19d and 3.20d she continues to step back).

3  Practices for Showing, Looking, and Videorecording …     89

figure 3.18d

figure 3.19d

figure 3.20d

6 A Further Attempt to Introduce a New Object During the continuation of the exchange between Luc, Yan, and Elise, Jean remains at some distance from the group, close to the flower he has spotted. He closely monitors Luc’s turn—exhibiting not only a listening posture, but also a posture of possible incipient next speaker projecting the closure of Luc’s extended sequence. At this point, nobody has responded to his assessment of the flower nor paid attention to it. But Jean’s repositionings are carefully organized in such a way that the participants cannot walk further without stopping at it. This is clearly visible at the next possible turn and sequence completion, when Luc finishes his explanation and initiates closing by walking away:

90     L. Mondada

Excerpt 3.4 1

LUC

2

luW jeH yaH elH ELI

3

JEA jeH luH yaH elH cam fig

les feuilles sont rouges et jaunes. (0. * the leaves are red and yellow. (0.2) already. *walks-> >>looks in front of him--------------------- at flower-> >>looks at the tree--> >>looks at the tree--> [ mais [ç a,# comment %# [but [this, how it is called? -> points at the flower--> l.9 turns from the flower to luc--> |looks flower-> %looks---> Rleg does 1 step fwd---> #fig.3.22 #fig.3.23 #fig.3.24

figure 3.22a

figure 3.22b

figure 3.22c

figure 3.23a

figure 3.23b

figure 3.23c

3  Practices for Showing, Looking, and Videorecording …     91

figure 3.24a

figure 3.24b

figure 3.25a

figure 3.25b

4

figure 3.24c

figure 3.25c

# aga[in

5

fig LUC

#fig.25 [de* la *monnaie du

pape. #

->*stops* cam fig

--> Rleg back #fig. 3.26

figure 3.26a

6

JEA

7

LUC

8 9

YAN

figure 3.26b

[ty? . [RIght. (0.4)

jeG 10 11 ELI

-> (0.5) mm.

figure 3.26c

92     L. Mondada

The closing of the last extended sequence is achieved by Luc’s turn, talking about the leaves of the trees, which have already turned red and yellow, like in the autumn: les feuilles sont rouges et jaunes. (the leaves are red and yellow.) (line 1). His turn is syntactically complete, uttered with final intonation; it is further expanded and completed by an increment, also with falling intonation, déjà. (already.) (line 1). Furthermore, the completion is also exhibited by the fact that Luc moves while producing the increment, walking away. On the one hand, this completion is essentially ignored by Elise (line 2), who produces a new assessment while picking up more fruit. On the other hand, this multimodal completion is oriented to by Jean (line 3), who in overlap with Elise chooses this sequential slot to point at the flower he assessed a while before (see the previous excerpt). In his previous attempt, he had produced a positive assessment, projecting an upgrade. Here, he chooses another action format, even more strongly projecting a response: he initiates a first pair part, a question, addressed to Luc (line 3). As a consequence, his turn no longer expresses a subjective aesthetic judgment but rather a lower epistemic stance recognizing Luc’s expertise. The way in which his action is multimodally designed, ça, comment ça s’appelle déjà? (this, how is it called, again?, lines 3–4), with a pointing gesture and a deictic reference in turn-initial position, as well as the sequential slot in which it is inserted, create a new focus of joint attention, further secured by the projection of a second pair part. During Jean’s turn, all the co-participants progressively orient to the object he is pointing at. Luc looks immediately at the pointed at flower (end of 1). Yan and Elise are still looking at the tree (Figs. 3.22 and 3.23). Yan lowers his gaze first (Fig. 3.24); at the end of Jean’s turn both Yan and Elise look at him (Fig. 3.25). Thus, the temporal emergence of Jean’s turn is finely coordinated to Yan’s and Elise’s gaze—turn format and gaze reflexively adjust one to another. Luc gives the requested name of the flower (line 5): At the end of his response all look at the referent (Fig. 3.26). The movement of the camera operator is here minimal, but significant: She does a step forward (line 3) when Jean asks his question,

3  Practices for Showing, Looking, and Videorecording …     93

pointing at the flower—thus orienting to a new focus of attention—and she does a step back towards the end of the second pair part (line 5)— thus orienting to possible sequence closing. Again, a new interactional space is created around the pointed-at object—including the movements of the camera operator. The sequence is further expanded: The name of the flower is repeated by Jean (line 6), and confirmed by Luc (line 7). An assessment (line 9) is produced by Yan and responded to by Elise (line 11).

7 A New Question Initiating the Next Sequence In the previous excerpt, Jean succeeds in creating a new common focus of attention, on an object which has been introduced early on by him without being oriented to by the other co-participants, and for which he has carefully monitored the sequential unfolding of the conversation, and the bodily and attentional orientations as well as the walk of the co-participants. As is observable in the next excerpt, which continues after the previous one, once a joint attention on the flower has been achieved, Jean leaves the new interactional space he has created, walks away, and orients to the next object. The other participants remain focused on the flower: Luc makes a joke about its name3 (line 12), generating a general laughter (lines 13–15); while laughing, Yan and Elise focus even deeper on the plant, touching it (line 15). In this fragment, I focus on the way in which Jean achieves the transition to the next object, an empty frame in the middle of the garden built by Luc (lines 16–17).

3In

French, the name of the flower is monnaie du pape, literally, pope’s money. The joke refers to the laicity of public schools in France and builds a contradiction around the presence of the flower on the campus.

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Excerpt 3.5 (continues Excerpt 3.4) 10

(0.5)

jeW 11 ELI 12 LUC

[mm.

13 14 15 16

elH ELI YAN LUC JEA

---> que% hei permettre [in a secular school right, you can do whatever you like %gazes at Luc--> HE HE HE [he he HH [hi [attends luc # [wait a minute luc -->%looks at flower--->

[HU HU HU HU HI HI HIN% hi

elH elW yaW jeH fig

approaches the flower-> leans over-> looks at frame->> fig. 3.27#

figure 3.27a 17

tu % elH elW jeW luW luH fig

figure 3.27b *

%

figure 3.27c %

un miroir? #

quoi.

--->!touches flower-> ->%switches to frame--%looks towards frame/Jean------->> ---> moves to frame-->> -- stops in fr of the frame and looks around-> ->*walks forward--> ->> #3.fig.28

figure 3.28a

figure 3.28b

figure 3.28c

3  Practices for Showing, Looking, and Videorecording …     95

18

(.)

19 LUC yaW 20 YAN yaH fig

[une ( ) [a ( ) [eh ben, [well, --> |> eau:,> #fig. 3.29

figure 3.29a

figure 3.29b

21 JEA

itre,<

jeW 22 LUC

-quan*d on regarde dedans, when one looks through, ->*leans in front of the frame-->> .*8) -->> ->*stands in front of the frame-->>

luW 23 yaW luW 24 JEA yaW

--

figure 3.29c

-->>

-->>

As the group is still engaged with the monnaie du pape, Jean walks away as a possible sequence closure, while Elise is responding to Yan’s assessment (lines 10–11). The sequence is further expanded by Luc with a joke (line 12), which generates abundant laughter (lines 13–15). During the laughter, two foci of attention are observable in the group (Fig. 3.27): On the one hand, Elise approaches and looks at the flower, as does Yan who leans over it, looks at it, and touches it (lines 16–17; see Fig. 3.28c in the background). These participants remain focused on the object and even inspect it more intensively. On the other hand, as he walks away, Jean notices an empty frame in the middle of the garden—first seeing it, then addressing a summons and a question to Luc (lines 16–17; see Fig. 3.28c in the foreground).

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Jean’s summons and the format of his question—expressing his surprise in a rather personal way, tu m’as fait quoi là? (literally what have you done to me?, line 17), seems to be heard and oriented to by Elise, who very quickly moves her gaze from the plant to the frame (Fig. 3.28a)—while Yan remains focused on the flower (Fig. 3.28b). Luc, the explicit addressee of the question, is walking forward but looks at Jean/the frame only at the end of Jean’s turn—which is indeed expanded, both by the proposal of a candidate answer and then by a new open question, as his turn does not get an immediate response. Luc’s answer begins with eh ben (line 19), projecting more to come. But before he continues, Jean utters a new guess, preceded by a changeof-state token, ah > c’est une vitre,  action described continues across subsequent lines *— ≫ action described continues until and after excerpt’s end —>* action described continues until the same symbol is reached ≫– action described begins before the excerpt’s beginning .... action’s preparation ,,,,, action’s retraction fig figure; screen shot # indicates the exact moment at which the screen shot was recorded cam indicates camera movements The participant doing the embodied action is identified in small characters according to the following symbols:

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References Aanestad, Margunn. 2003. The camera as an actor: Design-in-use of telemedicine infrastructure in surgery. Journal of Computer-Supported Collaborative Work 12 (1): 1–20. Birkner, Karin, and Anja Stukenbrock. 2010. Multimodale Ressourcen für Stadtführungen. In Deutschland als fremde Kultur: Vermittlungsverfahren in Touristenführungen, ed. Marcella Costa and Bernd Müller-Jacquier, 214– 243. München: Judicium. Broth, Mathias. 2009. Seeing through screens, hearing through speakers: Managing distant studio space in TV-control room interaction. Journal of Pragmatics 41 (10): 1998–2016. Broth, Mathias, and Fredrik Lündström. 2012. A walk on the pier: Establishing relevant places in mobile instruction. In Mobility and interaction, ed. Pentti Haddington, Lorenza Mondada, and Maurice Nevile, 91–122. Berlin: De Gruyter. Broth, Mathias, and Lorenza Mondada. 2013. Walking away: The embodied achievement of activity closings in mobile interactions. Journal of Pragmatics 47 (1): 41–58. Broth, Mathias, Eric Laurier, and Lorenza Mondada (eds.). 2014. Studies of video practices: Video at work. London: Routledge. De Stefani, Elwys. 2010. Reference as an interactively and multimodally accomplished practice: Organizing spatial reorientation in guided tours. In Spoken communication, ed. Massimo Pettorino, Antonella Giannini, Isabella Chiari, and Francesca M. Dovetto, 137–170. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars. Garfinkel, Harold. 1967. Studies in ethnomethodology. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall. Goodwin, Charles. 1979. The interactive construction of a sentence in natural conversation. In Everyday language: Studies in ethnomethodology, ed. George Psathas, 97–121. New York: Irvington Publishers. Goodwin, Charles. 1981. Conversational organization: Interaction between speakers and hearers. New York: Academic Press. Goodwin, Charles. 1994. Professional vision. American Anthropologist 96 (3): 606–633. Goodwin, Charles. 1999. Practices of color classification. Mind, Culture and Activity 7 (1–2): 62–82.

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Hartswood, Mark, Rob Procter, Mark Rouncefield, and Roger Slack. 2002. Performance management in breast screening: A case study of professional vision. Cognition, Technology & Work 4 (2): 91–100. Heath, Christian. 1986. Body movement and speech in medical interaction. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Heath, Christian, and Paul Luff. 1993. Disembodied conduct: Interactional asymmetries in video-mediated communication. In Technology in working order: Studies of work, interaction and technology, ed. Graham Button, 35–54. London: Routledge. Heath, Christian, and Paul Luff. 2000. Technology in action. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Heath, Christian, Paul Luff, Dirk vom Lehn, and Jon Hindmarsh. 2002. Crafting participation: Designing ecologies, configuring experience. Visual Communication 1 (1): 9–34. Heath, Christian, Jon Hindmarsh, and Paul Luff. 2010. Video in qualitative research. London: Sage. Heritage, John. 2012. Epistemics in action. Research on Language and Social Interaction 45 (1): 1–25. Hindmarsh, Jon, and Christian Heath. 2000. Embodied reference: A study of deixis in workplace interaction. Journal of Pragmatics 32: 1855–1878. Hirschauer, Stefan. 1991. The manufacture of bodies in surgery. Social Studies of Science 21 (2): 279–319. Jefferson, Gail. 2004. Glossary of transcript symbols with an introduction. In Conversation analysis: Studies from the first generation, ed. Gene H. Lerner, 13–31. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Kidwell, Mardi. 2005. Gaze as social control: How very young children differentiate ‘the look’ from a ‘mere look’ by their adult caregivers. Research on Language and Social Interaction 38 (4): 417–449. Koschmann, Timothy, Curtis LeBaron, Charles Goodwin, and Paul Feltovich. 2011. “Can you see the cystic artery yet?”: A simple matter of trust. Journal of Pragmatics 43 (2): 521–541. Lindwall, Oskar, and Gustav Lymer. 2014. Inquiries of the body: Novice questions and the instructable observability of endodontic scenes. Discourse Studies 16 (2): 271–294. Macbeth, Douglas. 1999. Glances, trances, and their relevance for a visual sociology. In Media studies: Ethnomethodological approaches, ed. Paul L. Jalbert, 135–170. Lanham: UPA.

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Mondada, Lorenza. 2003. Working with video: How surgeons produce video records of their actions. Visual Studies 18 (1): 58–73. Mondada, Lorenza. 2005. La constitution de l’origo déictique comme travail interactionnel des participants: Une approche praxéologique de la spatialité. Intellectica 2–3 (41–42): 75–100. Mondada, Lorenza. 2006. Video recording as the reflexive preservation of fundamental features for analysis. In Video analysis, ed. Hubert Knoblauch, Jürgen Raab, Hand-Georg Soeffner, and Bernt Schnettler, 51–68. Bern: Lang. Mondada, Lorenza. 2007. Operating together through videoconference: Members’ procedures for accomplishing a common space of action. In Orders of ordinary action: Respecifying sociological knowledge, ed. Stephen Hester and David Francis, 51–67. Aldershot: Ashgate. Mondada, Lorenza. 2009. Emergent focused interactions in public places: A systematic analysis of the multimodal achievement of a common interactional space. Journal of Pragmatics 41 (10): 1977–1997. Mondada, Lorenza. 2012a. Garden lessons: Embodied action and joint attention in extended sequences. In Interaction and everyday life: Phenomenological and ethnomethodological essays in honor of George Psathas, ed. Hisashi Nasu and Frances Chaput Waksler, 293–311. Lanham: Lexington Books. Mondada, Lorenza. 2012b. The establishment of a common focus of attention: Issues for participants, camera(wo)men and analysts. In Work, interaction and technology: A Festschrift for Christian Heath, ed. Paul Luff, Jon Hindmarsh, Dirk vom Lehn, and Bernt Schnettler, 43–56. London: King’s College. Mondada, Lorenza. 2012c. Organisation multimodale de la parole-en-interaction: Pratiques incarnées d’introduction des référents. Langue Française 175: 129–147. Mondada, Lorenza. 2012d. The conversation analytic approach to data collection. In The handbook of conversation analysis, ed. Jack Sidnell and Tanya Stivers, 32–56. London: Blackwell-Wiley. Mondada, Lorenza. 2013. Displaying, contesting, and negotiating epistemic authorities in social interaction. Discourse Studies 15 (5): 597–626. Mondada, Lorenza. 2014a. The local constitution of multimodal resources for social interaction. Journal of Pragmatics 65: 137–156.

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Part II Objects in Space

4 Inspecting Objects: Visibility Manoeuvres in Laparoscopic Surgery Jeff Bezemer, Ged Murtagh and Alexandra Cope

1 Introduction The successful accomplishment of a surgical procedure is contingent on visual access to the body parts on which the surgeons operate. Concern for visibility is evident in many of the practices surgeons employ, ranging from changing their positions and posture at the operating table to mobilising, cleaning up, and inspecting structures inside the patient’s body. In this chapter we examine episodes where surgeons inspect areas of interest prior to making invasive manoeuvres that could damage vital J. Bezemer (*)  University College London, London, UK e-mail: [email protected] G. Murtagh  Imperial College London, London, UK e-mail: [email protected] A. Cope  University of Oxford, Oxford, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 E. Reber and C. Gerhardt (eds.), Embodied Activities in Face-to-face and Mediated Settings, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-97325-8_4

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structures in the patient’s body. The aim of the chapter is to explore how these inspections are socially organized and practically accomplished by the surgeons. The chapter approaches ‘seeing’ as an embodied activity. It takes as its starting point the notion of ‘co-operative action’ (Goodwin 2018), and builds on prior video-based studies on seeing in surgery (e.g. Koschmann et al. 2011; Koschmann and Zemel 2011; Mondada 2003, 2014; Cope et al. 2015). Much of this work has explored the ways in which members of a profession identify objects in the material environment, typically using pointing gestures, and classify them as instances of more general, named categories that make up their ‘professional vision’ (Goodwin 2018). The fragments we present come from video recordings of surgical operations in a teaching hospital, and illustrate this type of classificatory work: they feature surgeons who come to jointly see, name, and discuss objects inside the patient that are well described in the surgical-anatomical literature, yet that need to be newly recognized in each and every case ‘for another next first time’ (Garfinkel 1996). The distinct contribution we aim to make in this chapter is to draw attention to a significant ‘seen but unnoticed’ (Garfinkel 1964), and hitherto undocumented, feature of surgical work, namely the use of ‘visibility manoeuvres’ designed to inspect objects that are treated as potential targets for invasive action. Drawing on a collection of video clips featuring different surgical teams, we show that these manoeuvres are ‘transitive gestures’ in that they are operations on a material environment that are treated by surgeons as meaningful signs, rendering visible and/or characterising areas of interest in the operative field and demonstrating a concern with and method of dealing with a widely publicised surgical safety issue. In so doing we show how surgeons’ embodied orientation to objects and their ‘technical’ micro-operations can be systematically documented and accounted for in social-semiotic terms. The chapter continues with contextualization of the study in terms of the conditions for ‘seeing’ in the laparoscopic surgical environment; conceptualisation of gesture; and data, transcription, and analysis. Following that we present nine fragments from our video corpus, illustrating visibility manoeuvres (e.g. splitting, stretching, flipping, tracing) used to demonstrate specific features of anatomical objects targeted for

4  Inspecting Objects: Visibility Manoeuvres in Laparoscopic Surgery     109

invasive action. In the discussion we explore how the visibility manoeuvres convey meaning in relation to surrounding talk in the fragments. We conclude with reflections on the significance of the gestures in terms of patient safety.

2 Seeing in Laparoscopic Surgery Seeing in surgery has traditionally been characterised by the ­‘huddle’ (Kendon 1990), with parties to an activity organizing themselves to establish a shared visual focus of attention (see Fig. 4.1a). In this arrangement, members’ proximity to the operating table, and more specifically to the ‘operative field’ (an isolated area on the patient’s body) is the main factor affecting their view. Given that space around the operating table is limited, this arrangement produces a degree of visual inequality and a set of practices to manage this. In this traditional huddle, a consultant, for example, may momentarily step aside to allow trainees to get a better view of the areas they are working on. Laparoscopy has changed surgeons’ visual access to the operative field. Instead of seeing areas directly, in laparoscopic (‘keyhole’, ‘minimally invasive’) surgery surgeons’ view is mediated by the laparoscopic camera and monitors (see Fig. 4.1b). This comes with visual gains (e.g. magnification) and losses (e.g. depth perception), and gives rise to new practices of seeing (e.g. camera control and its coordination with

Fig. 4.1  Open procedure (a) and laparoscopic procedure (b)

110     J. Bezemer et al.

the operation; see Mondada 2014; Emmerton-Coughlin et al. 2017). Crucially, the surgeons’ bodily orientation shifts, as a video camera is used to obtain a view of the working space which is projected onto one or more video screens around the operating table. This arrangement creates a distributed yet shared point of reference for anyone participating: there is no need to be physically close to the patient to get a good view of the procedure (indeed a live feed of the laparoscope can give access from anywhere in the world). This arrangement makes the surgeon’s work on the patient publicly visible and available for scrutiny and interpretation by anyone in the operating theatre with access to a monitor, of which there are now often several, as Fig. 4.1b illustrates. Thus, laparoscopy optimizes the possibilities for mutual monitoring (Goffman 1963) and puts operating surgeons on a ‘stage’, from where there is little possibility for hiding from those co-present, making surgeon’s ‘technical’ actions on the patient also social actions. The procedure we focus on in this chapter is to remove the gallbladder, a pear-shaped sac of bile that sits under the liver (see Fig. 4.2). Before the gallbladder can be removed, two structures need to be identified, clipped, and cut: the cystic duct and the cystic artery (see Miranda 2016 for a very helpful diagram). In most patients, these structures are not visible when lifting the liver up as they are surrounded by fibrous and fatty tissue (Fig. 4.3a). Only when this tissue is carefully removed do they become visible (Fig. 4.3b). Thus visibility and certainty about the location of structures increases as dissection progresses (Hirschauer 1991; Prentice 2012). Dissection of the structures can take anywhere between several minutes to several hours. The completion of the dissection is a matter of clinical judgement. Soon after the introduction of laparoscopic cholecystectomy in the 1990s, reports were published showing a notable increase in cases where the cystic structures were misidentified, leading to injury of the common bile duct, which is considered a serious complication. Atul Gawande, an American surgeon-writer, puts it as follows: Removing the gallbladder is fairly straightforward. … There’s one looming danger, though: the stalk of the gallbladder is a branch off the liver’s only conduit for sending bile to the intestines for the digestion of fats.

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Fig. 4.2  The gallbladder

And if you accidentally injure this main bile duct, the bile backs up and starts to destroy the liver. Between 10 and 20 percent of the patients to whom this happens will die. Those who survive often have permanent liver damage and can go on to require liver transplantation. […] It is a true surgical error, and, like any surgical team doing a lap chole, we were intent on avoiding this mistake. (Gawande 2002: 71)

One of the responses to the occurrence of misidentification has been the explication and teaching of identification ‘methods’. One surgical textbook describes these methods as follows.

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Fig. 4.3  Cystic structures within ‘Calot’s triangle’ before (a) and after (b) dissection

The cystic duct and artery must be carefully dissected and identified in the triangle of Calot to obtain the critical view. This critical view is achieved when the surgeon can see only two structures (the cystic duct and artery) entering directly into the gallbladder […]; it must be obtained before any structures are clipped or transected. (Sherwinter n.d.)

In another recent surgical publication, the ‘Critical View of Safety’ (CVS) is more broadly defined as ‘demonstrating’ that: (1) the lower part of the gallbladder is detached from the liver; (2) only two structures are attached to the gallbladder; and (3) these structures are freed from fatty and fibrous tissue (Strasberg and Brunt 2017). Gawande (2002), reflecting on a case he was involved in as a trainee, provides the following account: Then, to be absolutely sure we were looking at the gallbladder duct and not the main bile duct, I stripped away some more of the surrounding tissue. The attending and I stopped at this point, as we always do, and discussed the anatomy. The neck of the gallbladder led straight into the tube we were eying. So it had to be the right duct. We had exposed a good length of it without a sign of the main bile duct. Everything looked perfect, we agreed. “Go for it,” the attending said. (p. 72)

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It is this moment of inspection, prior to dividing the cystic structures, that we explore in detail in this chapter.

3 Gesture: A Semiotic Take on Surgical Manoeuvres As well as by talk, as Gawande suggests, the inspection is characterised by distinct, non-invasive manoeuvres. We treat these manoeuvres as gestures, semiotically defined as signs in which the ‘signified’ (a ‘meaning’) and the ‘signifier’ (a material ‘form’) have been brought together. Thus, we use the terms ‘manoeuvre’ or ‘operation’ to refer to the ‘form’ of a surgeon’s operation on the patient’s body, and we use the term ‘gesture’ to refer to the ‘meaning potential’ of these operations. The gesturer’s choice of form is motivated, not arbitrary: What that means is that the form is, in some of its aspects (characteristics, features) taken by the maker of the sign as being ‘apt’ to serve as the means of expressing the meaning at issue. In a … laparoscopic operation, the surgeon makes a relatively restricted back and forth sideways movement with an instrument three times in quick succession. This gesture (the short back and forth movement with a ‘grasper’) ‘means differently’ to, say, a more extended movement, made more slowly, and made only once or twice. That is, the characteristics of this gesture are an apt means for what the surgeon wishes to communicate to his audience, namely ‘a lack of obstruction’. (Bezemer and Kress 2016: 9)

Members of a surgical team often rely on the possibility that their visible bodily conduct is closely monitored by other members of the team. This enables the team members to coordinate their actions. Mondada (2011) provides an example of a surgeon holding an instrument that he uses to coagulate, and an assistant who operates the foot pedal that activates the coagulation. Her analysis shows that the assistant takes the surgeon approaching the tissue as a sign to activate the diathermy. The surgeon only used speech (“no co-ag ”) when he did not want

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the assistant to activate the diathermy as he was approaching tissue. Otherwise, he was expecting the assistant to treat his approaches as a request to activate the diathermy. This example defies the distinction often made between actions performed ‘for the purposes of expression’ and those made ‘in the service of some practical aim’ Kendon (2004: 15): the surgeon’s ‘approach’ has the dual function of positioning the instrument and requesting activation of the diathermy. The gestures we describe in this chapter are distinct in a number of ways. First, they are not part of a ‘speech event’ (Hymes 1962), but of what Goffman called a ‘coordinated task activity’ (1983), i.e. an activity that is organized around a practical task. In this type of activity, talk is intermittent, while gesture, as defined above, is almost continuous. Second, the gestures are operations on a material environment: they are ‘transitive’ gestures. These operations have physical and social effects; the act of manipulation and the outcome of that manipulation is monitored, evaluated, and interpreted. Third, we focus on operations made inside an enclosed space—the patient’s abdomen—using long, thin instruments that are controlled from outside that space. The instruments serve as prosthetic extensions of the surgeon’s body, mediating between two loci of action: the instrument handle (outside the patient’s body) and the tip of the instrument (inside the patient’s body). Laparoscopic surgeons, while operating on a patient, cannot touch the parts they are operating on directly with their bare hands. This means that the gestures used are different from the gestures commonly used in conversations (cf. Kendon 2004; Streeck 2008). We explore the gestures in context. First, we attend to the semiotic relations between the operating surgeon’s gestures and co-occurring talk. Goodwin notes that signs can be joined together to “create a whole that is both greater than and different from any of its constituent parts” (Goodwin 2000: 2). This is what Bezemer and Kress (2016) describe as ‘sign complexes’, that is, “a complex of coherent elements within coherent textual entities” (Bezemer and Kress 2016: 23). Second, we attend to the relations between ‘sign complexes’ produced at different points in time. This includes an interest in the ways in which a succession of sign complexes can project a range of likely next moves, such as the

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division of the cystic structures. Thus, we consider what gestures that are characteristic of surgeons’ inspections of objects mean in the context of preceding and co-occurring signs.

4 Materials and Methods The study was conducted as part of a much larger study into surgery and surgical education at a major London teaching hospital. Within this larger study, audio and video data were captured with wireless microphones worn by at least one of the surgeons in each operation and with the laparoscopic camera used to capture the intra-­corporeal instrument movements. All staff in the operating theatre and all patients involved gave informed consent. Participants were informed that the study was examining pedagogical practices in the operating theatre to provide insights that may be helpful to improve surgical training. Ethical approval was granted by the UK National Health Service Research Ethics Committee (Reference number 10/H0712/1). The data presented derive from video recordings of 11 gallbladder operations. Each operation lasted between 20 min and 1hr 30 min (timing from the point that the laparoscope is inserted into the body cavity until the point it is taken out again). Total operating time across all 11 operations was 9hr 38 min, with an average operating time of 52 min. The surgical teams involved four different consultants (specialists, or, in U.S. terms, attendings); five specialty trainees (also called registrars, or, in U.S. terms, residents), ranging from ‘ST3’ to ‘ST6’, i.e. trainees who are in their third and sixth year of specialist training, respectively; one ‘associate specialist’ and one ‘staff grade’ (i.e. a non-training grade doctor); and a number of core trainees (i.e. junior surgeons on surgical rotations). In some cases, it was the consultant who operated, controlling the (metaphorical) scalpel, with assistance from one or more trainees, who controlled the laparoscopic camera and held a retractor in place to access the gallbladder. In other cases, it was the trainee who operated, with the consultant acting as camera person and/ or supervisor.

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All recordings were reviewed in order to produce first-pass transcripts of the spoken interaction; these transcripts were produced and reviewed by the authors, including one surgeon. We then proceeded with detailed transcription and examination of the transition from dissecting to dividing the cystic structures. This transition is marked by a distinct set of operations or manipulations on the patient’s body. Unlike the type of operations performed before and after the inspection, these operations are non-invasive: they do not permanently change the patient. We described and compared these operations, first in isolation, and then in relation to their surrounding operations and talk. For prior analysis of the data, see Cope et al. (2015) and Bezemer et al. (2016). Some notes on the transcripts we present are in order. First, they include descriptions of operations by the operating surgeon, relating to operations performed with their active hand; the other hand is normally in a more stable position as it is used to pull the gallbladder up. Stills are included to draw attention to selected features of operations at particular moments. These stills are sometimes fragments of the laparoscopic camera view; that is, they do not always show the whole picture that was available to the surgeons. Audio was transcribed in order to detail selected features of the talk, using the following conventions: Cons Consultant surgeon STx Surgical trainee (with x indicating year of specialty training) SN Scrub nurse (.) A full stop in brackets indicates a micro pause (1.0), (0.5) Silence in seconds and tenths of seconds . Falling, or final intonation contour ? Rising intonation , Continuing intonation

The transcripts are broken down into numbered segments. Co-occurring speech and operations appear in the same numbered segment. For ease of reference we call these segments ‘lines’, even though they may include multiple lines. Selected video fragments discussed in this chapter can be found at jeffbezemer.wordpress.com/video-clips.

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5 Visibility Manoeuvres for Demonstrating a Window Figure 4.4 presents a plate of stills from three different cases, representing ways in which the surgeons use their instruments to demonstrate an opening or ‘window’ framed by structures on either side. In Fig. 4.4a, the surgeon’s grasper has visibly come through an opening; his repeated ‘splitting’ of the grasper demonstrates the extent of the opening. In 4.4b, the surgeon has flipped the gallbladder over, and the tip of his closed grasper now visibly protrudes, thus demonstrating the opening. In 4.4c, the surgeon has used his instrument to push the gallbladder up; this renders visible the window between the cystic duct and cystic artery, as well as the opening between the liver and the bottom part of the gallbladder. Note that in 4.4a it is the movement that demonstrates an opening; in 4.4b, c, the instrument is held in a fixed position to demonstrate an opening. All demonstrations documented here are preceded and followed by invasive operations: they mark a transition from dissecting to dividing the structures being inspected. Fragments 4.1–4.3 illustrate some of the different contexts within which these demonstrations were observed. In Fragment 4.1, dissecting manoeuvres transition into visibility manoeuvres almost unnoticeably. In lines 1–2 the surgeon creates an opening by prodding in a thin layer of tissue with his instrument closed. When the tissue has separated, he starts widening the opening by opening the grasper out, as if making a split. Then, just seconds into

Fig. 4.4  Demonstrations of windows

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Fragment 4.1  Open the clips

the operation itself, he requests that the clip applicator be unpacked, thus signalling that he is planning to clip and divide a structure soon. The request provides the context for the subsequent ‘splits’, which can now be read as a demonstration of the evidence justifying this planned next move. In Fragment 4.2, the consultant’s running commentary turns the episode into a teaching episode: he ‘translates’ what he sees and does into generic nominal categories (window, critical view ) and instructions for action (open up, line 1). He ‘glosses’ the critical view (when I … know

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Fragment 4.2  I need to obtain what’s called the critical view

there’s only one structure … and nothing else, lines 4–7). At the same time, he also ‘demonstrates’ it: As he says that, he opens up that window (line 1) to obtain the critical view and ensures that there’s only one structure (line 5). He then pushes a grasper through a window and exposes the other side of the gallbladder by flipping it over, thus showing that the tip of the instrument has come out the other end. He then flips the gallbladder back, and as he says and nothing else (line 7), he performs a splitting manoeuvre similar to that of the surgeon in Fragment 4.1, demonstrating the extent of the opening. This is followed by a request for the clip applicator, confirming that he is planning to progress to the next stage of the operation. Fragment 4.3 shows how a window is demonstrated when a surgical trainee is operating under the supervision of a consultant. The trainee is working on the lower part of the structures shown in the still accompanying line 1, bluntly dissecting tiny adhesions by hooking them up.

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Fragment 4.3  I think you’re fine there now

In line 1 the supervising consultant addresses the operator, offering his assessment of the state of the dissection (I think you’re fine there now Michael ) and proposes dividing the cystic structures (I’d just take it all ). The trainee’s response (clip em?, line 2) is given with rising intonation, thus taking the consultant’s proposal as a directive that he is now asking the consultant to confirm. The consultant then confirms the trainee’s version of his proposal. The proposal confirmation is followed by a ‘justification’ or reason for the proposed action (introduced by because,

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line 5), which is then provided, visually and verbally. To provide the visual justification, the operating trainee is instructed to ‘remodel’ the target structures. When the structures have been remodelled and fixed for ‘intense scrutiny’ (Goodwin 2018), the consultant draws attention to what you can now see: a nice big window there (line 7). Note that now the pronoun in you can see is used generically: It is not a claim by the consultant about what this trainee sees; rather it is a claim about what ‘the surgical community’ sees. We found a similar pattern in Fragment 4.4, which is taken from another procedure where a trainee is operating. The consultant is scrubbed in and controls the camera. The cystic artery has already been divided. The trainee has just swapped his hook for a pledget, a type of ‘wand’. In line 1 the consultant qualifies the state of the dissected structures: So this is what I call the critical view. When this is acknowledged by the operating trainee (line 2), the consultant instructs the trainee to remodel the structures. As he instructs the trainee on how to apply

Fragment 4.4  That’s what I call the critical view

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his instrument, the consultant, who controls the camera, zooms in on the area where the trainee is to push up on the gallbladder. Once the trainee has done so, the consultant confirms that that’s the view you want (line 8) and that’s the critical view (line 10). This qualification is immediately followed up by a proposal for the trainee to take the duct now if you want (line 10). Note that before the remodelling and fixing, and the zooming in on the area of interest, the consultant presented subjective qualifications (this is what I call…); once the conditions for visibility had been adjusted, he shifted to objective qualifications (that’s the critical view ).

6 Visibility Manoeuvres for Demonstrating a Cystic Structure Figure 4.5 presents a plate of stills taken from five different cases (Figs. 4.5b and 4.5f are from the same operation), illustrating the practice of ‘tracing’ the presumed cystic structures seconds before dividing them. All tracings documented here are preceded and followed by invasive operations: They mark a transition from dissecting to dividing the structures that are now being traced. They target (what we believe to be) the cystic duct (4.5a–d) and the cystic artery (4.5e–f ), i.e. the structures that need to be divided. The tracing is done with a curved grasper (4.5a and c), a hook (4.5b, e, and f ), and a finger dissector (4.5d). These instruments allow the surgeon to ‘hook up’ the cystic structures as they move the instrument up and down. The tracing highlights a number of features. First, the radius of the trace renders visible the extent of the visible part of a structure. Second, the tracing shows the extent to which the structure is freed from surrounding tissue in areas to which the surgeon has limited visual access. For example, the trace in 4.5d shows that there is nothing behind the cystic duct. Third, the tracing has the potential to render visible gallstones inside the duct (which is relevant for its division) and pulsation in the artery (confirming it is an artery).

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Fig. 4.5  Demonstrations of cystic duct (a–d) and cystic artery (e–f)

In 4.5b, f the duct and the artery are traced in quick succession, and from within the same opening. This ‘pivoting’ again highlights the opening or ‘window’ between the duct and the artery, which, unlike the window in 4.5e for example, is not visible unless it is stretched. Fragments 4.5–4.7 illustrate some of the contexts in which these tracings were observed. In this patient, the window that the surgeon has created is visible only when he manipulates it. The surgeon achieves this with the ‘hook’, the instrument previously used to dissect the area out. The consultant first traces the cystic duct. He then stretches the cystic artery out, while declaring that he is happy with that now (line 2), and traces it with the hook. The trainee acknowledges the declaration, and the consultant places the hook inside the window twice, moving it up and down against the cystic artery, stretching the structure outward, before requesting the clip applicator. By declaring that he is happy with that now the consultant shares not so much his affective state as his assessment of the state of the structures he has just dissected (happy is frequently used in this way, as further fragments will show). His tracing of these structures during and immediately before and after the production of this phrase suggests that it is

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Fragment 4.5  I’m happy with that now

these structures that he is happy with. Thus the declaration retrospectively and prospectively frames the tracings as indexes of the objects he is happy with, and as demonstrations of evidence/support for his positive evaluation. Conjointly, the declaration and the tracing project and justify an invasive course of action, which is later confirmed by the consultant’s request for the clip applicator. One of the notable differences between an I need to obtain what’s called the critical view (Fragment 4.2, line 3) and I’m happy with that now (Fragment 4.5, line 2) is that the former is framed pedagogically, ‘naming’ a common professional norm, while the latter statement refers to a personal professional norm, and does not name it. However, both surgeons use talk along with their tracings to mark the transition point between dissection and division, which is concluded in both cases with a request for the clip applicator.

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In the following fragment a surgical trainee is operating ‘independently’, i.e. unsupervised, assisted by a slightly more junior trainee. The anatomy in this fragment is such that the cystic structures can be mobilised with a couple of dissecting manoeuvres. The operating surgeon then traces the duct, while claiming his accomplishment: there you go (line 3). The assistant responds with an aesthetic evaluation (nice, line 4), presumably of the anatomy, which is exceptionally clean and clear. The operator then seeks confirmation from his assistant and from Alex,

Fragment 4.6  There you go

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Fragment 4.7  Open the clips (cont.)

the surgeon-researcher co-present (and co-author of this chapter). As he seeks their agreement, he places the instrument behind the cystic artery, pushing this structure sideways, and then places it behind the duct, flipping the gallbladder. Fragment 4.7 continues from Fragment 4.1, and is from another ‘easy anatomy’ case. In this fragment tracings happen twice, and in both cases they are preceded by instrument requests directed at the scrub nurse. In line 3, the consultant asks the scrub nurse to open the clips, i.e. to unpack the boxed clip applicator, suggesting that he is planning to clip. In line 5, the consultant plans further ahead, asking the scrub nurse whether the hook diathermy is ready, i.e. the instrument he uses to dissect the gallbladder from the liver bed once the cystic structures have been divided. In line 8, he asks for the clip applicator. All the while, the consultant has traced structures, suggesting a target for and demonstrating the

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appropriateness of clipping. As in the previous fragments, the consultant’s operations, along with his verbal requests for instruments, project a course of action, with the ‘verbal’ instrument requests indexing the type and timing of action, and the ‘tracings’ the target of the action. Note, however, that he does not use talk to verbally explicate his judgement and/or provide opportunities for his trainee to comment, as the surgeons in Fragments 4.2–4.6 did.

7 Developing the Justification to Divide the Cystic Structures In some cases, the justification of the division continued after the request for the clip applicator. Fragments 4.8–4.9 illustrate this type of situation. Fragment 4.8 continues from Fragment 4.3. Prompted by the consultant, the trainee in line 7 of Fragment 4.3 (just before Fragment 4.8 begins) exhibits a nice big window there, which is viewed from different angles by pushing up on the gallbladder and flipping it over to the other side. In the following lines, the consultant continues to prompt the trainee to proceed to divide the cystic structures without further delay and provides instructions on where to place the clips. This is concluded in line 20, when the trainee requests the clip applicator. As the trainee is waiting to receive the clip applicator, the consultant starts an ‘elaboration’ (line 22). He (re)states that they have identified the cystic duct and the cystic artery (so you got cystic duct cystic artery ). Then he compares the present (straightforward ) case to other cases (a difficult one ), and similarly to Fragment 4.2 produces an online commentary, again providing the background schema for how to competently perform the procedure, and moving beyond the specifics of the case. The surgeon’s comments serve to justify his proposal to take these structures (line 17) and not to dissect any further, in spite of not actually having achieved the ‘ideal’ yet. At the same time, they are a way of

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Fragment 4.8  I think you’re fine there now (cont.)

orienting to the trainee’s needs by formulating more general principles and rules of thumb that can be applied in future cases. Note that in this fragment the notion of the critical view is invoked without using the term. The term was used, however, in the case from which Fragment 4.9 is taken. Fragment 4.9 starts at the point where the

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Fragment 4.9  That’s what I want in all cases

operating consultant has received the clip applicator. They have already discussed ‘the critical view’ at length, and the consultant has emphasized that it’s all about safety (before the fragment begins). As the operating consultant puts clips in the artery, he turns the view in that moment into a model for future action by the trainee, who is asked to confirm that he accepts this model for future operations that he might perform independently on this consultant’s patients. The format of this request (line 1) leaves little room for disagreement, and the trainee hastens to commit to the consultant’s proposed standard (line 2). A little later, when the consultant has driven the clip applicator in, he draws attention to more evidence that the critical view has been obtained. First he points to and traces (with the clip applicator) the (top) area where the presumed cystic duct definitely (line 3) enters the gallbladder, and second to the (bottom) area, miles away (line 7) from

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the area they were just focusing on, where the consultant believes the cystic duct joins the common bile duct (this is covered in fat). The latter requires the trainee to change the camera position. This is another example of an elaboration, which again is pedagogically framed, with attention drawn by the consultant to the target structures and the non-target structures (the common bile duct), and the view set as a standard for future cases.

8 Discussion Taken together, the fragments illustrate different ways in which inspections prior to the division of the cystic structures are accomplished. Characteristic of all inspections is the use of visibility manoeuvres, chief among them the tracing of structures. So what meanings do these tracings convey and how? If they function as gestures, how might we characterize the relation between signifier and signified? In a social semiotic account (Kress 2010; Bezemer and Kress 2016), the tracings are approached in the same way as any other mode of representation, first, in that they are partial: They bring out ‘selected’ features of the object being represented, namely those considered criterial by the sign maker. The materials we have presented show that to the experienced surgeons at our research site, criterial features of the cystic structures include shape, size, and ‘freeness’ (from their surrounding elements). Second, as in all meaning making, the sign maker draws on the distinct possibilities of the semiotic resources available: here, the resources of surgical instruments and manual operations. The relation between signifier and signified is motivated, not arbitrary: The virtual lines drawn through tracing resemble (like an icon) the shape and size of the structure that the tracing is representing. Yet, the meaning potential of the tracings is not bounded by their contiguity with the material environment. Indeed, the tracings point in two directions. On the one hand, they represent (selected features of ) unique structures in an actual patient; on the other, they stand for a ‘token’ of an abstract surgical ‘type’ or category. Outsiders may recognize (some of ) the former, but only insiders will recognize the latter.

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To outsiders, the tracing might draw attention to some of the features that the surgeon wishes to highlight; that is, they might couple the tracing with referents in the here-and-now. To an insider, the tracing is also coupled with (candidate) referents beyond the here-and-now, e.g. with features highlighted in diagrammatical, idealized representations of the structure such as those provided in surgical textbooks. Thus, notwithstanding the non-arbitrary relation between signifier and signified, the tracings are far from ‘self-explanatory’. They are part of a shared set of gestures that every new surgical trainee develops, along with the surgical-anatomical lexicon, and as such they are instrumental in trainees’ learning what and how to see. This constitutes an important footnote to Polanyi’s oft-quoted discussion of medical students learning to read X-rays, who initially “can see nothing that [expert staff] are talking about” (1958: 101): Tracings and other gestures (radiologists will have developed a set of their own) are essential links between seeing and talking. The gestures we described were surrounded by talk. Prior work on the relation between gesture and speech has shown that pointing gestures often help identify in the material environment the referent of deictic elements in co-occurring speech. Sometimes these gestures fill the grammatical position of those elements, as in one of Goodwin’s (2018) archaeologists, who said “Wha’do you think of uh ”, as she was pointing at an area in the soil. In these well-documented cases, speech and gesture are usually strictly temporally anchored: In Goodwin’s example, the pointing coincides with and remains fixed throughout the spoken utterance. Our materials reveal a differently configured multimodal sign complex. We have shown that verbal deixis often occurs in the midst of a series of tracings in different places. For instance, in Fragment 4.5, the operating surgeon’s I’m happy with that now (line 2) coincides with but is also directly preceded and followed by tracings, of both the cystic duct and the cystic artery. All of these tracings identify candidate referents of that. In Fragment 4.6, the operating surgeon seeks confirmation from his colleagues by asking agreed? (line 5) and happy? (line 8). While the operator’s proposals do not contain any deixis pointing to elements in the material environment, they can only be understood in relation to

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that environment and the series of gestures made in it, which identify a range of candidate complements of the proposal, specifying what the other person is asked to agree on and/or be happy with. Thus in these examples, a single spoken utterance is coupled with a series of gestures produced in a partially overlapping time frame.

9 Conclusion We have presented and discussed the surgical inspection of anatomical objects in laparoscopic gallbladder removal procedures in terms of instrument-enhanced, non-invasive visibility manoeuvres. We explored, first, manoeuvres designed to demonstrate a window (splitting, stretching, flipping); and second, manoeuvres designed to demonstrate features of anatomical structures (tracing). We presented video fragments from a range of different cases, including some with consultants acting as operators and others with trainees acting as operators. To highlight their semiotic potential, we described the manoeuvres as ‘transitive gestures’, showing that they render visible defining features of particular objects of interest, which are only sometimes made explicit in surrounding talk. The gestures were always performed just before the actual clipping of the cystic structures. Yet they do not by themselves project the clipping of these structures. It is through the gestures’ combinations with surrounding actions, such as a verbal request for a clip applicator, a verbal evaluation, and/or a verbal proposal for the next action, that sign complexes pointing to the next action are formed. Within these complexes, the gestures carry distinct meanings, identifying the target objects of the next action, and justifying that action by rendering visible criterial features of the target objects. Above all, the gestures demonstrate that operators intensely scrutinise the objects they are planning to invade. Thus they are a means of displaying an orientation to the mitigation of risk, and of acknowledging a widely promoted surgical safety procedure, in the absence of, or alongside, talk that explicitly or implicitly acknowledges that risk. By offering an account of the meaning potential of commonly used practical actions, we have drawn attention to significant ‘seen but

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unnoticed’ (Garfinkel 1964), and hitherto undocumented, features of embodied activity in surgery. We have shown how visibility manoeuvres are both technical and social actions, and how a concern for a specific, well-documented risk to the safety of the patient translates, at a microlevel, into practices of seeing. That, we believe, is precisely what can be gained from perspectives that recognize the role of the body in situated social interaction and the material environment it is acting in and on. They invite us to notice, document, and analyse how all bodily (‘technical’) operations, not just the movement of speech articulators, have expressive potential, are part of larger semiotic complexes, and are treated as such by those noticing them, not least in settings where lives are at stake.

References Bezemer, Jeff, and Gunther Kress. 2016. Multimodality, learning and communication: A social semiotic frame. London: Routledge. Bezemer, Jeff, Ged Murtagh, Alexandra Cope, and Roger Kneebone. 2016. Surgical decision making in a teaching hospital: A linguistic analysis. ANZ Journal of Surgery 86 (10): 751–755. Cope, Alexandra, Jeff Bezemer, Roger Kneebone, and Lorelei Lingard. 2015. You see? Teaching and learning how to interpret visual cues during surgery. Medical Education 49 (11): 1103–1116. Emmerton-Coughlin, Heather, Christopher Schlachta, and Lorelei Lingard. 2017. ‘The other right’: Control strategies and the role of language use in laparoscopic training. Medical Education 51 (12): 1269–1276. Garfinkel, Harold. 1964. Studies of the routine grounds of everyday activities. Social Problems 11 (3): 225–250. Garfinkel, Harold. 1996. Ethnomethodology’s program. Social Psychology Quarterly 9 (1): 5–21. Gawande, Atul. 2002. Complications: A surgeon’s notes on an imperfect science. London: Profile Books. Goffman, Erving. 1963. Stigma: Notes on the management of spoiled identity. London: Penguin. Goffman, Erving. 1983. The interaction order: American Sociological Association, 1982 Presidential Address. American Sociological Review 48 (1): 1–17.

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Goodwin, Charles. 2000. Action and embodiment within situated human interaction. Journal of Pragmatics 32 (10): 1489–1522. Goodwin, Charles. 2018. Co-operative action. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hirschauer, Stefan. 1991. The manufacture of bodies in surgery. Social Studies of Science 21 (2): 279–319. Hymes, Dell. 1962. The ethnography of speaking. In Anthropology and human behavior, ed. Thomas Gladwin and William C. Sturtevant, 13–53. Washington, DC: Anthropological Society Washington. Kendon, Adam. 1990. Conducting interaction: Patterns of behavior in focused encounters. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kendon, Adam. 2004. Gesture: Visible action as utterance. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Koschmann, Timothy, and Alan Zemel. 2011. “So that’s the ureter”: The informal logic of discovering work. Ethnographic Studies 12: 31–46. Koschmann, Timothy, Curtis LeBaron, Charles Goodwin, and Paul Feltovich. 2011. “Can you see the cystic artery yet?”: A simple matter of trust. Journal of Pragmatics 43 (2): 521–541. Kress, Gunther. 2010. Multimodality: A social semiotic approach to contemporary communication. London: Routledge. Miranda, Efrain A. 2016. Medical terminology daily. https://www.clinanat. com/mtd/739-triangle-of-calot. Mondada, Lorenza. 2003. Working with video: How surgeons produce video records of their actions. Visual Studies 18: 58–73. Mondada, Lorenza. 2011. The organisation of concurrent courses of action surgical demonstrations. In Embodied interaction. Language and body in the material world, ed. Jürgen Streeck, Charles Goodwin & Curtis LeBaron. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mondada, Lorenza. 2014. The surgeon as a camera director: Maneuvering video in the operating theatre. In Studies of video practices: Video at work, ed. Mathias Broth, Eric Laurier, and Lorenza Mondada, 97–132. Abingdon, UK: Routledge. Polanyi, Michael. 1958. Personal knowledge: Towards a post-critical philosophy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Prentice, Rachel. 2012. Bodies in formation: An ethnography of anatomy and surgery education. Durham: Duke University Press.

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Sherwinter, Danny A. n.d. Laparoscopic Cholecystectomy Technique. http:// emedicine.medscape.com/article/1582292-technique#c2. Accessed 7 Nov 2016. Strasberg, Steven M., and L. Michael Brunt. 2017. The critical view of safety: Why it is not the only method of ductal identification within the standard of care in laparoscopic cholecystectomy. Annals of Surgery 265 (3): 464–465. Streeck, Jürgen. 2008. Depicting by gesture. Gesture 8 (3): 285–301.

5 ‘Showing’ as a Means of Engaging a Reluctant Participant into a Joint Activity Cornelia Gerhardt

1 Introduction When people engage in activities in their everyday life, often this includes the manipulation of objects. Before starting the activity at hand though, this may presuppose the identification and categorisation of objects from the material world as meaningful or relevant to the task. While this step may often be unproblematic and unobservable, in the data under discussion here this represents the main action by a German father-daughter dyad while tidying the daughter’s room together, an activity they call ‘Zimmer aufräumen’.1 Against the backdrop of this

1English

does not have a cognate phrasal verb ‘room up’ (‘up’ as in ‘clean up’ or ‘eat up’) which would represent a most faithful translation of the German word ‘aufräumen’, suggesting both the idea of place and finishing, in the sense that the goal is to find a final place for objects where they really belong. Notions such as ‘sorting’ or ‘cleanliness’ are actually not there in the German

C. Gerhardt (*)  Saarland University, Saarbrücken, Germany e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 E. Reber and C. Gerhardt (eds.), Embodied Activities in Face-to-face and Mediated Settings, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-97325-8_5

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Fig. 5.1  08:30 Showing I

specific activity, the gesture of ‘showing’, which they call ‘zeigen’,2 will be analysed with the help of a single case study in conversation analytic and interactional sociolinguistic tradition. By concentrating on the action of ‘showing’ and its significance for the general course of action, it will become clear that Dad uses it as a powerful means to engage the reluctant girl in the activity and to turn it into a joint endeavor. For a first impression of ‘showing’, cf. Fig. 5.1, where the father is sitting on the left with his outstretched arm and a little object in his fist, and his daughter is huddled behind her chair turning towards him. Dad is showing the little object to his daughter Merit. Figure 5.2 depicts Dad on the left with an object in his hand and his daughter on the right sitting on her desk looking intently at the object. Figure 5.3 represents a case of two actions that are happening concurrently: Dad passes the end of a chain of paper clips to the girl, while also showing her a book. Finally, in Fig. 5.4 we can see a variant of the gesture. Here Dad stretches his arm backwards in the direction of his daughter which allows him to stay in the position he holds at that moment. All of these stills represent cases of ‘showing’, the gesture that will be the central focus of this chapter. word used by the participants. ‘Tidying’ and ‘sorting’ will be used interchangeably in this paper to translate ‘aufräumen’ into English. 2‘Zeigen’ will be translated as ‘showing’ to reflect its everyday nature. Semantically, in German, it includes the idea of ‘indicating’, e.g. in that the ‘index finger’ is called ‘Zeigefinger’ or that the hands of a clock are called ‘Zeiger’.

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Fig. 5.2  10:21 Showing II

Fig. 5.3  15:12 Showing III

Fig. 5.4  09:11 Showing IV

The paper will attempt to show that the overarching activity is one determining factor with regard to multimodality and the embodiment of interaction: When do we gesture, when do we talk, when do we do both, what gesture do we choose, etc. In particular, it will illustrate that depending on the overall activity, people choose not to simply

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point at some referent to make it salient or indicate its relevance; rather they pick it up and show it to the other participants. In other words, ‘showing’, the first part of an adjacency pair, appears to be a powerful means of increasing the relevance of a response. While the difference between ‘pointing’ and ‘showing’ may be partly based on exogenous criteria, like the nature of an object or the proximity to the speaker, the choice between the two is also relevant to the trajectory of the interaction. ‘Showing’ allows for the manipulation of objects (e.g. ‘exploratory procedures’; Streeck 2009). Also, because of the greater effort it requires and the ensuing closer proximity between speaker and object, it represents a display of greater commitment, closer association, or c­ ontiguity. ‘Showing’, just like any other gesture, is always only interpretable against the backdrop of the current activity, shaping or constituting it at the same time. While there may be a large literature on deixis and reference (cf. Carlson 2004; Levinson 2004), further studies of their multimodal use in embodied interaction as means to create mutual orientation and shared activity space have been called for (Goodwin 2000; Hindmarsh and Heath 2000; Mondada 2005, 2012; Stukenbrock 2014). Furthermore, in the data under discussion here, relevant objects in the material world are not pointed to (Goodwin 2007; Kita 2003), but are picked up and shown, which represents a different kind of ‘multimodal gestalt’ (Mondada 2012) involving language use, bodily organization, gaze behaviour, hand movements, and facial expressions than those investigated so far. There is no distance between the one pointing and the object made relevant, and often the items are turned around and manipulated in the hand to make their meaningfulness appear. In contrast to ‘pointing’, this “coherent package of meaning and action” (Goodwin 2003: 238) may often embody a question rather than a statement. Furthermore, in the response turn, the co-interlocutor may take the object from the one showing it, so that ‘showing’ may be turned into ‘passing’ (cf. Stukenbrock, this volume). Also, the action of the father here is different from the kind of behaviour found in institutional settings (cf. de Stefani 2010) where the one drawing attention to something in the material environment has epistemic authority.

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Here, it is usually the daughter, the one to whom the object is shown, who then decides how to categorise it and, hence, what the next step will be. Moreover, Dad does not do ‘showing’ because of his epistemic authority, but because of the trajectory of the activity: If he does not pick up the item, turning it into an object relevant to the activity of cleaning the room, the activity will not be continued, but the girl may start other activities like playing. In this paper I will focus on the multimodal practices during the specific activity ‘Aufräumen’, with a special focus on the action of ‘showing’, its realization in language, and other embodied resources such as gaze, body orientation, gestures, or head movements. I will describe the systematic sequential organization of this activity. This will make it possible to revisit linguistic concepts such as reference and deixis in action, i.e. when used in natural data by real people with their personal goals and specific relations to one another, pursuing a mundane activity in their life world. After a literature review and a description of the data, the sequential steps of the overarching activity ‘Aufräumen’ will be presented. In the main part, a single case will be analysed turn by turn, starting with the establishment of a joint activity space and mutual orientation, followed by a description of the ‘showing’ gesture and a focus on the reaction of the daughter. The conclusion anchors ‘showing’ in the literature and discusses its peculiarities against the backdrop of the simple pointing gesture.

2 Literature Review ‘Showing’ is a deictic or referential index according to Peirce (Lizka 1996: 38) in that there is contiguity with the object in the world (more so than in ‘pointing’, cf. below). Moreover, it represents an “effective indicative act” because (a) it involves an “intrinsic connection between the signal and its object”, (b) it leads the participants “to focus attention on that object”, and (c) it establishes “a particular interpretation of its object” (all Clark 2003: 246, emphasis in the original). However, in gesture studies, ‘showing’ is often excluded when considering definitions

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of indices, e.g. “an index isolates a referent by pointing to it with hand and/or gaze direction” (Duncan et al. 2007: 54). Importantly, the action of ‘showing’ involves grasping the relevant object, i.e. prehensile acts or prehension (cf. Streeck 47–51), a rather mundane human activity. Even signing (in sign languages) is possible with an object in hand, “a kind of compact indexing of a topic while commenting on it” (Hoiting and Slobin 2007: 60). Hence, the “domain of scrutiny, where the addressee should look to find the target of the point, the particular entity being pointed at” (Goodwin 2003: 221, emphasis in the original) here is close to the speaker, this rather than that. In contrast to object-adaptors, i.e. a non-instrumental playing-around with objects like pencils or cigarettes (Ekman and Friesen 1972: 364), ‘showing’ involves the conscious decision to use an object for interactional purposes. Fundamentally, the use of an object does not preclude that some human action is conceived of as a gesture; hence, Streeck (2009), who focuses on the difference between conventionality and improvisation with regard to gestural practices here, states that: Many gestures that individuals produce are idiosyncratic and opportunistic, making use of locally available material such as prior gestures, practical actions that are currently being carried out, or even props such as objects on the table before them. (Streeck 2009: 5)

So, for instance, while the use of a cup to drink would usually not be thought of as a gesture, even though it informs (e.g. it informs co-interlocutors about the current state of availability for talk similar to signals like wind socks, which inform people about the current state of the weather), the use of a cup to communicate something (e.g. the closing of a conversation, as in Laurier 2008) must be taken into consideration when discussing the embodiment of human communication. The term ‘showing’, used to refer to the embodied action of drawing an interlocutor’s attention to some referent in the world as relevant to the current activity, is often used with regard to ‘pointing’, i.e. the action of ‘showing by pointing’ has been discussed (Ekman and Friesen 1969: 62). Pointing is a “situated practice” (Goodwin 2003),

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constituted as a meaningful act through the mutual contextualization of a range of semiotic resources including at least (a) a body visibly performing an act of pointing; (b) talk that both elaborates and is elaborated by the act of pointing; (c) the properties of the space that is the target of the point; (d) the orientation of relevant participants toward the target of the point; and (e) the larger activity within which the pointing is embedded. (Goodwin 2003: 219)

There is scarce consideration in the literature of instances of ‘showing’ that include picking up the object thus made relevant. Goodwin (2003) discusses people with objects in their hands who are gesturing. In his data, it is archeologists with a map in their hands. However, it is not so much the map itself, which is shown as an object, but some place on the map that is made relevant with the help of a pointing gesture with a trowel. And certainly, it is not the trowel that is shown to the fellow archeologist; rather, the trowel is used to perform the pointing on the map (cf. Goodwin 2007 for the use of objects to make some other referent salient). A consideration of similar gestures including an object used for pointing can be found in Streeck (2009: 74f.). He describes a car mechanic picking up a headlight, and pointing to the frame to ask whether the frame can be bought separately. Hence, it is not the headlight itself, but a part of it that is made relevant through a separate pointing gesture. Streeck (1996: 371) also discusses how a cookie is turned into a representative of the general class of cookies while being shown. Pitsch et al. (2014) describe how high arches in the movement of objects are used to guide a young infant’s gaze. In early second language teaching, objects are shown in the process of the (de-/re-)contextualization of words (Dausendschön-Gay 2012) or as an attempt to furnish incentives for talk (Dausendschön-Gay 2006). Richards and Rodgers (2014) list, for instance, plastic models but also actual newspapers or maps as realia in task-based or communicative language teaching (Richards and Rodgers 2014: 101, 189). In the literature on talk-in-interaction and its embodiment during surgery, often some body part is shown; however, again it is instruments that are used to point to the body part (e.g. Mondada 2003; Bezemer et al. 2011). There is a clear lack of description in the literature of making something salient by picking it up, i.e. the action of ‘showing’.

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Most relevant to highlighting the specific properties of ‘showing’, Clark (2003) differentiates between transitory ‘directing-to’, where the addressee’s attention is drawn to an object (e.g. by ‘pointing’), and continuing ‘placing-for’, where an object is placed for the addressee’s attention (e.g. when placing an item on the counter in a shop). These two techniques of indicating “contrast on what speakers try to manipulate: the addressee’s attention, or the object of the indication” (Clark 2003: 248). While the ‘indexing site’ (the place made relevant in talk with which the object to be found is associated) is presupposed by the speaker when placing-for (‘site-exploiting’, i.e. the counter is there to be used), it must be created when directing-to (‘site-creating’) (Clark 2003: 249). Hence, directing-to is usually accompanied by talk, e.g. ‘pointing’ is often accompanied by demonstratives. When placing-for, on the other hand, the interpretation of the object is “derived from conventions about how things at that site are to be interpreted” (Clark 2003: 250). Importantly for the general discussion in this volume, placing follows the ‘preparatory principle’ in that “the participants in a joint activity are to interpret acts of placement by considering them as direct preparation for the next steps in that activity” (Clark 2003: 206); it also adjunctly follows the accessibility principle: “an object is in a better place for the next step in a joint activity when it is more accessible for the vision, audition, touch or manipulation required in the next step” (Clark 2003: 261). Hence, placing-for in these data should evoke the activity of ‘Aufräumen’ and ease the identification, classification, and appropriate manipulation of objects used within that activity. In a similar endeavor, but against the background of video-­ mediated communication (VMC), Rosenbaun and Licoppe (2017) describe ‘showing’ as an umbrella term to gloss a set of practices through which some particular feature of the environment that is initially unequally available in perceptual terms to all co-participants, is made into a relevant ‘showable’ and manipulated so as to be reshaped into a joint focus of attention. (Rosenbaun and Licoppe 2017: 419–420)

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The particularities of VMC make the camera the central pivot in the interaction so that ‘showing’ is accomplished either by turning the camera (Licoppe and Morel 2012) or by moving the object to the camera, often called ‘sharing’ in computer-mediated communication (cf. Rosenbaun and Licoppe [2017: 420] for literature about ‘showing’ in VMC). One clear difference from the data here is that there is not an a priori access imbalance between ‘shower’ and ‘showee’. Also, the three-part sequential organization consisting of preliminary work, the gesture itself, and the reception (Rosenbaun and Licoppe 2017: 421) can only partly be confirmed by the data here. This difference does not emerge because of the contingencies of VMC, but it is connected to the overarching topic of this volume, activities in interaction. Because of the general framing of the actions by the dyad as ‘aufräumen’, the preliminary work of framing the object “the way the showable should be seen” (Rosenbaun and Licoppe 2017: 421), namely as something that needs to find a new place or be discarded, does not need to be repeated for every single instantiation of the gesture ‘showing’. Since the gesture ‘showing’ represents a repetitive, vital, constitutive step in the general course of action, there is no need for this preliminary work. Even though there are side-sequences and exogenous disturbances like phone calls in the recording, the moment Dad produces the gesture ‘showing’, “the way the showable should be seen” is recovered from the general context of the activity. For the same reason, the girl does not need to display that she sees the ‘showable’ “as it was framed” (Rosenbaun and Licoppe 2017: 421). In the course of the ongoing activity, the framing of the ‘showable’ as aufräumbar ‘sortable’ is continuous so that it is sufficient for the girl to display that she can see the object (cf. also ‘notable’, Gerhardt 2012).

3 Data The data consist of a thirty minute recording of a father-daughter dyad who are doing what they call ‘Aufräumen’ i.e. they are tidying the girl’s room sorting through it. During this activity, the gesture ‘showing’ is

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used 34 times by the dad. This indicates the centrality of this practice for the activity. Dad (D) is a roughly fifty-year-old German middle class academic. The girl Merit3 (M) is bilingual in German and French, but she only speaks German with her father. She is eight years old. The recording is done by the mother with the family’s video camera. The mother mainly lies on the girl’s bed while filming the two. The father had decided himself that day that it was high time to clean the girl’s room. The mother then filmed this activity, based on the general prompting of the researcher to record moments “when family members get something done together.” The family lives in the Saarland, a small state in South-West Germany that borders France. They speak Standard German since the parents are from different parts of Germany. The data were transcribed in GAT 2 transcription conventions (Selting et al. 2009) using Transana (Fassnacht and Woods 2005). Video stills were made with the help of Adobe Premiere Elements 11 and were anonymised and cut using Adobe Photoshop Elements 11.

4 The Activity of Tidying a Room ‘Aufräumen’ The ‘showing’ gesture, or, in general, any linguistic or multimodal item, can only be understood in context, and context in talk-in-interaction encompasses the activity that is being jointly constructed by the interlocutors. To start with a description of the actions identified in the data under discussion here, at the beginning of the recording, the father had moved all stray items into the middle of the room, i.e. he identified them as not-in-the-right-place and gathered them on the floor together with all the other stuff that was already lying there. The activity ‘Aufräumen’ essentially consists of a number of steps that are repeated for every item to be sorted (see Table 5.1). For a first impression of these steps, see Transcript 5.1; a more detailed transcription will be discussed in its sequentiality and multimodal embodiment in Sect. 5, the main part of the paper. 3Names

have been anonymised.

5  ‘Showing’ as a Means of Engaging …     147 Table 5.1  Aufräumen

Transcript 5.1  09:05–09:14

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First, Dad often4 uses so as a boundary signal to indicate that one step has been accomplished and the next object will now be sorted (cf. lines 1 and 9, Transcript 5.1). Hence the main part of their activity involves the following sequential steps (see Table 5.1): When the father (D) picks up an item, first a joint activity space and mutual orientation need to be established with his daughter (M). This typically includes body (re-)orientation, gaze (re-)directions, manipulation of the object/gestures (‘showing’), and verbal actions. In this case, Dad offers a candidate categorisation (MInidinos, line 3).5 As a next step, they decide together whether an object needs to get sorted in the first place. If something is identified as nothing, as rubbish (können WEG, can get thrown out, line 5), it gets thrown onto a pile outside the room by the father. If, however, the item represents something, it needs to be categorised in order to identify its place in the local order of the room. These steps may also occur together as one action. They represent in situ negotiations of the meaningfulness of objects for the current activity and, concurrently, decisions about the meaningfulness of objects in the future play world of the child. In other words, the two participants may have different goals during the activity of clearing the room: While the father may not understand the meaningfulness of some of the objects and, hence, may tend towards throwing things out, the girl has to negotiate their relevance carefully so that they will be categorised and reinserted into the partly emerging new local order of her room (cf. Goodwin 2007 for conflicting stances during an activity between a father and a daughter). During this activity not only talk is emergent, but the physical context is also shaped through the talk, while the father and daughter construct different meaningful piles of objects. The surroundings shape the 4The interesting question regarding under what circumstances so is left out by the father has to be answered elsewhere. This would be interesting for the issue in how far it is family resemblance (Wittgenstein 1958) is sufficient for members to recognise that some activity is being jointly maintained. There does not seem to be a direct connection to the ‘showing’ gesture, which is the main focus of this paper. 5In this example (Transcript 5.1), an item is categorised even though it is later thrown out. This is not mandatory for objects ending on the rubbish pile. Only for the meaningful objects is a categorisation strictly necessary.

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language, while the language shapes the surroundings. The participants use different resources to construct a meaningful activity which includes constructing meaningful talk and constructing a meaningful local order for the girl’s things. The activity, the talk, and the order are emergent and negotiable, not pre-defined, finished plans. With regard to language use, this process of sorting may include naming the object, e.g. D: WAS ist mit deiner UHr hier (what about your watch here ). However, this does not necessarily entail a classification as representing something to be kept: M: Die is kaPUTT (it’s broken ), which triggers a candidate understanding by D: die DIE kann WEG (it it can get thrown out ). Alternatively, it may also consist of a vague reference to its function, e.g. M: da warn doch diese TEILe drin (in there were those parts ). Furthermore, subcategories emerge as different objects are classified as similar by being moved into the same spot, D: soll_ch_ma die SCHLÜSselanhänger auch zum SCHMUCK machen (shall I put the keychains also with the jewellery ). While some objects are categorised easily and without dispute, unclear cases may trigger longer sequences, work on reference and indexicality, and repair and opposition from one of the partners. From a multimodal perspective, one specific gesture marks the recording: Dad picking up an object and moving it in the direction of the girl. Within the roughly 30-minute recording (during which there is also a lot of distraction, e.g. with Dad leaving the room), there are 34 occurrences of ‘showing’. This gesture ‘showing’ is the focus of the main part of the paper. We will see that it represents a resource to engage the girl in tidying her room, an activity in which she might only be participating reluctantly.

5 Tidying the Room as a Collaborative Activity In the following, a question-answer pair by the dyad will be analyzed with regard to the resources the dad uses to engage his daughter in their joint activity of sorting through her room and with regard to the girl’s replies. It is important for Dad to establish this activity as a collaborative undertaking for two reasons: First, by downgrading himself epistemically,

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he indicates that it is his daughter’s room and her things. Even though he may be hierarchically and exogenously in a position of power as a father, in the interactions in the data, his questioning clearly indicates that she has authority in her own realm. Although legally the parents own everything in the house, the interactions position the girl as the owner of the things and the room(s). The activity is constructed as not being achievable without her, since she is positioned as the one with knowledge and authority. Second, and at the same time, by continuously verbalizing the a priori non-verbal activity of cleaning, the dad also makes the necessary steps of sorting salient (cf. how archeologists learn to see as professionals through ‘pointing’ Goodwin 2003: 235f.). In a way, the father is teaching the daughter how to do this, so that she will be able to do it on her own later. Hence, Dad’s specific way of doing sorting through the room enculturates the girl and indexes general societal norms about duties, responsibility, and also parenting. Clearly, in other cultures, such an encounter between a father and a daughter might not be conceivable.6

5.1 Establishing a Joint Activity Space and Mutual Orientation by ‘Showing’ Transcript 5.2 represents the question-answer pair that will be discussed in detail in its embodiment: Transcript 5.2  03:19–03:25

6In fact, simply the sheer number of things the girl owns (which in the end makes the activity necessary), and the fact that she has her own room and a nursery she shares with a sibling, two rooms where her things can be put, are clearly not universal circumstances of upbringing.

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Fig. 5.5  Merit (line 1)

As a first step, Dad picks up the item he has chosen to sort next while concurrently addressing the child, Merit what’s this here (line 2). His hand and arm move towards the little box so that shortly before reaching it, he utters the girl’s name Merit (cf. Fig. 5.5) and, on grabbing it, he starts the question what. The rising intonation at the end of the wh-question indicates that it is a “genuine question” (“echte Frage” Selting 1991: 268). Figures 5.5–5.8 illustrate the accompanying embodiment of this question. The girl, at the beginning of this interchange, is sitting on her desk sorting paper clips into different colours, fabricating one long chain of colour-sorted paper clips to be hung next to her desk (cf. Fig. 5.5). So from a child’s perspective, she might be able to claim that she is also sorting things, only on a small scale. She has been humming a little tune for over a minute at that point, which lasts roughly 3 seconds before it resumes after an inbreath. Her dad’s utterance and her tune end at the exact same moment (lines 1 and 2). The girl’s body and gaze are oriented towards the paper clips on the desk. Her right shoulder is turned slightly inwards and, together with her legs, shields her activity on the desk from her father’s sight.7 Together with her humming, her demeanor signals “doing being immersed” in her activity. Dad, on the other hand, has positioned himself in a way that allows him to do ‘showing’ in this dyad. He faces the girl, and the objects to be sorted

7This

may also simply be a reflection of her sitting on the desk and having to shift her weight accordingly (cf. also her “fall” from the desk later in the transcript).

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Fig. 5.6  03:20.8 (line 2)

Fig. 5.7  03:21.2 (line 3)

Fig. 5.8  03:21.2 (line 3)

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are within easy reach. His self-placement (Clark 2003: 256f.) signals an invitation to interact.8 After taking the little box with his right hand, Dad moves it towards himself, passes it to his left hand, removes a piece of paper with his right (on here, end of line 2; Fig. 5.6), and then moves the box towards the girl. So at the end of his utterance and the girl’s tune (end of line 2), he starts stretching out his hand towards the girl. He has a quizzical look on his face while still gazing at the box. At the apex of the gesture, he tilts the box towards the girl and looks up, gazing at her. The lid of the little box is open; he presents the inside of the box to her (cf. Figs. 5.7 and 5.8).9

5.2 The ‘Showing’ Gesture As a working definition for the action of ‘showing’, the shower moves an object into the projected10 field of vision of the ‘showee’, and then shifts his or her gaze from the object to the showee (cf. Fig. 5.7, but also Fig. 5.3). Once the showee looks at the object, the shower removes his or her gaze from the showee and gazes back at the object (see below and Fig. 5.2). A reaction from the daughter has been made relevant with the help of different resources, including some that have been described as “response mobilizing features” (Stivers and Rossano 2010): prosodically, through the use of rising intonation (cf. the comma for rising intonation, end of line 2); verbally, through the use of a term of address (MErit ) and an interrogative sentence (was isn DAS hier, cf.

8That

Dad is in the uncomfortable position of having to do a body torque (Schegloff 1998) to throw the objects that will be discarded behind him underlines that he has made a strategic decision to face the girl rather than positioning himself in a way that would allow him easy access to the different piles of objects that are being sorted. 9Since the slip of paper would have fallen out of the box at this point, this might be why he had chosen to remove it from the box earlier. 10Note that the girl is still looking down at the paper clips on her desk at this moment.

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also Transcript 5.1 was ham wa denn HIER ); sequentially, through the use of a first pair part of an adjacency pair; and, multimodally, through the father’s facial expression11 (cf. the quizzical face, Fig. 5.7), his gaze (at the girl), the positioning of his body, and the ‘showing’ gesture (cf. also Figs. 5.1–5.4). Furthermore, through the use of the pronoun this (das ) (signifying single, countable object only) rather than, for instance, a noun phrase this box, the dad puts his daughter in the position of an expert who can identify and categorise the objects in her room (“recipient-tilted epistemic asymmetry”; Stivers and Rossano 2010: 23). This again heightens the relevance of a response from her. Importantly, this response is not only relevant within the question-answer sequence, but it represents a necessary step in the activity of tidying the room, namely the identification of objects. Hence, the father has now employed a range of resources to engage the girl in their joint activity through her following his projected course of actions. Let us return to the four examples of ‘showing’ from the beginning of the paper (Figs. 5.1–5.4). They exemplify similar patterns of embodiment by the dad (and uptake by the girl, in that she looks at the object): In these four instances, verbally, Dad also employs similar resources. Here is the talk accompanying Fig. 5.1: Transcript 5.3  08:27–08:30 Showing I

11Since the girl is currently looking at the paper clips on her desk, it is unclear what she can pick up with her peripheral vision: while the action of ‘showing’, foremost as a movement, is probably discernable, it is questionable whether she is also able to discern a facial expression. In other words, while the quizzical expression of the father might be a cue for the analyst, for the co-participant, the daughter, it might simply not be visible.

5  ‘Showing’ as a Means of Engaging …     155 Table 5.2  Resources used by dad

In this first instance (Fig. 5.1, Showing I), we find a kind of summons (kUck ma, have a look ) and, again, an interrogative sentence, a question, in rising intonation (was isn DAmit, what about this here, ). Similarly (Fig. 5.2, Showing II), Was isn da DRIN What’s in there, elicits a categorisation of something in a little paper bag. In ja is das überhaupt DEIns, well is this actually yours (Fig. 5.3, Showing III), Dad raises the question of ownership for the categorisation of the object, which is obviously a book. So in that case the categorisation does not consist of the identification of the object as such, but instead raises the moral question of whether the girl has any of her brother’s belongings in her room. Finally, Fig. 5.4 represents the end of line 2 of Transcript 5.1, was ham wa denn HIER. These examples show that the dad uses the following resources (Table 5.2). Importantly, by picking up the object (rather than, for example, pointing to it), Dad concurrently starts the practical activity of ‘sorting’, marking a visible step in this activity. So this gesture not only begins the action of identification or classification, but also accomplishes a halting point in their joint practical endeavor of removing unnecessary things from the girl’s room and moving relevant things into the right places. The ‘showing’ gesture freezes the object in a midposition between ‘unsorted thing’ and ‘thing in the right place’ so that the father

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represents an embodied agent of the activity, not as an enactment, but as a practical accomplishment. In other words, he is not only talking ‘tidying the room’; he is also doing ‘tidying the room.’ So ‘showing’ abides by both Clark’s preparatory and accessibility principles (2003). On the one hand, grasping the object is a necessary preparatory step for the ongoing activity. On the other hand, it makes the object more accessible for vision and later manipulations. To return to the discussion of Transcript 5.2, the uses of a summons (Merit ), demonstrative (this ), and locatives (here ) (all line 2) have been described as typical for directing-to as a composite signal, since the indexing site must first be created and talk is a powerful means of doing so. Such verbal signals are considered essential to the interpretation of directing-to (Clark 2003: 253). In the case here, however, language is not essential to the interpretation of the father’s gesture. Looking at Fig. 5.7, at the embodiment only, the referent, object, or most salient item is clear without considering the accompanying talk. Rather, the dad here uses the words to establish mutual orientation. Hence the primary role of the words is to help create a joint activity space; the gesture itself would be sufficient to create the indexing site. ‘Showing’ projects a number of reactions on different plains (see Table 5.3): Verbally, an answer, syntactically, in Transcript 5.2, a noun Table 5.3  Projections of ‘showing’

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phrase has been made relevant. As a first part of an adjacency pair, an answer is required by the girl. Multimodally, ‘showing’ strongly projects a gaze redirection to the object which may require a repositioning of the body. These probably represent context-independent contingencies of ‘showing’. As a projected next step in the activity, here ‘showing’ projects both the identification of the object and the movement into the next place. Within the participation framework, Dad positions himself as a layperson and Merit as an expert. And these roles, in turn, entail that Dad cannot do ‘Aufräumen’ without his constructing a moral obligation for the girl to join him in this endeavor. These later projections depend on the larger framework into which the ‘showing’ gesture is embedded, and on the activities it concurrently constitutes in its employment (cf. Sect. 3). When the girl does not react appropriately, for instance by her withholding the gaze shift, the father marks her behaviour as unsatisfactory: Transcript 5.4  09:32–09:37

In Transcript 5.4, the father asks the girl about the nature of an object (line 2) before actually showing it to her (line 3). This may be the reason why the girl does not shift her gaze towards the object when the apex of the gesture ‘showing’, “the point of maximal gestural excursion” (Wagner et al. 2014: 210), is reached. Instead, there is a repair sequence, was is Was, what is what (line 3) and DA, here (line 4),

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which seems to be linked to the mismatch between embodied and verbal behaviour (Hayashi et al. 2013). However, the girl does not react with her body. Dad is doing ‘showing’, but there is no answer (line 5). Interestingly, he then admonishes her lack of gaze behaviour rather than voicing, for instance, a complaint about her not answering his question from line 1. This seems to indicate that a shift of gaze towards the object shown is the central action for the showee to perform as the reception of the gesture.12

5.3 Resistance by the Daughter Transcript 5.4 above does not represent the only moment in the recording where reluctance to join her father in tidying the room can be seen in the behaviour of the daughter. To return to the ongoing discussion of Transcript 5.2, shortly before Dad reaches the apex of the gesture, doing ‘showing’, 0.8 seconds after the end of his first pair part, the girl starts humming again (line 3). Transcript 5.2  03:19-03:25

12Examples where the girl looks but does not offer a categorisation of an object have to be discussed elsewhere. In this specific context, it seems sufficient for the dad when the girl signals the reception of the gesture by displaying that she can see the ‘showable’. The father simply continues in the general course of action by turning her non-classification of the object into tacit agreement through various embodied and verbal practices. Rather than marking her behaviour as morally questionable or non-cooperative, the dad treats her only ‘looking at the object’ as an affirmation of his own classifications.

5  ‘Showing’ as a Means of Engaging …     159

Since humming is an action that occupies the channels of communication, the daughter seemingly employs it as ‘involvement shield’ (Ayaß 2014; Goffman 1963) to indicate that she is not quite available for the activity projected by her dad. In this way, she actively maintains non-participation or ‘civil inattention’ (Goffman 1959). As Stevanovic (2013) describes the function of ‘humming’ in talk-in-interaction: Ideally, there should be no distractions that hinder the progress of the participants’ main activity. Thus, humming can be used as a way to display one’s awareness of these expectations. It is a way to underline one’s “cooperative stance” (Goodwin 2007) despite the current unsatisfactory situation. (Stevanovic 2013: 130)

So rather than displaying a morally questionable behaviour like leaving the room or simply ignoring her father to avoid the joint activity of ‘Aufräumen’, actions for which she could be held accountable, she hums a little tune to signal that she is just momentarily unavailable or preoccupied, thus decreasing the pressure of an immediate response by “maintain[ing] the separateness of the participants’ activities, […] signal[ing] a need for ‘time-out’ from the joint activity” (Stevanovic 2013: 133). According to Stevanovic, it is primarily in goal-oriented interactions where the “morality of humming” (2013: 134) comes into play. In an “open state of talk” (Goffman 1981), for instance, while watching television (Gerhardt 2014), humming has no moral dimension. If however, the participants have to achieve something together, humming can be used to suspend the “turn-taking machinery” (Sacks et al. 1974) momentarily and, hence, also the activity currently in progress, in a socially acceptable way. However, since the father has framed their gathering in the girl’s room as an “encounter” (Goffman 1961) with a clear goal, this momentary suspension cannot be held up for long by the girl. Indeed, 0.3 seconds after the apex of his gesture (1.2 seconds after the end of his utterance), the girl starts turning her head towards Dad and the box while maintaining the humming. At the moment she starts turning her head, he shifts his gaze back to the box in his hand. Seemingly, he registers her move towards accomplishing mutual orientation, so now he can shift his gaze back at the object of interest. Since Merit has been looking

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down at the paper clips and since her father (and the box) are on her right, she must now turn her head both to the right and upwards (not turning upwards would entail looking down at floor after her turn). Hence, necessarily, her gaze hits the box before it could, for instance, hit her dad’s eyes (either for mutual eye contact or to see where he is looking). It is essentially dad’s placement of the box (and himself ) that accomplish this. Shortly before Merit’s gaze catches the box (cf. Fig. 5.10), Dad starts rotating it (cf. Fig. 5.9).

Fig. 5.9  03:21.08

Fig. 5.10  03:22.4

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Fig. 5.11  03:22.8

The rotation accompanies the ‘maintenance phase” (Clark 2003: 259) of the gesture. On the one hand, this movement may make the box physiologically more visible; on the other hand, this rotation represents a further display of the relevance of the box for their current activity. Similar to an increment on the verbal level (Schegloff 1996), it can be used to clarify the referent (again).13 In contrast to ‘pointing’, which might allow repetition or prolongation of the gesture, ‘showing’ inherently offers the possibility of manipulating the object in both time and space. Hence, this rotation allows the dad to prolong the gesture of ‘showing’ from the transitory fleetingness of ‘directing-to’ to the continuing state of ‘placing-for’ (Clark 2003: 262). At first, Dad keeps gazing at the box while rotating it. Halfway through the (nearly) 180° rotation (cf. Fig. 5.11), he looks up at Merit again. His eyes and his hand with the box turn upwards concurrently. The extent to which the girl is monitoring the gaze behaviour of her dad cannot be seen on the tape. However, shortly (0.2 seconds) after her dad gazes at her,

13This

rotation seems to serve a purpose similar to that of the use of a demonstrative in right dislocation (cf. Gerhardt [2014: 94–97] where television viewers use the demonstrative pronoun that as an increment to reconnect their talk to earlier scenes on television).

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Merit opens her mouth and sticks her tongue into her cheek.14 She also opens her eyes wide and raises her eyebrows (cf. Fig. 5.12).

Fig. 5.12  03:23.3

Eyebrow-raising and mouth-opening have been described as markers of surprise in assessments (Peräkylä and Ruusuruori 2006) and, arguably, the anticipated action of the girl represents an assessment in that the objects have to be evaluated as ‘useful’ or ‘useless’. I would venture to say that the girl’s expression here is a display of “wait, I’m thinking” and of deep concentration on the difficult task of identifying and naming this object. While her humming, this particular facial expression, and her inbreath (see below) may be a portrayal of the difficulty of this specific classification or her reluctance to take part in this activity, they are clearly not projected by dad’s ‘showing’.

14Based

on the context of it use, tongue-in-cheek has been assigned different meanings: e.g. contact avoidance in unfocused interaction (Givens 1981: 225, but see Cary 1979) or jesting (Poggi et al. 2007; Attardo et al. 2003; Smith et al. 1981: 520 (all in passing only)). In German, this facial expression does not evoke the idea of “tongue-in-cheek,” a fixed phrase which does not exist in German. From personal observation, German children seem to stick their tongue into their cheek in moments of deep concentration, e.g. during writing acquisition or when drawing. There do not seem to be any in-depth studies of this phenomenon.

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Meanwhile, Dad finishes rotating the box to the right and starts rotating it back to the left. The girl then quickly turns her head back to the paper clips on the table in front of her, emitting a discernable inbreath. Right at the end of her head turn, 3.2 seconds after her dad’s verbal utterance, she finally answers that? there were those parts in there;. On that, she is looking down at her paper clips (and her dad is now a quarter of the way through the rotation back) (cf. Fig. 5.13). Note the girl’s clasped hands from the beginning of the scene (cf. Fig. 5.5). She has been holding individual paper clips, as well as the chain she is producing, in her hands throughout. She has been sorting them by picking up clips of different colours into her two hands, holding them before attaching them to the long chain. So her body and her hands have been occupied with her own activity throughout. However, after having spotted the next clip to be sorted on the desk, she immediately turns back towards her dad. On there, her head is already moving back (while her index finger and thumb are moving towards the paper clip) (cf. Fig. 5.14).

Fig. 5.13  03:23.8 DAS?

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Fig. 5.14  03:23.9 da

5.4 Termination of the Sequence Dad has by now rotated the box another 180°. He is still intently looking at the girl. In other words, he is still showing her the box. On were, the girl’s gaze reaches the box again (and she has finished picking up the paper clip) (cf. Fig. 5.15). Also, the dad has reached the apex of the rotation at this point. Again, he sees the girl’s gaze at the box and moves into the termination phase (Clark 2003: 259) of the gesture. Merit now initiates the next relevant action. Dad’s gaze shifts to the box again (cf. Fig. 5.16), at the end of these.15 Finally, on parts, both move their gaze away from the box and further down (cf. Figs. 5.17 and 5.18). So after having finished turning towards her dad and the box (cf. Fig. 5.16), Merit prolongs her bodily shift to an orientation towards the slips of paper (these parts ) that her dad has in his hand,16 which turn out to be relevant 15In this still (Fig. 5.16), it does not look as if he is retracting his arm, but on the video it is clearly visible. 16The verbal exchange concerning the box continues for another 13.2 seconds during which Merit first needs to clarify what these parts are (her dad is looking down at the floor rather than at the slips in his hands) and during which the two negotiate the relevance of the box and the slips of paper, until 03:40.2 when Dad puts the box down as having to be reintroduced into the emerging new order of the room. This will have to be analyzed elsewhere.

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to the identification and classification of the box. Also, Dad turns a little to the right from the box, which he held between them, to the objects on the carpet (cf. Fig. 5.14). So they continue to have a joint activity space, but their orientation is no longer on the box at this moment.

Fig. 5.15  03:24.0 warn

Fig. 5.16  03:24.9 end of diese

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Fig. 5.17  03:25.0 onset Teile

Fig. 5.18  03:24.4 end of Teile

Note the difference in her “postural orientation” (Goodwin 2003) between the first time she looks at the box (cf. Fig. 5.10) and the second time, when these parts becomes relevant (cf. Figs. 5.16–5.18). Finally she is fully engaged in their joint activity of identifying objects and, hence, of cleaning the room.

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To sum up, body posture, gaze (Dad: box→girl→box→girl→box), facial expressions, gestures, and talk all come together to turn ‘showing’ into a meaningful step in the activity of cleaning the room. It helps engage the girl into that activity by positioning her as an expert. In creating a joint activity space and mutual orientation, it represents a specific practice to attain this necessary precondition for a joint activity which is not arbitrary, but suitable. The maintenance phase of ‘showing’ seems to require gazing at the girl to check whether the object and the gesture are being noticed. Once the dad assumes a move to mutual orientation by the girl, he moves his gaze back to the object of attention. Even though the nature of the object is still not clear after the girl’s responsive act, the dad signals his accepting it as such by terminating the gesture of ‘showing’. The actual identification and categorisation of the object, as in this case, may represent a separate step altogether. Hence ‘showing’ must be seen as one step in the activity of ‘Aufräumen’ which may or may not coincide with the actual identification and classification process.

6 Conclusion We have seen that ‘showing’ can be classified as ‘pointing’ according to Goodwin’s definition of ‘pointing’ as an act of contextualization drawing on the gesture itself, talk, space, an achievement of mutual orientation by the participants, and the larger activity (2003: 219), which constitutes the activity at the same time. In other words, it is a gesture. Even though it includes the prehension of an object, the gesture is clearly a sign used to communicate. Furthermore, it is not only a potentially informing step, but also the beginning of the practical step in the act of moving an object around. ‘Showing’ represents a gesture that makes use of locally available material within an activity (cf. Streeck 2009: 5). Turning to Clark’s differentiation, when directing-to, “speakers indicate by directing their addressees’ attention to a mutually conspicuous site in their perceptual field, and they use that site as an index to other objects” (2003: 255–256). Clearly, this is not the case in ‘showing’, since the objects and the site are identical and do not function as an index to something else. However, there are also a number of differences between

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the gesture of ‘showing’ and Clark’s notion of ‘placing-for’. Clark discusses examples from places that are highly conventionalised and have a clear physical layout (e.g. drugstores and restaurants). In a child’s room, however, there is no preconceived spatial arrangement that is conventionally used for the identification and classification of objects during the activity of ‘Aufräumen’. Such a site has to be established (with the help of an array of resources) as a joint activity space that is being mutually oriented to by the participants. This site does not exist outside of their joint activity and it is meaningful and interpretable only when considering the wider framework of the activity of ‘Aufräumen’. For this reason, the sequences of actions are accompanied by talk including demonstratives, locatives, and a summons, to create such a joint activity space, with the indexing space being clear from the gesture alone. Fundamentally, the placement site is neither ‘absolute’, i.e. independent of the participant’s location, nor ‘relative’, i.e. dependent on the participant’s location (for this differentiation, cf. Clark 2003: 258f.), but both the placement site and the participants’ locations are dependent on, interpretable through, socially appropriate for, and an integral part of the overarching activity of ‘Aufräumen’ that is being performed and practically achieved in that specific location by these specific people. Compared to Clark’s five-point list of advantages of ‘placing-for’ (2003: 262–263), ‘showing’ seems to offer roughly the same benefits: Through the long maintaining phase, there is a longer joint ‘accessibility of the signal’ and ‘clarity of the signal’. Also, the object can function as a ‘memory aid’ and its location can be seen as a ‘preparation for the next joint action’ in that it is better placed for the next step in the participants’ joint activity. However, since ‘showing’ is accompanied by talk in these data, the ‘revocation of the signal’ might be less easily achieved than in situations where the signal is purely site-bound (e.g. a queue) and where a removal from that site nullifies the signal. Since ‘showing’ constitutes a first pair part (together with the other resources Dad uses), its revocation cannot be easily achieved. Furthermore, because ‘showing’ represents an integral part of the ongoing activity—Dad using it to make the girl participate in the activity of cleaning the room—this would also signify that Dad does not follow through with his general notion about duties and responsibilities during this activity. Dad does sometimes pick up objects in the data to put them

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down again, in a way testing their suitability for ‘showing’ and as the next object to be sorted. However, when he does do ‘showing’, he maintains it (in this case for roughly four seconds) until he gets a response from his daughter. Especially with regard to the discussion of the ease of revocation of the signal (Clark 2003: 263), it would be interesting to see the use of ‘showing’ in other settings (cf. the second to last paragraph of this chapter). Summing up, in principle, against the backdrop of Clark (2003), ‘showing’ can be understood as ‘placing-for’ (only in that there is also talk and the indexing site does not exist exogenously) so that it represents a perfect choice in the course of the activity at hand in both moving the object to a better place (‘accessibility principle’) and in preparing the next step of the activity (‘preparatory principle’). In contrast to Rosenbaun and Licoppe (2017), there is no access imbalance (2017: 420) that is indexed by ‘showing’ here (again in contrast to pointing): the ‘showables’ have all been moved onto a pile in the middle of the room, available to both ‘shower’ and ‘showee’ for further manipulation framed by their general activity as a ‘collection’ of ‘sortables’. It seems to be the trajectory of the practical activity as well as ‘response relevance’ that are crucial here for Dad to choose the gesture ‘showing’ rather than ‘pointing’. With regard to response relevance, the data indicate that ‘showing’ is a powerful means to increase the relevance of a response (Stivers and Rossano 2010). While ‘showing by pointing’ has received attention (Goodwin 2007; Kita 2003), including in gesture studies (Duncan et al. 2007; Streeck 2009), the deictical action of moving an object into the (projected) sight of vision of an interlocutor merits further investigation. While the difference between ‘pointing’ and ‘showing’ may partly be based on exogenous criteria like the weight and size of the object made relevant, its nature (physical object or medium), or the proximity of object and interlocutor, this distinction is also relevant to the trajectory of the conversation. For instance, through pointing, parts of objects can be foregrounded (cf. Streeck 2009: 75 ‘pointing’ vs ‘tapping’), whereas through ‘showing’, the object can be manipulated concurrently, as in this case the tilting and rotating of the box. Such manipulations may represent epistemic actions similar to “exploratory procedures” which allow information about the object to be gathered (Kirsh 1995, cited

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in Streeck 2009: 70). Furthermore, I would maintain that ‘showing an object’ makes a response more relevant than ‘pointing at an object’. It inherently includes a closer association of the speaker and the object: contiguity. Moreover, since ‘showing’ requires greater effort (picking something up versus extending your index finger17), it can be seen as a display of a greater commitment. For an extreme case, one may recall situations in which a young child moves an object so close to someone’s eyes that one cannot actually see it any longer, a practice used to ensure a reaction from an adult (cf. also first language acquisition and the use of objects to get attention from adults, e.g. Bates et al. 1975: 216). For an emblematic, albeit non-empirical situation, consider Lucas Cranach’s depiction of Eve showing an apple to Adam constructing the trajectory of the whole scene as unavoidable and constitutive for humankind. ‘Showing’ can be found in other settings, e.g. when farmers lift up their merchandise at local farmers markets to show it to their clients (cf. Stukenbrock and Dao this volume). The product is moved closer to the client in this way. It represents an offer, as a first step in a process of transfer. Showing an object rather than pointing at it starts the physical process by making the object leave its place in the collection of the stall. It heightens the commitment as an offer of a first bonding with the client. Another field that directly comes to mind is in language acquisition situations. Children are often shown things (e.g. stuffed animals) in a playful way to get a reaction, either a laugh or a denomination depending on the age of the children. In communicative and task-based language teaching, objects are sometimes brought into the classroom as realia (Richards and Rodgers 2014); also, in early second language learning, objects are shown to facilitate learning (Dausendschön-Gay 2006, 2012). In the American classroom activity “Show and tell,” the objects do not have a place in the classroom. They are marked as having been brought in from outside. Indeed, the engagement with the object is much higher than if the kids decided to place it on the teacher’s desk and point at it. The ‘showing’ gesture projects a gaze shift towards the object; it remains to be seen whether there is an over-arching general 17Pointing

can also be done with other body parts. However, pointing with the index finger is often taken as putatively universal and the prototypical form of pointing (e.g. Kita 2003: 2).

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function associated with this practice and whether it has a similar multimodal gestalt in its interplay with other resources, space, epistemics, and the rights and obligations of the participants. When it comes to its interplay with language, ‘pointing’ can be associated with far-fromspeaker distal that (Look at that… ), while ‘showing’ matches or accompanies close-to-speaker proximate this (Would you like to buy this, what is this… ). Further research on the use of ‘showing’ in different settings would address the question of whether ‘showing’ is more prone to be used as first pair part, in questions, requests, or offers, and whether ‘pointing’ tends to be used more in second pair parts, as answers, acceptance, or rejection. With regard to the overarching topic of the volume, these data indicate that practices can be relevant on more than one plain simultaneously: On the one hand, ‘showing‘ here is used to involve the girl in the activity by making a response relevant. While the data indicate a clear goal-orientedness by the father (cf. Levinson 1992 for the goal-definedness of activities), the girl puts up some resistance, humming and turning back to her own little project for 4 seconds, before finally following the projected course of action. It is in such goal-oriented activities that the morality of ‘humming’ comes to the forefront (Stevanovic 2013). On the other hand, ‘showing’ also represents a practice with which an object can be made relevant in talk, one other potential practice being ‘pointing’. Finally, ‘showing’ also represents a practical step in the physical act of sorting since the objects need to be picked up to be sorted. ‘Showing’ is clearly a gesture, non-arbitrary, tied in with the specificities of the unfolding activity, a meaningful act in talk-in-interaction making a response relevant, a multimodal first pair part. Dad could have used a different practice to coerce the girl into cleaning her room. By using ‘showing’ he manages to include her in a very subtle and efficient manner without any signs of conflict or unpleasantness. Acknowledgments   I would like to thank Elisabeth Reber, Lorenza Mondada, Harrie Mazeland, Jörg Bergmann, Geoffrey Raymond and all members of the MEmI Network as well as members of the audience of the panel on Activities in Interaction at IPrA Belfast for their comments and suggestions.

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6 Joint Attention in Passing: What Dual Mobile Eye Tracking Reveals About Gaze in Coordinating Embodied Activities at a Market Anja Stukenbrock and Anh Nhi Dao

The following chapter examines embodied activities of participants shopping together at a farmers’ market. While markets are perceptually rich environments where typical actions, such as noticing, assessing, evaluating and buying objects, occur, shopping together constitutes a complex activity which requires an enormous degree of interpersonal coordination on various levels of organization. Based on data from dual mobile eye tracking recordings of dyads at a local farmers’ market, we argue that gaze is a central resource in the on-line organization of these activities in kaleidoscopically changing perceptual surroundings. The participants’ gaze behavior displays their orientation to the ongoing activity, it projects next actions as well as ad hoc changes in trajectories already underway. Methodically, this study is situated within the framework of multimodal conversation analysis. A. Stukenbrock (*)  Université de Lausanne, Lausanne, Switzerland e-mail: [email protected] A. N. Dao  Albert-Ludwigs-Universität Freiburg, Freiburg im Breisgau, Germany e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 E. Reber and C. Gerhardt (eds.), Embodied Activities in Face-to-face and Mediated Settings, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-97325-8_6

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1 Introduction This paper examines the embodied activities of participants shopping together at a farmers’ market. Markets constitute a contextually rich and perceptually dense environment which occasions and implies certain kinds of actions such as noticing things, visually assessing and discussing the quality of goods, and negotiating whether and where to purchase certain items before eventually entering into sales transaction. Our paper is particularly concerned with participants’ ­deployment of gaze when they notice particular items, and establish, extend and dissolve joint attention on those items. The analyses focus on how the participants in the course of temporally unfolding acts of attention-­ sharing negotiate, moment-by-moment, the interactive relevance of what they see, and consequently, what to do next: whether to stay or to walk on. Shopping at a market is a complex activity which foregrounds embodied practices and requires a high degree of interpersonal coordination (De Stefani 2013). Participants who walk across a market together in order to shop have an overall agreement as to what they are collaboratively doing. However, decisions on where and when to stop to have a closer look at the goods displayed at the stalls and when to simply pass by, and on what to buy at which particular stall, are made locally and moment-by-moment. They have to be negotiated literally step-by-step. Perceptually challenged by the flow of visual impressions of market stalls with different arrays of goods, other shoppers who cross their way, and the task of finding the desired items and identifying potential ‘buyables’ among them, the participants are continuously confronted with the problem of managing interactionally sensitive moments. These can develop into crossroads in which momentarily diverging trajectories come into play simultaneously and ambiguities arise concerning the next move. Significantly, among the participants’ own actions that both create and resolve such ambiguities are practices of establishing joint attention on items in the visible surroundings, such as noticing, gestural pointing, and deictic referencing acts: Embedded within

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the social activity of shopping together in order to purchase particular goods, noticing items along the way is not an ‘innocent’ act. As will be demonstrated, practices of noticing, pointing out, and deictically referring to objects not only invite the co-participant with various degrees of response relevance (Stivers and Rossano 2010) to reorient his or her gaze to and share attention on a specific item (Stukenbrock, in press), but they may also be heard as inviting the inference that the item be considered as a potential ‘buyable’. This, in turn, has implications for the embodied behavior, as the participants have to decide in an impromptu way whether they prefer to walk on or to come to a halt in order to look at the object in more detail. Ambiguous moments of pending alternative trajectories arise that become manifest in the data on various levels of granularity in the participants’ embodied orientations.

2 Data and Methodology The data for this study consist of three video-recordings of dyads shopping together at a local farmers’ market. The recordings were undertaken with two pairs of mobile eye tracking glasses (SMI, sampling rate 30 Hz), one for each participant in the dyad. In contrast to older generations of heavy weighing, head-mounted eye trackers, mobile eye trackers are worn like normal glasses and allow the participants to move around freely with hardly any restrictions on the flexibility of head and body movements. This enables a data collection of participants’ gaze behavior in everyday activities outside the laboratory and beyond experimental research designs to which eye tracking studies have hitherto been confined. Each recording consists of two complementary videos recorded by a small scene camera integrated between the eyes in the frame of the tracking glasses, delivering a video shot from the wearer’s point of view. The scene videos are each overlaid with a moving gaze cursor ­indicating the participant’s exact point-of-regard (his or her foveal gaze direction, cf. Duchowski 2003; Land 2006; Stukenbrock, in press).

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For the analysis, the videos of the participants in every dyad are frame-precisely synchronized and exported into a single split-screen video file for manual annotation in ELAN (https://tla.mpi.nl/tools/ tla-tools/elan/). Methodologically, the analysis is situated within the framework of multimodal conversation analysis (Goodwin 1980, 1981, 2000, 2003; Mondada 2007, 2012; Schegloff 2007; Sidnell and Stivers 2013; Streeck 1993, 2009). Interaction is conceptualized as a multimodal phenomenon in which verbal and embodied resources such as gaze, gesture, body posture and position, object manipulation, and (movement in) space are treated as equally contributing to the “endogenous organization of social activities” (Mondada 2013: 33). Although gaze has been recognized as one of the most important resources for participants in organizing the interaction order (Goffman 1983), monitoring each other (Goffman 1963; Kendon 1967; Streeck 1993, 2002, 2014), regulating turn-taking (Goffman 1963; Kendon 1967), constructing utterances (Goodwin 1980, 1981) and actions (Rossano 2012, 2013; Stivers and Rossano 2010), and jointly attending to visible phenomena in deictic referencing acts (Eriksson 2009; Stukenbrock 2008, 2009, 2014, 2015), studies on gaze within the framework of CA have almost exclusively relied on video recordings to access human gaze behavior. This means that the interaction is not only exclusively documented from a third-person perspective, it also imposes serious limitations on the precision with which eye gaze is documented. Video-analytic studies often fall back on the participants’ head movements as an indicator for their gaze direction. However, inferring points of regard from head movements is not very reliable, as head and eye movements do not always go hand in hand (Stukenbrock 2015). In order to provide a maximal degree of precision in recording participants’ gaze behavior while simultaneously preserving the ecological validity of the data, the present study has taken mobile eye tracking technology out of the laboratory to record naturally occurring interaction “in the wild” (Stukenbrock, in press).

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3 Empirical Analyses In the following analyses, we discuss two cases in which joint attention is established on an object that one of the participants notices and wants to share with the co-participant while they are on the move across a local farmers’ market. With regard to the overall structure of the shopping activity which begins with the participants’ making their way to the market (phase 1), the analysis will be concerned with the participants’ pre-orientation upon entering the scene (phase 2), their negotiation of the overall course of action and the beginning of a browsing activity in which they discover and negotiate the status of items as potential ‘buyables’ (phase 3). This happens before they get involved in buying/selling transactions (phase 4) that are continued until a closing of the shopping activity is interactively achieved (phase 5) and the participants leave the market in order to walk back (phase 6).

3.1 Entering the Scene and Negotiating the Overall Course of Action In the first section, we focus on the opening phase of the activity, in which the participants arrive at the market, enter the scene, jointly pre-orient themselves and negotiate the overall course of action. In the first Extract (6.1), K and M, two colleagues and friends, approach the entrance of the market. They have a shopping list which contains several items that they have been asked to buy at the market. At the beginning of the extract, K starts reading aloud from the shopping list that M is holding in her hand (Fig. 6.1s right).

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Extract 6.1 “strawberries”

1

This utterance refers to a previous sequence and is not relevant for the analysis in this chapter.

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By reading the list out loud (lines 1–8) rather than in silence, K displays to her co-participant that she is orienting herself to the task at hand. At the same time, she is sharing the information which she gains on-line through reading, thus recalling and updating their shared common ground and inviting co-orientation. The timing of the reading activity is significant. It is initiated at the moment when the participants arrive at the entrance of the market, and the activity comes to an end when they approach the first market stall. The shopping list is read aloud when the content of the list is about to become relevant. It serves as a pre-orientation towards the upcoming activity by setting its goal and determining the acquisition of specific items as sub-tasks. Although the items are listed in a certain order, the order in which they are actually bought is contextually dependent on what can be found where in the desired

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quality and has to be achieved locally. Note that the participants are not only engaged in ‘finding’ the requested items but are also continuously ‘in reach’ of everything else that is on offer and may incidentally become worth noticing. The projected trajectory therefore remains rather unspecific. The list merely serves as a rough guide which can be used as a resource for co-orientation and coordination (Hausendorf 2013). As K announces the second-to-last item on the shopping list, EIne paprika- (one bell pepper, line 7), she withdraws her gaze from the sheet of paper and looks straight ahead, projecting the beginning of a new activity. Both participants are now looking at the first stall closest to them (Fig. 6.2s left/right). K’s announcement of the last shopping item, (= einmal ERDbeern (one (pack of ) strawberries, line 8), is followed by a short pause (line 9) and an evaluation, alles GUT (all good, line 10), which terminates her engagement with the list. Both K and M start scanning the first market stall as they are getting closer (Fig. 6.3s left/right), moving their gaze from one item to another. Partly in overlap with K’s closing evaluation (line 10), M proposes checking out what is offered before they start buying: sollen wir erst einmal chEcken was es GIBT? (shall we first check out what they have to offer, line 11). While formulating her proposal, M keeps browsing the stall on her left hand side (Fig. 6.4s left). By now, K’s gaze is oriented at a basket with packs of strawberries and raspberries (Fig. 6.4s right). M’s proposal comes in the format of a question. However, instead of an answer, K produces what can nonetheless be perceived as a complying action. She continues to look at the raspberries and names them, HIMbeeren (raspberries, line 13), then shifts her gaze to the adjacent strawberries and names them as well, ERDbeeren (strawberries, line 14). Naming what she perceives on-line can be considered as a practice of ‘seeing aloud’ (Fig. 6.5s right), i.e. doing ‘perceiving and naming’ not only as simultaneous events, but as a unified act defined by the immediacy and integrity of perception and cognition. Like ‘reading aloud’ or ‘writing aloud’ (Mortensen 2013), it socially displays and makes an otherwise individual, intrapersonal process intersubjective. In this case, seeing aloud constructs the speaker’s visual perception as an emergent event. In contrast to silent perceptions which can occur simultaneously to speech and irrespective of their relevance to

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the ongoing interaction, seeing aloud constitutes a verbal contribution and takes a slot in the sequential organization of talk. Mobilized within a social activity in which visual perception is a crucial component for various kinds of actions such as finding, identifying, assessing, evaluating, and choosing ‘buyables’, the practice of ‘seeing aloud’ is used by the speaker to share with her co-participant not retrospectively, but simultaneously, a subjective perceptual process as it is emerging. When targeted at items mutually known to be relevant for the task at hand, it invites joint attention without imposing a pair-type related degree of response relevance (Stivers and Rossano 2010). In response, M aligns with K and directs her gaze to the basket with berries at the first stall (Fig. 6.7s left). A similar format is observable in Extract (6.2) (“pumpkins”). We join our participants as they enter the market scene. A and M, two colleagues and friends who know each other very well, both have their own shopping agenda. Neither of them has prepared a shopping list, they have in mind what they want to buy. On their way to the market, they have already talked about some of the things they want to buy. Analogous to the practice of reading the shopping list aloud in the first example, the participants’ preceding talk in the second example establishes an activity-related common ground in which they mutually know about the shopping agenda of the other. This provides a pre-orientation and a rough trajectory that facilitates coordination of and cooperation in the upcoming activity. Like M in Extract 6.1 (line 11), A proposes that they take a look, einmal GUCken (let’s see, line 1), and walk across the market first: soll_ma einmal kurz SCHRÄG laufen? = oder: ähm- (shall we just briefly walk across or um, line 3).

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Extract 6.2 “pumpkins”

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A and M enter the marketplace from the left hand side. A has been telling M about her cooking plans. Upon entering the market, they look straight ahead (Fig. 6.1p left/right). A then utters the words einmal GUCken (let’s see, line 1), followed by a long pause (line 2). The utterance functions as a change of activity marker; it retrospectively marks the end of the previous activity of chatting and simultaneously projects the new activity of looking around to get an orientation. Both participants then look at the first stall on the left hand side (Fig. 6.2p left/right). The eye tracking data reveal that they do not focus on a specific item, but move across the items with a scanning gaze. This is continued during the pause (Fig. 6.3p left/right) which ensues (line 4) after A proposes to walk across the market first: soll_ma einmal kurz ähm SCHRÄG laufen? = oder ähm- (shall we just quickly walk across or um, line 3). Although the preference is for M to agree, the pause can be heard as foreshadowing disagreement. Indeed, the answer that M finally produces (jah:;, line 5) is uttered in a low voice, indexing his doubtfulness. A’s offer to take her proposal back, nee? (nah?, line 7), displays an orientation towards the undertone of reluctance in M’s voice. At this point, she has oriented her gaze back to the first stall, bodily projecting an alternative trajectory (Fig. 6.6p right), i.e. to come to a halt and engage with her co-participant. After yet another pause, in which M has continued to scan the market (Figs. 6.5p and 6.6p left), he reformulates his response to A’s proposal. The interjection at the beginning of M’s turn, ha (oh, line 9), can be heard as a weak version of a change-of-state token (Heritage 1984) that projects a revision of his previous line on the basis of new evidence. Indeed, the subsequent assessment of the market, gar nicht so GROSS (not that big after all, line 9), is an implicit compliance with A’s proposal based on visual evidence gathered in the meantime and a recalculation of the time needed to walk across the market. Note that M brings his gaze back from scanning the premises of the market in the distance to the stall nearby (Fig. 6.7p left) and the area that his co-participant is looking at (Fig. 6.7p right). In response to M’s spatial assessment of the market, A produces an agreement, nee (nah, line 10). This is expanded by a temporal assessment of the proposed activity, das (.) geht glaub ich SCHNELL; (that won’t take long I think, line 11), which displays her understanding of M’s spatial assessment as an agreement with her proposal to browse the market.

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Consistent with the negotiated trajectory of walking across the market, A begins to reorient her gaze from the stall nearby to a stall in middle distance (Fig. 6.8p right) and towards the path (Fig. 6.9p right) that leads to the rear end of the market. M, in contrast, remains visually oriented towards the items offered at the first stall (Figs. 6.8p left and 6.9p left). This will be significant for what follows (cf. our analysis in Sect. 3.2).

3.2 Establishing a Focus of Joint Attention on a Visible Object In this section, we investigate how an object of interest is introduced and established as a focus of joint attention while the participants are on the move. Extract (6.3) below is a direct continuation of Extract (6.1) in the previous section. To recapitulate: Our two friends, K and M, have arrived at the scene; M’s proposal to walk across the market first (see Extract 6.1, line 11) is up for negotiation. We already noted that K, instead of answering directly, performs what we have termed ‘seeing aloud’. This does not yet constitute or invite joint attention. As we will see, joint attention is an interactional achievement brought about in an emergent way by the participants’ mobilization and interpersonal coordination of various resources. It crucially implies the participants reciprocally knowing that they are jointly attending to the same object (Clark 1996).

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Extract 6.3 Continuation of Extract 6.1 above: “strawberries”

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The first and second object in K’s performance of ‘seeing aloud’ are produced with similar intonation as a series of items on a list: HIMbeeren; ERDbeeren; (raspberries; strawberries;, lines 13–14). They are framed as an on-line announcement of what the speaker perceives at this very moment. As such, they can also be heard as a performance of compliance with M’s proposal to first check out what they have to offer (line 11): K is checking out and making available to her co-participant what meets her eye by ‘tagging’ the objects of her visual perception on-line. This activity is quickly abandoned. After only two instances of ‘perceiving and naming’ (lines 13–14), the strawberries are referred to a second time. This time, they are not just named by an isolated NP, but embedded in a presentative construction that contains the stressed local deictic DA (there ): DA gibt_s erdbeeren (there they have strawberries, line 5). The speaker’s gaze remains fixed on the strawberries during the utterance (Fig. 6.8s right). The focus accent indicates that the deictic is used gesturally (Fillmore 1997; Stukenbrock 2009, 2015): It requires a pointing gesture in combination with the deictic to indicate the target in the visible surroundings of the participant. The deictic reference makes the addressee’s visual perception conditionally relevant (Stukenbrock 2018a, b, in press); she has to orient her gaze to the object and perceive what the speaker wants her to perceive in order to share attention with her.

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Note, though, that no pointing gesture is visible in the data. Since a third camera, for a full shot of the participants, could not be used for filming at the market, the gesture might have escaped the recording. However, the fact that the addressee’s recording shows neither traces of a gesture, nor gaze movements other than directly to the target suggests a different explanation, namely, that finding the target does not pose a problem for the addressee. As can be seen in Fig. 6.8s left, M’s gaze is already fixed on the strawberries before the deictic referencing act is completed. Several factors contribute to the quick finding of the target. First of all, the deictic indexes the location and not the object. The latter is referred to twice by an NP and only needs to be located in the surroundings. Secondly, the domain of scrutiny (Goodwin 2003; Stukenbrock 2009, 2015) can be inferred from the fact that the participants are approaching a particular stall where the goods are displayed in such a way as to foreground the strawberries: They are placed in front of the stall in a position of heightened perceptual salience. Significantly, even before K refers to the strawberries for the second time (line 15), M has already reoriented her gaze accordingly (Fig. 6.7s left) in response to K’s first reference (line 14). It is at this particular moment, i.e. before the deictic act, that the participants look at the same object simultaneously. This moment of joint attention, or gaze cross-recurrence (Jermann and Nüssli 2012), is documented in the frame-precisely synchronized split screen video where both participants’ points of regard are located on the same pack of strawberries (Fig. 6.8s left/right). The speaker K then withdraws her gaze from the object of attention and looks to her right, where several other baskets are positioned (Fig. 6.9s right), but turns back (Fig. 6.10s right) when M refers to strawberries in the next turn, WOW; da gibt_s ja tatSÄCHlich noch erdbeern (wow they really still have strawberries, line 17), displaying both her successful location of and her surprise at the discovery. The participants come to a short halt in front of the stall with the strawberries (Fig. 6.10s left/right). Establishing the strawberries as an object of joint attention is closely linked to the shopping list that defines strawberries as a shopping item. The actual moment of a reciprocally known discovery of strawberries is relevant for the trajectory of the overall activity for which the goal is to find and purchase the items on the list. The noticing can therefore be heard as

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inviting the inference that one could start working through the shopping list and consider buying these particular strawberries. This, however, would mean abandoning or suspending M’s proposal to browse the market first. In the light of this proposal, noticing the strawberries might just as well be understood as K doing ‘market browsing’ and thus putting M’s proposal into practice. At this moment, the participants reach a crossroad within the emerging interaction, where different trajectories come into play simultaneously. How the ambiguity is resolved will be examined in Sect. 3.3. Extract (6.4) constitutes a similar case in which joint attention is established on an object that may or may not call for more attention. Extract 6.4 Continuation of Extract 6.2: “pumpkins”

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It is a direct continuation of Extract (6.2). As in Extract (6.3), alternative trajectories come into play once the object is shared by the participants. However, the sequence we examine now is more complicated than Extract (6.3): It has a recursive structure in which the question of abandoning or suspending one trajectory in favor of another arises several times. We join the participants, M and A, after they have agreed to walk across the market first (Sect. 3.1). In the previous section, we noted that A aligns her gaze with the project of walking across the market first to get an overall impression. While she scans the spatial surroundings in middle distance (Fig. 6.10p right), her co-participant, instead of orienting towards the joint project, focuses his gaze on a particular class of items displayed at the first stall, pumpkins (Fig. 6.10p left). Just as A sets off to continue their stroll across the market, M— whose gaze is fixed on the pumpkins (Fig. 6.10p left)—utters the spatial deictic HIER (here, line 13). It is used gesturally and requests the addressee’s gaze to be directed at the speaker and/or the location he is pointing at. In this specific context, the deictic serves as a summons which makes an embodied answer conditionally relevant. It asks the addressee to visually reorient herself towards the speaker (for multimodal adjacency pairs cf. Stukenbrock 2014). The deictic is followed by another summons, a verb of visual perception used in the imperative form, GUCK mal; (look, line 14), which spells out the request for gaze already implied in the gesturally used deictic (Stukenbrock 2015, in press). Note that M deploys his gaze to monitor the visual attention of his co-participant (Fig. 6.11p left). A slows down and turns around in order to see why M has summoned her (Fig. 6.11p right). When M can see that A is turning around, he utters another deictic embedded in a presentative construction, da gibt_s KÜRbisse; (there are pumpkins, line 16). Simultaneously, he performs a pointing gesture with his right arm and continues to monitor his addressee (Fig. 6.12p left). The pointing gesture is visible in the video of his addressee (Fig. 6.12p right). At the end of the presentative construction, M orients his gaze back towards the pumpkins. This is consistent with and confirms video-based observations on the standard format of multimodal

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deictic referencing acts where pointing participants first align their gaze with their gesture, then deploy it to monitor their addressee’s visual attention, and in a third step turn it either back to the target or elsewhere (Stukenbrock 2009, 2015). However, the eye tracking data also reveal an interesting detail that escapes analyses exclusively based on video recordings and thus serve to refine previous findings: Note that addressee A, when reorienting her gaze towards M, actually never looks at his gesture, but directly locates the target of his pointing act. This occurs even before he has named the referent (for a distinction between target and referent cf. Quine 1960, Stukenbrock 2015). In Figs. 6.11p right and 6.12p right, A’s tracking circle is already on the pumpkins. As both participants focus their visual attention on the same object, a moment of simultaneous joint attention occurs that is documented in hitherto unprecedented detail in the eye tracking data (Fig. 6.13p left for M and Fig. 6.13p right for A). By directing A’s attention to the pumpkins, an item he knows is on her shopping agenda, M alters the status of the first stall from a ‘walkby-able’ to a place that offers potential ‘buyables’. This also suspends the joint project of strolling across the market. After a moment of simultaneous joint attention, M and A withdraw their gaze from the pumpkins and start scanning other items at the stall again (Fig. 6.14p left/right). A utters a response token (oKAY;, line 17) that displays her understanding but also a slight ambivalence towards the discovery and which thus foreshadows a dispreferred next utterance. Embedded within the activity of shopping together at a market, pointing out (a category of ) items may be heard as an invitation to infer that the item could be considered worth buying, i.e. to hear it as a pre-buying proposal. As such, pointing out an item makes an assessment relevant (e.g. about its quality, status, or worth as potential ‘buyable’). Uttering okay in this sequential position displays recognition while putting on hold or forestalling possible next steps such as getting closer, touching an item, picking up it up, etc. Note that while the pointing act of M suspends or forestalls the joint project of strolling across the market by redirecting their attention to an item close by, so does A’s oKAY, combined with the gaze withdrawal from the object, which suspends or forestalls further attention to that item.

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Indeed, A then utters a negative assessment, ja die sind mir zu GROSS aber (well those are too big for me but, line 18), which rejects the possibility of considering the item as a ‘buyable’. However, this is immediately followed by a disjunction, aber (but ), that foreshadows a revision. Meanwhile, A’s gaze has returned to the pumpkins and is fixed on a smaller box placed above the others (Fig. 6.16p right). She begins a new utterance with the concessive subordinator obwohl (though, line 19). In this case, contrary to standard German syntax where verb-­final position is required with adverbial subordinators, the speaker uses obwohl with verb second position: obwohl (.) das hinten gibt_s auch KLEInere; (although there are smaller ones back there, line 19). In this case, obwohl no longer functions as a subordinator, but as a discourse marker (Auer and Günthner 2005; Günthner 2000) that introduces an upcoming correction or disagreement. A thus cancels her decision to discard the pumpkins that was implicated in her negative assessment of their size (line 18). Once again, the trajectory of the participants’ joint venture is altered, and yet remains ambiguous. Reconsidering the items at the stall and crediting them with the status of potential ‘buyables’ implies a suspension or even abandonment of their project to walk across the market first. A’s observation is followed by a pause (line 20) which ends when the participants start speaking again simultaneously (lines 21 and 22). In what follows, they work out a referential problem that concerns various kinds of pumpkins (lines 21–25) and cannot be analyzed in detail here. Another long pause ensues (line 26). The relevant problem for the participants now is to interactionally negotiate the different trajectories still in play and to decide upon what to do next: whether to stay or to go.

3.3 Passing Without Buying In the final section, we examine how the participants solve the problem of pending alternative trajectories, agree upon, and coordinate what to do next. Extract (6.5) constitutes the third and final phase of the “strawberries” example, continued from Extracts (6.1) and (6.3). After K has pointed out the strawberries to her co-participant, a moment of

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simultaneous joint attention ensues, accompanied by displays of surprise regarding the availability of strawberries, which they both were not sure would be there. We join the participants after the display of surprise during the following pause (line 22). Extract 6.5 Continuation of Extracts 6.1 and 6.3: “strawberries”

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During the pause (line 22), M continues to examine the goods at the first stall (Fig. 6.11s left), while K begins to scan the neighboring stalls (Fig. 6.11s right). K then utters an assumption introduced by the disjunction aber (but, line 23) that marks the utterance as an objection. The objection is not directed against her preceding observation that they still have strawberries, but rather against the inference that this pack could be taken as a potential ‘buyable’. Being the last one, it is implicitly assessed as a leftover of probably dubious quality that should not be bought. Thus, the aber (but ) does not respond to an explicit proposition but to one that is implicated in the use of aber and has to be inferred. K immediately revises her assumption with the disclaimer nein (no ) followed by a deictic referencing act, nein da drÜben gibt_s AUCH noch eins (no over there they also have one, line 24), that introduces a new focus of attention: some strawberries she has spotted at the neighboring stall (Fig. 6.12s right). The deictic reference is accompanied by a pointing gesture visible both in the speaker’s and addressee’s eye tracking data (Fig. 6.12s left/right). The addressee shifts her gaze from the first pack of strawberries (Fig. 6.11s left) to the new stall (Fig. 6.13s left). K’s camera angle (Figs. 6.12s–6.14s right) reveals that she subsequently turns her body towards the path in front of them and starts moving in the projected direction, away

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from the stall. M then resumes walking in the same direction as well (Fig. 6.14s left). The focus of joint attention on the first pack of strawberries that K initiated is likewise dissolved by her as she establishes as a new focus of attention a second pack of strawberries at another stall. The attention on this second object is dissolved in an embodied way: The participants turn towards the path and start walking together (Fig. 6.14s left/right), re-entering the mobile phase and thereby returning to their project of browsing the market. This joint project was suspended by a noticing that successfully invited joint attention on visible objects whose status as potential ‘buyables’ had to be negotiated on the fly. The participants in the “pumpkin” example (Extracts 6.2 and 6.4), are similarly confronted with the problem of continuously negotiating diverging and potentially conflicting trajectories at the same time. However, in comparison to the friends in the “strawberries” example, their situation increases in complexity as more objects are jointly attended to in an extended way. The participants’ problem whether they should stay or go is also a temporal one. The longer they remain in the stationary phase, the more resources they will have to mobilize in order to coordinate themselves to get back in motion and ‘on track’. Our analysis of Extract (6.4) in Sect. 3.2 showed how the participants, after having agreed upon walking across the market first, entered into an incrementally developing stationary phase that was initiated by M’s noticing of a pumpkin. Various other pumpkins are then turned into objects of joint attention, with a referential problem to be solved in an insertion sequence. Extract (6.6), a continuation of Extract (6.4) above, reveals how M and A resolve the problem of coordinating their actions with regard to multiple trajectories that are in play in front of the pumpkin stall. Extract (6.6) begins right after the pause that ensued after the referential problem was solved.

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Extract 6.6 Continuation of Extracts 6.2 and 6.4: “pumpkins”

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Although the participants had decided to browse the market, they come to a halt in front of the first stall to contemplate a category of items they both know each of them wants to buy. The pause ends as M refers to their initial agreement and proposes that they move on to look around (line 27). Instead of an uptake, his proposal is first met with a pause (line 28) and then with a question. The question is broken off and followed by a re-start that launches a new question which ties back to the referential problem they were trying to solve before: willst du ähm: (ne)_wie HEIssen die; (do you want um what are they called, line 29). The question articulates the fact that both small and big tokens of different types of pumpkins are displayed in the box and turns the referential problem into a naming problem whose negotiation (lines 29–35) cannot be discussed in detail here. Instead, we note that M’s initial pointing act suspends the project of walking across the market which the participants had agreed upon before. This leads to an incidental moment of lingering that incrementally develops into a stationary phase in which the participants focus on various pumpkins at the first stall. Note, though, that the browsing project is not entirely abandoned, but remains relevant and on the agenda. The project is on hold, but not forgotten; it is suspended, but not abandoned. This becomes evident when M, who initially seemed reluctant to comply with A’s proposal, tries to resume it (line 27). However, even after M explicitly suggests moving on, A, who had initially proposed the browsing project, expands the stationary phase (lines 29–35). Her apparent disalignment with her own proposal further complicates the situation. The question is: how do they coordinate the next step? The verbal transcript does not reveal whether or how they leave the stationary phase. It is accomplished in an embodied way by a progressive synchronization of movements after another brief moment of joint attention. At the end of his utterance (line 36), during the pause in line 37, M withdraws his gaze from the pumpkins and turns to his co-­ participant (Fig. 6.19p left). When he does so, he can see that she is still looking at the pumpkins (Fig. 6.19p right). He briefly directs his gaze back at the pumpkins (Fig. 6.20p left), looking at the same object with his co-participant (Fig. 6.20p right). This moment of joint attention is dissolved as they both begin to turn their bodies further inwards and

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towards each other (Fig. 6.21p left/right), passing through face-to-face orientation (Fig. 6.22p left/right) and continuing to turn beyond that point until they are both facing outwards. Their embodied orientation is now towards their surroundings in middle (Fig. 6.23p left/right) and further distance (Fig. 6.24p left/right), and the turning movement is transformed into walking away from the stall. A starts speaking again and tells M about her preference for a special kind of pumpkin (line 38), and its preparation (line 39); she concludes with an assessment (line 40). The sequence ends with a simple acknowledgement by M, ja; (yes, line 41). In the “pumpkin” example (Extracts 6.2, 6.4, and 6.6), the participants have moved from noticing a concrete pumpkin on the way, to joint attention on and assessments of individual exemplars, to a discussion of different kinds of pumpkins and their generic features and names. Significantly, the classifying activity shifts the focus away from assessing concrete candidates that could therefore be considered potential ‘buyables’ to a generic interest in those pumpkins as representatives of different species. The shift from noticing a pumpkin and inviting a buying inference to a generic discussion enables the participants to mutually understand that none of them wants to buy a pumpkin then and there and to tacitly agree upon getting on the move to continue browsing the market.

4 Discussion The objective of this paper was to analyze on the basis of dual mobile eye tracking data how participants shopping together at a farmers’ market notice particular items, establish and dissolve joint attention on these items, and—along with the temporally unfolding act of attention-sharing—negotiate moment-by-moment the status of these goods and what to do next: whether to pause and stay or pass by. Embedded within the overall shopping activity, which includes finding, assessing, choosing, and deciding to buy particular items, the act of publicly noticing an item that both participants know to be on their written (“strawberries”) or mental (“pumpkins”) shopping list invites

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the inference that this item could be a potential ‘buyable’ and thus worthy of more attention. This, in turn, has implications for the embodied activities as it means leaving the mobile phase, coming to a halt and establishing a stationary phase in front of a market stall. Upon entering the market place, the participants in our data begin their shopping activity by negotiating the overall course of action: They agree upon browsing the market first to check out what is offered. This clearly projects a mobile phase with a spatiotemporal trajectory contextually defined by the size of the market and the time it takes to walk across it. In light of this trajectory, noticing items may turn out to be ambiguous with regard to the joint project of first browsing the market. On the one hand, it may be heard as doing browsing, as ‘seeing aloud’ in order to share with the co-participant on-line what meets the eye. On the other hand, it may invite the inference to consider the noticed item as a potential ‘buyable’ and to linger in order to investigate it in more detail. This, of course, implicates suspending or even abandoning the joint project of walking across the market to get a pre-orientation. Dealing with alternative trajectories implicated in and projected by the participants’ own actions constitutes a recurring problem of interpersonal coordination that becomes visible in the data on various levels of granularity in both of the dyads examined here and in different phases. Both dyads move from a single act of noticing to the interactive establishment of a mutually known focus of joint attention on a particular item and are then faced with the problem of staying or moving on. The eye tracking data reveal with unprecedented precision and with an extremely high level of detail that the participants’ changing visual orientations foreshadow alternative trajectories that are initiated a moment later and suspend or forestall the fulfillment of a projection that is already in play. The empirical analysis in Sect. 3.1 has shown that noticing as a practice of ‘seeing aloud’ and/or noncommittally inviting shared perception does not establish the degree of conditional relevance that holds between the first and second pair part of a (multimodal) adjacency pair (Stukenbrock 2014, 2018a, b). While formally reducing the response relevance (Stivers and Rossano 2010), the openness that is thus created turns out to be delimited when items that are on the shopping agenda are noticed,

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i.e. when items are salient for the activity at hand and therefore deserve more attention. The participants can be seen to orient to, multimodally incorporate, and resolve that ambivalence in one way (“strawberries”) or another (“pumpkins”), with the resolution affecting what follows (Sects. 3.2 and 3.3): Whereas the participants in the first dyad (“strawberries”) briefly co-orient to the item and then move on, quickly dissolving the moment of potential ambivalence in favor of the joint browsing project by orienting to a similar item at a subsequent stall, the second dyad (“pumpkins”) incrementally ‘drifts’ from a mobile into a stationary phase. For them, the problem of different trajectories being in play simultaneously develops a recursive structure. The continuously emerging question of whether to linger or to move on is at several interactional crossroads decided in favor of another moment of contemplating the items at hand. The joint project of browsing the market is suspended again and again by forestallments that both participants launch in turns. Thus, leaving the prolonged stationary phase and re-entering the mobile phase in order to take up the browsing project also develops into a temporal problem. The longer they remain in the stationary phase in front of a particular stall, the more interactional effort and resources will have to be mobilized in order to coordinate the moving back ‘on track’. Both dyads solve the problem of continuing on in an embodied way by progressively synchronizing their movements without an explicit verbal ‘relaunch’ of the browsing project. Significantly, when one of the participants in the “pumpkin” example verbally refers to the browsing project (lines 1, 3, 9, 11, and 27), this paradoxically does not lead to a coordinated embodied action; on the contrary, a prolongation of the stationary phase is initiated by the co-participant. However, we also noted that the moment of synchronized movement back into motion is foreshadowed in different ways in both dyads. As was described in detail in the analyses, the multimodal practices that contextualize a continuation of the browsing project in the first case and that incrementally prepare a return to it in the second case are rather subtle and partly based on inferences. Directing the co-participant’s visual attention from a first, assumedly leftover item to alternative exemplars at a different stall in the “strawberries” example implicates discarding the idea of considering the first item a potential ‘buyable’ and continuing on. In the “pumpkins” example, the

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participants moved gradually from sharing attention on particular pumpkins, and solving referential and naming problems, to generic talk about pumpkins that allowed them to display to each other and to understand incrementally that choosing and buying a pumpkin at the first stall is— notwithstanding their prolonged sojourn and various reversals of their interactional trajectories—not an option for either of them. By including the micro-details of the participants’ gaze behavior into the examination of their embodied activities on the basis of mobile eye tracking data, this paper has gone beyond traditional video analyses of similar phenomena in naturally occurring interaction. It has shown that the participants’ gaze orientations, as they become available to the analyst in milliseconds from the eye tracking recordings, reveal more than meets the eye in standard video data. This raises methodological and empirical questions in need of further research. On the one hand, these questions concern, for instance, closer investigations of the details of gaze practices deployed to establish, uphold, and dissolve joint attention, to negotiate diverging foci of visual attention (Stukenbrock in prep.), as well as the relation of pointing gestures and addressee gaze. As we have seen above, the latter turns out to be less direct than was previously assumed (Sect. 3.2). On the other hand, a methodological reflection on various problems in the use of mobile eye tracking data for multimodal conversation analysis is needed; the problems notably include, among others, a) the problem of how to treat eye gaze details visible to the analyst in the eye tracking data but not demonstrably oriented to by the participants’ at that particular moment in the interaction, and b) the problem of ascribing “order at all points” (Sacks 1984: 229) to micro-details on an extremely high level of granularity (for a critical view on the boundaries of Sacks’ claim cf. Weiß and Auer 2016). While mobile eye tracking recordings nowadays enable technologically less “blindfolded” analyses of eye gaze in social interaction, a critical theoretical and methodological discussion is needed to avoid other forms of “blindfoldedness” that may accompany technological innovations in their initiation phase. Acknowledgements   We would like to thank Anika Kamilla Clausen for checking our English.

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Part III Complex Participation Frameworks

7 Multiparty Coordination Under Time Pressure: The Social Organization of Handball Team Time-Out Activities Christian Meyer and Ulrich v. Wedelstaedt

1 Introduction In this chapter we focus on sequences of practice that constitute social activities that are involved in handball team time-out gatherings. Handball team time-out gatherings are particularly complex types of social activity, since in a very short period of time and amidst great noise and stress, the coach tries to provide instructions, make tactical adjustments, and perform motivational work with 10–15 players and a number of other team members. In professional handball, directly before, during, and after the time-out, the players are simultaneously exposed to a great amount of interfering stimuli that make it difficult for them to focus on the intervening actions of their coach.

C. Meyer (*) · U. v. Wedelstaedt  University of Konstanz, Konstanz, Germany e-mail: [email protected] U. v. Wedelstaedt e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 E. Reber and C. Gerhardt (eds.), Embodied Activities in Face-to-face and Mediated Settings, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-97325-8_7

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The result is a condensed way of communicating in team time-outs in which not only the verbal speech and embodied actions of the coach, but also the embodied practices of all participants, play a fundamental role in the establishment of joint attention, emotional involvement, and mental participation. Our findings are generally instructive about practices employed by human beings for coming together, doing things, and dispersing again. Thus the time-out gathering can be viewed as a case in point that demonstrates the systematic problems of social organization; its analysis unveils specialized though possibly generalizable methods for every step involved. Consequently, we examine how the practices and activities intrinsic to team time-outs are effective not in spite of but because of their seemingly unfavorable environmental conditions. The study of such social activities challenges a number of basic categories of sociality and communicativity such as information, individual, agency, and intention. For example, as we have shown in regard to boxing (Meyer and v. Wedelstaedt 2013), the athletes and their coaches align to the point that even their perceptual practices (e.g. ‘seeing’ and ‘monitoring’) cannot be ascribed any longer to a single individual but appear to be partly a joint and partly a distributed (and, as it were, devolved) activity of coach and athlete. In the case of a team sport like handball, the establishment of a “team body”, acting in a well-coordinated, joint way, is even more fundamental for success, even though the constant tension between individual and team action might be productive as well. Since in team sports the number of possible actors is much larger than in boxing, the maintenance and establishment of an acting team body is more laborious and fragile. We are not able to address the question of how the study of these fast-paced and complex social processes challenges basic understandings of sociality and communicativity in its totality. Instead, we aim to come to an understanding of the inner structure of handball team time-out activities and the practices used to accomplish them as one case in point for social doings and social organization in general. Specifically, given the circumstances that are apparently hostile to communication, we will ask how mutual alignment, coordination, and understanding—i.e. social order in general—are achieved in this type of situation, in which bodily and kinesthetic practices lead to a form of

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“carnal” intersubjectivity that Merleau-Ponty has termed ‘intercorporeality’ (cf. Meyer et al. 2017). How are the adverse circumstances of the situation managed in embodied interaction? Which multimodal (i.e. verbal, vocal, visual, spatial, intercorporeal) resources are used? How do these resources blend to a meaningful whole? We will also be interested in how a relevant participation framework is accomplished between the participants, allowing for successful communication. How does the “ecological huddle” (Goffman 1963: 95) of the handball gathering take place, not only in its Goffmanian ‘eye-to-eye’ dimension, but through all kinds of sensory practices? How is joint attention achieved amidst noise and distraction? Furthermore, we ask how transitions between different activities (e.g. from tactical instruction to motivational work) are achieved and how they are linked to transitions between the embodied activities involved. How are the different activities made recognizable as such? Eventually, we are interested in how the coaches communicate their embodied, kinesthetic knowledge relevant for the situation at hand through the employment of multimodal resources.

2 Action, Activity, Practice, Reflexivity Since we are using concepts that in everyday speech are semantically related, a few words on our terminology might be helpful. Drawing on the ethnomethodological tradition, we denote by ‘practices’ the incrementally organized, bodily, senso-motorical, and semiotic procedures employed by the participants. Under ‘actions’ as well as ‘activities’ we understand the emic, socially shared categories that members themselves ascribe (often in retrospect) to their doing. Both being members’ categories, ‘activities’ refer to more extended projects of social action (such as doing a ‘greeting’) and are thus able to define situations at large, while ‘actions’ designate smaller kinds of doings (such as ‘smiling’, ‘saying hello’, or ‘asking after someone’ in the course of a ‘greeting’). Thus, participants in social situations can easily talk about actions and activities in retrospect, and there is mostly a shared vocabulary available to do so. Practices, in contrast, are often tacit, as they constitute actions

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and activities as culturally recognizable entities in a situationally specific and sensitive way. Nevertheless, they consist of skilled methods that participants use in order to make their doing recognizable to others as a doing of a specific kind. Thus, while we might easily tell our partner that we met a friend during a visit to a shopping mall whom we hadn’t seen for years and that in the greeting he smiled and asked after her, we usually do not talk about the tacit and embodied practices that constitute the greeting and its particulars as actions and activity. We usually do not talk about how the oh-prefaced Hi following visual recognition was articulated in terms of intonation, how the handshake or the pecks on the cheeks were performed in detail, how interest in my life was signaled by the other person, and so on. However, we do talk about these practices when things sounded odd, went wrong, or looked artificial. As Garfinkel (1963) has demonstrated in his breaching experiments, the practices that constitute actions are ‘accountable’. If everything proceeds “normally” and as expected by the participants in a social situation, practices remain tacit—they are “seen but unnoticed” (Garfinkel 1967: 36). However, they can become a topic of discussion, and even moral indignation, when expectations are dashed and belied. Thanks to their potential to become available for reflection, practices are “detectable, countable, recordable, reportable, tell-a-story-aboutable, analyzable—in short, accountable” (Garfinkel 1967: 33). Thus, from an ethnomethodological perspective, right from the start people perform activities in a way they are optimistic will be recognizable and ­interpretable as typical tokens of their kind by others. Any deviation or aberration from that assumed normality needs to be justifiable and defendable in normative terms in case of complaint or dispute. Since participants view practices as (more or less) typical “documents of ” (Garfinkel 1967: 40, 78) socially categorized activities and actions, typification is an intrinsic, ex ante quality of tacit practices. According to ethnomethodology, it constitutes their “essential reflexivity”. We follow Garfinkel in the assumption that social activities exhibit this kind of intrinsic or “essential reflexivity”, which is a “collecting gloss” for the innumerable ways in which these activities can be part of what they do (Garfinkel, quoted in Watson 2005: 8). Accordingly, the reflexivity of handball doings is a collecting gloss for the innumerable

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ways in which handball time-out doings can be part of what they do. In other words: The “documentary” quality of time-out activities is “incarnate” (Garfinkel 1967: 1) in these very time-out activities because practices that constitute meaning and practices that interpret meaning, according to Garfinkel (1967: 77–79), are identical.

3 Methodology It is the aim of this text to reconstruct the documentary—and thus orderly—properties of handball time-out activities by describing in detail their reflexivity in the sense elaborated above. We do so through in-depth sequential analyses of video recordings of handball time-outs taken from different camera perspectives. The analysis also includes detailed transcription of the audible and visible practices in order to grasp all modal dimensions employed (posture, gaze, vocality, gesture, etc.). Instead of viewing each of these modalities in isolation, however, we adopt a stance that views human action as an intercorporeal “gestalt contexture” (Wieder 1974: 186–190; v. Wedelstaedt and Meyer 2017). While the concept of intercorporeality emphasizes the human capability to merge into agentic wholes that are constituted by several individuals, the idea of gestalt contexture hints at the fact that utterances and practices both constitute their context and obtain sense from their context at the same time. The data analyzed in this text were recorded in handball matches of the First German Handball Leagues (male and female) and of the junior national team. They were collected in the context of a research project1 that focused on communicative processes between athletes and coaches in high-class sports. The project involved fieldwork and recordings before, during, and after handball games. Although we have surveyed around 50 time-outs for this text, we will specifically focus on the timeouts performed by four individual coaches in our analysis. 1“Communication

under Pressure”, located at Bielefeld University, funded by the German Research Foundation (DFG) and directed by Jörg Bergmann, Christian Meyer (Faculty of Sociology), Klaus Cachay, and Carmen Borgreffe (Faculty for Psychology and Sports Science). We would like to thank Eva Fenn for support in the production of the transcripts and stills.

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4 Handball Team Time-Outs Although in commercial terms it is not as successful as soccer, First League handball is a highly professionalized sport in Germany. Coaches, players, and other team staff are full-time professionals and the players originate from many different countries. The games take place in stadiums with several thousand spectators and are often broadcast live on television. A handball game consists of two halves of 30 minutes each. During a game, each coach has the right to call three team time-outs, one in each half plus one optional time-out in either half. A time-out interrupts the game for one minute and can be called by the coach of the team which is in possession of the ball by handing a green time-out card to the panel of judges sitting at the side of the field. After the coach does so, the time-keeper immediately stops the game and allows the coach as well as other team staff and substitute players to access the field. The coach and players now have the possibility to huddle on the field. In this short time, different matters are addressed and activities performed (e.g. tactical instructions given, motivational work done, medical treatment executed, physical and psychological recreation achieved). Despite the tactical importance of these 60 seconds, team time-outs occur in the middle a crowded stadium with several thousand people cheering and clapping and loud music being played. TV cameras film the teams and microphones record what they say. Moreover, the participants are exposed to extreme physical stress and pressure to succeed due to economic factors. This results in a particularly condensed, redundant, and multimodal mode of communication during team time-outs that we will describe in the subsequent sections. After 60 seconds of interruption everyone other than the active players has to leave the field; any violation of this would be punished. Considering the time to assemble and split-up again, the coach and team have about 45 seconds to perform their relevant time-out activities. Handball time-outs have not yet been addressed in the literature. In handbooks on handball coaching, they are mostly neglected or only briefly considered, like in the following advice:

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The goal of a team time-out can be to disrupt the momentum of the opponent, to offer one’s own players a break, to make tactical changes, or to activate the team. It is best to save team time-outs for emergency situations or for the final stage of the game in order to be able to make specific arrangements. One or two pieces of information to the team and one piece of information to an individual player are feasible. At the end of the one-minute team time-out, the main statement is briefly repeated. Mutual exchanges of high-fives promote the team spirit. (Kolodziej 2013: 131; our transl.)

Since time-outs are also provided for by the rule-sets of other sports such as American football, basketball, baseball, volleyball, and ice hockey, there is some similar advice in respective coaching handbooks for those sports, stating for example (in regard to basketball): When communicating with your team during a time-out, you must be clear, concise, positive, and calm. You should keep your agenda simple, because too much information can be overwhelming. Your players must understand that they are expected to focus on the coach during the time-out and not be distracted by outside influences. (ASEP and McGee 2007: 253)

However, even for these sports, only a few scientific studies of timeouts exist, mostly in regard to basketball. They typically consist of statistical evaluations of the effect of time-outs on the progression of the game. Some of these studies have detected a (weak) positive correlation between the call of a time-out and the subsequent performance of the team that called it, particularly in the offense and especially when the time-out was called in the last five minutes of the game (Sampaio et al. 2013; Gómez et al. 2011; Permutt 2011). Others claim that there is no effect of time-outs on sports performance at all (Saavedra et al. 2012). Much of the popular discourse on time-outs in basketball claims that they should be called to stop positive momentum of the opposing team, but coaches also use them to give their team a short rest, to relieve the players emotionally, to motivate them, or to make tactical ­adjustments (Duke and Corlett 1992; Cheng et al. 2003). As far as we know, there is only one study that has analyzed the speeches of coaches

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during time-outs (Lorenzo et al. 2013). This study detected more brief information (relating to morale, or giving positive feedback, and physical as well as technical instructions) in time-outs compared to greater quantities of more elaborated information in the halftime (such as tactical instructions, psychological support, and questions of the players). The authors argue that the quantity of information is not indicative of the quality of intervention of the coach. Unfortunately there is not a single speech quoted throughout the text. In the following analysis we concentrate on the interaction between the coach and players. In doing so, we largely ignore other aspects such as the interactions between the players, as long as they are not part of the joint focus established between players and coaches. This is mainly because from the common sense perspective of players, coaches, experts, and fans the main activity of any time-out consists of the communication from the coach to the players, even though from an analytical perspective, other activities might appear interesting as well.

5 Analysis According to conversations with coaches and players as well as statements by experts, and in accordance with our findings, the typical course of action in a time-out is as follows: 1. Deposition of green card with panel judges by coach 2. Interruption of game by time-keeper through acoustic signal, standing up, upholding of green card, and pointing gesture to the team that called the time-out 3. Assembling of players and team members in front of team bench 4. Establishment of joint focus on coach 5. Coach’s address 6. Possible interventions by players 7. Ritual ending 8. Active players’ recapture of position in offense or defense on the field and re-benching of non-playing team members 9. Restart of the match by referee through whistle

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In the next subsections we will analyze each of the communicative procedures applied in numbers three through seven separately as well as look into the ways in which the transitions between the respective activities are achieved.

5.1 Assembling of Players and Team Members in Front of the Team Bench After the stopping of the game by the time-keeper, the coach, players, and other staff gather on the field in front of their bench. Some of the active field players might have to cover 30–40 meters to get there, although the whole time-out lasts only 60 seconds. The gathering thus becomes a non-trivial task that has to be jointly accomplished in order to avoid time-consuming disorder. Example 7.1

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As we can see in Still 1 of Example 7.1, the coach (in the dark shirt) and the substitute players move onto the field, while the goalkeeper moves towards the bench in the back right to meet with the second goalie. Goalies only rarely participate in time-outs. The other staff members (co-trainer, physiotherapist, medical doctor, and others) grab other things (water, towels etc.) to bring them to the active players. Still 2 shows the moment when the coach and substitute players have arrived on the field. While the co-trainer carries a box with bottles and the first field players arrive (on the left side of the still), the players form a semicircle that they keep open in the direction of the active players who have yet to arrive. In Still 3 those who arrive fill this gap on the left side of the circle. However, since one player is still missing, they leave some space, even though the group has already started to tighten around the coach (Still 4, left of player 14). The missing player (no. 8) then positions himself right in this gap. Thus, right from the start the “F-formation” of the group—the circle in which all participants face one another—is constructed in a way that makes a place available for everyone and there is no need for social work to enter the circle, as described by Kendon (1990: 209–237). In the time-out, it is of crucial importance that all players can hear what the coach (and maybe others) says and that the coach can be reasonably sure that they do so. This is achieved through the F-formation of the circle. Since they have only 60 seconds, the gathering on the field and huddling around the coach needs to be efficient. The knowledge of this is incorporated and reflexively documented in the way the players position themselves on the field when the coach starts to speak, leaving a gap for the last arriving players in order to grant them access.

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Example 7.22

Sometimes the gathering involves more active participation by the players as is visible in Example 7.2. After having finished the first half with a slight lead, the team has fallen three goals behind during the first seven minutes of the second half. The coach then calls a time-out and immediately walks onto the field together with some of the substitute players who instantly start to form a semicircle, left open towards the arriving active players (still with line 01). Player 16 then starts to call for the field players verbally (lines 01–02) and through a waving gesture (still with 01). Other players, including 5 and 12, come near the circle walking quickly. Player 23 who had the longest way to go from his field position arrives running, clapping, calling on other players, and clenching his fists (line 03). The players literally muster one another to huddle quickly. Such instances are especially visible when there is a tight score or only a little time left. In these moments the players expect new ideas from the coach during the time-out and sometimes physically and verbally drive one another to the gathering, as players 16 and 23 do above.

2The

transcription signs used in this text are explained in the Appendix.

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Example 7.3

The transcript in Example 7.3 shows the last milliseconds before the coach starts his verbal address. Before he starts to talk, the coach takes a look at the players to his left (first still with line 01) and then lets his gaze wander across the other players until he has reached his right side. He then leans back a little and glances to the wall where the time-out is counted down (second still with 01). After that, when the players have finished huddling around him (still with line 02), he bends forward into the circle again and starts to talk (line 02). To deliver his address the coach needs to make sure that he has the attention of all the players. If some of the most relevant (or too many) players were engaged in side activities he would have to wait or ask them to pay attention. On the other hand, he also has to finish his speech in time, leaving room for motivational work. His visual check around the circle also signals to the players that the coach will start his speech soon. This becomes visible in the tightening of the circle around the coach shortly before or directly after he starts to speak.

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Example 7.4

The tightening of the circle constitutes the transition between the gathering and the establishment of a joint focus on the coach. The coach and almost all players have already huddled on the field when player 19 interjects a sentence (Example 7.4, line 01). After a short pause (line 02), the coach starts his address in a very loud voice (line 03). He then restarts and positively relates to player 19’s statement (line 04). At the moment he starts to talk, the players around him tighten the circle (still with line 04). Since the group is too big, and the coach cannot assure himself of the attention of his listeners through gaze alone (as in Goodwin 1980), the tightening of the team circle around him takes over this purpose and displays the end of the gathering process. Moreover, it is also a reaction to the loud surrounding noise: in order to make accountable the ability to acoustically understand what the coach says, the team has to come closer. Coaches still very often start their address by using a very loud voice, as can also be seen in the following section.

5.2 Establishment of a Joint Focus on the Coach In all the time-outs that we have analyzed, the focus of joint attention on the coach is sustained for most of the time-out. Although each coach uses different methods and has a personal style to establish this focus, two techniques are universal: voice volume and explicit summons or requests.

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Example 7.5

In Example 7.5 the coach asks one of the players about a planned move (line 01). After answering the question (lines 02–03) the player utters huh that, as (candidate) “repair initiator” (Schegloff et al. 1977), offers the coach the opportunity for conversational repair (line 04). The coach declines the offer, responding with perfect (line 05) and thus signals that he is satisfied with the answer and does not intend to change. After having harmonized the epistemic status through a pre-sequence accomplished in a dyad, the coach then addresses the team as a whole in a loud voice signaling that from now on all participants are being addressed (line 07). Often voice volume is combined with an explicit request as in the following example: Example 7.6

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The coach in Example 7.6 explicitly calls for the players’ attention (line 02). Although the players were silent before that request (line 01), bottles of water (still with line 01) had been handed to the active players by the substitutes, and other recreational measures had also been taken, so that the attention of the group was not entirely focused on the coach. Only after she starts speaking does the team tighten the circle around her (still with line 02). As the circle had not at first been tightened, it is the request of the coach to focus attention on what she says that ends the previous phase of assembling. While recreational measures can still be taken, these are defined as side activities from now on. If the players fail to demonstrate their attention to the coach, the coach seeks to gain it back, as can be seen in the following sequence. Example 7.7

Shortly before the sequence in Example 7.7 the coach has called a time-out 20 seconds before the end of the first half with a tied score. Even though he has already started his address to the team (lines 01–03), several players are not fully oriented towards him and talk among themselves (the group of players on the right; still with line 03). To seek the attention of all participants, the coach uses the same methods that Goodwin (1980) has described: restarts and pauses.

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In addition, as the player on the left moves backwards (in the direction of another player and the physiotherapist), the coach shouts a very loud hey (line 04) and moves towards him (still with line 04). Thus while shouting can be understood as a general response to the environmental noise, its everyday meaning as authoritative or aggressive can also be activated. In a similar manner, coaches sometimes use pointing gestures, or touch, to (re-)gain the attention of their players or to make clear who is addressed. Interestingly the group of players on the right uses this moment to orient their bodies further towards one another and one of them even performs a pointing gesture (still with line 04). Example 7.7 thus shows that the focus on the coach needs to be constantly (re-)produced. This focus is chiefly elicited by the coach but also practically accomplished by the athletes. Although they may be pursuing several tasks at once (listening, thinking, reflecting, drinking, wiping off sweat, sometimes receiving a massage or medical treatment), they always demonstrate that their primary attention is directed at the talk of the coach. This is true of the group on the right of the stills: They pay as much attention as necessary not to get reprimanded but, at the same time, they deploy multimodal practices that have not been requested by the coach to discuss tactics among themselves. However, when players act against the established sequence of a timeout, they are corrected, as in the following example: Example 7.8

After having accomplished a pre-sequence with a single player (Example 7.8, line 01), the coach is about to start his address to the team with a summons uttered in a loud voice (line 03). At exactly the same moment, player 2 starts to shout a motivational phrase to the team (line 04), which is stopped by the coach right away (line 05). There is a generally understood time during time-outs for motivational phrases like this from team members. However, it is not during

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the opening but after the end of the address of the coach. The sharp rebuke by the coach makes recognizable how he structures the timeout throughout its several phases and how others need to take that into account when contributing. Furthermore, Example 7.8 also demonstrates the responsibility that each team player has for a successfully accomplished time-out. This is true not only with respect to the design of individual contributions that have to be performed in accordance with the overall structure but also to the filling of gaps—ideally in all these cases, the players actively and cooperatively prepare the ground for the action that is due according to the normal sequence of a time-out.

5.3 The Address of the Coach After establishing a joint focus, the coach now delivers an address that consists of a monologue over the greater part of the time-out. Utterances by players may occur in the course of this address, mostly in the later phase or when explicitly framed by the coach. Usually the coach tries to get relevant information before starting so that he is able to include it in his monologue (as in Example 7.5). The structure of the coach’s address varies greatly according to the circumstances, including current scoring dynamics, time left to play, and which team called the time-out. Sometimes a coach might want to adjust tactics, to stop the opponents’ momentum, or to give the team some rest. However, there are common features that can be found in all of these addresses, different as they might be, which the participants actively and explicitly orient to. In particular, each address is divided into up to three parts: the first part is optional while the next two are obligatory. 1. Address to individual players; 2. Evaluative and instructional address to the team; 3. Motivational address to the team. These parts are characterized by features that allow the participants to recognize them and to coordinate their own contributions accordingly.

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5.3.1 Address to Individual Players Even though the coach has access to individual players during the whole game by talking to them during substitutions, by exchanging gestures, or by passing messages via other players, the time-out offers the unique possibility of addressing single players in a specific manner and relatively expanded in time. Additionally, the individual addresses are heard by other players—which allows for their even broader usage. Example 7.9

In Example 7.9 the coach addresses a single player, urging her to move towards the goal herself rather than passing the ball to other players even if this means getting involved in close physical contact with defense players (lines 01–07). Most of the time the coach gazes directly at the player’s face while talking to her (still with line 04). The other players around are watching the scene or are drinking (as is the addressed player herself ). The coach addresses the player twice using

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the informal German Du in a highly emphasized way (lines 04 and 07). Both times she combines this address with a pointing gesture (as visible in the still with 04). After a pause (line 08), she addresses all players (line 09), emphasizing the all and simultaneously combining it with a moving pointing gesture to the players (still with line 09). Two things need to be said about this sequence: First, the coach repeats the basic pattern of the critique, first directed at the individual player, and subsequently to all other players. This structure—that the coach first addresses one player as an example before repeating their critique in a general way to the whole team—can be found after almost every individual address in the data. It possibly constitutes a method to deny the blamed individual the (time-consuming) opportunity to overtly object to the criticism. Since the other players listen, too, and intend to escape the same individual critique, the talk is addressed to all players present while using the warning to one individual as an example to all. The participation framework (individual player as addressee versus team as addressee) is marked through verbal form, gaze, and gesture. While in the first part gaze and gesture are fixed on one player, the coach’s gaze constantly moves from one side of the group to the other in the latter part to avoid the impression of another individuation of the critique. Second, the fact that the player being critically addressed is drinking demonstrates the multifunctional property of the time-out and the influence of this multifunctionality upon the communicative exchange between the coach and players. The time-out is not only used for listening to the coach’s announcements but also for recreation. Outside of sports, the act of drinking while receiving an evaluation by a superior person would clearly be judged as inappropriate behavior. However, in the context of handball time-outs, drinking and other recreational measures are favorable to the performance and therefore are even encouraged and actively supported by the coaches and the other staff. The coach can hardly ask a player to stop drinking in order to be adequately attentive. Instead she adapts her address to the fact that players need to be drinking; in turn, the players can use the act of drinking to escape or to minimize an unpleasant confrontation. While any critique is often relatively elaborate, praising an individual player is often performed in the form of short interjections.

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Example 7.10

In Example 7.10 the coach first praises the teams’ performance for having gotten the advantage (i.e. winning the ball through tackling or intercepting a pass of the other team; line 01), and then individualizes the positive feedback using the example of a single player, repeating what has been said to the team in the direction of an individual (line 03) and specifically praising the tackling (line 04). In the first part of the general praise, the coach shifts his hand in an inclusive pointing gesture over the circle of the players (still with line 01). After looking for the individual player (Janne, player 17; line 02), he extends his right hand in front of him and nearly touches the addressed player with his left hand and gazes at him while talking. But then he immediately turns his posture, gesture, and gaze back towards the circle again, while still talking to the player (still with line 04). Here too, the coach singles out one player to the other participants in order to use him as an example. This case illustrates the way in which the gestural and postural work serve to establish a “gestalt contexture” in which individual verbal actions can be performed and make sense. In this sequence of positive evaluation, we find the inverse structure compared to that of the negative evaluation. While in the latter case, the negative assessment is first addressed to a specific player and then generalized, in this case, the praise is first addressed to the team and then

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exemplified. Moreover, the positive individualized feedback is shorter and articulated in short rudimentary phrases or interjections. Like in Example 7.9, the coach speaks faster when addressing a single player and keeps eye contact very short, thus marking it prosodically and visually as a digression from the general purpose of the time-out speech, which is to address the team as a whole. Because the coach counts on the effect that critiques or praise in individualized addresses will have on the other players as well, the other players are anything but out of the picture during the individuals’ addresses. Furthermore, especially when it comes to either motivational work or to addressing specific tactics, even the other players’ participation and active contribution is needed. Example 7.11

In Example 7.11, the coach has just told several players individually which positions to take up in an upcoming move, then requests that player 6 run in (line 01). Player 6 replies with a question about what to do after that (line 02). While the coach closes his eyes (still with line 02) and slightly turns away, player 2 immediately makes a loud intervention (03) and several other players together explain the upcoming move (line 04). As the coach begins to talk again (line 05), player 6 has already moved backwards (out of the right edge of the still with line

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05), facing almost all the other players who look at him and facing the coach who talks to him while performing a double-handed, vertically shaking, palm-up, open-hand insisting gesture, as if he were begging him to understand. The coach in this case literally uses the team as a resource to re-­ engage an individual player who had stopped paying attention to the coach’s instructions. The fact that the coach closes his eyes and moves backwards for a short moment is enough of a cue for the other team members to take over the initiative and provide an intense response. The response not only indicates, and serves as correction of, the deviant behavior of player 6, it also makes visible how fundamentally important it is for the team to possess a common understanding about what to do next before re-starting the game: When the coach has apparently failed to involve an important player in his tactical advice and for a short moment seems unwilling or unable to rectify this, the team instantly comes in to fill the gap.

5.3.2 Evaluative and Instructional Address to the Team As has been said, the part addressed to individual players is not delivered during every time-out, while the evaluation of past performance and the instruction of future measures are necessary components. In this part of the time-out, the coach evaluates offense and defense, and gives tactical instruction. Many coaches have individual list items in mind that they address one after the other. For example, many of them first evaluate the defense, then the offense, and then announce changes in the tactical arrangement. Aside from content-related issues, however, two practices that secure understanding during the addresses appear to be universal: the embodied reenactment of past or anticipated situations and dialogical practices that seek confirmation of understanding from the addressees.

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Example 7.12

During her address in Example 7.12, the coach urges the players to exert more pressure upon the opponent (line 01). After a short pause (line 02), she bodily reenacts two forms of action (stills with lines 03 and 04) and verbally comments on them in a disapproving way (lines 03–04). After another short pause (line 05) she asks the players for confirmation (line 06). In the reenactments, the coach thus uses her body to visually illustrate two forms of action that the players have applied during the game without naming them verbally: grabbing and pulling opponents by their shirts and pushing opponent backwards with their own backs— both of which are often punished by the referees. Through her embodied performance of these actions familiar to the players thanks to shared kinesthetic knowledge, the coach is able to avoid lengthy verbal descriptions. The performance through reenactments specifies the relevant information to the players in a precise way and in a short time

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by activating available body schemes of the players through direct presentiveness. Reenactments are thus used to concisely communicate to the recipient “codeable events (i.e. events amenable to classification in terms of conventional categories)” in a different yet circumstantially equally well-adapted way as in 911 calls, as analyzed by Raymond and Zimmerman (2007: 37–38). Furthermore, through their visibility, reenactments ensure the accessibility of the coach’s central points to everyone present. Often they are only combined with short periodical interjections to increase the chance that every team member makes note of these central points. This is why reenactments are almost never used during an address to an individual player, when the coach faces someone directly. The second practice, dialogical seeking of confirmation, is also a constant characteristic of this phase of the time-out and extensively performed by all coaches observed. Example 7.13

In Example 7.13, the coach asks the team not to act too fast in their offense (by hastily throwing the ball in direction of the goal) and to be more patient (line 01). He then directly repeats this request and adds a tag question (line 02). All the coaches observed constantly use this kind of tag question or question particle in their addressees, such as yes?, okay?, or, sometimes, understood?. During the phase of the team address, this occurs in a noticeably increased manner. It appears to provide a solution for two problems in this context: Tag questions solicit responsiveness and attention but make turn-taking improbable. The same is true for the use of repetition: Already used quite often during time-outs, repetition is used even more during the team addresses. Seemingly in contradiction with the short time allotted for verbal exchanges provided by the time-out, coaches frequently use repetitions and repeat entire sentences, phrases, or single words in identical or modified forms.

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Example 7.14

In Example 7.14, the coach urges the team to move towards the goal using a strongly emphasized staccato in the first part (line 01) and repeating the first phrase in syntactic inversion, thus forming an anadiplotic parallelism, in the second (line 02). Hence, she does not simply repeat what she said, but does so in a rhetorically artful way, which renders her statement memorable, arouses the attention of the listeners, and emphasizes the importance of what has been said (Brown 2001: 221), thereby endowing her utterance with “rhetorical energy” (Kennedy 1992: 2). Moreover, the permutation of topic and comment establishes an informational focus on both. The staccato-like intonation (isochronous rhythm) of the first part similarly constitutes a relatively time-consuming practice of talking to the team in which each element (syllable, word, or phrase) is stressed individually. And yet all coaches use it, in particular when they address the most fundamental items of advice to the teams or individual players. Through its drumming and hammering form, staccato rhythm “marks particularly salient utterance parts” (Streeck 2008: 170). Examples are the urge to move towards the goal, to close up to one another in order to leave no room for the opponent, or to seek a direct tackle with a member of the other team. All of these actions imply painful physical contact. Staccato intonation thus appears to function as “affect key” (Ochs and Schieffelin 1989: 15), indexing emotional involvement and addressing basic ethical stances of team sports. In our case, this concerns the value of boldness and the stance of not avoiding going to “where it hurts”. Thus, with repetition and staccato intonation, two methods that are relatively time consuming—given the 60-second length of the timeout—are employed by the coaches to accentuate those pieces of information that they consider most important. When there is little time, practices that are exaggeratedly time-consuming become particularly cherished.

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Due to the fact that this phase of the time-out is considered particularly important in regard to information, coaches usually do not allow other team members to come in verbally. Example 7.15

In Example 7.15, while addressing several individual failures in tackling situations (adding up to a team critique; lines 01–05), one player interjects something (line 06). The coach instantly switches to a louder voice, talking over the interjection (06/07) and then continues with an announcement (line 08). During this part of the coach’s address, the contributions of players are observably dispreferred. This changes in the following phase.

5.3.3 Motivational Address to the Team In contrast to the second part, the third portion of the coach’s address is largely characterized by the absence of practices of the coach that dialogically seek confirmation and at the same time by the coach being much more open to contributions by the players.

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Example 7.16

After having addressed defensive and offensive tactics, in Example 7.16, the coach now verbally initiates a clearly recognizable activity transition through a loud so (line 01). Bolden’s (2009: 974) finding that in English, turn-initial so is used “to indicate the status of the upcoming action as ‘emerging from incipiency’ rather than being contingent on the immediately preceding talk” and to suggest that “the activity being launched has been relevantly pending” also fits Example 7.16. So is possibly used by the coach to emphasize that time is running out, that he has to come to a conclusion, and that the closing of the time-out starts now. Therefore, he then recapitulates the situation in a very condensed, tag-like list format, switching from retrospective (lines 02–03) via contemporary descriptions (line 04) to prospective appraisements (lines 05 and 07–08). The tag-like list encompasses re-assuring (lines 02 and 04) and encouraging (line 07) as well as expressions of confidence and motivational parts (lines 05 and 08). It is interestingly in one of these latter moments that player 16 comes in with a (sequentially unproblematic, although in overlap) motivational (phatic) interjection (hey line 06) that acts as a kind of wake-up call for the team to have renewed concentration. The coach himself also ends with a motivational (conative) interjection (go ) (for the difference between ‘conative’ and ‘phatic’ interjections, see Ameka 1992). Both types of interjection engage the addressees, and—in the case of hey—the speaker himself as well.

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Furthermore, in the motivational part of the coach’s address, gesture and other multimodal and embodied resources are employed as well, as we can see in the next example. Example 7.17

One point that is interesting in Example 7.17 is the coach’s embodied performance of the closeness of the output of his team to that of the opponent (lines 02–06). In a forceful solicitation (lines 02–03), the coach uses a syntactic expletive (it ) to construct a cleft sentence, which puts the primary grammatical focus on THIS much. The grammatical focus is amplified through forceful intonation and a two-finger gesture that illustrates the tiny distance to the opponent (still with line 02). The construction allows him to put the focus and information value on both THIS much and that we’re lacking, since the grammatical subject is de-topicalized through the usage of a ‘dummy pronoun’. Moreover, the embodied performance of the tiny gap between the team and their opponents through a gesture accompanied by intonation renders this gap practically tangible and experienceable, thus mobilizing the players’ bodily and mental resources to exert extra effort for the rest of the game in order to overcome this gap. At the end of the sequence, the coach provides one example where these newly activated resources might be directed: In 07 he reenacts the action of pushing an opponent away from the team’s own goal. Even though this action is familiar

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to all players, the body scheme of actually doing it is now re-activated through its bodily performance. While in the first two parts of the coach’s address, contributions by the team are mostly sharply suppressed by the coach, the third, motivational part is much more open to them (as we have already seen in Example 7.16). Example 7.18

Even as the coach is still talking to the team (Example 7.18, line 01), several team members start to put their hands together in the center of the circle to form a joint gesture (still with line 01). They keep holding their hands up, as the coach continues speaking in the direction of a single player (lines 02). Overlaps to his talk through motivational interjections by team members now increase in number (lines 03 and 04–05). While the other parts of the address were shaped (and normatively enforced) as a monologue, the activity now moves towards a format that increasingly involves what Lerner (2002) has called the “choral production” of talk: Like in greeting and parting rituals, several participants utter formulaic expressions at once and in overlap, and this does not create sequential problems but is a necessary part of the activity itself. When the coach himself eventually also puts his hand on the others’ to participate in the co-gesture (still with line 05), he makes

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accountable the end of the address phase and thus initiates the transition towards the closing activities of the time-out. As time runs out, the players now actively contribute to closing the talking by interposing more and more motivational interjections and shouts and by adopting the joint posture and gesture that form the ritual act at the end of the time-out. They thus also demonstrate their motivation and impatience to implement the tactical advice given by the coach in his address.

5.4 Ritual Ending The time-out ends with a vocally and bodily highly coordinated ritual in which the coach only participates optionally. It includes joint rhythmical performance, gesture, and shouting. Example 7.19

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At the end of his address in Example 7.19, the coach shouts the conative interjection hop (go ) (line 01; cf. Example 7.17). After that, several players shout motivational interjections (resulting in largely unintelligible babel line 03) and put their hands together in the middle of the circle (still with line 03). The players or staff members who are unable to reach with their own hands the cluster of hands in the middle of the circle touch the shoulder or back of someone who is. Then the coach shouts the acronym of the sports club (line 05) while the hand cluster in the middle vertically moves in accordance with the three-part rhythm of it (still with line 05). In direct succession to and very ­precisely ­co­ordinated with the rhythmically intonated three-part acronym, the group shouts go (line 06) while they move their joint hands upwards very fast (still with line 05) and let go at the highest point of the movement. The three-part structure of the acronym makes the end of its articulation projectable for the others and thus allows for a ­well-coordinated shout (go ) and movement in subsequence (as in Atkinson’s [1984: 57–72] study on the coordination of applause in political rhetoric). In this moment, the team virtually fuses into one team-agent through joint kinesthetic and vocal activity. Example 7.20

Not only does the ending ritual help the players synchronize and symmetrize their bodies and minds and thus optimize their subsequent

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performance, as we have argued elsewhere in more detail (Meyer and v. Wedelstaedt 2015), it also strengthens arousal, motivation, and assertiveness as well as the identity of the team as a group (Fessler and Holbrook 2014). The expressly prosocial ritual ending of the time-out gathering stands in stark contrast to the rather casual, en passant opening. In its utterly predefined structure, it appears to offer a solution for the timing problem that conversational endings normally provide. The dramaturgical track of the ending culminating in the joint gestural movement is irreversible. Instead of waiting for the referee to blow their whistle, the group actively manages the command of the clock, thereby claiming agency and autonomy of action and again demonstrating their eagerness to implement the instructions of the coach. Furthermore, through its orchestration, the ritual ending secures participation and avoids timeloss through social closing practices. After the ritual, the team immediately splits up to re-take their positions on the field and the bench while the coach might still continue talking to individual players, largely depending on the time left until the restart of the game.

6 Conclusion At the beginning of this text we suggested that the conditions of the team time-out are seemingly hostile to communication if we define communication as the transmittance of propositional information or, in a Habermasian way, as deliberative discourse in which the better argument in regard to a topic is valued. We have asked a number of questions concerning the way in which, in spite of these circumstances, communication can be managed in this kind of situation, including how coordination and understanding are achieved, which semiotic resources are employed, how participation frameworks and joint attention are attained, and how activities are performed, made recognizable, and sequenced. We have seen that handball team time-outs consist of several steps, or parts, that are actively and reflexively constituted by the participants.

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In order to allow for the coach’s address, for example, a circle has to be constituted by the team members as contextural gestalt that renders the address viable. Only when the circle tightens can the coach be sure of the attention of their team; the tightening is a practice that only succeeds when—not unlike a school of fish—a non-trivial number of the participants perform the relevant action. In the same way, several of the embodied activities constitutive of the handball time-out provide gestalt contextures that subsequently can be used as environments for further meaningful action. The activities involved in the time-out thus constantly and simultaneously produce contexts that frame actions as well as actions that constitute contexts. In ethnomethodological terminology, the actions exhibit a genuine accountability and essential reflexivity, since they are treated as typical tokens of types known by the participants from previous activities, unless trouble occurs (as in Example 7.11). Thus, while in the normal process there apparently is a matching correlation—and often an identity—between activities constituting the context of actions and actions that are meaningful within this selfsame context, trouble occurs when the correlation does not fit or the simultaneous constitution of both comes to a standstill. Thus, context for action is not a given but a constant product achieved through the practices of participating individuals in conjunction; it is thus fragile. Most of the contextural gestalts of the handball time-out are established by several individuals in finely coordinated, collaborative, and often intercorporeal activities (such as the collaborative provision of an explanation in Example 7.11 or the choral production of the closing of the time-out in Examples 7.18–7.20). The resources used to accomplish intercorporeality in practice include not only the collocation or merging of vocality as well as of gaze, gesture, tactility, posture, and movement, but also the sequential ordering of practices that adjust to one another. The resources used are not arbitrarily selected by the participants but clearly stand in direct relation to the circumstances of the situation, involving significant noise and time pressure. Reenactments, for example, allow for a fast performance of bodily or kinesthetic meaning thanks to their gestalt. Repetition and staccato are forceful and memorable means of emphasizing salient points in the

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address. However, the highly multimodal, embodied form of the activities that we described in this chapter (e.g. providing advice, critique, and praise, and encouraging the players to continue fighting) is only in part a reaction to the adverse environmental conditions of the time-out. More importantly, it demonstrates the general effectiveness of gestaltlike embodied interaction and how much Wittgenstein (2009: 159) was right when he called meaning “a physiognomy”. The performance of vitality, determination, and handball-specific “fighting knowledge” is certainly incomparably more convincing when performed bodily. Thus, while it might be true that the polarity of talk-in-embodied-­ activities and embodied-activities-in-talk presents a continuum such that in the handball time-out sometimes one and sometimes the other dimension predominates, talk must be seen as an embodied activity that itself requires bodily effort and work. This is particularly evident in the motivational part and ending ritual where utterances often have no intrinsic semantic meaning but mostly consist of signs of vitality and determination. The affects and sentiments performed (and, as it were, produced) in these parts of the time-out present themselves to the individual as multimodally accomplished gestalt contextures and thus as external realities that they can adhere to. In this way, the timeout can be seen as a fractal version—a mise-en-abyme—of the handball game more generally: Handball means fighting, and the time-out equally means fighting (against the time and against the noise). In the time-out, the coach shortly takes over the fight, struggling to accomplish persuasive messages (embodied and vocal). He now, temporarily, acts the part of the hero, while the players are able to rest and recreate their community spirit even though they certainly still continue fighting in a “standby mode”. In this chapter, we have examined how the practices and activities intrinsic to handball team time-outs are effective not in spite of but because of these seemingly unfavorable conditions. They are effective because they are constituted by the merging of multimodal resources to gestalt textures and contextures and, at the same time, characterized by an intrinsic reflexivity that allows the participants to perceive them as typical documents of normal time-out activities until further notice.

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Appendix: Transcription Signs Used

References Ameka, Felix. 1992. The meaning of phatic and conative interjections. Journal of Pragmatics 18: 245–271. American Sport Education Program (ASEP), and Kathy McGee. 2007. Coaching basketball. Technical and tactical skills. Champaign: Human Kinetics. Atkinson, J. Maxwell. 1984. Our masters’ voices: The language and body language of politics. London: Methuen. Bolden, Galina B. 2009. Implementing incipient actions: The discourse marker ‘so’ in English conversation. Journal of Pragmatics 41: 974–998. Brown, Penelope. 2001. Repetition. In Key terms in language and culture, ed. Alessandro Duranti, 219–222. Oxford: Blackwells. Cheng, W.W.M., A.F. Carre, K. Kim, and R. Carr. 2003. International comparative analysis of timeout decision making strategies employed by male university basketball coaches. Journal of Physical Education and Recreation 9 (2): 66–70.

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Duke, Alison, and John Corlett. 1992. Factors affecting university women’s basketball coaches’ timeout decisions. Canadian Journal of Sport Sciences 17 (4): 333–337. Fessler, Daniel M.T., and Colin Holbrook. 2014. Marching into battle: Synchronized walking diminishes the conceptualized formidability of an antagonist in men. Biology Letters 10: 20140592. Garfinkel, Harold. 1963. A conception of, and experiments with, ‘trust’ as a condition of stable concerted actions. In Motivation and social interaction, ed. O.J. Harvey, 187–238. New York: Ronald Press. Garfinkel, Harold. 1967. Studies in ethnomethodology. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall. Goffman, Erving. 1963. Behavior in public places. Notes on the social organization of gatherings. Glencoe: The Free Press. Gómez, Miguel A., Sergio Jiménez, Rafael Navarro, Carlos Lago-Penas, and Jaime Sampaio. 2011. Effects of coaches’ timeouts on basketball teams’ offensive and defensive performances according to momentary differences in score and game period. European Journal of Sport Science 11 (5): 303–308. Goodwin, Charles. 1980. Restarts, pauses, and the achievement of mutual gaze at turn beginning. Sociological Inquiry 50 (3–4): 272–302. Kendon, Adam. 1990. Conducting interaction: Patterns of behavior in focused encounters. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kennedy, George A. 1992. A hoot in the dark: The evolution of general rhetoric. Philosophy and Rhetoric 25 (1): 1–21. Kolodziej, Christoph. 2013. Erfolgreich handball spielen: Technik-TaktikTraining. München: BLV. Lerner, Gene H. 2002. Turn-sharing: The choral co-production of talk-in-interaction. In The language of turn and sequence, ed. Cecilia E. Ford, Barbara E. Fox, and Sandra A. Thompson, 225–256. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lorenzo, Jorge, Rafael Navarro, Jesús Rivilla, and Alberto Lorenzo. 2013. The analysis of the basketball coach speech during the moments of game and pause in relation to the performance in competition. Revista de Psicología del Deporte 22 (1): 227–230. Meyer, Christian, and Ulrich v. Wedelstaedt. 2013. Skopische Sozialität: Sichtbarkeitsregime und visuelle Praktiken im Boxen. Soziale Welt 64: 69–95.

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Meyer, Christian, and Ulrich v. Wedelstaedt. 2015. Teamsubjekte: Körperlichrituelle Mechanismen der Vergemeinschaftung im Spitzensport. In Vergemeinschaftung durch rituelle Verkörperung. Zur körperlichen Performanz kollektiver Identität, ed. Robert Gugutzer and Michael Staack, 97–124. Wiesbaden: Springer VS. Meyer, Christian, Jürgen Streeck, and J. Scott Jordan. 2017. Introduction. In Intercorporeality: Emerging bodies in interaction, ed. Christian Meyer, Jürgen Streeck, and J. Scott Jordan, xiii–xlvii. New York: Oxford University Press. Ochs, Elinor, and Bambi Schieffelin. 1989. Language has a heart. Text 9 (1): 7–25. Permutt, Sam. 2011. The efficacy of momentum-stopping timeouts on shortterm performance in the National Basketball Association. Unpublished senior thesis, Haverford College, Department of Economics. Raymond, Geoffrey, and Don H. Zimmerman. 2007. Rights and responsibilities in calls for help: The case of the mountain glade fire. Research on Language and Social Interaction 40 (1): 33–61. Saavedra, Serguei, Satyam Mukherjee, and James P. Bagrow. 2012. Can timeouts change the outcome of basketball games? Unpublished paper. http:// bagrow.co/pdf/NBA_timeoutFactors_2012_preprint.pdf. Sampaio, Jaime, Carlos Lago-Peñas, and Miguel A. Gómez. 2013. Brief exploration of short and mid-term timeout effects on basketball scoring according to situational variables. European Journal of Sport Science 13 (1): 25–30. 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. Streeck, Jürgen. 2008. Gesture in political communication: A case study of the democratic presidential candidates during the 2004 primary campaign. Research on Language and Social Interaction 41 (2): 154–186. v. Wedelstaedt, Ulrich, and Christian Meyer. 2017. Social action under time pressure: Intercorporeality and Interkinesthetic Gestalts in Handball. In Moving bodies in interaction—Interacting bodies in motion. Intercorporeality, interkinesthesia and enaction in sports, ed. Christian Meyer and Ulrich v. Wedelstaedt, 57–91. Amsterdam: Benjamins. Watson, Rodney. 2005. Reflexivity, description and the analysis of social settings. Ciências Sociais Unisinos 41 (1): 5–10. Wieder, D. Lawrence. 1974. Language and social reality. The case of telling the convict code. The Hague: Mouton. Wittgenstein, Ludwig. 2009. Philosophical investigations. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell.

8 ‘Punch and Judy’ Politics? Embodying Challenging Courses of Action in Parliament Elisabeth Reber

1 Introduction This chapter is concerned with Prime Minister’s Questions (PMQs), in today’s form a weekly, televised, half-hour question time in the British House of Commons where the Prime Minister (PM) takes questions from the Leader of the Opposition (LO) and Members of Parliament (MPs). PMQs has widely been criticised for its increasing “rowdiness and adversariality” (Bates et al. 2012: 22; cf. also Franks and Vandermark 1995). ‘Punch and Judy politics’ has been used as a metaphor to describe this kind of conduct during the adversarial interactions at PMQs.1 1Consider

for instance the headline of an article in a British broadsheet, “Cameron fails to end ‘Punch and Judy’ politics” (Kirkup 2008), or PM Gordon Brown’s attack on David Cameron at PMQs: “This is the man who makes speeches about the primacy of Parliament. This is the man who says that we should keep our promises, and also said that there would be an end to Punch and Judy politics — and what did he then do?” (Hansard 27 Feb. 2008).

E. Reber (*)  University of Würzburg, Würzburg, Germany e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 E. Reber and C. Gerhardt (eds.), Embodied Activities in Face-to-face and Mediated Settings, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-97325-8_8

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This chapter illustrates (1) how adversariality is performed through a specific course of action between the LO and the PM and (2) how embodied claims of epistemic and evidential access are deployed for mutual claims of power and authority/dominance. My understanding of activity is informed by Heritage and Sorjonen, who describe activity as a “topically coherent and/or goal-coherent course of action” (Heritage and Sorjonen 1994: 4). In particular, adversarial activities have been likened to a form of physical conflict. M. Goodwin, for instance, states on accusation-denial sequences among young black girls: “This activity of formally bringing a grievance before someone, presenting one’s case, and talking things out is viewed as an alternative to physical fighting” (Goodwin 1990: 200). According to Geoff Raymond (p.c.), the adversarial courses of action at PMQs resemble boxing fights. Indeed, the House of Commons Chamber provides a physical setting where relations of opposition and agreement are made visible in its ecology of space: The government and opposition MPs face each other on opposite benches, with the Speaker of the House of Commons sitting on the Speaker’s Chair in between at the far end of the Chamber. The PM and members of the government sit on the front bench (to the right from the Speaker’s perspective), opposite the LO and members of his shadow cabinet. When speaking, they are not permitted to cross the red line on the floor in front of them, allegedly to prevent physical contact (House of Commons Information Office 2012; cf. Fig. 8.1). Hall (1969) has cited these spatial arrangements as a poignant example of fixed-feature space: The important point about fixed-feature space is that it is the mold into which a great deal of behavior is cast. It was this feature of space that the late Winston Churchill referred to when he said: ‘We shape our buildings and they shape us.’ During the debate on restoring the House of Commons after the war, Churchill feared that departure from the intimate spatial pattern of the House, where opponents face each other across a narrow aisle, would seriously alter the patterns of government. (Hall 1969: 106–107)

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Fig. 8.1  Ecology of space of the House of Commons Chamber (All pictures are courtesy of UK Parliament)

PMQs not only represents a parliamentary institution but has also become a media event which enjoys wide public attention and is watched and critically assessed by a global audience. As such, it has been suggested that PMQs is not a setting where the different policies of the different parties are examined in the best possible, objective way as part of the democratic process. Reporting of the event nearly always talks in terms of a victory for either the PM, or the Opposition leader, and broadcast media concentrate on soundbites that are about confrontation rather than explanation. The event is often very rowdy, with frequent interruptions, adding to the impression of a battle rather than a calm debate. (Beard 2000: 105–106)

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To my knowledge, there exists no substantial research on PMQs from an interactional, embodied perspective (but see Robles 2011 on the House of Lords). Past research on action formation at PMQs has been informed by Discourse Analysis, which has concentrated on face-threatening acts (Bull and Wells 2012; Harris 2001), insults (Ilie 2004), and follow-ups (Ilie 2015; Fetzer 2015) or the classification of single actions (Bates et al. 2012). Little attention has been paid to the situated embeddedness of actions in embodied interaction (but see Chilton 2007).2 This study is a first attempt to fill this gap, offering an embodied micro-analysis of an adversarial activity between the LO and the PM at PMQs. The general interest of this chapter is to find (1) how the LO and the PM engage in coherent courses of action at PMQs and (2) whether there are patterned uses between specific linguistic actions and visual resources. The chapter is organised as follows: First a literature review on activities and embodiment in political interaction is presented (Sect. 2). Next the data and methodology are described (Sect. 3). Section 4 provides the findings of the analysis. Section 5 concludes.

2 Activities and Embodiment in Political Interaction Prior synchronic, conversation analytic research on political communication has largely been concerned with political speeches (Atkinson 1984; Clayman 1993; Heritage and Greatbatch 1986; Mazeland 2003; Sato 2014), news interviews (Clayman and Heritage 2002a), press conferences (Clayman and Heritage 2002b; Clayman et al. 2007), town hall meetings (Mondada 2015), and presidential debates (Streeck 2008; Vincze et al. 2016).

2Other aspects studied have been evidential practices (Reber 2014a), linguistic patterning (Sealey and Bates 2016), identity co-construction, forms of address, and gendered discourse in parliamentary discourse (Ilie 2010a, b, see also Ilie 2006 for an introduction to parliamentary discourse).

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Compared to mundane interaction (cf. Gerhardt and Reber, this volume, for a review), there is, however, only little work on activities in political interaction. Notable exceptions are Reynolds (2011a, b, 2013, 2015) and Roth (2005) who discern recurrent courses of action, stressing that epistemic access and authority are relevant to activities in political interaction (cf. also Bilmes 1999, 2001). Specifically, Reynolds describes a “practice in which participants would ask uncontroversial, ‘enticing’ questions which do not transparently oppose the addressed speaker, manipulating epistemic displays and epistemic rights in order to establish a basis for a later, oppositional, action” (Reynolds 2011a: 2; drawing on Gruber 2001). Here questioners strategically solicits an anticipated, known answer in order to use it as a basis for their subsequent challenge. This is illustrated in Ex. (8.1). C is the challenger, T the target. Ex. 8.1 GIC:EJR:2009:11:C1 “Argument with Anti-birth Control.” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tC6GxktGdww [05:19–05:37] (modified from Reynolds 2015: 301; cf. also Reynolds 2011a: 2)

The target produces an ‘arguable’ (we’re not talking about destro:ying anything, line 96), which occasions the enticing sequence. The challenger first produces a pre-pre ([>let me a]sk you something, lines 98–99) before he asks an enticing, uncontroversial question (=do you eat eggs, line 99). The latter is conducive of a positive answer, the enticed response, which is forthcoming in line 101 (). There follows a challenging upshot (that’s a foe:tus. […], lines 102–104), followed by what Reynolds calls a reaction

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([] about  […], lines 105–107, Reynolds 2015: 300–302). The organisation of the enticing sequence is summarised in Table 8.1. Roth (2005) identifies an activity in news interviews with U.S. American presidential candidates, which he calls journalistic “pop quiz questioning.” He shows how the questioning through which the factual knowledge of the candidates is tested may “transform the news interview into a kind of a ‘degradation ceremony’ (Garfinkel 1956)” (Roth 2005: 40), in which presidential candidates are potentially discredited. Similarly, the few interactional studies that focus on situated embodied practices in political interaction are concerned with epistemic claims (cf. further Cienki 2004). Vincze et al. (2016) find that what they call ‘ignorance-unmasking questions’ in a French presidential debate are deployed by questioning candidates to claim their superior epistemic status and power over that of the political opponent. The (anticipated) lower epistemic status claimed in the answer is next ridiculed through a negative assessment. This third-positioned assessment is contextualised by ironic smiles, laughter, or ironic shoulder raise, which is treated as a practice to point to the opponent’s lack of power. Streeck (2008) stresses the relevance of the orator’s visual performance to the audience: In his study of the Democratic candidates’ performance in two primary debates during the 2003–2004 U.S. election campaign, he argues that the use of gesture is a resource for self-presentation and the construction of the relationship of the orator with the audience. On the use of the ‘index-up gesture’ by one of the candidates, Howard Dean, he notes: Table 8.1  The sequence of enticing a challengeable (modified from Reynolds 2013: 60–61) Phase

Action

Preface

Pre-pre Pre-question Enticing interrogative Enticed response Challenging upshot Various

Pre-challenge Challenge Reaction

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Although much more systematic research is needed both on the use of the index-up gesture in everyday communication and on audience responses to it and other gestures, one interpretive hypothesis is that in Dean’s case, it displays the speaker’s claim that what he is saying is important, instructive, and new. Dean’s use of the index-up gesture is a hierarchical act, predicated on and assertive of an asymmetry of knowledge. The speaker presents himself as instructor. (Streeck 2008: 181)

Complementing and expanding on the findings of this past research, the study presented in Sects. 3 and 4 shows that the enticing sequence is performed in a varied form in PMQs. It argues that the index-up gesture is a resource used by the majority of LOs and across party lines in one and the same action slot to claim superior epistemic and evidential access and thus power and dominance over the political opponent.

3 Data and Methodology This study draws on the video footage of the question-answer sequences between the LO and PM taken from 42 sessions of PMQs between 2003 and 2011 (approx. 21 hours of video recordings in total) and the corresponding Hansard files.3 The LO has a prominent role at PMQs in that he has the right to ask six ‘supplementary’ questions (Giddings and Irwin 2005: 72–73). Supplementary questions are questions which are not submitted in writing to clerks’ office before question time and thus not known to the PM in advance (even though questions are sometimes leaked).4 This means that LOs have a useful weapon for attacking the PM with respect to his factual knowledge and credibility and that they

3I

am grateful to Elizabeth Couper-Kuhlen and Anita Fetzer for making the videos available to me. Thanks to Stephen Bates and Alison Sealey for the Hansard files. 4For an example of question-leaking, see http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/jeremy-corbyn-pmq-prime-ministers-questions-labour-attack-lines-leaked-david-cameron-a7058921. html, accessed June 2018.

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have the interactional time and space to prepare for their base action through preliminary actions. The data stem from a larger project concerned with change and variation in quoting based on a corpus of PMQs from 1978 to 2013 (Reber 2018). The methodological approach to the study is informed by Interactional Linguistics (IL, Couper-Kuhlen and Selting 1996; Couper-Kuhlen and Selting 2001) which takes an interest in how participants deploy verbal, vocal and, most recently, embodied resources in naturally occurring social interaction. IL constitutes a research programme which combines the descriptive tools of Linguistics and the sociological methodology of Conversation Analysis with the framework of contextualisation theory. Since Hansard does not lend itself to multimodal, interactional analysis, I transcribed the verbal and vocal production of speech in GAT 2 (Couper-Kuhlen and Barth-Weingarten 2011) and the camera work, visual resources, and manipulation of objects, using Mondada’s (2014) ‘Conventions for multimodal transcription’ (cf. the Appendix). Since a focus of the analysis lies on the index-up gesture, its trajectory and coordination are transcribed and analysed in a more detailed fashion. As the full name of PMQs, Prime Minister’s Questions, suggests, what is required by the institution is for the LO to pose questions and for the PM to provide answers. To identify distinct courses of action, the following analytic questions were asked: How are the question-answer sequences organised?5 Are there sequences of sequences which form a coherent whole, i.e. emerge as activities? What types of actions are performed? How do they build on one another? What are their

5Schegloff’s

(2007) account of sequence organisation is fundamental here:

The organization of sequences is one of the central forms of organization that gives shape and coherence to stretches of talk and the series of turns of which stretches of talk are composed. The focus of this organization is not, in general, convergence on some topic being talked about, but the contingent development of courses of actions. The coherence which is involved is that which relates the action or actions which get enacted in or by an utterance to the ones which have preceded and the ones which may follow. (Schegloff 2007: 251, italics in the original)

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functions? How are these actions designed and contextualised through vocal, verbal and visual resources? How is the activity exited and closed? Are there any deviant cases?

4 Analysis: A Recurrent Adversarial Activity at PMQs The starting point for the analysis was the observation that there are a variety of ways in which the LO and the PM can engage in adversarial (but also friendly) courses of action at PMQs. I first looked for question-answer sequences which are solicited by a simple question, i.e. a question that is not introduced by prefatory material (as opposed to prefaced questions, Clayman and Heritage 2002a). This search yielded 14 sequences with a simple question in first position. In 8 of these 14 cases, I found that the first question functions as an enticing question which prepares for an accusation in the subsequent question turn. Here the LO follows a hidden agenda whose goal is to attack and damage the PM’s credibility and authority as head of government. This outline shows the design of a recurrent course of action which I identified on the basis of these 8 cases: LO: enticing question PM: pre-figured answer LO: accusation PM: account, counter-accusation or a combination of the two LO: accusation (on-topic or topic-shift)

The activity is initiated with an uncontroversial, enticing question, which invites a pre-figured answer. The LO next uses what the PM just made publicly and in situ available as a basis for his accusation. In his answer turn, the PM may perform an account, a counter-accusation, or a combination of the two. Following more accusations and

264     E. Reber Table 8.2  Collection of enticing sequences 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

PMQs

Prime Minister

Leader of the opposition

16 July 2003 16 Nov. 2005 06 Feb. 2008 02 July 2008 08 Dec. 2010 19 Jan. 2011 27 April 2011 11 May 2011

Tony Blair (Lab) Tony Blair (Lab) Gordon Brown (Lab) Gordon Brown (Lab) David Cameron (Con) David Cameron (Con) David Cameron (Con) David Cameron (Con)

Iain Duncan Smith (Con) Michael Howard (Con) David Cameron (Con) David Cameron (Con) Ed Miliband (Lab) Ed Miliband (Lab) Ed Miliband (Lab) Ed Miliband (Lab)

counter-accusations, varying in number, the activity is terminated. As will be discussed in more detail below, it is particularly notable in this activity that the LO does not pursue agreement or compromise with the PM: On the contrary, the mutual aim is to challenge each other’s credibility and authority. In performing the first two actions, the LO dictates a hidden agenda in which an asymmetric relationship is constructed. Table 8.2 gives an overview of the collection of PMQs where this course of actions was observed. Note that LOs across party lines engage in agendas solicited by enticing questions. It constitutes a methodological problem that in institutional interactions with a public audience, participants in their professional roles put on their game faces to the effect that participants’ understanding of the prior action is sometimes methodically not displayed; this complicates action ascription from a participants’ perspective (cf. Clayman and Heritage 2002a: 242; Robles 2011: 151). I label and analyse the actions according to their formatting and how they are treated by recipients, as well as in terms of their function in the overall design of the activity, which may only become visible in retrospect. Additionally, my analysis draws on the responses of co-participants, i.e. the audience, as evidence. Sections 4.1–4.6 present the analysis of an extract (4:00 min) to illustrate the single, contingent actions which build the activity summarised above. The extract has been selected because it exemplifies a frequent

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case where the enticing question is designed as a wh-interrogative and the LO claims a (K-) epistemic status (Heritage and Raymond 2012). Since the study is concerned with how adversariality is performed, the analysis of visual resources will focus on claims of (epistemic) authority, dominance, and power relations in the first three action turns. While there is only space to present a single case, the analysis seeks to highlight common patterns of action formation identified across all instances of the activity found.

4.1 The Enticing Question The initiating action of the sequence always has a simple question design, i.e. it is not prepared for by prefatory material.6 It can come in various interrogative forms (wh-, yes/no, or alternative-questions), with wh-interrogatives representing the most frequent grammatical format in the collection. The question turn functions as an uncontroversial but enticing question. This means that while the enticing questions clearly challenge the PM, their vocal and visual contextualisations are not openly hostile (a point which is also evidenced by the fact that they can elicit type-conforming answers, cf. Sect. 4.2): They are generally not produced with “more-than-normal involvement” (Selting 1994). The proxemic distance between the LO and PM is not reduced, i.e. the LO does not prop himself on the dispatch box but stands fairly upright during the production of the interrogative, although there can be a full, sustained gaze toward the PM throughout the entire construction or starting at what is treated as the final syntactic unit. Ex. (8.2) exemplifies an enticing question (lines 5, 7). S stands for the Speaker of the House of Commons, who allocates the rights to the floor during the interaction at PMQs. 6The

finding that the sequence does not have or need a preface phase as documented by Reynolds (2013, 2015) may be explained by the fact that PMQs represents a restricted speech setting (cf. Atkinson and Drew 1979).

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Ex. 8.2 PMQs 16 Nov. 2005. PM: Tony Blair (Lab); LO: Michael Howard (Con); S: Michael Martin

In line 1, S summons the LO (michael HOWard-), which is collectively appreciated by the opposition MPs (line 2). The LO takes the turn, producing a follow-up on the PM’s prior talk (line 3), which invites soft laughter on the part of the opposition MPs (line 4). Following repair (line 5), which shows the LO’s orientation to the MPs’ ongoing laughter, the LO solicits an answer on the part of the PM with a simple, indirect wh-interrogative (↑can he TELL us when he will publish his green paper […], line 7). The presupposition implied is that the PM has announced that he will publish the government’s Green Paper on incapacity benefit reform but that he has not done so yet, which depicts the PM as unreliable as head of government.7 7The

online glossary by the British Parliament provides the following definition of Green Papers:

Green Papers are consultation documents produced by the Government. The aim of this document is to allow people both inside and outside Parliament to give the department feedback on its policy or legislative proposals. (http://www.parliament.uk/site-information/glossary/green-papers/, accessed Feb. 2017)

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The question thus performs an implicit attack on the PM’s credibility and authority. Compared to prefaced questions where the prefatory material puts the question into context and establishes its relevance (Clayman and Heritage 2002a: 193) while also displaying the questioner’s “hostile and aggressive questioning [strategy]” (Clayman and Heritage 2002a: 196), simple questions do not appear to be openly hostile. This is also displayed through the vocal and visual contextualisation: The prosodic make-up of the TCU is unmarked, i.e. it is produced with usual loudness, duration, and pitch. The high onset on the first syllable in line 7 does not mark affect but serves as a turn-structuring resource in that it signals a “new beginning” (Couper-Kuhlen 2004). As regards the LO’s visual orientation, the LO first fully gazes towards the PM as the target of the question (line 5).8 During his restart (line 7), he reorients down onto his notes before holding a sustained gaze towards the PM during what is treated as the final syntactic unit of the interrogative, the object (his green paper on incapacity benefit reform ). While the object is being produced, the LO is slightly leaning towards the microphone and readjusting his grip on his notes. This manipulation of the object signals potential turn completion (cf. Fig. 8.2). On unit completion the LO immediately moves backwards with the notes in his hand to sit down on the bench behind him. In sum, the first question in the sequence of Q-As represents an enticing question, which challenges the authority of the PM but is not openly hostile. During the production of the question, the LO’s upper body largely remains upright and relaxed, only slightly leaning forward towards the end of the unit.9 This co-occurs with a manipulation of the notes which indexes the quick up-coming unit completion.

8The

participation framework of PMQs is similar to that of news interviews where the TV audience represents the “primary, if unaddressed recipients of the talk that emerges” (Heritage 1985: 100), although they are only “the indirect target” (Clayman and Heritage 2002a: 120). 9It constitutes a general pattern in the data that interrogative question components are accompanied by the LO’s full gaze toward the PM throughout the entire construction or starting at what is treated as the final syntactic unit (cf. similar findings on gaze in questions in everyday conversation, Rossano 2012, 2013; Rossano et al. 2009; Stivers and Rossano 2010).

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Fig. 8.2  Sustained full gaze, slightly moving towards the microphone and readjusting his grip on his notes during the last syntactic unit

4.2 The Pre-figured Answer In response, PMs typically comply with the constraints set up by the enticing question, treating it as uncontroversial. The response can be anticipated in the sense that it is predictable due to the dynamics of power talk where PMs (or speakers in general) tend to make positive attributions to and assessments of their own party and present themselves as having credibility and authority while making negative attributions to and assessments of the opposition.10 In line with these dynamics, these answer turns in response to enticing questions are generally performed in a preferred turn-format, i.e. undelayed and to the 10Exceptions to the rule are questions on national security where national interests are foregrounded or speeches where tributes are paid and unity across party lines is displayed.

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point, a preference orientation contextualised in the embodied gestalt of the answer: Verbally and vocally, the turn begins without repair, pausing, and/or hedges. Visually, the PMs begin with their speech even before being fully positioned at the dispatch box. All in all, this turn slot provides PMs with the opportunity to promote the government’s success and/or claim credibility and authority. In a deviant case in the collection (not shown for reasons of space), where this pre-figured answer is not forthcoming, the LO provides the answer himself in a follow-up to the PM’s response. This demonstrates that the response in the first answer turn slot is anticipated by the LO in the build-up of his agenda. If it is not forthcoming, it is relevantly absent in the trajectory of actions. Consider Ex. (8.3), which begins where Ex. (8.2) left off. Ex. 8.3 PMQs 16 Nov. 2005. PM: Tony Blair (Lab); LO: Michael Howard (Con); S: Michael Martin

The PM designs his answer as type-conforming (Schegloff 2007: 78; based on Raymond 2000, 2003) in a preferred turn format.11 This is embodied in the PM’s delivery: Even before the LO is seated on the 11The

concept of type conformity was introduced by Raymond (2000, 2003) in his work on yes/ no interrogatives but can also be applied to wh-interrogatives: “‘when’-interrogatives make a time reference relevant” (Schegloff 2007: 78). Preferred second pair parts come unmitigated, unelaborated, and on time (Schegloff 2007: 63–73).

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Fig. 8.3  The PM’s firm grip on his folder and sustained gaze towards the LO

opposition bench, the PM stands up and produces the onset of his turn on his way to his final position at the dispatch box (lines 8–9). On unit completion he moves back to sit down without delay. There is a small hitch in the performance when he produces the time reference made relevant by the wh-question only after a micro pause, which indicates the PM’s extra planning time for a candidate (we will pUblish it in (.) JANuary ). His firm grip on his folder throughout the production of the turn, however, indexes the PM’s project to perform his answer quickly and to the point.12 The PM maintains a sustained gaze towards the LO throughout the entire TCU (cf. Fig. 8.3). 12Edward

Reynolds has commented that in this restricted institutional environment, the PM must reply to all questions, enticing or not, and asked how we can say that the PM needs to be ‘enticed’ when in fact he is required to reply. Note that it constitutes a deviation from normal answer patterns in the data that PMs respond with a type-conforming answer at PMQs. It is in this sense that enticing questions are functional here: They solicit a straight, unequivocal answer on the part of the PM, which otherwise seems to be strategically avoided.

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More research from an interactional perspective is surely needed on gaze in second pair parts. It can be assumed, however, that the PM’s sustained gaze displays a non-submissive claim of power and dominance, an interpretation that is supported by findings from an experimental study in which aversion of gaze is analysed as a display of submission towards displays of dominance (Holland et al. 2017). This analysis is further evidenced by the audience response of the governmental MPs, who appreciate the action with loud laughter, shouting, and finger-pointing, celebrating the rebuttal of the LO’s implied hostile attack (lines 11–12). In sum, the gestalt-like embodied conduct with which the answer in the excerpt is performed is designed to make the answer appear as pre-planned and done in “one go,” i.e. without doubt or delay, signaling power and dominance, and thus functions to claim leadership and to display the PM’s credibility and authority as head of government.

4.3 The Accusation In the second allocated turn slot in the sequence, LOs perform an accusation which is based on the pre-figured answer which the PM has just made publicly available. The accusation comes in the form of a prefaced question, which typically contains one or more quotations in the preface. This action is the next part of a planned and well-rehearsed hidden agenda. Ex. (8.4), which continues Ex. (8.3), illustrates this. Ex. 8.4 PMQs (16 Nov. 2005). PM: Tony Blair (Lab); LO: Michael Howard (Con); S: Michael Martin

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After S’s summons, the LO positions himself at the dispatch box but does not begin to speak immediately, showing an orientation to the ongoing audience responses ([(0.38) (0.63) (1.56) i’m VERy-], lines 14, 15). While the governmental MPs continue to celebrate, he orients his gaze towards S, and performs an index-up gesture, lifting his right index finger in upright position. This gesture is repeated several times during his follow-up, in which he ratifies the PM’s answer (lines 16–19, cf. Fig. 8.4). When it accompanies speech, the apex of the gesture is coordinated with the accented syllable of “very.” The LO’s head posture and gaze display orientations to the parties targeted by the gesture. It signals superior access to information possibly not known to his co-participants and the public audience, and thus constructs the LO as an instructor. In the face of the rebuttal celebrated by the governmental MPs, the gesture serves to claim a maintained evidential and epistemic authority and power. When the governmental MPs do not respond to his visual displays, the LO verbalises his disagreement (no no=HANG on; […], lines 23–25), which is also in part visualised through head shakes (line 25). This is finally oriented to by the MPs when they become more and more quiet until the LO speaks in the clear (lines 26). Framed by the connector but as a concessive move (line 21), the LO displays explicit doubt, challenging the truthfulness of the PM’s answer (the prIme minister will understand if i’m jUst (.) just a lIttle SCEPtical, line 26) on the one hand, and projecting the preface of the question component to follow on the other. This Janus-faced function is typically found

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Fig. 8.4  The LO’s performance of the index-up gesture, orienting towards S (line 17)

with follow-ups in this position (Reber 2013). Specifically, but is a typical connective to link the prior enticed answer to the challenge—which I call the accusation—in enticing sequences (Reynolds 2013). The subsequent preface is organised in a complex rhetorical structure which combines a “headline-punchline” with a “list” structure (Heritage and Greatbatch 1986).13 Lines 28–30 function as the headline (in MAY:

13Headline-punchline structures are a common rhetorical device in political speech to generate applause. Heritage and Greatbatch observe:

Here the speaker proposes to make a declaration, pledge, or announcement and then proceeds to make it. The message (or punch line) is emphasized by the speaker’s calling attention in advance to what he or she is about to say. Similarly, the audience is given to understand that applause will properly be due at the completion of the punch line message, which, once again, is normally short and simple. (Heritage and Greatbatch 1986: 128–129)

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the prime minister promised […] ), which is followed by more quotations in a parallel list structure, which establishes a timeline of recurrent delays (THEN we were told […], in juLY we were told […], LAST month we were promised […], lines 33–39). This culminates in a punchline (and it’s nOw the middle of NoVEMber;=, line 41), which brackets the list in a “headline-punchline” structure. Note that the headline and the first two list items are each receipted by multi-layered audience responses (lines 31/32, 34/35, 37/38). These are noticeably absent in lines 40 and on completion of line 41. One explanation for this may be that Michael Howard is not rhetorically skilled enough to adjust to the dynamics of the interaction and pick up on January as the date of publication announced by the PM in his previous answer. Instead, he seems to stick to the rehearsed wording in his prepared notes, which fails to elicit the affiliative audience responses relevant at these points. Nevertheless, the quotations serve as evidence that the promised green paper has long been delayed, substantiating and elaborating on the presupposition of the first-positioned enticing question (cf. Antaki and Leudar 2001). As such they present the evidential access the index-up gesture was projecting. In the subsequent question component the LO asks the PM to account for the delay. It is again designed as an indirect wh-interrogative (so perhaps he can tEll us why […], line 42). Why-interrogatives have been described as vehicles for disaffiliative and even accusatory actions (Egbert and Vöge 2008; Günthner 1996). The so-preface frames it as the upshot of the previous talk and—together with the use of the pronoun “us” as a “formulation” (Heritage 1985)—plays to the split audience. During the entire production of the wh-question, the LO maintains a sustained gaze and decreases his proximity to the PM in leaning forward towards the microphone. This whole package of the prefaced question design makes it hearable as an accusation. Although the index-up gesture is not used by every LO, nor in the same fashion, in the second question turn, it is worthy of further Three-item lists along with contrasts have been described as ‘claptraps’ by Atkinson (1984; cf. also Heritage and Greatbatch 1986): “[…] messages packaged as contrasts and three-part lists […] are peculiarly susceptible to being noticed, reported and remembered” (Atkinson 1984: 131).

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discussion. This gesture is performed by LOs across party lines: David Cameron, Michael Howard (both Conservative), and Ed Miliband (Labour); but not by Iain Duncan Smith (Conservative). The sample has one case for each of the LOs (i.e. 38% of all activities) where they deploy it in the exactly the same action component of the turn, i.e. the follow-up in the second allocated turn slot in the sequence (Fig. 8.5).

(a)

(b)

(c)

Fig. 8.5  (a) Michael Howard (16 Nov. 2005); (b) David Cameron (02 July 2008), and (c) Ed Miliband (11 May 2011)

The pictures in Fig. 8.5 show that the index-up gesture is produced in the same upper region of the torso by all orators. There are further cases in the collection where the gesture is fleetingly indicated or accompanies the production of the question component (rather than the follow-up). The fourth LO in the collection, Iain Duncan Smith, does not produce the index-up gesture. Nevertheless, his case provides us with insights relevant to our understanding of the index-up gesture produced in the follow-ups in second question turn slots. While he does not gesture at all when he performs the follow-up in this slot, he strikingly uses a pointing gesture during the production of the question component in the same turn slot, depicted in Fig. 8.6.

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Fig. 8.6  Iain Duncan Smith (16 July 2003)

Thus, unlike the LOs who use the index-up gesture, which claims an asymmetry of knowledge and anticipates the evidence (i.e. the quotations) to be subsequently produced in the question preface, Iain Duncan

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Smith’s pointing gesture contextualises the question asked as an aggressive action. Generally, it physically attacks the PM, constructing the LO as an aggressor rather than an instructor.14

4.4 The Account, Counter-Accusation, or a Combination of the Two The data show different kinds of responses towards the LO’s accusations. PMs may perform accounts, counter-accusations, or a combination of the two. Ex. (8.5), which begins where Ex. (8.4) left off, shows a case in which an account and a counter-accusation are combined. The abbreviation DWUP (dee double ju pe, line 47) stands for Department for Work and Pensions. Ex. 8.5 PMQs (16 Nov. 2005). PM: Tony Blair (Lab); LO: Michael Howard (Con); S: Michael Martin

14There is further evidence for this interpretation from a metacomment by PM Tony Blair when he was using the pointing gesture in an answer turn during a friendly exchange with the LO David Cameron: “I am sorry — I was pointing my finger; I would not want that to break up the new consensus” (Hansard, 7 Dec. 2005).

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At the turn beginning, the PM places his open folder onto the dispatch box, which projects a more lengthy turn format. The PM starts off by complying with the constraints put up by the LO’s why-question: he accounts for why the green paper was delayed by a change of minister at the head of the department responsible, a change which is framed as something the LO possibly had epistemic access to. The initial self-repair and resulting delay is characteristic of a dispreferred turn design (he he he he MAY be aware that there has been a chAnge of mInister […], lines 45, 47). During portions of this speech and post-completion the PM displays a facial expression which can be interpreted as grinning as well as noticeably baring his teeth. Figure 8.7 is a picture of the grinning PM taken post-completion during the pausing in line 48, when the account is broken off and where there is visible—and audible—laughter from the governmental benches (line 49).

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Fig. 8.7  The PM’s grinning/baring his teeth and laughter on governmental benches

The PM orients to the derisive laughter on the part of the governmental MPs through self-repair and pausing and upgrades his claim that this change of minister was previously known (i think i recall (.) it was a (.) RELatively well known, change at the tIme, lines 50, 52). By explicitly claiming that the reason for the delay constitutes common ground, the PM unmasks the LO for having asked a known-answer question. In line with Vincze et al.’s (2016) observation that smiling and laughter can be a practice to ridicule the opponent and point to their lack of power, the PM’s situated facial expressions serve as claims of dominance and power. What supports this interpretation further is that the PM maintains a sustained gaze and decreases his physical distance towards the opposition bench, in resting his right elbow on the dispatch box early into the turn. This visual orientation

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and body posture is only temporarily suspended during the entire performance. This means that although the PM aligns with the question design, in accounting for the delay, he rebuts the LO’s action. He next recycles the position claimed in his previous answer, again confirming the publication date of the green paper (and as a resUlt of that it’s been delayed to january, it will be PUBlished in jAnuary, lines 53–54). There follows a shift from a more defensive stance (accounting) towards a more offensive stance (creating opposition between “us” and “them,” I hope very much that it will command support not just on these benches but by the party Opposite, line 55). The PM launches a counter-accusation, blaming the opposition which supplied the previous government for their policy on the grounds that they made the green paper necessary in the first place (lines 56–68). The beginning of this final turn component is visually contextualised by the PM’s readjusting his glasses (line 59) and often accompanied by various audience responses. When the counter-accusation is completed, it is celebrated by governmental MPs (line 70).

4.5 More Accusations and Counter-Accusations This point in the sequence provides evidence that the LO’s agenda in this activity does not aim to hold the PM accountable or even to find the truth but to attack his credibility and authority as head of government. Ex. (8.6) shows that the LO does not ratify the PM’s account for why the green paper was delayed (and move to a potential sequence-closing) in what would have been a possible action but rather takes it as a basis for a new accusation in his next turn. This further illustrates the scripted and prepared nature of his question turns.

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Ex. 8.6 PMQs (16 Nov. 2005). PM: Tony Blair (Lab); LO: Michael Howard (Con); S: Michael Martin

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The LO’s turn is organised in multiple action components: It begins with a follow-up which reframes the PM’s answer as a confession of repeated failure and incompetence (↑what the prime minister is tElling us is that every time there is a nEw secretary of state it’s back to square ↑ONE, line 71) and is met by laughter on the part of the opposition MPs (line 72). There follows another attack, which builds on the prior portion of speech and at the same time projects what follows ([…] it’s not surprising they’re in such a MESS, lines 73–74): In lines 75–93, the LO contrasts positions of the PM and members of his government which are presented in the form of quotations. Highlighting disagreement and contradictory positions through quotations in the government is a common practice to accuse political opponents of lacking credibility and to attack their authority at PMQs (Reber 2018). This analysis is evidenced by the opposition MPs’ local ridiculing laughter, targeted at the government. In terms of turn construction, the quotations serve as the question preface; in terms of action formation, they constitute the accusation themselves, while the interrogative (dOEs the prime minister aGREE with them, line 94) only functions as a dummy. This is a common property of action formation at PMQs (Reber 2018). At the onset of the yes/no interrogative (line 94) the LO abruptly orients towards the PM. He holds a sustained, direct gaze and leans more and more forward towards the microphone until the unit is completed and he moves back onto his seat. Similar to the PM’s performance, this sustained gaze is interpreted as a claim of power and dominance while the closer proximity may even signal an intimidating stance.

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The PM responds with a counter-accusation (Ex. 8.7): Ex. 8.7 PMQs (16 Nov. 2005). PM: Tony Blair (Lab); LO: Michael Howard (Con); S: Michael Martin

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The beginning of the answer turn skillfully picks up on the wording of the question component of the previous turn, without complying with the terms of the interrogative (i’ll tEll (you) what I agree with:, line 96). The primary accent on the personal pronoun I displays an oppositional stance towards the LO’s prior speech. The line prefaces what follows as a positioning of the PM. This is responded to by a mixture of shouting, jeering, and laughter on the part of the opposition MPs (line 98). The PM next produces figures which are functional as an evidential strategy (cf. Reber 2014b) to provide independent, objective evidence for the government’s past success (lines 99–100). Opposing and rebutting the accusations presented in the prior quotations in this fashion, he treats the quotations as the actionable part of the LO’s question turn. The governmental MPs appreciate this with responsive cheers (line 101). The figures in support of the government are contrasted with figures which serve to evidence the failure of the LO and opposition party when they were in government (lines 102, 104, 106). Contrast has been described as a rhetorical device to solicit applause in political speeches (Atkinson 1984; Heritage and Greatbatch 1986). The equivalent at PMQs, cheering, is forthcoming in lines 105 and 107. In what follows, the PM produces more figures in favor of governmental policy (lines 108–111), which are appreciated by his own benches. In overlap, the answer turn is closed off with a final positioning line which recycles a soundbite from the 1997 Labour Party general election manifesto ([…] Off benefit and into wOrk, line 113) and is again taken up by loud cheering on the governmental benches (line 115).15

4.6 The Sequence Closure Following the PM’s answer, LOs can solicit a sequence closing and initiate a new sequence by shifting the topic in their next question. Alternatively, the sequence is terminated because the Speaker summons 15For the Labour party manifestos of the 1997 UK general election see http://labourmanifesto. com/1997/, accessed June 2018.

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the next MP to take the floor after the LO has quietly displayed that he wants to leave the floor and resume his talk at a later point or because he has completed his sixth question. In all these scenarios, the sequence closing conflates with the closing of the activity. Ex. (8.8) shows how the LO moves on to another topic to close the sequence. Ex. 8.8 PMQs (16 Nov. 2005). PM: Tony Blair (Lab) LO: Michael Howard (Con) S: Michael Martin

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The LO begins his turn with a well-prefaced follow-up on the PM’s accusation (well i dOn’t know where that answer leaves the minister for WORK>, line 116), an attack on the minister for work, which is taken up by sporadic laughter by his own party members (line 117). He continues with an assertion framed as the TRUTH which rebuts the PM’s position but is not substantiated by evidence which would itself refute the PM’s position (lines 118–126). Verbally, it thus does little to challenge the PM. As regards prosody, gaze, gesture, and body posture, it is, however, contextualised as a challenging move. The dense accentuation and extra strong accent add additional emphasis to the contrastive construction which compares the present Labour government with the former Conservative government (under! THIS! government todAY than in nineteen ninety sEven, lines 122, 124, 126). In resting his right forearm on the dispatch box and slightly leaning forward, he decreases his proximity to his opponent. On the syllables !THIS! and dAY, and were, the LO turns his right hand, pointing his index finger at the PM in a quick move. Although his body posture and gestures come off as challenging and even threatening displays, the effect of this seems to be mitigated

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since the pointing is performed in the lower range of the orator’s gesture space (just above the dispatch box). He only leans slightly forward, and does not maintain a sustained gaze towards the government front bench. In what follows, the LO moves out of the sequence, a shift which is visually projected by the LO straightening himself (line 128). Performing a topic shift in a ‘compound question’ (Clayman 2010; cAn he tell us (.) when he’s going to publish his eduCATion bill; and cAn he conFIRM; that the house of commons […], lines 130–135), he moves on to his new agenda.

5 Summary and Conclusions The chapter has shown what can be gained from the embodied analysis of authentic video recordings of PMQs. It makes possible a description of the televised interaction between the LO and the PM for what it is—embodied performances which are enacted for a complex participation framework. This sequential approach to the analysis of PMQs, which not only examines single actions but also courses of action in interaction, has generated results in the following regards with respect to the topic of the volume: 1. It has been found that the question-answer sequences between the LO and the PM serve as vehicles for particular types of activities. LOs prepare their questions to pursue specific agendas which serve to solicit and become enacted in specific courses of action. Characteristically, their questions are designed not to reach a consensus or even find the truth but to enact adversariality for an audience—very much like in Punch and Judy shows. The analysis exemplified just one case of a recurrent adversarial activity, and future research will be needed to describe the full, evolving set of activities of which PMQs has been composed over time. One problem faced in this endeavour is that participants rarely label their projects as they engage in courses of action which are recognisable as members of a type (cf. Garfinkel 1967), a problem that has recently widely been addressed as regards action ascription (Levinson 2013; Sidnell 2017).

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2. The data suggest that the enticing sequence is “embodied” (cf. Levinson 2013: 121) as a course of gestalt-like actions (which leads to the question of whether activities themselves may be treated as gestalts). This is for instance shown by the use of the index-up gesture, which represents a common resource for LOs across party lines to perform a follow-up move on the PM’s pre-figured answer. It displays to their co-participants, but also, and not less importantly, to the public audience, that they claim superior epistemic access relevant to the argument. This knowledge is subsequently presented in the form of an evidential practice, quotations, in the question preface, which in retrospect reframes the gesture as not just an epistemic claim but an evidential one, projecting the quotation that follows. If knowledge is managed and even manipulated for reasons of power as van Dijk (2014: 166) has convincingly argued, the gesture then becomes an embodied claim of power. In the specific example analyzed, this is turned against the LO in that he is derided for asking a known-answer question through the PM’s verbal actions, which are accompanied by grinning and a sustained gaze towards the opposition benches. What is verbally implied in talk about epistemic and evidential access is physically visualised as conflict about power and dominance. Acknowledgement   This chapter is a revised version of a paper presented at the University of Birmingham, Department of Political Science and International Studies, 14 March 2017, and at the 15th International Pragmatics Conference, Belfast, Northern Ireland, 18 July 2017. Initial findings were delivered at the University of California, Santa Barbara, Department of Sociology, 13 April 2016, and at The University of Texas at Austin, Department of Communication Studies, 28 April 2016. I thank the audiences at these talks, especially Stephen Bates, Maria Charles, Xiaoting Li, Geoffrey Raymond, Edward Reynolds, and Jürgen Streeck, for their comments and discussion. Special thanks to Cornelia Gerhardt, Edward Reynolds, and Jürgen Streeck for reading earlier drafts of this chapter and their valuable feedback. I take full responsibility for all remaining problems. The research for this paper was financially supported by the German Research Foundation (DFG), grant nos 221933637 and 290707652.

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Appendix Conventions for multimodal transcription, adapted from Mondada (2014):

Audience responses:

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Couper-Kuhlen, Elizabeth, and Margret Selting. 2001. Introducing interactional linguistics. In Studies in interactional linguistics, ed. Margret Selting and Elizabeth Couper-Kuhlen, 1–22. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Egbert, Maria, and Monika Vöge. 2008. Wh-interrogative formats used for questioning and beyond: German warum (why) and wieso (why) and English why. Discourse Studies 10: 17–36. Fetzer, Anita. 2015. ‘When you came into office you said that your government would be different’: Forms and functions of quotations in mediated political discourse. In Dynamics of political discourse: Forms and functions of follow-ups, ed. Anita Fetzer, Elda Weizman, and Lawrence N. Berlin, 245– 273. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Franks, Suzanne, and Adam Vandermark. 1995. Televising parliament: Five years on. Parliamentary Affairs 48: 57–71. Garfinkel, Harold. 1956. Conditions of successful degradation ceremonies. American Journal of Sociology 61 (5): 420–424. Garfinkel, Harold. 1967. Studies in ethnomethodology. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Giddings, Philip, and Helen Irwin. 2005. Objects and questions. In The future of parliament: Issues for a new century, ed. Philip Giddings, 72–73. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Goodwin, Marjorie. 1990. He-said-she-said: Formal cultural proceedings for the construction of a gossip dispute activity. American Ethnologist 7: 674–695. Gruber, Helmut. 2001. Questions and strategic orientation in verbal conflict sequences. Journal of Pragmatics 33: 1851–1857. Günthner, Susanne. 1996. The prosodic contextualisation of moral work: An analysis of reproaches in ‘why’-formats. In Prosody in conversation: Interactional studies, ed. Elizabeth Couper-Kuhlen and Margret Selting, 271–302. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hall, Edward T. 1969. The hidden dimension. New York: Anchor Books. Harris, Sandra. 2001. Being politically impolite: Extending politeness theory to adversarial political discourse. Discourse and Society 12 (4): 451–472. Heritage, John. 1985. Analyzing news interviews: Aspects of the production of talk for an overhearing audience. In Handbook of discourse analysis, vol. 3, ed. Teun A. van Dijk, 95–117. London: Academic Press. Heritage, John, and David Greatbatch. 1986. Generating applause: A study of rhetoric and response at party political conferences. American Journal of Sociology 92: 110–157.

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Heritage, John, and Geoffrey Raymond. 2012. Navigating epistemic landscapes: Acquiescence, agency and resistance in responses to polar questions. In Questions: Formal, functional and interactional perspectives, ed. Jan P. de Ruiter, 179–192. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Heritage, John, and Marja-Leena Sorjonen. 1994. Constituting and maintaining activities across sequences: And-prefacing as a feature of question design. Language in Society 23: 1–29. Holland, Elise, Elizabeth Baily Wolf, Christine Looser, and Amy Cuddy. 2017. Visual attention to powerful postures: People avert their gaze from nonverbal dominance displays. Journal of Experimental Social Psychology 68: 60–67. House of Commons Information Office. 2012. Visitors to the gallery. Information leaflet, December 2010. Ilie, Cornelia. 2004. Insulting as (un)parliamentary practice in the British and Swedish parliaments: A rhetorical approach. In Cross-cultural perspectives on parliamentary discourse, ed. Paul Bayley, 45–86. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Ilie, Cornelia. 2006. Parliamentary discourses. In Encyclopedia of language and linguistics, vol. 9, ed. Keith Brown, 188–197. Oxford: Elsevier. Ilie, Cornelia. 2010a. Identity co-construction in parliamentary discourse practices. In European parliaments under scrutiny: Discourse strategies and interaction practices, ed. Cornelia Ilie, 57–78. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Ilie, Cornelia. 2010b. Strategic uses of parliamentary forms of address: The case of the U.K. Parliament and the Swedish Riksdag. Journal of Pragmatics 42: 885–911. Ilie, Cornelia. 2015. Follow-ups as multifunctional questioning and answering strategies in Prime Minister’s Questions. In Dynamics of political discourse: Forms and functions of follow-ups, ed. Anita Fetzer, Elda Weizman, and Lawrence N. Berlin, 195–218. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Kirkup, James. 2008. Cameron fails to end ‘Punch and Judy’ politics. The Daily Telegraph online edition, April 29. http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/ politics/conservative/1908155/David-Cameron-fails-to-end-Punch-andJudy-politics.html. Accessed Feb. 2017. Levinson, Stephen C. 2013. Action formation and ascription. In The handbook of conversation analysis, ed. Jack Sidnell and Tanya Stivers, 103–130. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell.

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Mazeland, Harrie. 2003. A politician’s sociology: US Vice President Gore’s categorisation of the participants in the Warsaw uprising. In The art of commemoration: Fifty years after the Warsaw uprising, ed. Titus Ensink and Christoph Sauer, 95–115. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Mondada, Lorenza. 2014. Conventions for multimodal transcription. Version 3.0.1. https://franz.unibas.ch/fileadmin/franz/user_upload/redaktion/Mondada_ conv_multimodality.pdf. Accessed July 2017. Mondada, Lorenza. 2015. The facilitator’s task of formulating citizens’ proposals in political meetings: Orchestrating multiple embodied orientations to recipients. Gesprächsforschung – Online-Zeitschrift zur verbalen Interaktion 16: 1–62. www.gespraechsforschung-ozs.de. Raymond, Geoffrey. 2000. The structure of responding: Type-conforming and non-conforming responding to yes/no interrogatives. PhD dissertation, Department of Sociology, University of California, Los Angeles. Raymond, Geoffrey. 2003. Grammar and social organisation: Yes/no type interrogatives and the structure of responding. American Sociological Review 68: 939–967. Reber, Elisabeth. 2013. Knowledge management in follow-ups in Prime Minister’s Question time. Paper presented at the panel “Follow-ups in mediated political discourse,” 13th International Pragmatics Conference (IPrA), September 8–13, New Delhi, India. Reber, Elisabeth. 2014a. Constructing evidence at Prime Minister’s Question time: An analysis of the grammar, semantics and pragmatics of the verb see. Special issue ‘Evidentiality in discourse’, ed. Anita Fetzer and Etsuko Oishi. Intercultural Pragmatics 11 (3): 357–387. Reber, Elisabeth. 2014b. Obama said it. Quoting as evidential strategy in online discussion forums. Special issue ‘Certainty and uncertainty in dialogue’, ed. Andrzej Zuczkowsky. Language and Dialogue 4 (1): 76–92. Reber, Elisabeth. 2018. Quoting in parliamentary question time. A short-term diachronic study of an evidential practice. Habilitation thesis. University of Potsdam. Reynolds, Edward. 2011a. Epistemics in conflict: Enticing a challengeable in protest arguments. In Proceedings of the 106th American sociological association—Ethnomethodology and conversation analysis stream. Reynolds, Edward. 2011b. Enticing a challengeable in arguments: Sequence, epistemics and preference organisation. Pragmatics 21 (3): 411–430.

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Reynolds, Edward. 2013. Enticing a challengeable: Instituting social order as a practice of public conflict. PhD dissertation, The University of Queensland, Australia. Reynolds, Edward. 2015. How participants in arguments challenge the normative position of an opponent. Discourse Studies 7 (3): 299–316. Robles, Jessica S. 2011. Doing disagreement in the House of Lords: ‘Talking around the issue’ as a context-appropriate argumentative strategy. Discourse and Communication 5 (2): 147–168. Rossano, Federico. 2012. Gaze behavior in face-to-face interaction. Doctoral dissertation, MPI Psycholinguistics, Nijmegen. Rossano, Federico. 2013. Gaze in conversation. In The handbook of conversation analysis, ed. Jack Sidnell and Tanya Stivers, 308–329. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Rossano, Federico, Penelope Brown, and Stephen Levinson. 2009. Gaze, questioning and culture. In Conversation analysis: Comparative perspectives, ed. Jack Sidnell, 187–249. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Roth, Andrew L. 2005. “Pop quizzes” on the campaign trail: Journalists, candidates, and the limits of questioning. The International Journal of Press/Politics 10 (2): 28–46. Sato, Ingrid Li. 2014. Social relations and institutional structures in modern American political campaigns. PhD dissertation, University of California, Santa Barbara. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2007. Sequence organisation in interaction: A primer in conversation analysis. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sealey, Alison, and Stephen Bates. 2016. Prime ministerial self-reported actions in Prime Minister’s Questions 1979–2010: A corpus-assisted analysis. Journal of Pragmatics 104: 18–31. Selting, Margret. 1994. Emphatic speech style: With special focus on the prosodic signalling of heightened emotive involvement in conversation. Journal of Pragmatics 22 (3/4): 375–408. Sidnell, Jack. 2017. Action in interaction is conduct under a description. Language in Society 46 (3): 313–337. Stivers, Tanja, and Federico Rossano. 2010. Mobilizing response. Research on Language and Social Interaction 43 (1): 3–31.

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9 Assessments in Transition: Coordinating Participation Framework Transitions in Institutional Settings Darren Reed

1 Introduction This chapter explores the notion of the interactional project as previously described by Robinson (2003) as a series of component activities (see also Lerner’s 1995: 129 notion of a ‘completable project’). The setting investigated here is the music masterclass at an English university, i.e. a music coaching session involving a professional, single or multiple pupils, an audience, and sometimes an accompanist. Music masterclasses shift between two primary participation frameworks: the accomplishment of performance on the one hand, and instruction-in-interaction on the other, each with attendant participation rights and responsibilities. The masterclass is a form of instructional interaction that takes place in front of an audience. The audience is typically made up of the performer’s student peers in university-based tuition, but could also include members of the public, family, and D. Reed (*)  University of York, York, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 E. Reber and C. Gerhardt (eds.), Embodied Activities in Face-to-face and Mediated Settings, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-97325-8_9

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friends. Masterclasses typically begin with the introduction of a piece by a student or set of students and then its performance. One or more tutors, or masters, then provide comments, information, and instructions and initiate re-performances of smaller elements of the piece, giving evaluative feedback as this is done. The masterclass typically ends with another full performance. The masterclass is then oriented to both as instruction and performance in front of an audience, and is seen as a form of practical performance tuition. There is a growing analytic literature that focuses on musical instruction and rehearsal (Weeks 1996; Nishizaka 2006; Haviland 2011; Tolins 2013). The current study builds on a previous analysis of the musical masterclass as an instance of musical instruction in which activities are divided into instruction activities and performance activities (Szczepek Reed et al. 2013). Earlier work has noted that a key dynamic of such social interaction is the move from an instruction action framework to a performance action framework in relation to the various rights and responsibilities to act (Reed and Szczepek Reed 2013). This paper picks up and develops a line of analysis concerned with the accomplishment of a smooth transition between the two action frameworks that recognises the institutional nature of the interaction and also the manner in which these sets of arrangements work over ‘the class’ or total conversation. As masterclasses are a form of institutional interaction, they operate with certain institutionally grounded asymmetries and constraints on turn taking and turn contributions (Heritage and Clayman 2011). Masterclass participants clearly orient to a pre-allocation of activities for students, accompanists, masters, and audience members, and to different rights regarding, for example, the initiating, pursuing, and closing of actions. However, as previous research on other institutional interactions has revealed, power relations are not always appropriately treated as intrinsic to an interaction, but are collaboratively achieved by participants themselves (Maynard 1991). Szczepek Reed et al. (2013) show that the repeated re-performances by the student and the accompanist are negotiated by the three active participants (master, student, accompanist) with highly ordered orientation to verbal and embodied action projections, rather than by any form of explicit ‘permission’, or orientation to hierarchy.

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Masterclasses can be described as a type of ‘instructional interaction’ (Szczepek Reed et al. 2013). This context has received much attention from conversation analytic and other interaction-based research in recent decades. In terms of learner responses, what is at issue in masterclasses is non-talk-based, embodied compliance, rather than a verbal display of learning. In performance disciplines, unlike the classroom perhaps, action is predominantly ‘embodied’, as for example in singing, dancing (Keevallik 2010), and acting. It follows that teaching and tuition in those disciplines are oriented to embodied outcomes. Understanding and learning, while potentially ‘declared’ through verbal interaction, are ‘displayed’ here as physical actions (cf. Hindmarsh et al. 2011; Mondada 2011; Lindwall and Ekström 2012; De Stefani and Gazin 2014). In masterclasses compliance is therefore premised upon demonstrating understanding through embodied performance in front of an audience, and thus in a different participation framework than that in which the instruction was delivered, as instruction and compliance are segmented by a ‘reframing’ or ‘rekeying’ (Goffman 1974). This chapter will detail the overall structural organization (Robinson 2012) of music masterclasses by presenting an analysis of their constituent parts, and will explore how participants manage transitions between participation frameworks with a particular focus on the move between initial performance and instruction. From the current state of analysis we can identify the following constituent activities of masterclass projects: the opening; initial student performance and receipt; move to first business; instruction sequence; re-performance coordination; re-performance; and closing. Each of these larger components involves a variety of individual actions and sequences, such as ‘informings’ and ‘directive-compliance-receipt’ sequences (Szczepek Reed et al. 2013). The chapter will present transitions from one participation framework to the other, such as that from the student’s first performance to the instruction sequence, and a move from instruction to re-performance. These occur as part of particular project components—‘move to first business’ and ‘re-­ performance coordination’—that are hence understandable as ‘transition components’. The masterclass as a completable interactional project

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(Lerner 1995) necessarily incorporates these transitional components. My analyses indicate that in the case of a ‘move to first business’, what I will call masters’ ‘assessment receipts’ display a crucial role in closing the performance, and also in projecting forward what kind of instructional talk is to come. Assessment receipts thus act as a form of interactional pivot: sequence closing assessments on the one hand, and prefaces to (critical) instruction on the other. Crucially assessment receipts are composed of verbal and embodied actions accomplished in physical spaces of interaction.

2 Data and Transcription The analysis presented in this chapter is based on a growing corpus of video recordings of music masterclasses collated by the author across different sites. The masterclasses analysed for this study were held at the Music Department of a UK university between the autumn of 2010 and summer of 2012. The participants were undergraduate and postgraduate music students at the department; the masters were professional musicians; the pianists were mostly students, and in one case a departmental piano teacher. The audience consisted of music students and a small number of visitors. All participating students and professionals agreed to be videotaped. The transcripts show primarily those embodied actions that are referred to in the analysis, and that appear to be interactionally relevant for the specific actions under analysis. A large amount of embodied activity has not been transcribed. Even more so than for audio recordings, ten Have’s (1997) statement that “transcripts are unavoidably incomplete, selective renderings of the recordings” applies to transcripts of video data. As analysts, we are aware that transcripts can never be our primary data, but are instead records of recordings, twice removed from the original interaction (Ashmore and Reed 2000). The extracts have been transcribed as per the Jefferson transcription system, with the addition of embodied action transcription notation inspired by Goodwin (1981) and Heath et al. (2010). A full description of the conventions deployed can be found in the Appendix.

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3 Background 3.1 Interactional Projects Conversation analysts typically identify the opening and closing demarcations of units of action, as beginnings and ends of activities are prominent sites for transition from one action and/or speaker to the next. This focus also involves a strong interest in the projectability of units, and notions of their possible completion (see Schegloff 2011). For example, in an analysis of very young children Lerner et al. (2011) observe the way that the projectability of particular repetitive actions in a day care centre provides for ‘task transition spaces’ in behaviours that act as a resource for embodied and pre-verbal interaction by a child. The anticipation of the ending of a particular activity shows a demonstrable understanding of the structures of social action by the child.The rationale for a unit of action can also be seen to extend from Goffman’s concept of the ‘social encounter’ and his assertion of the notion of ‘a talk’. The easiest improvement on the traditional paradigm for talk is to recognise that any given moment of it might always be part of a talk, namely, a substantive, naturally bounded stretch of interaction comprising all that relevantly goes on from the moment two (or more) individuals open such dealings between themselves and continuing until they finally close this activity out. The opening will typically be marked by the participants turning from their several disjointed orientations, moving together and bodily addressing one another; the closing by their departing in some physical way from the prior immediacy of copresence. Typically, ritual brackets will also be found, such as greetings and farewells, these establishing and terminating open, official, joint engagement, that is, ratified participation. In summary, a “social encounter.” (Goffman 1981: 130)

Such units of social action are comprised of multiple elements, not only talk, and according to Goffman make visible the necessary structures of interaction. Schegloff and Sacks (1973) speak of the ‘total conversation’ as a unit—in a similar way to Goffman who conceives of ‘a talk’ as a structural whole (see also Schegloff 2006). Along a similar

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vein, Robinson (2003) conceives of the entire encounter of a physicianpatient visit as a ‘project’, and thus a unit of social organization (see also Robinson and Stivers 2001). Robinson (2012) calls our attention to the ‘overall structural organisation’ of actions and interactions, when he says, The massively orderly interactional structure of ‘pre-organized sequences’, or activities, is not sufficiently explained by sequence organization, nor is it reducible to ‘ad hoc improvisations’. (Robinson 2012: 258)

He underlines the distinction between ‘sequences’ of actions that occur through turns at talk, and “sequential organisation which refers to any kind of organisation which concerns the relative positioning of units’’ (Robinson 2012: 258). While concerned with the structural properties of activities and emphasising that they are ‘pre-organized’, Robinson argues that these structures do not determine the activities. Rather, he allows for their reflexive and emergent accomplishment. He points to the emic character of CA understanding when saying that these structures are “relevant to and procedurally consequential for participants” (2012: 260). Put another way, while pre-organized, they are produced reflexively as a matter of ongoing interaction. Quoting Garfinkel’s (1967) notion of the documentary method, Robinson describes activities as “the product of interactants’ joint orientation to a supra-sequential ‘pre-supposed underlying pattern’” (2012: 258).

3.1.1 Participation Frameworks and Framework Transitions Goffman (1981) introduces the notion of participation frameworks. Crucially he examines the manner in which participants transition from one framework to another. Goffman works to understand forms of transition between forms of engagement and hence participation frameworks. In particular he explores the move between different ‘encounters’ wherein the recipients of talk change. At the same time, he is concerned with activities beyond mere talk, and notes that other embodied

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activities are always an important aspect of such moves. These, he maintains, are premised upon the fact that interactions are both verbal and visual, and he identifies gaze as a key aspect of such transitions. We can also identify other embodied actions as components of participation frameworks. So, for example, in his story of the front seat passenger in a taxi, who acts as a pivot between the taxi driver and the friends in the back seat, the action of turning the body from one encounter to the other informs the nature of the different recipients of different elements of the interaction, and simultaneously actively and in an ongoing manner repositions participants as hearers and recipients on the one hand and over-hearers and unratified participants on the other. This is a form of action pivot and is a key component of activity transitions in masterclasses. Robinson and Stivers (2001) detail these moves as ‘activity transitions’ in relation to verbal and embodied behaviours that are interwoven with institutional contexts and structures. Doctor-patient interactions, for example, “tend to be organized into standard sets and orders of task-oriented phases or activities” of “(a) opening, (b) history taking, (c) physical examination, (d) diagnosis, (e) treatment, and (f ) closing” (Robinson and Stivers 2001: 255). The activity transitions between history taking and physical examination are accomplished through finely detailed, and contextually bound, forms of interactional behaviour. These transitions are composed of verbal and embodied actions, as—for example—the speaking participant physically moves into a position to examine the other, and so constructs the scene as composed of doctor and patient. Such insights implicate an appreciation of the embodied and ‘multimodal’ (Mondada 2014) aspects of meaningful interaction. In this chapter, this structure will be understood in terms of Robinson’s interaction project, with a particular focus on the reflexive achievement of the ‘supra-sequential coherence’ of the master class by focusing on the transitions between different component activities. In particular the analysis will focus on the manner in which one set of activities moves to another, through forms of pivot actions.

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4 Prior Analyses 4.1 Constituent Activities of Master Classes This paper is the result of an ongoing analysis of instructional interactions in musical masterclasses. In an earlier analysis, the author observed a basic sequential structure that centred upon what was called the ‘pursuit of learnables’ (Reed and Szczepek Reed 2015). This was situated within a larger institutional structure and set of task-oriented phases or activities. This overarching structure was depicted in general terms rather than arising from detailed sequential analysis, and acted as a rough sketch of the total interaction or talk. What follows includes an appreciation of how the various component elements work at both the sequential and supra-sequential level by focusing on the transitions between the different components, specifically those between ‘student performance and instructional pursuit of learnables’. For the purposes of this chapter we have adapted an earlier diagram that details the components of the musical masterclass by introducing four ‘transition points’ between action units: 1. Transition 1: the move from student entrance to first full performance of the musical piece; 2. Transition 2: the move from first performance to instructional interaction (termed the ‘pursuit of learnables’ in Table 9.1); 3. Transition 3: the (repeated) move from instructional interaction to performance of shorter elements of the musical piece; 4. Transition 4: the move from instruction/performance interaction to student exit. The analysis to follow will build on earlier work that has detailed these transition points in different papers. Here we will then focus on Transition 2, by detailing the ‘assessment receipt’ action by the master. First we will review briefly the work thus far that has detailed the first three transitions. The final transition point has not, as yet, been the subject of analysis.

9  Assessments in Transition: Coordinating Participation …     307 Table 9.1  Sequential structure of master class (adapted from Szczepek Reed et al. 2013) 1. Student entrance *—– (Transition one) 2.  Student and pianist performance 2.1   (Introduction of the piece by student) 2.2   Performance of the entire piece by student and pianist *—– (Transition two) 3. Pursuit of learnable(s) by all participants 3.1  Repeated instruction turns by master 3.11   Assessment and commentary by master 3.12   (Explicit or implicit) formulation of learnable(s) 3.13   Delivery of instructional directives 3.14   (Demonstrations) *—– (Transition three) 3.2  Repeated shorter re-performances by student and pianist with accompanying instruction by master 4. (Final performance of the entire piece by student and pianist) *—– (Transition four) 5. Student exit

4.2 Transition Point One—The Move to First Performance In the sketch of the master class above, the student and pianist performance was characterised by the performance of the entire piece (Table 9.1: 2.2) preceded by the introduction of the piece by the student (Table 9.1: 2.1). In the following instance, we see that this introduction is actually instigated and pursued by the master (Transcript 9.1, line 01), while the student gives information in response to a series of question-answer pairs between master and student (lines 06–09, 14–17, and 18–22). The participation of the pianist (line 10), and the production of acknowledgements by the master positioned in relation to the initial detailing of the piece by the student (line 06), as a receipt of information (line 13) and at the end of the multiple question-answer pairs (line 23). Beach (1993) notes the use of ‘okay’ in transitions, One elementary set of moments, addressed herein and recurrently available for analysts’ and, eventually, readers’ inspections may be summarized as follows: “Okay” is employed pivotally, in the midst of yet at precise moments of transition, by recipients and current speakers alike, across a

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variety of speech exchange systems (both casual and institutional), not just in any sequential environment but where what is ‘at stake’ involves movements from prior to next positioned matter(s). (Beach 1993: 326)

Immediately following the production of “m’kay” in line 23, an explicit instruction to perform prompts the start of the performance: “right do you wanu (.) give us a shot then let’s see how it sounds” (line 25). Transcript 9.1 MC 070612, 1:20–3:45

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4.3 Transition Point Two—The Move to Instructional Interaction One feature of the masterclass project identified in an earlier analysis was described—quite loosely—as the ‘move to first business’ (Szczepek Reed et al. 2013). Here we will detail this move in terms of the ‘receipt compliment’ (as it was called in the earlier analysis) and the attendant action sequence, and deepen the analysis in the second section of this chapter of what is renamed the ‘assessment receipt’. Transcript 9.2 3:46 Weber: Wie nahte mir der Schlummer - Leise, leise, fromme Weise

Here the performance by the student singer is followed by applause and then a verbal and embodied turn by the master in which he first receipts and compliments the student, g’d (.) excellent (Transcript 9.2, line 2) while walking towards the student and then issues a ‘local action directive’ (Reed and Szczepek Reed 2013) for the student to speak the words of the musical piece, let’s start with you speaking the text (line 04).

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The student complies with this directive at line 05, inserting a question to the pianist (who has the musical score in front of him) about a particular word, is it der order die schlumer (line 05), and then continues producing the turn in lines 08–11. The master receipts the action in line 12 with okay and then produces what we have called an ‘instruction entry device’ (ibid.) action, which allows him to take the conversational floor with the production of an ‘informing’ (lines 13–16) premised upon an important principle of bel canto singing. This leads to further, and more focused, instruction. The segment has the following identified actions (see Reed and Szczepek Reed 2013): • • • • • •

Master moving into the engagement space (line 03); (what we called at the time) ‘Receipt compliment’ (line 03); Local action directive—compliance—receipt (lines 03–04); Compliance (lines 5–11); Receipt (line 12); Informing (and further instructional turns) (lines 13–16).

The move from performance to instruction routinely includes these elements. The ‘receipt compliment’ was initially detailed in an earlier analysis; in what follows, this phenomenon (renamed ‘assessment receipt’) will be detailed in relation to its production and the assessment trajectory which various formulations implicate.

4.4 Transition Point Three—The Move to Shorter Performance Elements The third transition point is the move to shorter and more focused performance actions on the part of the student. The following is an example of one of these transitions.

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Transcript 9.3 3:46 Weber: Wie nahte mir der Schlummer - Leise, leise, fromme Weise

The directive produced by the master to perform (Transcript 9.3, lines 22–23) okay do you want to do those first two phrases down to gesehen designates the beginning and end points (gesehen being the last word of the specified phrase), thereby projecting that the upcoming performance action has a limited scope, and is to be accomplished as a portion of the entire performance piece. While the directive is oriented to the student, it has implications for the accompanist, who must begin playing to provide a place for the singer to come in. In this respect, the master’s directive engages the student and the pianist together as a ‘collectivity’ (see Lerner 1993). The directive results in immediate action by the pianist, who plays a small introduction segment of the music (line 25), and then by the student-performer as she sings the specified portion of the piece (lines 26–27). With this action the performance re-start has been successfully coordinated. In an earlier analysis, we identified an embodied ‘relinquishing move’ (Reed 2015) produced by the master (line 23) immediately upon the completion of the verbal directive. Just preceding—and then in overlap with—the student throat-clearing in line 23, the master moves from a position in which he is standing to the side of the pianist, looking at the musical score, to a position behind the piano. In consort, the accompanist makes a performance preparatory embodied movement, leaning forward and moving his hands into contact with the piano keys. A complementary performance preparation movement is seen in line 24, as the student-performer re-orients her body to the audience.

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This ensemble of embodied movements is key to the coordination of the performance restart, and in the earlier analysis we argued that it is cued by the master, and acts a means to project (and prepare) for the performance restart (see Reed 2015 for further examples). The sequence has the following elements: • Local action directive; • Relinquishing movement, and performance preparation; • Local action directive compliance. The above transition points speak to pivotal moments in the instructional activity as a total conversation or interactional project. In the following analysis, I deepen the second transitional activity through an examination of the production of the assessment receipt as positioned initially ‘within’ the action of audience response to the first performance (applause). This entails an examination of not only the verbal actions of the master but also the embodied and spatial behaviours that are produced to ‘reposition’ the master as primary recipient of the performance, and so engender a one-to-one instructional interaction.

5 Analysis 5.1 Assessment Receipts In an earlier analysis (Reed and Szczepek Reed 2013), the action unit ‘receipt compliment’ was identified and briefly described. Here I develop the analysis to detail this ‘transition activity’, paying close attention to the production of applause and the master’s initial utterance. After a musical performance, there is an assessment-relevant slot, which has a preference for positive embodied response through applause. When performance and audience assessment is situated in a musical masterclass, we can identify an action on the part of the masterclass instructor, which we are calling an ‘assessment receipt’.

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Transcript 9.4 LMN 121011

In the first example (Transcript 9.4), the student’s performance is followed by a five-second pause, or what I term a ‘performance pause’ (this is a common aspect of performance, but will not be developed here). There follows collective applause for about seven seconds, during which the master (M1) utters the phrase beautiful (.) well done. This phrase has two component elements: an evaluative assessment beautiful, and an assessment receipt or acknowledgement well done. We might, then, note this as a ‘composite assessment’ utterance. She then encourages a second master (M2) to take up the instructional interaction with a verbal g’on and gesture in lines 05 and 06. M2 produces an assessment well done and then prefigures the upcoming instructional interaction with an informing I mean i -th-th-ths so many erm different er erm ways (to play Bach). What is interesting about the composite assessment of M1, and is the key detail that I will follow throughout the analysis, is that the initial evaluative component is produced in overlap with the collective assessment of applause, while the second receipt component is produced ‘in the clear’, that is, once the applause has ceased. We might expect these component elements to be reversed, with the person receipting and then evaluating—for example, thanks, that’s nice—however here the assessment element comes first. There are two potential reasons for this. First, the evaluative component is produced as part of the collective action of audience assessment, in an

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assessment-relevant slot following a performance, which has the preference for positive embodied assessment (typically applause). Second, in that the master produces applause with the audience, immediately before the verbal assessment, we might say that it would be incongruent for her to produce a positive embodied assessment and then a non-­ positive verbal assessment. Lindström and Mondada (2009: 305) note that “previous literature has insisted on the relation between assessments and organization of participation frameworks (Goodwin and Goodwin 1987), and on the way in which assessments contribute to the construction and manifestation of shared experiences and collective affects.” They talk of the “closing-implicative dimension of assessments” and the manner in which they may operate as a “transition from one episode to the other” (Lindström and Mondada 2009: 304). In our data, the composite assessment is key to the transition between the performance and instruction as two different participation frameworks. Further, the production of this form of assessment is implicated in the “construction and manifestation of shared experience” (ibid.) of master, student, and audience members. Lindström and Heinemann (2009: 310) note that “the valence of assessment terms come into play within negotiations of affiliation, epistemic authority, the segmentation of larger courses of action, and the implementation of institutional tasks.” By ‘valence’ they have in mind the manner in which assessments are produced as either lowgrade (alright ), neutral (ok ), or high-grade (brilliant ). So for example they identify an “interactional metric that promotes an evaluative scale that develops, over the course of the sequence, from positive to high grade” (ibid.). This builds on Antaki et al. (2000) and Antaki (2002), in which a distinction is made between evaluative assessments, oriented to the content of the ongoing talk, and procedural assessments (in this case ‘high-grade’ single assessments such as brilliant ), that in Lindström and Heinemann’s (2009: 312) terms “are used to manage the sequential organization of interaction by segmenting larger courses of action.” For Antaki et al. (2000: 244), “smashin and brilliant are strong precursors of moves to next business—not a wholly new topic, as Jefferson

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(1993) described after minimal receipts like yeah, but the next move in an institutionally predictable routine.” We will pick up on the institutional nature of assessments, and their place within the interactional project later in the chapter. For now, I would note that assessments have the potential to be either evaluative or procedural. In the present data, these elements are combined in the initial opening utterances of masters, as they first offer an assessment and then receipt the performance before moving on to (institutionally bound) instructional matters. Mondada (2009) terms the procedural assessment a form of ‘receipt token’. Hence, the chosen terminology of ‘assessment receipt’ conveys this component-like feature of the action in combination with the receipting function of the second component.

5.1.1 Repeated Components While we see a number of simple instances of assessment receipts similar to that in instance 1, lexical repetition is a common feature of assessment receipts. In the following instances, we see repeated component elements. In the second example (Transcript 9.5), the student’s performance is followed by roughly four seconds of applause. The seated master, who also applauds, produces an extended goo::d (line 03), that is hearably an assessment, in overlap with the applause. He then utters right right in the clear (line 04), before moving on to ask a question, wou::ld you normally sing this with a microphone (05). In preparation for this utterance the master uncrosses his legs and leans forwards. This embodied action works in a similar preparatory manner to those seen in the previous example (Transcript 9.3); this time it is produced purely by the master. In other examples this preparatory movement is more pronounced in that a master stands up and physically moves into the performance space (see Reed and Szczepek Reed 2013).

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Transcript 9.5 MC 070612 00000 reverse 3:38–3:45

In the third instance (Transcript 9.6) the student’s performance is followed by six seconds of applause (line 02), during which the master, who is seated alongside the audience, produces the utterance oh well done in overlap (line 03). The utterance element well done is then repeated in the clear, and the words good good are produced at an increased tempo as the master nods her head (line 04). Here the initial assessment well done is upgraded through the use of a news token oh, such that it is hearably an evaluative assessment. The repetition of well done has an ambiguous status as a more neutral assessment, but could also be heard as a repetition of the evaluation. The repetition and tempo of good good turns the evaluative good (see previous example) into a procedural acknowledgment token. The utterance so let’s quickly go round an see what everyone has to say is accompanied by upper body realignment and gaze towards the audience members (line 05), and works towards instructional interaction (a common component of masterclasses is to canvas responses, and then build specific instructional elements from them). Transcript 9.6 CL 0007 5:01–11:59

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In the following instance (Transcript 9.7) there is no overlap with the applause. Instead the overlap is with the performance before the applause has occurred (it is not dealt with here, but this ‘early’ intervention arguably inhibits the production of applause). We can see the student-singer finishing the vocal aspect of the performance accompanied by the pianist (line 01); the pianist then continues to play (lines 03–04), and during the sounding of the notes, the student-singer says something like that’s it in a diminished voice (line 05). Immediately following the singer’s utterance at line 05, the master says g’d (line 07). The pianist plays another chord (line 10) in overlap with an indecipherable utterance element produced by the student-singer (line 09). The master utters excellent as the note decays (line 11) and then looks up as he says okay. He then moves on to first business by issuing the local action directive c’n you let’s start with you speaking the text. Transcript 9.7 RT 3:33–3:49

The move from g’d to excellent could initially be heard as a simple assessment upgrade. However, excellent is also a form of high-grade assessment that can act as a procedural assessment (Antaki et al. 2000). Its production here is therefore hearable as both an upgrade evaluation and a procedural acknowledgement. The unambiguously procedural okay, produced in the clear, reaffirms the procedural quality of excellent and completes the composite assessment action.

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5.1.2 Positioning the Assessment Receipt In all four instances, we might think of the assessment receipt as having two component elements: (i) an evaluative assessment component and (ii) a procedural assessment or acknowledgement component, which are potentially repeated and combined in various ways. These combinations are formed in different ways relative to the collective assessment of applause. Table 9.2 details this positioning. The repetition of either the evaluative assessment aspect or the procedural component aspect is seen throughout the instances in the dataset. The important feature of this repetition is that the second component form is only produced ‘in the clear’, that is as audibly distinct from the collective assessment action of applause, apart from instance 4, when the assessment token excellent is hearably both an upgraded evaluation and a procedural acknowledgement. Detailed schematically, we can say that the assessment receipt has the following potential shapes, where EA means ‘evaluative assessment’, AT means ‘applause termination’, and PA/A means ‘procedural assessment or acknowledgement’. 1. EA –> AT –> PA/A (instance 1) 2. EA –> AT –> PA/A + PA/A (instance 2) 3. EA –> AT –> EA(PA/A) + PA/A + PA/A (instance 3) 4. EA + EA (PA/A) –> AT –> PA/A (instance 4) These and other shapes appear in the dataset. There are, however, instances when either the evaluative assessment or the procedural receipt is apparently missing. In these instances, it is the embodied actions of the master, in combination with the verbal actions, that complete the composite assessment action. Table 9.2  Combinations of assessment receipt elements Applause

Post-applause

beautiful goo::d oh well done g’d excellent

thank you right right well done good good okay

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5.2 Embodied Actions in Assessment Receipts In the following instance the evaluative assessment good is produced in overlap with the applause, and then a second good is produced in the clear, followed by an evaluative assessment component beautiful song. Unlike in instances 2 and 3, there is no difference in the production of the two good ’s in either intonation or speed. An argument that the vocal production constructs the utterance as the relevant component would not hold. However, in the following instance (Transcript 9.8) if we examine the embodied actions of the master, we have reason to see (and hear) the second good as procedural. As he utters the second good he stands up, and then he walks towards the student as he issues the further assessment element beautiful song (it is worth noting that he is referring to the quality of the song, rather than the manner in which it was sung, and hence this could be heard as an assessment of the song choice). The action of moving from his seat while producing the utterance “good” provides an additional layer of meaning, and hence, I would argue, transforms it into a procedural assessment utterance. Transcript 9.8 MC 070612 reverse 14:30–14:45

In this final instance (Transcript 9.9), the master does not produce a verbal evaluative assessment utterance, but instead stands up and applauds as he moves into the performance space (line 04); he then utters the procedural assessment receipt okay while continuing to applaud (line 05). He repeats okay in the clear (line 07), and asks a leading question, any comments you want to make, as a means to move to instructional matters.

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So the embodied action of applauding, while taking a spatially distinctive and audience-visible position, acts as an embodied assessment action and hence replaces the production of a verbal assessment. Transcript 9.9 RJ rear view 00000.mp4 2:35–2:43

In these two instances, then, the canonical shape that combines (in various repetitions and combinations) the two identified component elements of the composite assessment is missing at the verbal level. However, an examination of the activities as multi-modal actions gives us reason to see the missing component elements in alternate modes, and hence it is possible to maintain the canonical structure of the assessment receipt.

6 Discussion We have detailed the transition points and then focused on the transition between performance and instruction. In all instances, there is a simple sequence that transitions the activity from performance to instruction. The assessment receipt action of the master is operative in this transition, allowing the master to start as a member of the collective audience and then move to the singular position of (verbally active and hence overheard) assessor. In a Goffman (1981) sense, the assessment receipt action furnishes a transition between a position as part of a set of collective ‘onlookers’ or ‘bystanders’ (as audience members) in one ‘participation framework’, to primary ‘hearer’ in another participation framework (instruction). In Hutchby’s (2005: 14) terms, the master moves from a position within a situation of ‘distributed recipiency’ to

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that of primary recipient of the student’s performance, and this allows him or her to claim the next turn at talk (Sacks et al. 1974). Lindström and Mondada (2009), in the introduction to a recent special issue on assessments, note the special instance of assessments produced in institutional interaction. They point to the Initiation Response Evaluation (IRE) (see Mehan 1979, Mondada 2011) sequence identified in instructional interaction, as an example of an institutionally situated form of assessment production. Assessments in these settings show that they are particularly sensitive to the activity within which they are produced, being reflexively constrained by the issues and purposes of this activity and contributing to shape what the activity ultimately is as well as the institutionality of the context. (Lindström and Mondada 2009: 304)

In the case of music masterclasses, the dual institutional goals of performance experience and performance instruction are then oriented to in the assessment receipt transition. Put another way, the interactional project of performance instruction is oriented to in specific moments of participation frame transition between performance activities and instructional activities. If we return then to Robinson’s (2012) concern with the supra-sequential coherence of conversation, and his assertion that the notion of ‘sequence’ should not merely relate to the sequential turn-by-turn production of talk, but should also speak to larger organising activities, conceived as a project, we can say that the assessment receipt exhibits both sequential and project-oriented qualities. In that it is a finely produced action that accomplishes the transition between two participation frameworks, it stands as an example of a sequential phenomenon that simultaneously accomplishes institutional goals.

7 Conclusion In this chapter, we have focused on one particular example of an activity or frame transition phenomenon, what I have called the ‘assessment receipt’. As discussed above, this form of transition is positioned

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at a particular point in the overarching project of the musical master instruction, at the point of transition between first performance and initiation of instructional interaction. This chapter has identified a basic sequential shape for this transition and detailed it variants, including those in which embodied behaviours are implicated in a multi-modal appreciation of the sequence. This action sequence is produced in the assessment slot after a performance that is normatively filled by collective assessment in the form of applause. By issuing an assessment receipt, the master (or masters) moves from ‘within’ this collective assessment behaviour, often producing applause with the other audience members, to a position of primary recipiency in which the master can lead the interaction into instruction matters. The assessment receipt not only negotiates the participation frame transition (in that it accomplishes the move from one set of arrangements to another), it also configures the emerging action frame as an encounter premised upon a limited subset of the total participants (typically master-student-accompanist). As such, the assessment receipt contributes to the understanding of assessments in institutional interactions and settings.

Appendix Transcription Notation The transcription notation and system used is adapted from Jefferson (Sidnell and Stivers 2012), Goodwin (1981), and Heath et al. (2010). It replaces numerical pause lengths with a graphical representation so as to allow for clear population of the pauses with simultaneous actions. In addition, graphical notation (as opposed to descriptive notation) is positioned in line with the verbal utterance line, while a description is offered in the right-justified double parentheses. (—-)    pause, length indicated in tenths of a second gesture preparation ~~~    action, aligned with vocal utterance [    overlap

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|    timing point, relating to aligned point in action line ♪    musical note onset | ~ ~~ ~ |~ ~ ~~~    (action 1; action 2) description of sequential actions (semicolon) | ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~~   (action 1, action 2) description of simultaneous actions (comma)

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Heath, Christian, Paul Luff, and Jon Hindmarsh. 2010. Video in qualitative research. London: Sage. Heritage, John, and Steven Clayman. 2011. Talk in action: Interactions, identities, and institutions. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Hindmarsh, Jon, Patricia Reynolds, and Stephen Dunne. 2011. Exhibiting understanding: The body in apprenticeship. Journal of Pragmatics 43 (2): 489–503. Hutchby, Ian. 2005. Media talk: Conversation analysis and the study of broadcasting (Issues in cultural & media studies). Maidenhead: Open University Press. Keevallik, Leelo. 2010. Bodily quoting in dance correction. Research on Language & Social Interaction 43 (4): 401–426. Lerner, Gene H. 1993. Collectivities in action: Establishing the relevance of conjoined participation in conversation. Text—Interdisciplinary Journal for the Study of Discourse 13 (2): 213–245. Lerner, Gene H. 1995. Turn design and the organization of participation in instructional activities. Discourse Processes 19: 111–131. Lerner, Gene H., Don H. Zimmerman, and Mardi Kidwell. 2011. Formal structures of practical tasks: A resource for action in the social life of very young children. In Embodied interaction: Language and body in the material world, ed. Jürgen Streeck, Charles Goodwin, and Curtis LeBaron, 44–59. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lindström, Anna, and Lorenza Mondada. 2009. Assessments in social interaction: Introduction to the special issue. Research on Language and Social Interaction 42 (4): 299–308. Lindström, Anna, and Trine Heinemann. 2009. Good enough: Low-grade assessments in caregiving situations. Research on Language and Social Interaction 42 (4): 309–328. Lindwall, Oskar, and Anna Ekström. 2012. Instruction-in-interaction: The teaching and learning of a manual skill. Human Studies 35 (1): 27–49. Maynard, Douglas W. 1991. Interaction and asymmetry in clinical discourse. American Journal of Sociology 97 (2): 448–495. Mehan, Hugh. 1979. “What time is it, Denise?”: Asking known information questions in classroom discourse. Theory into Practice 18 (4): 285–294. Mondada, Lorenza. 2009. The embodied and negotiated production of assessments in instructed actions. Research on Language and Social Interaction 42 (4): 329–361.

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Mondada, Lorenza. 2011. Understanding as an embodied, situated and sequential achievement in interaction. Journal of Pragmatics 43 (2): 542–552. Mondada, Lorenza. 2014. The local constitution of multimodal resources for social interaction. Journal of Pragmatics 65: 137–156. Nishizaka, Aug. 2006. What to learn: The embodied structure of the environment. Research on Language and Social Interaction 39 (2): 119–154. Reed, Darren J. 2015. Relinquishing in musical masterclasses: Embodied action in interactional projects. Journal of Pragmatics 89: 31–49. Reed, Darren J., and Beatrice Szczepek Reed. 2013. Building an interactional project: Actions as components of music masterclasses. In Units of talk— Units of action, ed. Beatrice Szczepek Reed and Geoffrey Raymond, 313– 342. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Reed, Darren J., and Beatrice Szczepek Reed. 2015. Displaying learning in performance settings: The co-construction of learner autonomy. Panel: The Social Organization of Learning in Classroom Interaction and Beyond. International Pragmatics Association (IPrA), Conference held at Antwerp, Belgium, 26–31 July 2015. Robinson, Jeffrey D. 2003. An interactional structure of medical activities during acute visits and its implications for patients’ participation. Health Communication 15 (1): 27–59. Robinson, Jeffrey D. 2012. Overall structural organization. In The handbook of conversation analysis, ed. Jack Sidnell and Tanya Stivers, 257–280. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Robinson, Jeffrey D., and Tanya Stivers. 2001. Achieving activity transitions in physician-patient encounters. Human Communication Research 27 (2): 253–298. Sacks, Harvey, Emanuel A. Schegloff, and Gail Jefferson. 1974. A simplest systematics for the organisation of turn-taking for conversation. Language 50: 696–735. 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: Culture, cognition and interaction, ed. N.J. Enfield and S.C. Levinson, 70–96. Berg. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2011. Word repeats as unit ends. Discourse Studies 13 (3): 367–380. Schegloff, Emanuel A., and Harvey Sacks. 1973. Opening up closings. Semiotica 7: 289–327.

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Sidnell, Jack, and Tanya Stivers. 2012. The handbook of conversation analysis. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Szczepek Reed, Beatrice, Darren J. Reed, and Elizabeth Haddon. 2013. NOW or NOT NOW: Coordinating restarts in vocal masterclasses. Research on Language and Social Interaction 46 (1): 22–46. ten Have, Paul. 1997. In the presence of data: Conversation-analysis as ‘empirical philosophy’. Paper read at the conference on ‘Ethnomethodology, an improbable sociology?’ June, Cerisy-la-Salles, France. www.paultenhave.nl/ presence.html. Tolins, Jackson. 2013. Assessment and direction through nonlexical vocalizations in music instruction. Research on Language and Social Interaction 46 (1): 47–64. Weeks, Peter. 1996. A rehearsal of a Beethoven passage: An analysis of correction talk. Research on Language and Social Interaction 29 (3): 247–290.

Part IV Affiliation and Alignment

10 Embodying Empathy in Everyday and Institutional Settings: On the Negotiation of Resources, Rights, and Responsibilities in Comforting Actions Maxi Kupetz

1 Introduction 1.1 Overall Topic, Research Questions and Aims When confronted with another person’s misery, we tend to respond with actions aimed at remedying the other person’s distress. But when exactly and how do we ‘do comforting’? In this paper, I explore the semiotic resources used for the achievement of social actions that comfort or soothe a ‘consequential figure’ (Maynard 1997), i.e. someone whose emotional or physical distress has been displayed or addressed during the interaction. Special attention will be paid to the reduction of physical distance and touching, as these kinetic and haptic resources seem to be a decisive device for the structural organization of comforting actions. The main The data used in this paper are not available in publicly accessible corpora. Colleagues interested in the data are most welcome to contact me to get access ([email protected]).

M. Kupetz (*)  Martin Luther University Halle-Wittenberg, Halle, Germany e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 E. Reber and C. Gerhardt (eds.), Embodied Activities in Face-to-face and Mediated Settings, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-97325-8_10

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questions to be explored are: When and how are comforting actions occasioned in social interaction? Which verbal, vocal, and kinetic resources can be used by participants to achieve these comforting actions? How are these resources coordinated in space and in time, especially touching gestures? Touching as a communicative resource has been described rather en passant in a few conversation analytic studies of institutional encounters. For example, in the case of a doctor-patient interview regarding the patient’s medical history, Beach and LeBaron (2002: 629f ) discuss touching as a means of creating intimacy and showing sensitivity towards the difficult situation of the patient, and of recognizing potential problems in addressing delicate personal issues. In a British TV show, Hepburn and Potter (2007: 92f ) describe how a presenter puts his arm around a contestant’s shoulders in response to the contestant’s signs of crying. More recently, touching has been described as one way (of several) to mobilize or enforce action in adult-child interaction (Goodwin and Cekaite 2013; Cekaite 2016). Within the framework of social semiotics, touch has been described as a communicative mode, which means that it constitutes “a semiotic resource with a certain regularity of use for communication” (Bezemer and Kress 2014: 78). The paper is part of a larger study on empathy in social interaction, where empathy is conceptualized as a display of understanding of and/ or feeling for the emotional situation of another person (Kupetz 2014a, b, 2015). Affectivity and understanding are not investigated in terms of (changes of ) inner states and motives, but are looked at in terms of displays which can be interpreted by the participants themselves and, hence, which can be analyzed by the researcher (Deppermann and Schmitt 2008; Sorjonen and Peräkylä 2012). Interactional studies have shown that displays of empathy or sympathy are not inherently prosocial, i.e. they are not per se interpreted as apprehensive or considerate by the interlocutor. Such instances can occur when an understanding of the emotional state of the consequential figure is treated as being inadequately addressed (e.g. Ruusuvuori 2005; Kupetz 2015). Social actions used to comfort or soothe someone seem to entail this prosocial orientation. Nevertheless, revealing whether participants themselves actually treat comforting actions as prosocial is part of the analytic undertaking. Within the present volume, this paper shall contribute to the following issues: (a) how displays of empathy/sympathy/compassion are made relevant by participants in social interaction; (b) how this can be

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responded to through comforting actions; (c) how verbal, vocal, and kinetic resources are coordinated in time and space to carry out these comforting actions; and (d) how specifically bodily contact can contribute to comforting actions both (i) by creating a peak in their overall structural organization, and (ii) by suggesting ‘embodied togetherness’, which makes a strong prosocial orientation interpretable. The sequences analyzed consist of a display of physical or emotional discomfort, and a responsive comforting action. Such sequences can bring larger activities to a halt. “Activities … on the one hand amplify, and, on the other, constrain, the types of expectable action within them” (Levinson 2013: 124). When physical or emotional distress is brought up in interaction, the business of ‘treating the participant’s distress’ seems to become ‘the main job’ (ibid.: 107). Only when this job is jointly treated as accomplished can the overall activity be pursued.

1.2 Methods and Data The study is based on Conversation Analysis (Sidnell 2010; Sidnell and Stivers 2013) and Interactional Linguistics (Couper-Kuhlen and Selting 2001, 2018; Barth-Weingarten 2008), with special attention paid to the coordination of verbal, vocal, and kinetic resources and to the participants’ proxemic behavior and orientation to the interaction space (Deppermann and Schmitt 2007; Selting 2013; Mondada 2007, 2013). Extracts from three different settings will be discussed: mother-child play, elementary school, and a public political debate between the German chancellor Angela Merkel and teenage pupils. The extracts are part of a collection of episodes in which crying and/or emotional or physical suffering is strongly expressed and dealt with in situ. Such instances occur fairly infrequently in data examined from everyday interaction, radio phone-ins, classroom interaction, and publicly televised political debates. Caretaker-child interaction is exceptional in that regard. The extracts presented in this paper were chosen for the purpose of illustrating the different semiotic resources that may be deployed for doing comforting. What the extracts have in common is their overall sequential structure: A potentially stressful event or a display of mental or physical distress is acknowledged by another interlocutor vocally and/or verbally. This is followed by (ongoing) displays of distress, which are responded to with comforting actions. The analysis involves

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a detailed investigation of which behaviour occasions comforting actions and which semiotic resources are used to be recognized as doing comforting. Another important aspect is the ‘getting out’ of the comforting action: It will be explored which practices are used by participants to achieve the transition from problem-orientation to ‘business as usual’/‘achievement of remedy’. Even though researchers working with qualitative methods in a social constructionist framework have good reasons for avoiding generalizations as to the form and function of phenomena over more than one context (e.g. Mayring 2007), observing one particular form in various settings allows for the analyst to carve out its specific functions: Limiting one’s interest and analytic tool kit only to institutional talk, to a particular domain of institutional talk, or only to practices of everyday conversation can result in missing the complexity of all kinds of talk and interaction and in restricting particular findings to one domain or the other. (Schegloff et al. 2002: 12)

It is thus worth investigating comforting actions, and the role of bodily contact within these actions, in various interactional settings. The language used in the data is German. The video-recordings are transcribed according to the GAT 2 transcription system (Selting et al. 2009; Couper-Kuhlen and Barth-Weingarten 2011). Descriptions of coordinated kinetic resources1 and still images or drawings are included in the transcript where necessary to make the interactional events and their analysis comprehensible to the reader (Stukenbrock 2009).

2 Rationale for Investigating Kinetic, Proxemic, and Haptic Dimensions of Comforting Actions This section provides some snapshots of interaction-oriented research in which comforting or touching + comforting have been dealt with. This selective literature review shall substantiate my claim that more conversation 1These descriptions are written in double parentheses on a separate line and they are aligned with the verbal and vocal transcriptions through the symbol |.

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analytic work on this topic is needed. A broader outlook which takes into consideration studies from other research disciplines on the bodily dimension of empathy is provided in the discussion at the end of this paper. For English, Beach and LeBaron (2002) show as an example the interactional management of a crying episode during a m ­ edical-history-taking. In response to the patient’s apparent display of emotional distress, the doctor formulates I’m sorry this looks like a lot of pain for you, and simultaneously leans over to the patient to touch her knee (ibid.: 629): “The relations of posture, orientation and distance indicate the degree of involvement, intimacy, and type of affiliation of the participants” (Scheflen 1974: 55, cited in Beach and LeBaron 2002: 629). The decrease in physical distance, the touching, and the formulation show the doctor’s orientation to the patient’s emotional distress. Right afterwards, a smooth transition back to the institutional task is achieved. A similar observation is made by Hepburn and Potter (2007: 92f) in an extract from a reality television show in which a contestant shows signs of crying after having been criticized heavily by the jury due to his singing performance. In response to this, one of the show’s hosts puts his arm around the contestant’s shoulders even before verbally producing what the authors call a take your time (ibid.). For German adult interaction, Schwitalla (1995: 236) describes the following verbal practices for comforting: short narratives or tellings of similar cases, ironically overstated assessments, and emphasizing positive aspects of the events described or downgrading the relevance of the events described in comparison to worse cases. Schwitalla points out that demonstrations of being able to ‘put oneself in the other one’s shoes’ may also have comforting effects. The author subsumes comforting actions (‘Trösten’) under the larger category of showing empathy (‘Mitgefühl zeigen’); however, he does not make clear on what grounds the categories are differentiated. According to Fiehler (1990: 153), comforting is only relevant when negative experiences are dealt with. Communicative practices for comforting include demonstrations of being-with-the-other or telling about similar experiences (ibid.). Imo (2017) conceptualizes comforting as a verbal practice used by oncologists in consultations. This professional practice contains ‘rational strategies’ such as provisions of positive information in terms of the tumor’s properties, the length of the therapy, or chances of recovery, and ‘empathic strategies’ such as personal address forms, sympathetic assessments, or advice on how to deal with emotional distress in situ, such as taking a deep breath.

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The role of kinetic resources for doing comforting is not addressed in these studies. In adult-child-interaction, so called ‘problem-remedy sequences’ have been addressed by Kidwell: When a child begins to cry, s/he will typically cry until an adult attends to him/her and, further, continue crying until a satisfactory solution, a ‘remedy’ for whatever problem s/he is experiencing, is produced. The caregiver, for her part, will monitor and be attentive to the child’s behavior and cease her remedying actions upon recognizing that the child has been soothed. (2013: 519)

Exploring which semiotic resources can be used to achieve such remedying actions is the goal of the present paper.

3 Comforting in Various Interactional Settings 3.1 Comforting in Mother-Child-Interaction The first Extract (10.1a) shows Mum (Mu) and her 17-month-old son Otto (Ki). They are sitting next to a small table in the child’s play room, reading a book, in bodily positions as shown in Fig. 10.1.

Fig. 10.1  The bodily positions of Mum and Otto

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The transcript starts when Otto sways sideways and bumps his head on the table. Extract 10.1a Otto_01_17m_1412_Aua I

Fig. 10.2

Fig. 10.3

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The bumping of the head (line 9) is acknowledged as something unexpected through the use of midfalling OH; (oh ) (line 11). This sound object (Reber 2012) indicates ‘I acknowledge something has happened’, without suggesting much affective stance towards the event. It turns the bumping into a discrete action, possibly in need of (interactional)

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treatment. In coordination with the sound object, Mum withdraws her head to avoid collision with the child’s head approaching her. Subsequently (line 12), Mum and Otto face each other in upright sitting position, still holding each other’s hands. This is a moment of mutual monitoring, where both participants carefully observe each other’s actions and orientations. Mum takes up the potentially hurtful: jetz haste dich geSTOßen; (now you‘ve bumped yourself ) (line 13). This explicit recognition that something happened neither locates a possible source of pain nor reveals Mum’s affective stance towards what happened. It is produced with normal articulatory force and normal pitch range and register (compared to Mum’s speech before). In overlap with this ascription, Otto produces a sound (glottal closure + outbreath), which serves as a ‘response cry’ (Goffman 1978), suggesting at least little pain. In the course of Mum’s utterance, Mum and Otto lift their hands, held together. At the end of Mum’s utterance, Otto disentangles his hands from Mum’s and continues the upwards arm movement to touch his head with both hands (line 15). Thus, Otto makes the location of his pain visibly available, and prepares for further interactional treatment of his pain. Otto’s response cry and gesture seem to provide evidence for Mum that the bumping was hurtful. She addresses this potential physical impact of the bumping for the first time:  (got an owie ) (line 16). The utterance is designed in a child-like manner through the use of the fixed expression aua machen and it is produced with somewhat ‘tender’ prosody (high pitch, weak articulatory force), which reveals Mum’s orientation to Otto’s potential physical harm. The high-rising intonation makes an uptake by Otto relevant. The whole design of this utterance allows for Otto to present himself as in need of comfort. Otto ratifies Mum’s ascription by repeating aua (line 17). The token is realized with a particular prosodic design: with an extra strong accent on the last syllable.2 By using Mum’s word with this prosodic form, Otto asserts authority of his claim and invokes independent experiential rights (Sacks 1995b: 246). He makes the aua ‘his own’ and confirms being hurt. He thereby constitutes comforting as a relevant next action. This is oriented to by Mum in line 18, where she offers a remedy by 2In

other episodes from this dyad, the canonical form AUa::; is used (with stress on the first syllable, falling intonation, eventually final lengthening, and breathy voice).

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proposing to blow on the child’s head. She uses high pitch, which indicates affect-orientation, and the modal verb construction soll ich X (shall I X ), which has been described as a typical construction in comforting sequences in German (Bahlo et al. 2015). In line 19, Mum makes the child’s head available for blowing, bodily by taking his head in both hands, verbally by commenting  (come here ), again with ‘tender’ prosody (high onset, little articulatory force, piano voice, slightly falling and flat contour at the end) (Kupetz 2014b). Both lines 18 and 19 explicitly prepare for Mum’s next actions: In line 20, she gives Otto a kiss and blows on his head. She thus fulfills the previously formulated action ‘blowing’ (Raymond 2015), and on top of that, she gives him a kiss. This kind of physical contact and explicit orientation to the location of the pain seem to constitute the peak of Mum’s comforting actions. At this point, right after the kissing, Otto starts straightening his legs and pushing himself up, coordinating this with a lengthened, nasal sound object, indicating that he is somewhat impatient. By gaining physical distance, he treats Mum’s previous comforting actions as ‘enough’. This allows for Mum to bring the interactional treatment of Otto’s distress to closure (line 22). The deployment of the adverbs schon and wieder invokes this temporal dimension: By saying that there is no longer a problem, no further interactional treatment of distress is required. The prosodic design of the utterance suggests exactly this: The segment is produced with weak articulatory force, which is heard as ‘soft’ voice, but it is also realized with lower pitch than the segments before. It is Mum who uses a specific ‘troubles talk exit device’ (Jefferson 1988: 433f), used to achieve a ‘smooth’ transition from problem-orientation to ‘business as usual’. All of this suggests that a somewhat ‘normal’/‘unproblematic’ state is jointly re-­ established. Not only does Mum invoke that things are okay ‘as they were before’, but the consequential figure himself, Otto, withdraws from being treated as someone to be comforted by getting up and walking away. We have seen so far that comforting actions are occasioned in a specific sequential position: When in situ physical pain has been mutually acknowledged, the ‘carer’ and ‘caree’ negotiate (i) what is treated as ‘in need of comfort’, and (ii) how much comforting is needed for the interactional treatment of the specific problem.

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After the conjoint establishment of pain in need of comfort (lines 15 to 17), the carer makes use of a range of resources to fulfill (children-­ specific) comforting actions (offer of remedy, tender prosody, reducing physical distance, blowing, kissing). The consequential figure itself seems to interpret the blowing and kissing on the pain’s location as the ‘peak’ of the comforting action, as he starts withdrawing from sitting on Mum’s lap right afterwards. This overall structural organization indicates that Otto, at the age of 17 months, already orients to the blowing (and maybe kissing) as one situated act in a social routine, used to comfort a child in distress, quite independently of the medical treatment of the ‘actual’ source of pain. Evidence for the need to negotiate whom to comfort when and how can be found in an episode which occurs a couple of minutes after Extract (10.1a). Mum and Otto are still sitting next to the small table, reading a book. Otto repeatedly leans over and gets close to the table’s corner, Mum warns him not to bump himself. When he does bump his head lightly on the corner of the table, Mum playfully comments on this by using the sound object ‘bong’. Extract 10.1b Otto_01_17m_1412_Aua II

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In Extract (10.1b), the previous bumping episode is reinvoked (see Extract (10.1a), analyzed above). However, the bumping of the head is treated quite differently than before. When Otto dips his head, Mum recognizes his action in the course of the dipping and comments on it using the sound object ‘bong’ (line 100). In an almost onomatopoetic manner, Mum treats the bump playfully as ‘foreseeable’ and as a non-hurting bump. Note that Otto again uses the token aua, this time with mid-rising intonation (line 102). Once more, the prosodic form differs from the response cry aua typically used to display pain. Otto’s aua is designed to make an uptake or a ratification relevant. Such a ratification may be oriented to at least two dimensions, the first an acknowledgement that something (potentially) hurtful happened, the second one orienting to the course of action: When one gets hurt, one displays being hurt by using the token aua (possibly occasioning remedy). Evidence for this interpretation is provided by Otto’s attentive gaze and posture: He does realize the sound object and he does locate with his right hand where he bumped his head, but he shows no more signs of being in pain, rather, he sits up straight and carefully monitors Mum’s reaction. Mum explicitly does not treat the bump as hurtful or Otto as in need of comfort: ja; aber das haste jetz ja EXtra gemacht; ne:, (yeah but you did that on purpose didn’t you ) (line 103). She ascribes self-harm, thereby employing the norm of intent as an account for the lack of comforting actions in this sequential position. This allows us to infer that she has a normative orientation to the ‘when’ and ‘how’ of comforting actions. It brings to the interactional surface a specific pedagogic attitude: If you hurt yourself on purpose (e.g. by not listening to previous warnings), then no comfort by another person is due. The same is true for the treatment of physical distress: If a display of physical distress is interpreted as ‘non-genuine’, no comforting action will occur (except for mockery, possibly). All of this indicates how communicative practices are subject to children’s learning in social interaction, and how strongly the learning of (bodily and linguistic)

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form, of (con-) sequentiality, and of social rights and responsibilities are intertwined when it comes to comforting. By reproducing behaviour (bumping the head, producing aua ), Otto may come to understand the different actions that behaviour can implement, where ‘come to understand’ is constituted by the different responses to the behaviour. The moral dimension of remedying actions has also been pointed out by Kidwell on the basis of work on very young children in daycare settings: In so far as caregivers’ inquiries are directed to the project of finding a remedy for a trouble, they partition children as particular sorts of moral actors who are entitled to and warrant different treatments. Caregivers’ inquiries point up their efforts to be ‘fair’ in accord with broad, normative orientations to justice, and also in accord with the specific daycare culture in which they work and the pedagogical practices that inform their professional culture. At the very least, ‘victims’ are entitled to comfortings (hugs) if they are injured, and/or efforts to get desired (and unjustly withheld) objects for them; ‘culprits’ warrant sanctions and efforts to guide them toward proper conduct toward their peers. (Kidwell 2011: 282)

3.2 Comforting in the Elementary Classroom3 In classroom interaction, the interactional organization varies according to the institutional goals, due to the reflexive relationship between the pedagogical focus introduced by the teacher and the organization

3I

would like to thank Vivien Heller, who is responsible for the corpus from which these classroom extracts are taken, for permission to work with the data. Furthermore, I am grateful to the members of the colloquium ‘Projects in Interactional Linguistics’ conducted by Dagmar BarthWeingarten at the University of Potsdam, and to their guest Stefan Pfänder, for valuable comments on how to approach the data and the topic.

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of the interaction (Seedhouse 2004: 106; 2005: 168). Teacher and students fulfill category-bound activities (Sacks 1995a: 241ff.) through which they constantly uphold and reestablish their institution-specific roles. In that sense, ‘making students work’ is part of the teacher’s role-­ specific actions, revealing an orientation to the institutional goal. Being sick or distressed, however, may be treated as an excuse for not working appropriately. When it comes to comforting, as in everyday interaction, resources, rights, and responsibilities need to be negotiated. Extracts (10.2a) and (10.2b) reveal when and how comforting actions can be realized by the teacher, but also how comforting invoked by a pupil may not be granted by the teacher. Special attention will be paid to the bodily resources (decreases in physical distance and touching) used by the teacher in both cases.4 Extract (10.2a) is taken from a first-grade lesson in a German elementary school. The pupils are supposed to fill in a worksheet. Phuong is looking around and playing with her hair. The teacher (Leh) approaches Phuong‘s desk. Next to Phuong (Phu) sits Martha (Mar). In lines 1 through 4, the teacher is already standing behind Phuong, addressing another student and advising him to start working. Extract 10.2a First grader_Headache_I

4For a sketch of debates on touching in the classroom and on touching in upbringing, see Classen (2005: 40ff.). For detailed interactional analyses of ‘touch as social control’ in adult-child interaction, see Cekaite (2016).

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In line 5, the teacher directs her attention to Phuong by bending over. Phuong holds her head in her hands (line 6), thereby indicating her physical distress (having a headache and being tired, as pointed out a couple of minutes previously). This is taken up by the teacher: dir GEHTS heute nich so gut; phuong; (you’re not too well today ) (line 7). Through this state ascription in the 2nd person, the teacher explicitly acknowledges Phuong’s problem. Her body position and gaze are exclusively oriented towards Phuong and she is positioned very closely when talking to Phuong, which adds to the interpretation of her as being attentive and understanding. In coordination with her utterance, the teacher starts stroking Phuong’s back, which can be interpreted as doing caring and comforting (see Fig. 10.4).

Fig. 10.4  Line 7, 4th syllable

Thus, in line 7, the teacher shows a strong orientation to Phuong’s distress. Immediately afterwards she slowly shifts her focus. While maintaining her bodily orientation and continuing the stroking, she requests that Phuong try to work: verSUCH mal so gut du_s kAnnst; ja, = (try as much as you can okay ) (line 8). Thus, a double orientation becomes obvious: orienting to the student’s distress and orienting to the

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institutional goal, which is to improve spelling proficiency by filling in the worksheet. In that sense, the ‘comforting’ is being done in service of the overall task, which is to ‘make the students work’. Phuong’s neighbour Martha (on the right-hand side in the images) has been carefully observing the interaction between Phuong and the teacher thus far. At the end of the teacher’s summons to try working a little, she immediately takes the floor: = (ich hab auch) BAUCHweh, = (my belly is aching as well ) (line 9) and thus makes the teacher turn her head and pay attention to her (Fig. 10.5).

Fig. 10.5  End of line 9

Martha immediately continues to specify or downgrade her ‘distress’: = aber (–) das TUT nich wEh; (but it doesn’t hurt ) (line 10). This ‘call for attention’ is taken up by the teacher with an acknowledgement token (line 11) and a hand gesture. Still in overlap with Martha’s utterance, the teacher reaches over to Martha’s back and strokes twice (see Fig. 10.6).

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Fig. 10.6  Line 10, last syllable

The gesture has a quality quite distinct from the previous stroking. The strokes are shorter and quicker. Although the teacher looks at Martha while stroking her back, the teacher’s body posture is still oriented to Phuong. In sum, the bundle of resources used suggest an ‘imitation’ of comforting. This is reinforced by the fact that the gaze is withdrawn slightly before the stroking is finished, which indicates a sort of ‘inattentiveness’. Through the head turn, the teacher’s focus is oriented back to Phuong, followed by a verbal encouragement, using an imperative form: verSUCH mal (ein bIsschen; ja,) (try (a little yeah)) (line 12). As in lines 7 and 8, the teacher stays close to Phuong and strokes her back several times. She then points at the worksheet so as to direct Phuong’s attention to it (utterance unintelligible) and walks away. To sum up, several shifts in foci can be observed in this Extract (10.2a). The teacher orients to the overall institutional goal by advising a student to work. She then directs herself to the student Phuong, who

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has been displaying her physical distress for a while, thereby contextualizing herself as a consequential figure in need of comfort. By leaning over Phuong, touching her back with long strokes, and explicitly acknowledging her distress, the teacher creates a moment of (interactional) intimacy, a moment of ‘empathic communion’ (Heritage 2011). She not only shows her understanding of and/or feeling for Phuong, her actions can be interpreted as ‘doing comforting’. This moment of social intimacy seems to be interpreted as such and is subsequently invoked by a fellow student who makes physical distress verbally relevant. Interestingly enough, this second student’s distress has not been ‘embodied’ so far, and is also ‘unmasked’ by herself. The teacher treats this as a request for attention by gazing at the student, reaching out towards her and touching her quickly. The teacher’s response is congruent with the student’s display of distress: All of these actions are ‘designed as non-genuine’. The teacher’s responsive actions seem to be sufficient to show ‘some attention’, as the student then starts working on her own while the teacher readdresses Phuong. Thus, a ‘designed as non-genuine’ request for comfort receives a short moment of attention, constituted by a short acknowledgement token, a quick gaze, and a quick touch. The teacher then refocuses the ‘actual’ consequential figure and displays a double orientation: Her tone of voice, her body posture, and the stroking indicate comforting; verbally, however, the teacher points out the relevant institution-specific activity, which is to try working. By shifting the focus, she increases social distance. This shift to ‘business as usual’ (Jefferson 1988) is completed when she points at the worksheet and walks away. Such shifts from an institutional focus to the psycho-­ emotional state of a participant and back to the institutional focus have also been described by Beach and LeBaron in doctor-patient interaction (2002: 629f ). When a participant shows signs of crying, the doctor can create a short moment of intimacy, e.g. by acknowledging the problematic situation and by touching the patient, before reorienting to the institution-specific tasks. What we observe here is part of a phenomenon which is being negotiated throughout the whole class between the teacher and the

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students: (Emotional or physical) distress stands in opposition to being able to work. Over and over, students deploy this ‘strategy’ to be excused from working. The teacher is somewhat doing gate-­keeping by differentiating between ‘designed as genuine’ and ‘designed as non-genuine’ displays, thereby ratifying (or not) the students’ claimed status of being sick.5 A similar scene with Phuong and Martha occurs a couple of minutes later: Extract 10.2b First grader_Headache_II

5At one point, when several students claim to need to go to the bathroom, the teacher even makes this explicit: das stEckt jetzt NICHT an; (this is not infectious ) (05:29). Later, when one student walks up to the teacher claiming to have a sore tummy, the teacher points out: das sin Alles AUSreden; (these are all excuses ) (13:35). In that respect cf. Parsons: “Illness may be treated […] as one way of evading social responsibilities” (1951: 431).

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Fig. 10.7

Fig. 10.8

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Fig. 10.9

In Extract (10.2b), the teacher praises Phuong’s work thus far while walking towards Phuong’s desk (lines 50–52). By pointing at her sheet, Phuong seems to show what she has accomplished, which is acknowledged by the teacher (lines 53f.) who then attempts to walk away towards Martha (line 55). In that moment, however, Phuong seems to (re-)address her physical distress verbally (line 56). This interpretation is supported as the teacher bends over to Phuong again, explicitly acknowledging her indisposition (lines 58–60). During the following segment, still addressing Phuong, Martha begins actions that can be interpreted as ‘staging doing being sick’: she rests her head on her left arm, closes her eyes a few times, and wipes her forehead with her left hand. Not only kinetically, but also

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verbally, she displays physical distress (line 62), which attracts the teacher’s attention, and possibly prepares for comforting actions. Again, as in the previous example, Martha gets the teacher’s attention as the latter walks towards her and bends over. The teacher ‘embraces’ Martha by stroking Martha’s left shoulder with her left hand and Martha’s right shoulder with her right hand. As in the previous example, this gesture comes off as congruent with the ‘designed as’ nature of the display of distress: It is realized quickly and as somehow ‘tense’. Thus, again, Martha’s ‘staged’ doing being sick is responded to, but in the form of ‘I acknowledge you are there’ rather than in the form of ‘I’m with you and I comfort you’. A thorough analysis of the previous examples reveals that a strong contextualization of a person as a consequential figure is necessary to make comforting actions relevant. A display of distress or pain is subject to being ratified as ‘truthful’ or rejected as ‘non-genuine’ by the carer, and, when ratified, it may be responded to in an affect-related manner. These responses not only show an understanding for the other person’s situation, they also have a comforting quality, meaning that they are used to ‘deal with’ and/or ‘get over’ the distress addressed. It has been demonstrated that different semiotic resources are finely ­coordinated to get in and out of comforting actions: verbal resources, such as physical state ascriptions, realized in a prosodic-phonetic form that can be described as ‘tender’ prosody or ‘sympathetic’ speech (Couper-Kuhlen 2009; Hepburn and Potter 2012; Kupetz 2014b), and kinetic resources, such as the reduction of physical distance, bending over, and gazing at and touching the consequential figure (with children: blowing on body parts that got hurt). These specific forms of getting close, extended stroking, blowing, and kissing, are somewhat at the core of the interactional treatment of the problem, as they seem to constitute the peak of the construction of (interactional and social) intimacy (Jefferson 1988: 428). Social intimacy is given haptic and visual form; understanding and comforting actions are being embodied. Comforting actions show the participants’ orientation to an in situ problem that interactionally needs to be dealt with. However, participants need to get out of those intimate problem-oriented moments, and an ordinary way of doing so is the re-orientation to business as usual (e.g. by re-establishing an ‘alright’ state of affairs (Extract 10.1a) or by gently prompting a student to work (Extract 10.2a)).

352     M. Kupetz

3.3 Comforting in the Mediated Political Sphere The following example is taken from a ‘Bürgerdialog’ (Dialogue with citizens). In the framework of the Bürgerdialog, citizens have the opportunity to address their questions to the German chancellor Angela Merkel (Mer). The ‘Bürgerdialog’ that this Extract (10.3) is taken from took place in July 2015 in Rostock, Germany. The audience mainly consists of high school pupils. Two hosts (Mod and host 2) are present; the (usual) spatial configuration of the setting can be seen in Fig. 10.10.6

Fig. 10.10  Standing figures from left to right: Host 2, Mer, Mod

The hosts and the chancellor Angela Merkel are standing at the open end of the circular sitting arrangement, while the pupils are seated in a circle. The students need to be provided with a microphone before posing their questions. The Extract (10.3) starts after Reem, a teenage girl from Lebanon, has been telling her story. She is well integrated in school, and speaks German very well, but she suffers from the insecurity of not knowing whether she and her family will be allowed to stay in Germany. Angela Merkel acknowledges the problem and is about to explain that the political and administrative staff are doing their best to improve the process of residence status verification. One of the hosts (Mod) has asked the chancellor to be more precise about the time frame, when the extract begins:

6Stills

are reproduced with kind permission of the Federal Press Office (www.bundesregierung.de).

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Extract 10.3 2015-07-15_buergerdialog_rostock_reem

Fig. 10.11

Fig. 10.12

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Fig. 10.13

Fig. 10.14

10  Embodying Empathy in Everyday and Institutional Settings …     355

Fig. 10.15

Fig. 10.16

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10  Embodying Empathy in Everyday and Institutional Settings …     357

Fig. 10.17

In line 21, Merkel is responding to the host’s question while attentively observing Reem. The utterance is neither syntactically nor prosodically or semantically brought to an end; Merkel interrupts herself to observe Reem (lines 22, 23). The pause, together with her body posture and gaze, all indicate her orientation to some problem. In line 24, this problem orientation is manifested:  (oh dear ). Prosodically, we find characteristics of ‘tender’ prosody: piano voice, rounded lips, flat-falling contour, very little articulatory force. Reem’s emotional distress is thus brought to attention, as a prerequisite for subsequent interactional treatment. Something quite remarkable happens next: Merkel leaves the space designated to her and walks towards Reem, who (as becomes apparent for the viewer a little later) shows signs of crying. Merkel thus creates bodily closeness in response to Reem’s signs of crying. This is not shown by the camera (see Fig. 10.12 for illustration). The cameramen had not been prepared for a situation in which Merkel (unexpectedly) walks towards one of the pupils. Merkel thus orients to interactional relevancies (‘dealing with someone who cries’) more than to institutional constraints (staying in the designated spatial configuration). Merkel’s following utterance is also noteworthy: du hAst_das doch PRIma gemacht; (you did a very good job ) (line 26). The utterance is designed as praise, and brings into play an interpretation of the crying as oriented to the public situation. Furthermore, the lexical choice prima

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gemacht is an expression that amplifies an asymmetrical adult-child relationship. Merkel’s request for uptake (line 28) is in overlap with the host’s comment: ich glaube nIch frau bUndeskanzlerin dass es da ums PRIma machen geht; = (I don’t think Mrs. chancellor that it is about doing a good job ) (line 29). The host challenges the chancellor’s way of dealing with Reem’s crying, i.e. praising her performance in the public situation. He explicitly refocuses Reem’s difficult situation of having an unclear residence permit status. Even before he finishes this elaboration, Merkel reorients her upper body towards the host and takes the floor: !WEIß! ich dass es ne beLAStende situation is; = ((I) know that it is a demanding situation ) (line 31). The strong accentuation of the first syllable (the verb ‘to know’) and the bodily orientation (upper body towards the host, lower body towards Reem) indicate a rejection of the host’s comment’s implication that she has not understood what Reem’s crying is all about. She immediately reorients to Reem to formulate what she aims at doing (Raymond 2015): = un_deshalb möchte ich sie TROTZdem einmal streicheln, (and that is why I nevertheless would like to stroke her ) (line 32). Stroking is an everyday practice to deal with distressed children. While formulating her bodily action, she also performs the stroking (see Fig. 10.15). Interestingly, the formulation contains the third-person reference (sie ), which shows Merkel’s orientation to the host’s remark. The adverb deshalb (that’s why/therefore ) anaphorically refers to the acknowledgement of the difficult situation. However, the utterance is realized with mid-rising final intonation, which projects more to come. In line 33, by using the subordinate connector weil (because ), she ties this utterance back to line 32, and thereby provides a further account for the stroking. Note that through self-initiated self-repair, Merkel shifts the person reference from ‘I’ to ‘we’ within her account. This person reference positions her as part of the German administration in charge of residence status verification processes. Subsequently, she adds another account for the stroking, again introduced with weil (line 34): This account ascribes a difficult emotional situation to Reem through the use of an explicit address form (in 2nd person singular). Having addressed Reem’s individual situation, Merkel achieves a shift towards a more general perspective through a particularly useful rhetoric strategy (lines 35, 36): She transforms Reem’s telling of her personal

10  Embodying Empathy in Everyday and Institutional Settings …     359

story into a depiction representative for many people who have come from so-called “insecure” countries to Germany. After having achieved this transition to a topic of general political relevance, Merkel seeks uptake from Reem (line 37) and starts walking back to her designated space. The host summarizes Reem’s contribution as a wish (for prompt improvement of the residence status verification processes) to be considered by Merkel (line 38). This is taken up by Merkel, and framed as ‘politician-like’ through strong articulatory force and ‘usual’ body position and orientation (lines 41ff.). ‘Business-as-usual’ is thus reinvoked. By using the rhetoric devices described, Merkel solves several interactional problems: She accounts for Reem’s particular situation, she accounts for her treatment of Reem’s story as an important illustration of the situation of many people, and she achieves a transition from an individual problem to an issue of general interest. Thus, Merkel oscillates between presentations of herself as someone ordinary who is compassionate with people displaying emotional distress, and as a politician who has to take into account the larger picture regardless of individual tragedies and who is part of an administration responsible for solving issues of general interest. Noteworthy in this example is the observation that a teenager’s in situ display of distress (crying) calls for in situ interactional treatment (reducing physical distance, touching/stroking, acknowledging the difficult situation, somewhat ‘tender’ prosody), irrespective of spatial and technical arrangements and of ‘typical’ chancellor’s role-specific actions.7

4 Discussion and Conclusions This paper contributes to conversation analytic research on the interactional management of affectivity by underlining the importance of integrating the analysis of kinetic resources with an analysis of verbal and

7This

possibly prevents the chancellor from being publicly perceived as ‘heartless’. Indeed, the whole episode was an object of an intense public debate in the newspapers and in social media (see e.g. Spiegel Online (Politik, July 17th, 2015): http://www.spiegel.de/politik/ausland/ angela-merkel-und-ihr-troestversuch-das-sagen-die-medien-a-1023782.html#js-article-comments-box-pager, latest retrieval on February 19th, 2016).

360     M. Kupetz

vocal resources (for an overview, see e.g. Sorjonen and Peräkylä 2012; Ruusuvuori 2013). It makes a case for studying everyday phenomena such as comforting within various interactional settings, taking into account all semiotic resources deployed. The relevance of the bodily dimension is particularly stressed: The very fact that bodily contact seems to constitute a core element of comforting shows that social intimacy is not only achieved sequentially, verbally, and vocally; rather, most notably, comforting can be achieved by reducing physical distance, establishing close body positions, and bodily contact. Comforting is then ‘embodied’. The present description of (bundles of ) resources for comforting actions is by no means exhaustive. Further research on comforting in other interactional settings and communities of practices is needed. As the examples have shown, comforting actions are interactionally made relevant through displays of distress (which need to be interpreted as ‘genuine’). Such sequences suspend larger social activities, i.e., in these cases, jointly reading a book, filling in a worksheet, questioning the chancellor. By orienting to physical or emotional distress and accomplishing a comforting action, a participant shows an understanding of the consequential figure’s situation. Comforting can thus be conceptualized as one form of showing empathy, and it is the caring and remedying nature of the action that makes it interpretable as prosocial. However, as we have seen, at every point in interaction it is subject to negotiation who is to be comforted by whom, when, and how: A very young child has to learn which display resources to deploy in which sequential position and in which conditions to be comforted. Pupils in elementary school need to be interpreted as ‘genuinely’ in need of comfort by the teacher. A politician may abandon a designated spatial arrangement when orienting to in situ displays of distress and may even be reprimanded for—verbally—treating another person’s distress inappropriately. When the business of ‘treating the consequential person’s distress’ is jointly brought to an end, the overall social activity can be resumed. Interestingly, there seems to be a reflexive relationship between bodily behavior of the participants, and the suspension and resumption of the overall social activity. Reducing physical distance and establishing body contact contribute to the interactional establishment of specific social roles (Sacks 1995a: 241ff.; Schegloff 2007): The entitlement to touch another

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person’s body is often part of the constitution of a care-giver/caretaker relationship (and may not always be treated as appropriate). It may not be a coincidence that in the three examples presented in this paper, the consequential figures are children (of quite different ages though). With regard to bodily contact, more conversation analytic research is needed to better understand which forms of touch may actually occur, how these forms of touch may possibly be coordinated with verbal, vocal, and other kinetic resources, and which kind of actions are thereby constituted. It is necessary to explore in more detail when and how exactly bodily contact is occasioned spatially, and also sequentially within specific activities. Quite possibly, touching is not only used to create social intimacy, but may also be used to regulate the impact of (unavoidable) bodily contact, e.g. in an elevator or on the subway. Thus, more systematic empirical research is needed to describe the status of touch as a semiotic resource in social interaction. In this regard, recent work on touch as regulating resource provides interesting insights (Cekaite 2016).8 The study of empathy is en vogue in and across many research disciplines (cf. e.g. recent edited volumes by Curtis and Koch 2009; Breger and Breithaupt 2010; Decety 2012; Brandstetter et al. 2013; Breyer 2013b; Singer and Bolz 2013). The bodily dimension of the phenomenon has often been addressed. Discussing the social-psychological development of empathy, for example, Breyer (2013a: 24) mentions en passant some standard social practices for comforting in mother-child interactions and lists facial expression, gesture, touch, and verbalization as resources. In dance science, for example, the relation between touching and empathy has lately been addressed in studies subsumed under the telling title “Touching and being touched” (Brandstetter et al. 2013). From an anthropological perspective, it has been pointed out

8For

studies in developmental psychology on touching in parent-child interaction, see Stack and Jean (2011). Interestingly, the authors state: “how touching is integrated with the other communication channels that are available would benefit from continued investigation … While we have made progress in measuring types and more recently functions of touch, much remains to be done to demonstrate more fully the communicative nature and other roles that touch serves” (Ibid.: 290f.).

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that empathy concepts and resources for (displays of ) empathy are culture-specific: Showing an understanding of another’s emotional situation is not valued and treated as prosocial in every community of practice (e.g. Throop 2008). With regard to empathy concepts in client-centered psychotherapy, Cooper (2001) points out the cognitive, affective, and somatic dimensions of empathy: “a therapist can deepen her empathic understanding of her client by relating to her as the physical, fleshy, incarnate being that she is” (Ibid.: 218), because “experiencing of the world is always and fundamentally somatic” (Ibid.: 221). In this sense, the term ‘empathy’ is traced back to its roots, as originally the term Einfühlung was used to describe aesthetic experience in the beginning of the twentieth century, before it became translated to the English term ‘empathy’ (Lipps 1903; for a historical overview, see Stueber 2006). With a declared interest in the organization of social interaction, conversation analysts should not leave the field of ‘touching and being touched’ to disciplines working non-empirically or with introspective data, coding systems, or neuroimaging techniques. By observing the phenomenon of ‘getting in touch’ in naturalistic communicative settings through a ‘sequential lens’ allowing for inspiration from the praxeology of gesture (Streeck 2013), conversation analysts have much to contribute to the analysis of embodied (forms of showing) empathy. Acknowledgements    I would like to thank Jörg Bergmann, Geoff Raymond, Margret Selting, Xiaoting Li, the members of the DFG Network ‘Multimodality and Embodied Interaction’, as well as two InLiSt editors for important comments on earlier versions of the paper. I am indebted to Gene Lerner for encouraging me to take a slightly different route. Remaining shortcomings are my responsibility.

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Singer, Tania, and Matthias Bolz (eds.). 2013. Mitgefühl: In Alltag und Forschung. Leipzig: Max-Planck-Institut für Kognitions- und Neurowissenschaften. http:// www.compassion-training.org. Accessed 24 July 2014. Sorjonen, Marja-Leena, and Anssi Peräkylä. 2012. Introduction. In Emotion in interaction, ed. Anssi Peräkylä and Marja-Leena Sorjonen, 3–15. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Stack, Dale M., and Amelie D.L. Jean. 2011. Communicating through touch: Touching during parent-infant interactions. In The handbook of touch: Neuroscience, behavioral, and health perspectives, ed. Matthew J. Hertenstein and Sandra J. Weiss, 273–298. New York: Springer. Streeck, Jürgen. 2013. Praxeology of gesture. In Body—Language— Communication: An international handbook on multimodality in human interaction. Handbücher zur Sprach- und Kommunikationswissenschaft 38(1), ed. Cornelia Müller, Alan Cienki, Ellen Fricke, Silva H. Ladewig, David McNeill, and Sedinha Teßendorf, 674–688. Berlin: De Gruyter. Stueber, Karsten R. 2006. Rediscovering empathy: Agency, folk psychology, and the human sciences. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Stukenbrock, Anja. 2009. Herausforderungen der multimodalen Transkription: Methodische und theoretische Überlegungen aus der wissenschaftlichen Praxis. In Die Arbeit mit Transkripten in Fortbildung, Lehre und Forschung, ed. Karin Birkner and Anja Stukenbrock, 144–169. Mannheim: Verlag für Gesprächsforschung. Throop, Jason. 2008. On the problem of empathy: The case of Yap, federated states of Micronesia. Ethos 36 (4): 402–426.

11 Negotiating Activity Closings with Reciprocal Head Nods in Mandarin Conversation Xiaoting Li

1 Introduction In face-to-face interaction, the co-presence of conversational ­participants has a significant impact on how talk is received, interpreted, and responded to (Dittman and Llewellyn 1968; Heath 1984, 1986). Also, each utterance is always produced in a particular activity, performing certain actions. The type of activity establishes the framework that makes relevant the role each utterance plays (Levinson 1979; Goffman 1961). This study describes some previously undocumented bodily movements, i.e. matching of head nods, in a specific activity in Mandarin conversation. The inquiry pursued in this paper starts from my observation of the matching of head nods between recipients and the speaker in Mandarin interaction. McClave (2000) documents that speaker head nods are followed by recipient head nods in American English conversation. In the X. Li (*)  University of Alberta, Edmonton, AB, Canada e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 E. Reber and C. Gerhardt (eds.), Embodied Activities in Face-to-face and Mediated Settings, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-97325-8_11

369

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present Mandarin data, the recipient-initiated nods are mirrored by the speaker, resulting in temporally and sequentially adjacent nods. This paper explores the sequentially adjacent nods in Mandarin conversation. In my data, the adjacent nods produced by the speaker and the recipient seem to be used in negotiating the closing of the current activity. The closing of a unit in interaction has been a focus of research in conversation analysis, as is indicated by the title of Schegloff and Sacks’s (1973) seminal work on “opening up closings” of a conversation. A variety of vocal and visual practices are used to accomplish the closing of a conversation or interaction, such as lexical “pre-closings” (e.g. “well…”, “OK”) (Schegloff and Sacks 1973), assessments (Antaki 2002), and bodily-visual practices such as postural shifts in medical consultations (Heath 1986). “OK” is also used to close up a current topic (Beach 1995). Word repeats and postural shifts can be devices to index the completion of larger interaction units such as multi-unit turns (Schegloff 2011; Li 2013). Walking away visually closes an ongoing activity in interaction (Broth and Mondada 2013). In this study, it is observed that adjacent head nods by the recipient and the speaker serve as bodily-visual practices to negotiate the closing of the current activity. The analyses of head nods in these activities show that: (1) recipient head nods are treated as completion-implicative of the current activity; (2) through mirroring the recipient head nods, the speaker displays his/ her alignment with the recipient in the treatment of (the completion of ) the current activity-in-progress (cf. Stivers 2008, for the definition of alignment); and (3) the speaker deploys the reciprocal head nod(s) to close the current activity. It is argued that the recipient and the speaker use head nods to interactively negotiate the completion of an activity with one another. It should be noted that by focusing on head nods in this study, I do not intend to imply that activity closing is done solely by head nods and that no other practices are involved. The role of morphosyntax, prosody, and other bodily-visual practices such as postural shifts, gaze aversion, and walking away in doing closing has been well documented (Schegloff and Sacks 1973; Antaki 2002; Pekarek Doehler et al. 2011; Goodwin 1981; Heath 1986; Schegloff 2011; Li 2013; Broth

11  Negotiating Activity Closings with Reciprocal Head Nods …     371

and Mondada 2013). This study focuses on the use of head nods in negotiating the possible completion of an activity.

2 Head Nods in Interaction Previous work on head nods in conversation has mainly focused on four areas/themes: head nods and speech production, head nods in turn-­taking, head nods as recipient’s action, and head nods as speaker’s action. Within the research on head nods in speech production, some scholars have focused on the relatedness of head nods and the temporal flow of speech. For example, Birdwhistell (1970) describes head nods as stress kinemes that can mark the flow of speech. Hadar et al. (1983) argue that head movements regularly accompany speech production whereas no head movement occurs during pauses and listening. Hadar et al. (1984) found that head movements usually precede speech onset in that they are used to manage the potentially challenging motor process of initiating speech. Other researchers have examined the relationship between head nods and structural units of speech. For example, Scheflen (1964) describes the way in which “point” units are marked by shifts in head posture in psychotherapeutic interactions. Following a similar approach, Kendon (1972) reports that head movements demarcate the speech unit called “locution” in focused encounters. The possible relevance of head nods to turn-taking is considered to be related to their pre-speech position (Hadar et al. 1984; Kendon 1972). When produced before or at the beginning of speech, head nods indicate the speaker’s wish to take a turn. Therefore, they are regarded as ‘floor-apportionment signals’ (Kendon 1972) or ‘turn-requesting signals’ (Wiemann and Knapp 1975) in projecting turn-taking. Previous studies have furnished us with important understandings of the ­general patterns of head nods and their occurrences in relation to speech delivery and speaker change. However, we still know very little about what people are actually doing with nodding in naturally occurring interactions. Most of the early studies of recipient’s head nods describe them as ‘back-channel’ behaviors (Yngve 1970; Duncan 1972, 1974) displaying

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the recipient’s attention to the speaker. Dittman and Llewellyn (1968) studied the ‘interpersonal function’ of recipient’s head nods in conversation. They found that head nods may indicate the recipient’s wish to come into the speaker’s turn, and may also serve as a response to the speaker’s request for feedback. Most of these studies adopt experimental and quantitative research methods. They provide us with an overview of the recipient’s head nods and their functions in speaker-recipient interactions. But due to their context-independent experimental approaches, they have not fully examined the ways in which recipient head nods function in specific situational and sequential contexts in interaction. From a conversation analytical perspective, Stivers (2008) examines recipient head nods with respect to alignment and affiliation in a specific conversational activity, storytelling. She argues that the recipient’s head nods in mid-telling position display his/her access to the teller’s stance and affiliation with the teller. She also contrasts the recipient’s head nods with vocal continuers at this position, proposing that the former indicates social affiliation while the latter displays structural alignment with the activity in progress. Stivers’s (2008) work presents an alternative way of exploring the interactional functions of recipient head nods by taking into account the ways in which conversational participants themselves orient to head nods in specific interactional contexts. The final collection of work focuses on head nods as speaker action. Based on American English conversational data, McClave (2000) has suggested that speaker nods precede those of the listener. In addition, speaker nods may serve as a request for a response and usually trigger listener backchannels. McClave et al. (2007) later reported similar functions of speaker head nods in Arabic, Bulgarian, Korean, and AfricanAmerican Vernacular English conversation. In Japanese interaction, a variety of functions of speaker head nods have been reported by Maynard (1987), for example, marking a clause boundary or turn completion, filling a turn-transition pause, and indicating emphasis. Aoki (2011) systematically investigates speaker head nods at different positions of a turn. For example, speaker head nods at turn-final position can be a resource to elicit responses; those at turn-internal prosodic boundaries elicit a particular type of backchannel (i.e. the response token nn and/or a head nod); and nods in the middle of prosodic units may draw the recipient’s

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attention to particular information in speech. One commonality of these studies is their account of the interactive nature of speaker head nods and recipient responses. That is, the speaker attempts to manage the recipient’s action through head nods in different sequential positions. Not much research has been published on head nods in Mandarin conversation. Yang (2007) is one of the very few studies that touches on the role of head movement in Mandarin conversation. He argues that head nods are usually a listener action and they perform the ‘affiliative actions’ of acknowledging, affirming, and agreeing with what the speaker has just said. Thus, head nods are used by the recipient as a resource to manage affiliation with the speaker in Mandarin interpersonal communication. Most of the work so far has focused on head nods either as recipient action or speaker action. McClave (2000) only mentions in passing that speaker nods precede those of the listener. But as far as I know, there is little research on the coordinated interrelatedness between recipient and speaker head nods. The interactional function of head nods in specific contexts in Mandarin conversation is also undocumented. In this paper, I attempt to address these gaps by examining the interactive organization of recipient head nods immediately followed by speaker head nods (plus the vocal acknowledgement token en ) in everyday Mandarin face-to-face interaction. Specifically, the recipient head nods followed by speaker head nods usually occur in a particular type of activity: telling. Through the detailed description of the patterned uses of recipient head nods followed by speaker head nods, this study contributes to our understanding of the interactive organization of participants’ head nods in Mandarin conversation.

3 Activities in Interaction An activity is a unit of interaction with recognizable structural organization such as exchanging greetings (Sacks 1992), ordering food (Kuroshima 2014), telling a story (Jefferson 1978, 1984), or medical consultations (Heath 1986). In contrast to other types of units in interactions such as TCU, turn, and sequence, activity seems to be the

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least clearly defined (Robinson 2013: 260). In Conversation Analysis (henceforth CA), (social) activities are described as sequences of action (Robinson 2013) or courses of action (Schegloff 2011: 378–379). These sequences of action are ordered and have structural organization that is oriented to by conversational participants. For example, a storytelling regularly begins with a story entry device, progresses towards a punchline, and ends with a summary assessment or laughter (Jefferson 1978). The structure of activities is usually “pre-organized” (Sacks 1992) and involves multiple sequences of adjacency pairs that cohere at the supra-sequential level. These have been called “big packages” (Sacks 1992), larger projects (Houtkoop and Mazeland 1985), communicative projects (Linell 2009), and projects of activity (Jefferson and Lee 1980; Robinson 2003). Another approach to (social) activity focuses on the structural properties of activity types and inferential schemata tied to the structure of activity types. According to Levinson (1979: 368), typical activities are “goal-defined, socially constituted, bounded” and “culturally recognized” events such as teaching, a job interview, a football game, and a dinner party. The key property of these activities is they set constraints on inferences and “allowable contributions” by different participants. The understanding of the meaning of a verbal or visual behavior depends on the understanding of the activity in which it is embedded beyond its propositional meaning (Levinson 1979: 367). In this study, recipient and speaker head nods seem to occur at the possible closure of telling activities. ‘Telling’ in this study is an umbrella term referring to a type of activity that includes the reporting on and evaluation of events in which the teller has participated or which the teller has experienced. When people report on events they have taken part in, they routinely make assessments (Pomerantz 1984). Tellings in the data typically include the reporting of past events and expressions of the teller’s evaluation or affective stance towards the events being reported. Among the tellings in the data, some are more “pre-­organized” with clearly identifiable and projectable structures such as an entry device, punchline, and summaries of storytelling (Jefferson 1978) (e.g. Excerpt 11.1). The shape of other tellings may not be projectable from the beginning, but is developed by virtue of the contingent negotiation between the teller and the recipient (e.g. Excerpts 11.2 and 11.3).

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But all the telling activities involve larger chunks of talk recounting the teller’s past experiences and past events. I consider telling to be an activity not only because it is an analytical category with, to a greater or lesser extent, an overall structural organization (containing such structures as an entry device, climax or punchline, and coda in storytelling), but also because it is oriented to by interactants and has reality for them. Tellings may differ from some other types of activities with explicitly marked structures and procedures such as medical consultations, teaching of classes, football games, and job interviews. However, they are still “ecological events” within which language and bodily movement are embedded. The meaning of language and bodily movements can only be fully accounted for by taking into consideration their position within and the structural affordance of a given activity. It is hoped that the telling activities described in this study contribute to our understanding of the heterogeneity of activities in social interaction.

4 Data and Method The data for this paper consist of approximately 4 hours of everyday Mandarin face-to-face conversation among friends and families. The constellations of the participants in the conversations range from 2 to 5 people. A head nod is identified mainly based on the up-down movement of the head along the vertical axis. Head nods are normally excursionary movements. That is, the head normally returns to the position where the movement begins. Depending on the degree of the head’s displacement along the vertical axis, McClave et al. (2007: 356–357) distinguish two types of head nods: ‘unmarked nods’ and ‘deep nods’. ‘Deep nods’ are the head’s downward movements more than roughly 25 degrees from the neutral position (McClave et al. 2007) or ‘zero position’ (as in ballet dance; see Williams 1976) of the head. Any downward movements less than roughly 25 degrees are ‘unmarked nods’. The head nods reported in this study belong to this latter type of unmarked nod. Unmarked nods in the data have several visual-kinesic realizations. An unmarked nod may: (1) start with an upward movement of the head from the neutral position and end with the head’s return to the neutral position; (2) start with an

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upward movement from the neutral position, and then move downwards (to less than 25 degrees), ending with the head’s return to the neutral position; (3) begin with a downward movement (to less than 25 degrees) of the head from the neutral position and end with the head’s return to the neutral position; or (4) begin with a downward movement (to less than 25 degrees) of the head from the neutral position, and then move upwards, ending with the head’s return to the neutral position. Despite these variations, unmarked nods in the data are usually readily identifiable due to their prominent downward movement. In the data, at the possible completion of a telling, the recipient often produces multiple unmarked nods which are reciprocated by unmarked nods from the teller. In this study, I explore one particular function of these adjacent unmarked nods (henceforth “nods”) by the recipient and the speaker in telling activities in Mandarin conversation. Specifically, I examine the placement and orderliness of the nods. From this orderliness I then detect the interactional functions of the use of adjacent head nods in one particular conversational activity: telling. The following section investigates detailed accounts of the adjacent recipient and speaker head nods in tellings in Mandarin conversation.

5 Head Nods in Telling Activities In everyday conversation, people are often involved in the activity of telling others about something, for example a past experience. At the possible completion of a telling, a display of recipient understanding of and stance to the telling is made relevant (Jefferson 1978; Stivers 2008). Different types of recipient responses at this position have different implications for the shape and trajectory of the subsequent talk. For example, instead of using verbal assessments to clarify his/ her stance, the recipient may merely nod. In the data, the recipient produces multiple nods (usually three or four nods), and the teller produces reciprocal nods immediately after the (onset of the) recipient nods with (or without) the vocal minimal response token en “mm.” After the reciprocal nods, the teller produces a summarizing statement about his/her own state of mind at the present moment, which

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is a practice that officially moves away from and close the current telling activity. It has been argued that the recipient’s multiple head nods are treated as implicative of the completion of the current telling. The teller deploys the reciprocal head nod(s) followed by a summarizing statement of the teller’s current state of mind as practices that conclude the telling. Through the discussion that follows, I intend to show how recipient and speaker head nods are temporally and sequentially organized, and how the closing of a telling activity is interactively organized and collaboratively achieved. Excerpt 11.1 is a storytelling in which recipient and speaker head nods occur. In this excerpt, Ma is telling Fa about his experience playing Mahjong1 with his high school friends in his hometown. Excerpt 11.1 MF_Mahjong 01 Ma: wo jide

neige chu

guo

qian zuihou yige

I remember that-CL go abroad before last

shujia.

one-CL summer vacation.

‘I remember in the last summer vacation before I left China,’

02

wo gen jige

qu xianggang dushu

de

tongxue gaozhong

tongxue

I with several go Hong Kong study ASSC classmates high school classmates

03

hai you

jege yao du

yanjiusheng

de

tongxue;

also have several will study graduate school ASSC classmates ‘I together with a high school classmate who was going to study in Hong Kong and a few other classmates who were going to graduate school,’

04

ranhou women yiqi then

qu (-) da majiang.

we together go

play Mahjong

‘we played Mahjong together.’

1Mahjong

is a Chinese tile-based game. The game is played with 144 tiles by 4 players.

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nei tian wanshang women wo ye bu zhidao qishi wo bu shi hen hui da. that day night we I either NEG know actually I NEG be very know play ‘That night we, I don’t know either, actually I’m not very good at playing Mahjong.’

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11  Negotiating Activity Closings with Reciprocal Head Nods …     381

Figure 11.1a. Neutral position of Fa’s (right) head at the beginning of her first nod

Figure 11.1b. Downward movement of Fa’s head in her first head nod

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)LJXUH D 1HXWUDO SRVLWLRQ RI 0D¶V OHIW KHDG DW WKH EHJLQQLQJ RI KLV QRG

)LJXUH E 'RZQZDUG PRYHPHQW RI 0D¶V KHDG LQ KLV QRG

At the beginning of the sequence, Ma starts recounting his Mahjong playing experience with a story entry device wo jide “I remember” (Jefferson 1978). His storytelling is possibly complete at the end of the summarizing assessment and Fa’s agreement (lines 27 and 28). But Ma continues to tell Fa that he did not see those friends when he came

11  Negotiating Activity Closings with Reciprocal Head Nods …     383

back to China last time (lines 30–34) but he might see them during the Spring Festival (line 35). At the end of the storytelling, Fa begins to produce four nods (line 36; see Figs. 11.1a and b). Concurrent with her nods, Fa and Ma disengage from mutual gaze and both look down (Fig. 11.1a). Note that in telling his past experience, Ma has privileged access to the event being reported here (Pomerantz 1980; Sacks 1984). But he had told Fa the story before (as is indicated by lines 07 and 29) and thus Fa also has access to the details of the story. However, the information presented by Ma in lines 30–35 is new to Fa. Therefore, Fa’s nods at this position are not to index agreement but to claim access to the information in the telling (cf. Stivers 2008). Interestingly, Fa’s nods seem to be reciprocated by Ma in line 37. That is, Ma produces a head nod concurrent with the minimal response token en at the end of Fa’s nods (Figs. 11.2a and b). Through the matching of Fa’s nods, Ma displays his alignment with Fa’s treatment of the telling as possibly complete. After the nod, Ma offers an emotional response towards the just-now told story, which is that he misses those friends (line 38). This expression of his emotion summarizes the entire storytelling. Returning the perspective to the current moment functions as coda in the narrative structure (Labov 1972) and is used as a device to conclude a narrative (Labov and Waletzky 1967). The shift in perspective from the reporting of past events to the teller’s current state of mind (i.e. “I miss them a lot”) summarizes and disengages from the details of the storytelling. By virtue of the display of disengagement from the storytelling, the teller moves away from and closes the current storytelling.2 The disengagement is also indicated by the prosodic features of this statement. In contrast to the end of the telling in line 35, the summarizing statement in line 38 is produced with noticeably low volume. The marked prosodic delivery seems to also mark the end of the storytelling. Fa and Ma’s gaze aversion is a visual display of their disengagement from the current activity. After the storytelling, Ma begins to report on his travel plans in line 41. Ma’s reciprocal nod, the minimal response token en,

2See

Drew and Holt (1998) and Maynard (1980) for other techniques used by the teller with a similar interactional function.

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the summarizing display of his affective stance towards the story, and laughter (line 39) are all practices used to close the current storytelling. The closing of the storytelling immediately after Fa’s head nods provides evidence that Ma treats Fa’s nods as implicative of the completion of the current storytelling. The previous example has shown that reciprocal nod(s), concurrent with en, and a summarizing statement of one’s current state of mind are used by the teller in closing the current storytelling activity. These practices can also be seen at the possible closure of a news-telling activity in Excerpt 11.2. Prior to and at the beginning of this sequence, Bin is telling Pei that a good-looking performer of erhu3 at an evening gala has become very popular among the male audience. Excerpt 11.2 BP_the popular instrumentalist

3Erhu

is a traditional Chinese instrument.

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Figure 11.3a. Upward movement of Pei’s first head nod Figure 11.3b. Pei’s head moves downward to neutral position in her first head nod

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Bin

Pei

Figure 11.4a. Downward movement of Bin’s first head nod Figure 11.4b. Bin’s head moves upward in her first head nod

After the initial telling, Pei produces a newsmark in line 04 (Heritage 1984), registering the information in Bin’s telling as news. Bin then continues with her telling about the result of the Internet phone number search (lines 15–18). As a response to Bin’s telling, Pei produces four head nods

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(line 19; see Figs. 11.3a and b). At the possible completion of the telling, Pei’s nods seem to claim access to the entire event reported. Again, her nods are reciprocated by Bin in the immediate next position (Figs. 11.4a and b). Bin also produces a minimal response token, en, together with the nods. The matching of nods and the minimal response token appear to display Bin’s alignment with Pei in treating the current telling as complete. Again, after nodding, Bin produces a statement expressing her own state of mind at the moment (line 21). Here, Bin’s comment on herself being nianji da “old” (line 21) contrasts with her report on the erhu player being a xiao guniang “young girl” (line 1). Considering that Bin is only in her mid-twenties and she was also on stage, though as organizing staff, Bin’s self-comment about being “old” is a display of her jealousy towards the popularity of the young erhu player. The report on her current state of mind (“I’m old”) with the prefatory interjection aiya in line 21 conveys her affective stance towards and summarizes the telling. After the summarizing comment, Bin initiates a conjunction ranhou “then,” which strongly projects the beginning of another activity (Lü 1980: 461). Note that in Excerpt 11.1, the teller Ma also uses ranhou “then” as a device to start the new activity of reporting his travel plans after the summarizing statement in line 41. However, here Pei initiates a disagreement and an account (lines 23 and 24), overlapping with the conjunction. Bin’s statement “I’m old” is a self-deprecating assessment. Disagreement is the preferred next action after self-deprecation (Pomerantz 1984). Despite the projected turn-in-progress, Pei still starts her disagreement in the middle of Bin’s turn. Therefore, the new activity is not launched after the summarizing comment due to the contingency arising at this moment. When the summarizing comment is self-deprecating, the recipient may initiate disagreement in the next position before the start of a new activity on the part of the prior speaker. Let us compare Bin’s summarizing statement here with that of Ma’s in Excerpt 11.1 (line 38). We can see that they differ in terms of their sequential implicativeness. Bin’s statement in this excerpt is a self-­ deprecating assessment which makes disagreement the preferred next action, whereas the sequence-closing third position report on the teller’s feelings in Excerpt 11.1 does not make relevant any specific responses. Excerpt 11.3 is another case in point where the recipient’s and speaker’s head nods are coordinated at the possible completion of a telling. Here, W and B are talking about a Western-style mall in Beijing.

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Prior to this sequence, B has told W that she likes to go shopping at the mall. In this sequence, W tells B about the architecture design and the popularity of the mall. Excerpt 11.3 BW_the Dayuecheng mall

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Figure 11.5a. Upward movement of B’s (right) first head nod head nod and her gaze aversion

Figure 11.6a. Neutral position of W’s (left) head

Figure 11.5b. B’s head moves downward in her first

Figure 11.6b. Downward movement of W’s head nod in line 10

W and B both know and have been to the mall. Thus, they have more or less equal access to the referent talked about here. But the specific information reported by W and particularly W’s last visit to the mall (lines 01–08) may or may not be known to B. At the end of W’s telling in line 08, B looks away and produces four nods (Figs. 11.5a and b).

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The nods not only register the receipt of the information in the telling but also claim access to the event reported by W. The gaze aversion is a visual display of B’s disengagement from the current activity (Goodwin 1981). Immediately after B’s first nod (line 09), W produces a single nod overlapping with B’s last nod (line 10; Figs. 11.6a and b). Note that W’s nod does not indicate affiliation with B, as no stance-taking is involved in B’s previous nods. Instead, W’s reciprocal nod seems to display her alignment with the (completion of the) telling, as is also indicated by B’s head nods. W’s orientation to the completion of the telling is also demonstrated by her statement about her current state of mind, when she says “I felt I didn’t do much shopping” (lines 12). There is a change of referent and perspective from neige dian “that store/mall” in line 08 to wo “I” in the statement in lines 11 and 12. The information presented in the statement about the teller’s current state of mind is used to detach from and conclude the previous telling. The summarizing statement (line 12) is also produced with noticeably lower volume than the previous talk. The previous examples have shown that at the end of a telling, the recipient may produce multiple nods claiming access to the events in the telling and displaying his/her orientation to the telling activity as possibly complete. The teller immediately produces reciprocal nod(s), often concurrent with the minimal response token en. The teller’s mirroring of the recipient’s nods seems to display his/her alignment with the recipient with regard to the completion of the current telling. After nodding, the teller regularly produces a statement of his/her current state of mind summarizing and detaching from the telling. The reciprocal nod(s) and the summarizing statement are used by the teller as practices to close the current telling activity. That they are produced by the teller immediately after the recipient nods provides compelling evidence that the teller treats the recipient nods as implicative of the completion of the telling. Thus, the closing of a telling appears to be sequentially organized and to exhibit a recurrent form, which is schematically represented as follows: 1. Recipient: nods 2. Teller: nod(s) + (en ) 3. Teller: “coda” summarizing statement of one’s current state of mind

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The preceding examples also demonstrate that the closing of a telling is interactively managed and collaboratively achieved. The teller is extraordinarily sensitive to the recipient action at this sequential position. The recipient nods are monitored and mirrored by the teller; this displays the teller’s understanding of and alignment with the recipient’s orientation to the telling as possibly complete. After the teller shifts perspective from the telling of past events to his/her current state of mind following the reciprocal nods, the recipient or the teller may (or may not) start another activity.

6 Conclusions In this study, I explored the sequential organization and interactional functions of recipient and speaker head nods in Mandarin conversation. The phenomenon under investigation is temporally and sequentially adjacent head nods produced by the recipient and the speaker. One interactional environment for their occurrence is a particular activity: telling. In a telling activity, the recipient tends to initiate head nods at the possible completion of the telling. The speaker produces head nod(s) immediately after the recipient nods and sometimes with the minimal response token en. After nodding, the speaker regularly produces a statement of his/her present state of mind as a summary of the telling. Recipient head nods in tellings are implicative of the completion of the current activity. The speaker’s matching of recipient nods displays the speaker’s alignment with the recipient. That the speaker produces a summarizing statement (at the end of a telling) immediately after the recipient’s head nods provides evidence that the speaker orients to the recipient’s head nods as completion-implicative. From the unilaterally recipient-initiated nods to partially shared nods, the recipient and the speaker use head nods as a way to interactively negotiate the possible close of the current activity. However, it should be noted that the discussion of the interactional functions of recipient and speaker head nods here is always situated within specific conversational activities such as telling the recipient about past events. In addition, contingencies are inherent in naturally occurring interaction and the speaker may

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continue with the telling activity despite the completion-implicative recipient head nods. Head nods in interaction have been found to perform a wide variety of functions, from serving as emblems (Efron 1941) for affirmation and agreement to displaying affiliation in conversational storytelling (Stivers 2008). The adjacent heads nods produced by the recipient and the speaker reported in this chapter add to our understanding both of the function of head nods in organizing the closures of activities and of the finely-tuned coordination of recipient and speaker head nods in interaction. The coordinated use of head nods by conversational participants at particular sequential positions also provides evidence for their orientation to tellings as an interactional unit in Mandarin conversation. This contributes to our understanding of the nature and structure of activities in conversation, as they are oriented to by conversational participants themselves.

Appendix A The transcription conventions of GAT-2 (Gesprächsanalytisches Transkriptionssystem 2) (Selting et al. 2009) used in this article: (.) (-), (–), (—) (1.0) = ACcent ::

↘ – ; .

micro-pause short, medium or long pauses pauses which are more than 1.0 second latching of intonation phrases primary or main accent prolongation or stretching of the sound just preceding :: phonation feature of a stretch of speech piano, soft one head nod level final pitch movement falling to mid final pitch movement falling to low final pitch movement

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Appendix B ASP ASSC BA CL CRS CSC NEG PFV PRT

aspect marker associative a pretransitive marker classifier currently relevant state complex stative construction negative perfective aspect particle

References Antaki, Charles. 2002. “Lovely”: Turn-initial high-grade assessments in telephone closings. Discourse Studies 4: 5–23. Aoki, Hiromi. 2011. Some functions of speaker head nods in Japanese casual conversation. In Embodied interaction: Language and body in the material world, ed. Charles Goodwin, Curtis LeBaron, and Jürgen Streeck, 93–105. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Beach, Wanye A. 1995. Conversation analysis: “Okay” as a clue for understanding consequentiality. In The consequentiality of communication, ed. Stuart J. Sigman, 121–161. Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum. Birdwhistell, Ray. 1970. Kinesics and context. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Broth, Mathias, and Lorenza Mondada. 2013. Walking away: The embodied achievement of activity closings in mobile interaction. Journal of Pragmatics 47 (1): 41–58. Dittmann, Allen T., and Lynn G. Llewellyn. 1968. Relationship between vocalizations and head nods as listener responses. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 9 (1): 79–84. Drew, Paul, and Elizabeth Holt. 1998. Figures of speech: Figurative expressions and the management of topic transition in conversation. Language in Society 27: 495–522. Duncan, Starkey, Jr. 1972. Some signals and rules for taking speaking turns in conversations. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 23 (2): 283–292.

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Kuroshima, Satomi. 2014. The structural organization of ordering and serving sushi. In Language and food: Verbal and nonverbal experiences, ed. Polly E. Szatrowski, 53–76. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Labov, William. 1972. The transformation of experience in narrative syntax. Language in the inner city, ed. William Labov, 354–96. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Labov, William, and Joshua Waletzky. 1967. Narrative analysis: Oral versions of personal experience. In Essays on the verbal and visual arts, ed. June Helm, 12–44. Seattle: American Ethnological Society. Levinson, Stephen C. 1979. Activity types and language. Linguistics 17 (5–6): 365–399. Li, Xiaoting. 2013. Language and the body in the construction of units in Mandarin face-to-face interaction. In Units of talk units of action, ed. Beatrice Szczepek Reed and Geoffrey Raymon, 343–375. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Linell, Per. 2009. Rethinking language, mind, and world dialogically: Interactional and contextual theories of human sense-making. Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing. Lü, Shuxiang. 1980. Xiandai Hanyu Babai Ci [800 major words in contemporary Chinese]. Beijing: Shangwu Yinshuguan. Maynard, Douglas. 1980. Placement of topic changes in conversation. Semiotica 30: 263–290. Maynard, Senko. 1987. Interactional functions of a nonverbal sign. Journal of Pragmatics 11: 589–606. McClave, Evelyn. 2000. Linguistic functions of head movements in the context of speech. Journal of Pragmatics 32: 855–878. McClave, Evelyn, Helen Kim, Rita Tamer, and Milo Mileff. 2007. Head movements in the context of speech in Arabic, Bulgarian, Korean, and African-American Vernacular English. Gesture 7 (3): 343–390. Pekarek Doehler, Simona, Elwys De Stefani, and Anne-Sylvie Horlacher. 2011. The grammar of closings: The use of dislocated constructions as closing initiators in French talk-in-interaction. Nottingham French Studies 50 (2): 51–76. Pomerantz, Anita. 1980. Telling my side: “Limited access” as a fishing device. Sociological Inquiry 50 (3–4): 186–198. Pomerantz, Anita. 1984. Agreeing and disagreeing with assessments: Some features of preferred/dispreferred turn shapes. In Structures of social action: Studies in conversation analysis, ed. J. Maxwell Atkinson and John Heritage, 57–101. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Robinson, Jeffrey D. 2003. An interactional structure of medical activities during acute visits and its implications for patients’ participation. Health Communication 15: 27–59.

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12 Position Expansion in Meeting Talk: An Interaction-Re-organizing Type of and-Prefaced Other-Continuation Harrie Mazeland

1 Introduction: And-Prefaced Continuation of Prior Talk in a Multi-person Setting The data used for the research in this chapter come from a small ­corpus of work discussions of a Dutch team of advertising managers in a big international company. Five meetings were recorded, with an average duration of 1.5–2 hours. Usually about 7 or 8 team members took part in the meetings, which were held every 3 or 4 weeks. The discussion was often about how to coordinate the development of marketingcommunication campaigns with other groups in the company itself and This paper is partially based on Mazeland (2009), and on presentations at several conferences in the years thereafter, the last one in the Activities panel organised by Cornelia Gerhardt and Elisabeth Reber at IPrA, Belfast in July 2017. I thank Anja Stukenbrock for her comments at the MeMI-network workshop, ZIF Bielefeld 2014. I also thank Erik Spikmans for making the drawings of the video stills.

H. Mazeland (*)  University of Groningen, Groningen, The Netherlands e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 E. Reber and C. Gerhardt (eds.), Embodied Activities in Face-to-face and Mediated Settings, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-97325-8_12

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Still 12.1  Left side of the meeting room

Still 12.2  Right side of the meeting room

with external bureaus that are hired for specialised tasks in the campaign development process (Stills 12.1 and 12.2). If the team leader was present, he also chaired the meeting. Particularly at the beginning and end stages of an agenda item, the chair took control of the organisation of turn-taking, but large parts of the discussions were organised locally from turn to turn by the team members themselves and with the team leader as a prominent participant and the primary recipient. One problem a participant in a multi-person setting1 has to face is not only how to self-select as the next speaker without having to compete with another participant who also starts a turn in the same transition space, but also how to design the turn so that it will be understood from its outset as a coherent contribution to the ongoing discussion. One of the devices the team members use frequently in the meetings is and-prefacing of the turn. See lines 7–8 in Extract 12.1. Two co-­participants almost simultaneously self-select as next-speaker before the current 1Egbert (1997) distinguishes between multi-person and multi-party interaction. Although the latter category is often relevant for the analysis of meeting data, I start with a characterization of the meeting data as a type of multi-person interaction.

12  Position Expansion in Meeting Talk …     399

speaker’s turn is possibly complete. Whereas one team member designs his turn as a ‘second’ by beginning it with a response token, ja da’s waar (yes that’s right, arrow 2, line 7), the other team member designs his turn as a ‘next’ by tying it to the prior speaker’s turn with an and preface: en ‘t inbouwe van extra pijnpunten is dan de enige weg (and the incorporation of extra sanctions is then the only option; arrow 2, lines 8–9). Extract 12.1 From a discussion about timetables that other groups don’t stick to

Note that the speaker of the turn in lines 5–6 also begins his turn with an and preface, en ‘t moet- (and it should …, arrow 1). This speaker, however, is continuing his own turn (lines 1–2), whereas the speaker of the and-prefaced turn in lines 8–9 is linking his turn to the turn of prior speaker. Both speakers use and-prefacing for tying the action in their turn into a specific type of interactional organisation. The ‘same-speaker continuation’ elaborates the speaker’s ‘action’; the ‘other continuation’ begins an action that contributes to the ‘ongoing activity’. In order to be able to explain this distinction, I will first discuss the and-prefaced continuation by same speaker in lines 5–6 (arrow 1), and then compare it with the other-­initiated and-prefaced continuation in lines 8–9 (arrow 3).

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In line 5, team leader Wim uses the and preface as a device for casting the turn from its outset as an extension of his turn in lines 1–2. He thereby fulfils the projection on continuation made at the end of that turn, which is produced with a pitch contour ending in a level pitch accent (cf. Selting 1996; see also Local and Walker 2012). The same speaker may continue a possibly complete turn constructional unit (TCU) by either re-completing it with an ‘increment’, or by adding a next TCU (cf. Schegloff 1996a and 2016). The team leader’s turn in lines 5–6 is not shaped as an increment in the technical sense of the term.2 It is a complete, grammatically independent sentential TCU with a recognizable beginning. However, it is clearly formatted as building on and tying to the same speaker’s turn in lines 1–2.3 The speaker elaborates the opinion statement in lines 1–2 by exemplifying it.

2Schegloff

(1996a and 2016) characterises ‘increments’ of a possibly complete TCU with the following features: (1) a speaker has brought a TCU to possible completion; (2) there is further talk by the same speaker; (3) the further talk is grammatically dependent of the prior TCU, i.e. it re-­ completes it (Schegloff 2016: 241). The continuation in lines 5–6 of Extract 12.1 does not display these features: (1) it is not designed as a (re-)completion of the TCU in the prior turn; (2) the construction of the TCU is not dependent of the lexico-syntactic structure of the TCU in the prior turn; (3) the TCU has a recognizable beginning: both the beginning of the turn, ‘t moet … (it has to … ), and its repaired version, ze moeten niet … (they shouldn’t …, line 5), clearly position the subject pronouns ‘t (it ) and ze (they ) in the sentence-initial position of a clause with verb-second word order. So instead of formatting his turn as an ‘increment continuation’, the speaker shapes it as a ‘TCU-continuation’ (cf. Sidnell 2012), that is, a continuation of his prior turn with another TCU. 3The turn in lines 5–6 is full of design features that indicate that the speaker is building it as an extension of the action in the preceding turn of the same speaker. Because it is relevant for distinguishing between same-speaker continuation of the same action-unit and other-continuation of the ongoing activity, I list these features below: • Prosodic packaging: the turn is prosodically structured as a unit that comprises both the prior and current turns: the final level pitch of the TCU in the prior turn (line 2) projects samespeaker continuation, whereas the final falling pitch of the TCU in the follow-up turn (line 6) marks the possible completeness of the current turn and of the overarching unit. • Achieving cohesion with linguistic devices (cf. Halliday and Hasan 1976): The repair of ‘t moet … (it has to ) into ze moeten niet (they shouldn’t … ) in the beginning of line 5 establishes referential continuity; the repaired reference form they ties back to the referent of the product group in the preceding turn (lines 1–2). • Constructional symmetry: both TCUs are formatted as a declarative assertion stating a norm; moreover, both TCUs are shaped as a deontive modal construction with the verb moeten (have to, should ). • Elaboration and complementarity at the content level (Halliday and Hasan 1976; Levinson 2013). Stating that they should not … consider us as a kind of car dealers (lines 5–6) exemplifies

12  Position Expansion in Meeting Talk …     401

The and-prefaced continuation in lines 5–6 thus can be understood as building a ‘multi-unit action’ in a series of successive turns of the same speaker (cf. Bolden 2010). Even before the team leader has completed his turn in lines 5–6, two other team members self-select as next speaker (lines 6–8). The organisational density of this stretch of overlapping talk exemplifies the pressure that the organisation of turn-taking in a multi-person setting exerts. Boris has already begun to speak at the first-possible recognition point (Jefferson 1986) of current speaker’s turn (immediately after garagisten, line 7), and Rick begins his turn just a beat later but still at a point at which current speaker’s turn is syntactically incomplete (line 8): Extract 12.1 Detail (lines 5–10)

Both overlapping speakers design the beginning of their turns so as to make them recognizable as a next turn that is responsive to the action in current turn. But each of them also makes his turn from its outset analyzable as tying into different types of sequential organisation. Boris shapes his turn (arrow 1) as the second-pair part of a sequence that is organised as an adjacency pair (cf. Schegloff 2007). He agrees with the more general demand in the preceding part of the turn (the arrogant behaviour of the product group has to change, lines 1–3). These two norms are also complementary: The team leader first asserts a general norm for a more desirable future state of affairs, and then accounts for it by asserting a specific norm about what is not acceptable in the current state of affairs.

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prior speaker’s opinion statement, ja da’s waar (yes that’s right, line 7). The components of his turn are projectably brief. The turn-initial agreement token ja has a transient prosodic profile, and the routine correctness statement da’s waar (that’s right ) is possibly complete after its second syllable. Boris not only claims limited turn space, the action he does in his turn may also close the sequence. His team mate Rick, on the other hand, ties his turn into another type of sequential organisation. Just as prior speaker did in line 5, Rick begins his turn by casting his contribution as a continuation with the turn-initial connective en (and ): and the incorporation of extra sanctions is the only option then (lines 8–9, arrow 2). He uses the preface as a device for tying his turn to prior speaker’s turn in lines 5–6. But unlike the same-speaker continuation in lines 5–6, this speaker does not continue the action of the turn he is connecting to. Although he makes a statement about the same state of affairs that prior speaker has just given his opinion about—the problematic behaviour of the product group— he shifts the topic from talk about the problem to talk about the solution. Moreover, by doing so, he returns and partially repeats a point he has already made previously in the discussion (data not shown). Rick thus makes another point, in addition to the point of prior speaker. He develops the argument but pushes it in a different direction. His and-prefaced continuation does not extend prior speaker’s ‘action’; rather, it contributes to the ongoing ‘activity’ of developing an argument in the course of a decision-making discussion. The speaker uses and-prefacing as a device for framing the action in his turn as a next step in the ongoing course of action.4 And-prefacing is thus one of the ways through which speakers in a multi-person setting solve the problem of how to cast their next turn from its outset as a locally fitting contribution to the ongoing interaction. They use it for tying back to their own prior turn (samespeaker continuation), or for linking to the turn of another speaker 4Heritage and Sorjonen (1994) describe a similar use of and-prefacing for and-prefaced questions. Such questions do not link the turn to the prior turn, but link the question-answer sequence it is launching to the preceding question-answer sequence as a next step in an ‘activity’ that develops as a succession of question-answer sequences.

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(other-continuation). I first discussed a case in which prefatory and is used by the same speaker for building a ‘multi-unit action’ in a series of subsequent turns, and then looked at another case in which ‘and-prefacing’ frames next speaker’s turn as a continuation of the ongoing ‘activity’. However, a second speaker may build a cross-speaker multi-unit action through and-prefacing their next turn. I will examine this type of and-prefaced other-continuation in the next sections.

2 Position Expansion: Building a Multi-unit Action Through and-Prefaced OtherContinuation of Prior Speaker’s Opinion Statement The focus of this paper is on a type of and-prefaced other-­continuation I call ‘position expansion’. See Extract 12.2. The team discusses a problem relating to whether a particular external bureau should be included in a project group that is responsible for the initial design of marketing-communication campaigns. Wim (the team leader) has just reported that the executive board of the company is not in favour of hiring the bureau early in the campaign development process. He has also indicated that he understands their position, albeit with some ­reservation. He then invites his colleagues to give their opinions. Jan—a senior advertising manager—is the first one to respond (line 1). Extract 12.2

Jan’s opinion statement—but I am like let us simply decide how we want to have it (line 1)—takes a stance that is opposite to the position of the executive board that Wim has reported. Two of Jan’s colleagues

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Still 12.3  Still taken after the first two words in Jan’s turn, after maar ik ▼… (but I…, line 1 in Extract 12.2). The still’s position in the ongoing turn is marked with “▼”. Wim’s arms-spreading is the post-completion hold of a gesture he began towards the end of the turn preceding the turn in line 1, in which he invited his colleagues to give their opinion (see Sect. 2.3)

immediately express their support for Jan’s position (see Still 12.3). Ciska with precies. (ja.) (exactly (yes ) ) and Boris with en dat- dat wij het plaatje maken (and that- that we make the picture ). Both responses do agreement with Jan’s statement, albeit in a different way: Ciska makes a correctness assessment (exactly, line 2), whereas Boris continues the opinion statement of prior speaker (and that- that we make the picture, line 3). The interactional impact of each of these responses is also different: See the continuation of the interaction in Extract 12.2a. Ciska’s response is not taken up, which is probably also due to the fact that Boris overlaps her turn. Boris’s reaction is taken up, however. It is treated as a move in its own right, an action that immediately gets the agreement of Jan, jah (yes, line 5), and Ciska, jA:h (yes, line 6). Extract 12.2a Continuation of the interaction in Extract 12.2

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Boris’s reaction to Jan’s opinion statement moves the transition space of prior speaker’s turn one turn ahead and it occasions a shift in the local distribution of sequential expectations over participants. The other participants now respond to the opinion statement of Boris. Both Jan (the originator of the position he himself now agrees with) and Ciska (who initially started to agree with Jan’s opinion statement) now do agreement with Boris. Jan’s initial opinion statement is pushed into the background and Boris’s addition to it now gets the responses that had already been made conditionally relevant in prior speaker’s turn (cf. Schegloff 1968). Note also that Ciska continues her response in a way that incorporates the statements of both prior speakers. She makes an explicit assertion of agreement, ik vind dat dus ook (I feel that the same way too, line 6), in which she refers to the statements of both speakers as a unit, that is, as something that can be referred to with the demonstrative pronoun dat (that ). In the second instance, Boris’s other-continuation of Jan’s opinion statement is taken up as the second part of a multi-unit action that has the turn with Jan’s statement as its first part. I call Boris’s response, en dat- dat wij het plaatje makeh (and thatthat we make the picture, line 3), a ‘position expansion’.5 A next speaker coordinates an agreeing and-prefaced opinion statement with the opinion statement in the turn of prior speaker and builds a multi-unit action from it by combining his action with prior speaker’s action. He thereby buys himself into the sequence-initial position that prior speaker created and his turn now gets—at least in the first instance— the response(s) that prior speaker’s action made conditionally relevant. See Fig. 12.1. Position expansion is not a very frequent phenomenon in the meeting data corpus. In about 3.5 hours of the data, I found 6–7 candidate 5It

is perhaps useful to make a remark about terminology. I am using the notion ‘position’ as a ‘structural’ notion to refer to a slot in an ordered sequence of actions. ‘Sequential position’ is different from ‘turn location’ (cf. Levinson 1983; Schegloff 2007). ‘Next position’ is a slot for a fitting next action in a sequence of actions; ‘next turn’ refers to the location of a turn in a series of turns. ‘Next turn’ may coincide with ‘next position’, but this is not always and not necessarily the case. I talk about ‘position expansion’ if the next speaker incorporates their response into the sequential position created by the prior speaker’s action; he or she re-instantiates the sequential position established by the action it is responsive to.

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Fig. 12.1  Attempt to visualise the difference between doing agreement in next position and doing agreement after position expansion

cases. However, the device seems so special that it is worth examining it more thoroughly. In the next sections, I will first present two more cases of position expansion (Sect. 2.1) and then describe its features in more detail (Sects. 2.2–2.6).

2.1 Similar Cases The Extract (12.3) comes from a long discussion episode in which Paul argues against team-leader Wim’s preference to not include a specific media agency in the first stages of the campaign development process. In lines 1–2, Paul concludes a longer argument by stating the preferability of a certain type of external expert over the current advisors (lines 1–2), and then adds an account for his position in lines 3–4. His colleague Rick subsequently agrees with Paul’s assessment by adding another account for this position (lines 6–7).

12  Position Expansion in Meeting Talk …     407

Extract 12.3

Rick’s and-prefaced other-continuation of prior speaker’s turn does position expansion. He adds his account to prior speaker’s account in lines 3–4. His action also changes the local participation framework: Jan and Wim react to Rick’s turn, and they do not explicitly connect to Paul’s turn; see Jan’s jah! (yes, line 7) and Wim’s daarom (therefore, line 8). Extract 12.4 documents a third case. Ciska’s contribution in lines 1 and 4 is part of a multi-turn discourse unit (cf. Houtkoop and Mazeland 1985) in which she presents a list of features of a plan for another set-up of the process for developing marketing-communication campaigns. The list is not ready yet, as can be seen from the projection of continuation that is signalled with rising intonation at the end of the TCU in line 1 (cf. Selting 2007). Another participant nevertheless takes over. After having agreed with Ciska’s statement with precies (exactly,

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line 2), Rick continues through position expansion: en bij voorkeur in harmonie (and preferably in harmony, line 3). Extract 12.4

Similar to the other cases, the position expansion in Extract 12.4 effectuates a permutation of the distribution of local conversational and sequential roles over participants. The other team members now do recipiency of the action in Rick’s turn: Boris, hmhm (line 5), and Wim, jah (yes, line 6), are the first ones to do agreement with it, and briefly after their alignment, at a ‘post-continuation onset’ position (Jefferson 1986), Ciska herself joins them as well, with ja:h (yes, line 8). The position-expansion turns in Extracts 12.2–12.4 are and-prefaced other-continuations of prior speaker’s turn. The speaker supports an oppositional statement of prior speaker by adding another statement to it. The result is a multi-unit action that is accomplished in a series of two successive turns of different speakers. In the following sections, I look more closely at the features of position expansion. First the grammatical design of the position-expansion turn (Sect. 2.2), then its activity context (Sect. 2.4), and finally the ways participants manage the shift in the local participation framework that position expansion effectuates (Sect. 2.5).

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2.2 The Grammatical Design of Position-Expansion Turns Position expansions have specifiable lexico-syntactic features. They are and-prefaced and the conjunct after the connective is constructionally dependent on a grammatically specifiable unit type in prior speaker’s turn. The connective en (and ) frames the unit it is beginning as a continuation of the unit it is being tied to. The speaker adds the action in their turn to the action in prior turn in such a way that it rescales the space for prior speaker’s action unto a space for a compound action unit. This is not only achieved through the grammatically dependent format of the position-expansion unit—see the discussion of constructional dependency below—but also through the use of the preface and. Without prefatory and, the speaker’s contribution would be heard as doing something other than position expansion, for example, doing an understanding check or making an other-correction (cf. Lerner 2004). And-prefacing seems to be a necessary design feature of this type of next-speaker other-continuation.6 A position expansion builds on the prior speaker’s turn by exploiting its grammatical features in a symbiotic way (cf. Goodwin 2013). The dependency relationship is not only established by the interplay of next-positioning, turn-initial tying, and topical elaboration, it is also particularly visible in the TCU’s grammatical design. The unit with the position expansion has a lexico-syntactic format that is constructionally dependent on the grammatical format of the TCU in prior speaker’s turn. The position expansion in Extract 12.2, for example, has the shape of a subordinate clause: en dat- dat wij ‘t plaatje maken (and that we make the picture, line 3 in Extract 12.2). The clause has verb-final word order, ending in maken (make ), which is the typical position of

6My

claim that and-prefacing is a necessary feature of the design of position-expansion TCUs is possibly contradicted by the fact that, in the case of the position expansion in Extract 12.2, the speaker treats the and preface as a ‘dispensable’, that is, as an element that may be omitted when a speaker produces the same talk one more time (cf. Schegloff 2004):

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Fig. 12.2  Constructional dependency of the dependent clause in Boris’s TCU in line 3 of Extract 12.2

the finite verb in subordinate clauses in Dutch. The complementiser dat (that ) ties the clause loosely into the sentence frame that prior speaker has used for presenting his opinion, the quotative frame maar ik heb zoiets … (but I am like … ); see Fig. 12.2. Boris’s dat wij ‘t plaatje maken (that we make the picture, line 3 of Extract 12.2) can be embedded into the quotative frame Jan has used. It retroactively transforms the statement in prior speaker’s turn into the first item of a list for which current speaker provides the second item.7 By shaping his contribution as a dependent clause, the speaker of the position-expansion turn designs his response as grammatically subsumed under the constructional framework that prior speaker has set up.

Extract 12.2 Detail

Boris starts his turn in overlap with the second syllable of Ciska’s response turn (lines 2–3). He halts its delivery at the end of its second word, en dat- (and that-, line 3), but immediately restarts it free of overlap after Ciska has completed her response (cf. Schegloff 1987). Although Boris recognizably recycles the same turn-beginning as the one he just abandoned—compare en dat (and that ) and dat (that ) in line 3 (cf. Local et al. 2010)—he leaves out the and preface from his restart. Schegloff’s explanation for this type of dispensable is that the sequential environment to which the speaker was initially tying their turn has changed (Schegloff 2004). The indispensability of an element is evidence for it being a constitutive feature of the action in the repeated TCU; see, for example, Bolden (2010: 15). I am not sure whether its dispensability is evidence for the reverse claim. 7The type of quotation that Boris attaches to the quotative frame, ik heb zoiets … (I am like … ), differs from the one that Jan used in his turn. Whereas Jan formats the quote with his opinion statement as a direct reported ‘thought’ (let us simply decide how we want to have it, line 1 of

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Fig. 12.3  Constructional dependency of the relative clause increment in Jan’s turn in line 5 of Extract 12.3

The grammatical designs of the position-expansion TCUs in Extracts 12.3 and 12.4 display similar types of constructional dependency. The position expansion in Extract 12.3 is designed as a relative-clause increment (cf. Couper-Kuhlen and Ono 2007). It also has verb-final word order—a feature of relative clauses in Dutch—but its grammatical subject is left out. It has a ‘zero subject’ which has to be retrieved from the relative-clause increment in prior speaker’s turn (cf. Oh 2005,8 Ono and Thompson 1997); see Fig. 12.3. Extract 12.4 shows yet another type of constructional dependency: Extract 12.4 Detail

Extract 12.2), Boris casts his addition as an indirect quote (and that- that we make the picture ). A speaker who uses direct reported speech also takes responsibility for the precise wording of the quotation; indirect reported speech does not carry this claim. Boris’s use of indirect speech may be a technique for attributing the primary authorship of their shared opinion to Jan. 8Oh (2006) shows that zero-anaphora constructions may be used as a practice for maximising the connectedness between successive clauses (Oh 2006: 831), and that the avoidance of a subject reference term casts the current TCU as designed “to be tied to prior talk as a fitted continuation of it” (ibid.: 837).

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The position expansion itself is constructed as a series of two idiomatic prepositional phrases, the first one modifying the second: [bij voorkeur ] [in harmonie ] / [with-a-preference-for ] [in harmony ]

Without the connective, this construction could be integrated as an adverbial into the structure of the unit it is being tied to. It is parasitic upon its structure and meaning: en dat alle middeleh hun rol kunnen spelen  + bij voorkeur in harmonie. and that all means can be put into action + preferably in harmony.

Note, by the way, that Ciska—the speaker of the position-expansion’s host turn—also expands her own turn with an and-prefaced continuation, en dat we (‘r ‘n) maximale synergie is (and that we (there is) maximum synergy, line 4 in Extract 12.4). This same-speaker continuation is also constructionally dependent on the sentential framework set up earlier in this speaker’s turn.9 The constructional similarity of the position-expansion turn and prior speaker’s continuation of her own turn nicely illustrates the kind of chameleonic ‘disguise’ with which next speaker must equip a

9Ciska created the organizational space for a larger project in a multi-unit turn by establishing an open framework for a list of improvements: maar wij gaan kijken van- (but we are going to look like …; see line a in Extract 12.4a below). The particle van after kijken (look ) is frequently used after verbs of saying or thinking as an opener for a typifying quotation in Dutch (cf. Mazeland 2006). The list items themselves are shaped as a series of dependent clauses (indirect how-questions in lines a–b in Extract 12.4a below, and a series of that-clauses in lines 1 and 4 of Extract 12.4):

Extract 12.4a Context of Ciska’s series of en dat … (and that-) clauses in lines 1 and 4 in Extract 12.4)

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position-expansion turn in order to have it pass as a continuation of the action in prior speaker’s turn. The type of constructional dependency may thus vary. In Extracts 12.2 and 12.3 different types of subordinate clauses are embedded at different levels into a sentence frame of prior speaker’s turn, and in Extract 12.4 the expansion is done with an adverbial increment of a subordinate clause in prior speaker’s turn. All expansions have in common that they are and-prefaced and formatted as a constructionally dependent expansion of a grammatically specifiable unit type in prior speaker’s turn.10 The constructional dependency on prior speaker’s turn is crucial for the social relationship the speaker of a position-expansion turn retroactively establishes with prior turn. Through designing their turn as a continuation of the lexico-syntactic structure of a unit in prior speaker’s turn, current speaker ties their turn in such a way to prior speaker’s turn that the resulting unit is structured as a single sentence. In a lecture in 1965, Harvey Sacks explained why the cross-speaker production of a sentence can be a device for showing group membership. A sentence is a prototypical instance of the kind of thing that can be done by a single person, and because of this it is able “to be a way that some non-apparent unit may be demonstrated to exist” (Sacks 1992: 145). The division of a sentence into parts that are produced by consecutive speakers enables the second speaker in the series to present the thing s/he is doing as something s/he is doing together with prior speaker (ibid.: 147). The ways a next speaker exploits the linguistic resources provided by prior speaker for constructing a next turn thus may be instrumental to the local management of social organisation. The kind of group the speaker of a position-expansion turn shows him/herself to be a member of has to be determined by considering the 10Note that the three cases of position expansion I have described in detail tie to a syntactic frame in the host turn that is shaped as a ‘complement-taking predicate’ (Thompson 2002): maar ik heb zoiets van … (but I am like … ) in Extract 12.2, ik denk dat … (I think that … ) in Extract 12.3, and maar wij gaan kijken van … (but we are going to look like … ) in Extract 12.4. These kinds of matrix-sentence frames may host a variety of embedded clauses, often in ways that are more loose than prescriptive grammatical rules allow or predict (see also Günthner 2008; Verhagen 2005). I don’t know whether this is accidental or whether it is a systematic feature of the host turn that facilitates the occurrence of position expansion.

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local environment of use. It depends particularly on the kind of action prior speaker is doing and current speaker’s relationship with prior speaker with respect to the issue at hand. I will explore this in the next section.

2.3 The Activity Context of Position Expansion We know it is not just the form that makes the action, it takes a specific environment of use to turn utterances of the shape described in the preceding section into a vehicle for doing position expansion (cf. Schegloff 2007; Levinson 2013; Mazeland this volume). The position expansions in the meeting data are done in the course of decision-­ making discussions (cf. Button and Sharrock 2000; Huisman 2001; Kangasharju 2002; Van der Schoot and Mazeland 2005; Asmuß and Oshima 2012; Stevanovic 2012). They occur after and in response to an oppositional position-taking statement of another team member. That is, position expansion is done in a multi-person discussion in an ‘agreement-relevant environment’ (Lerner 1996: 310). In Extract 12.2, for example, the team discusses the problem of whether a specific external bureau should be included in a project group that is responsible for the initial design of marketing-communication campaigns. Jan’s opinion statement proposes an alternative for the solution that the team leader is in favour of, and Boris’s position expansion provides support for his colleague’s counter-position. The position expansion in Extract 12.3 is from the same episode, about 8 minutes later in the discussion. Rick’s position expansion is an agreeing statement in support of Paul’s critical assessment of the bureau that team leader Wim prefers. In Extract 12.4, the host turn of the position expansion is a clarification of an aspect of a plan that has come under scrutiny in the preceding discussion. So all position-expansion speakers affiliate with a potentially controversial position-taking statement in prior speaker’s turn. But it is not just the local sequential context that triggers position expansion. The instances in my data display an orientation to an ‘organisational agenda’ (Boden 1994: 155ff.) that the speaker of

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the position expansion shares with the speaker of the host turn. Even before the delivery or the turn with the position expansion, the two speakers already form a ‘collective’ with respect to the issue that they take a stance on. In Extract 12.2, for example, Jan (the speaker of the host turn) and Boris (the speaker of the position-expansion turn) are together responsible for the marketing-communication campaigns of a specific product category in the company. The other advertising managers in the meeting are responsible for other product categories. Later in the meeting, Jan even mentions that he had been talking with Boris about a related issue earlier that morning. The speaker of the position-expansion turn and the speaker of the host turn are members of the same task-based association and they share an organisational agenda that becomes manifest in the position-expansion sequence. In Extract 12.3, Rick and Paul share a function-based general responsibility. Each of them shows his task-based responsibilities and his epistemic authority with respect to the issue at hand. In Extract 12.4, position-expansion speaker Rick steps in for Ciska when she is defending a plan they have prepared together.11 The correlation between task-based membership in the same collective and doing position expansion is not an automatic mechanism, however (cf. Schegloff 1991). The speaker of the host turn and the speaker of the position-expansion turn may activate the local relevance of their shared organisational agenda in one or more brief pre-exchanges (cf. Kendon 1977) that run parallel to the public discussion. Boris and Jan, for example, have a brief exchange of gazes during the interaction that immediately precedes the position-expansion sequence in Extract 12.2. Before taking up the challenge of the team leader to provide a better alternative for the policy he is in favour of (lines 1–4 in Extract 12.5), Jan has created a wordless understanding with Boris about their shared concerns by seeking his attention. See particularly lines 4–5 in Extract 12.5, in which Jan’s and Boris’s respective gaze directions are also noted:

11In

this section I will focus on giving detailed evidence from the position-expansion sequence in Extract 12.2. Comparable evidence from the cases documented in Extracts 12.3–12.4 is only hinted at.

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Extract 12.5 Activity context of the interaction in Extract 12.2 (Line 7 = line 1 in Extract 12.2)

Although Jan and Boris are both looking at team leader Wim for most of the time during his turn in lines 1–5, they have a brief exchange of other-directed sideways glances during the final parts of Wim’s turn in lines 4–5. Without fully looking at one another, their peripheral vision enables them to signal some joint concern or shared stance with respect to the ongoing course of action. See Stills 12.4a–c and the detailed transcription of both participants’ gaze direction during this part of Wim’s turn in Extract 12.5. The position expansion thus does not come out of the blue. It is prepared in a pre-exchange of reciprocal gazes the moment Jan makes himself recognizably available for becoming the recipient of Boris’s counter-gaze. As members of the same group with respect to the issue at hand, they re-activate and (re-)confirm the relevance of their shared organisational agenda in an exchange of mutually visible sideways glances. When Jan subsequently takes up the team leader’s challenge

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Stills 12.4  Gaze direction of Jan and Boris during the turn prior to the position-expansion sequence (lines 4–5 in Extract 12.5). a Jan and Boris look at Wim. b Jan and Boris exchange a brief sideward mutual-understanding look. c Jan and Boris look again at Wim

to provide a better solution, he does so in an activity context in which both he and Boris are already prepared to enter into the discussion with the team leader as a ‘party’. Boris’s position expansion is not just a

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self-initiated ad hoc demonstration of being a member of the same collective; rather, it is prepared in a pre-exchange by the members of that collective during the final parts of the turn that triggered Jan’s oppositional statement. In Extract 12.4, we see something similar. Ciska has several times searched for and tried to meet Rick’s gaze in the TCUs preceding the unit that then gets position expansion by Rick. In conclusion, it is not only the direct sequential environment that is characteristic of position expansion. A speaker does this action in response to an oppositional opinion statement of a co-participant in the course of a decision-making discussion. The speaker of the oppositional move forms a collective with the speaker of the position expansion with respect to the issue at hand, and both participants may activate the relevance of this relationship in a pre-exchange in the run-up to the position-expansion sequence.

2.4 The Impact of Position Expansion Position expansion has specific interactional consequences. It re-organises the participation framework within the ongoing course of action and it re-distributes the local configuration of sequential relevancies as to what should be done first and by whom. In Extract 12.2, for example, both Jan—the originator of the sequence with the position expansion—and Ciska do agreement with Boris’s position expansion. After this, Ciska accounts for her affiliation with Jan and Boris’s position with an argumentation of her own (see lines 6–8 in Extract 12.6). Extract 12.6 Continuation of Extract 12.2

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The modification of the participation framework that Boris’s position expansion has effectuated turns out to be transient. Its impact is in the hands of the participants themselves. It does not prevent other participants from taking the role of primary speaker. After Ciska’s turn, other team members also step in with their own arguments. The organisational impact of position expansion may be exploited more drastically, however. The permutation of local participation-framework roles that position expansion effectuates may be used by the speaker of the position-expansion turn as an opportunity for taking over the role of primary speaker. This is the case in Extract 12.4. After Rick has stepped in for Ciska with a position expansion, he completely usurps the role of the defender of the plan they have presented together as a team. See lines 7–14 in Extract 12.7 (the continuation of the interaction in Extract 12.4). Extract 12.7 How the interaction continues after Rick’s position expansion in Extract 12.4 (line 3)

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Rick uses position expansion as a starting point for taking over the role of primary speaker. Although Ciska continues her turn simultaneously with Rick’s position expansion (lines 3–4) and none of them resolves the overlap by abandoning their turn (cf. Schegloff 2000), Rick comes out as the winner (see lines 7–14). The other participants make his turn continuations consequential for the subsequent talk (cf. Lerner 1996: 315). Ciska’s continuation is not taken up, and eventually she too aligns with Rick’s role of primary speaker and resigns to the reversal of organisational roles (lines 8 and 11). One almost gets the impression that Rick reduces Ciska’s contribution to just the animator of their joint plan, positioning himself as its real author and originator (cf. Goffman 1981). Although position expansion per se only accomplishes a transient shift of the local participation framework, the speaker of the position-expansion turn may thus exploit the shift by extending the reconfiguration of the local participation structure over a longer stretch of talk.

2.5 Properties of Position-Expansion Turns So far, we have discussed the following properties of position expansion: Environment of use (i) the sequence occurs in the course of a decision-making discussion in a multi-person setting; (ii)  the position expansion is a response to an agreement-relevant oppositional opinion statement; (iii) the speaker of the host turn and the speaker of the position expansion share an organisational agenda with respect to the issue at hand; (iv) the local relevance of the shared organizational agenda may have been activated in a pre-exchange; Grammatical format (v) the position expansion is and-prefaced;

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(vi) it is constructionally dependent on the grammar of the unit in the prior turn that it is tying to; Sequence-organisational impact (vii) position expansion changes the local participation framework. It moves the next-action constraints set by prior speaker’s opinion statement one turn ahead. The other team members respond to the turn with the position expansion. Two more properties also have to be stated explicitly, otherwise they may go unnoticed because of their self-evidence: Placement (viii) the turn with the position expansion should be preferably contiguously placed after the first possible completion point of its host turn; Action type and content (ix) the speaker of the position-expansion turn does the same type of action with respect to the same issue as prior speaker did. The placement constraint (viii) is a turn-taking specification of the sequential-position property (ii). See again Extract 12.2: Boris places his response to Jan in overlap with Ciska’s response. Extract 12.2 Detail

Had his turn come later, Boris would have run the risk of it no longer being heard as a response to Jan. By starting his response in overlap with the very beginning of Ciska’s response turn and before its first possible completion point (cf. Sacks et al. 1974), the speaker of the position-expansion turn places his turn so that it locates the action in prior speaker’s turn as its target.

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The other property is an action constraint with a topical dimension. In order for a next turn to be understood as a position expansion of prior speaker’s turn, it is not sufficient for next speaker to elaborate on the content of prior speaker’s turn, nor for next speaker to do the same kind of action as prior speaker. Next speaker is recognizably coordinating an and-prefaced unit with a unit in prior speaker’s turn in which he continues the action of prior speaker and talks about the same issue prior speaker is talking about. In Extract 12.2, for example, Boris makes an opinion statement (that we make the picture, line 3) about the same issue that prior speaker has made a statement about (let us decide how we want to have it, line 1).12 He is not just elaborating on the content of prior speaker’s turn by adding another proposition to it; rather, he is adding the same kind of action as prior speaker did with respect to the same issue and at the same sequential position.

2.6 Comparison with  and-Prefaced Formulation of Prior Speaker’s Talk Comparison with yet another type of and-prefaced other-continuation shows that the list of properties in the previous section is not yet sufficient. See Extract 12.8. Boris has agreed to contact an external bureau about a delayed advice report. Team leader Wim then makes a suggestion about how to handle this (lines 1–4), both with respect to how to account for the request (lines 1–2) and regarding the deadline for complying with it (line 4). Boris’s and-prefaced addition in line 6 mentions another aspect of the arrangement, namely, that the bureau should also be present at the presentation of the advice report. This point had already been touched upon earlier in the discussion. By reminding him of it, Boris articulates something that Wim did not include in his suggestion but which was “claimably inferable” from the preceding talk (cf. Bolden 2010): 12“Make

the picture” is an idiomatic expression for making a plan; it has likely acquired that meaning on the basis of metonymic reasoning (cf. Lakoff and Johnson 1980). Boris clearly talks within the same activity scenario that Jan’s statement is about. Note also that Boris’s statement has the same topic referent as Jan’s statement, wij (we ).

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Extract 12.8 And-prefaced formulation of the prior speaker’s talk

Although Boris’s and-prefaced other-continuation in line 6 has a couple of properties that also hold for position expansion—apart from being and-prefaced, it is constructionally dependent, on topic, and next-­ positioned—it is clearly not a position expansion. Boris’s other-continuation occurs in a different type of activity context from the one described for position expansion. But some of its properties shed further light on what makes an and-prefaced other-continuation a position expansion. Bolden (2010) calls a next-speaker repair such as Boris’s and-­ prefaced other-continuation in line 6 an ‘and-prefaced formulation’ of prior speaker’s talk. Speakers use this for an inquiry about something that is within the epistemic domain of prior speaker, and because it is addressed to prior speaker, the formulation works as a request for confirmation (see lines 6–9). The action that a speaker conveys with an and-prefaced formulation differs from position expansion with respect to both the kind of distribution of knowledge that it assumes and its directionality of address. Whereas and-prefaced formulations are about the addressee’s epistemic domain (cf. Bolden 2010), position expansions are typically within the epistemic domain of both the speaker of the host turn and the speaker of the turn with the expansion. The speaker who does position

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Still 12.5  Still taken after the first two words in Jan’s opinion statement (but I am like let us simply decide how we want to have it.), right after maar ik ▼ (but I…, line 1). ▼ indicates the exact moment of the still in the speaker’s utterance. Jan’s gaze remains directed at Wim during his turn

Still 12.6  Still taken after wij (we ) in Boris’s position-expansion turn (line 3). Boris has his gaze directed toward Wim

expansion is adding something that is shared knowledge, that is, he is acting in line with the organisational agenda he shares with prior speaker (see item (iii) in the list of properties above). Second, contrary to Boris’s and-prefaced formulation in Extract 12.8, position expansion does not reverse the directionality of address of its host turn (see Lerner 2004; Sidnell 2012). Jan’s objection in Extract 12.2, for example, is directed at team leader Wim, with the other team members as co-hearers,13 and Boris’s next turn has the same directionality. He addresses his turn to the team leader as well (see Stills 12.5 and 12.6). The other team 13I don’t think the term ‘overhearer’ is appropriate for this way of addressing turns in the meeting setting, therefore I have chosen to use the term ‘co-hearer’ as a type of recipient that is different from the ‘primary recipient’.

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members, including the speaker of the turn he is linking to, are co-hearers. Although this is a feature that initially seemed self-evident to me when considering an action that recycles the sequential position of prior speaker’s action, this is nevertheless something I had not noticed before contrasting position expansion with Bolden’s (2010) and-prefaced formulations. If the speaker of an and-prefaced other-continuation changes the direction of address of the host turn, he would be doing another type of action. So property (iii) should be modified as follows: (iii)  the information provided in the position expansion is within the epistemic domain of both the speaker of the host turn and the speaker of the position expansion; both participants share an organisational agenda with respect to the issue at hand. And the following feature should be added to the list of properties of position expansion: (x) the position expansion maintains the directionality of address of the host turn; it is also directed at the original primary recipient of prior speaker’s turn.

3 Discussion and Conclusion The speaker of a position-expansion turn shows him/herself to be a member of a group (see Sect. 2.2). Second speakers also use other practices such as incrementing or collaborative completion for demonstrating that they form some kind of group with prior speaker. They do so with utterance types that are also constructionally dependent on prior speaker’s turn and that are addressed to the original recipient(s) of the turn that is continued (see the discussion of this latter feature in Sect. 2.6). Technically, position expansion is not a type of increment, nor a type of preemptive completion by another participant. The main technical difference between position expansion and increments (cf. Schegloff 2016 [2001]; Couper-Kuhlen and Ono 2007; see also footnotes 3 and 4) is that the speaker of a position-expansion turn shapes

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their contribution as a TCU continuation of prior speaker’s turn, and not as an increment continuation (cf. Sidnell 2012). That is, a position expansion is not formatted as a grammatically fitting ‘recompletion’ of the TCU in prior speaker’s turn. See, for example, Extract 12.9. It is from a discussion about the likeliness of an impending budget cut. In lines 1–2, Paul concludes a multi-turn discourse unit in which he has given insider’s information about the department’s financial prospects. His colleague Jan reacts with a complaint that is formatted as a rhetorical question: but how on earth will it be possible then to develop the right communication tools (lines 3–5). Oliver then recompletes the clausal TCU in Jan’s turn with an increment continuation (on time and including delivery, line 8). Extract 12.9 Expanding the prior speaker’s turn with an increment

The increment in line 8 is grammatically dependent on the structure of the interrogative sentence in prior speaker’s turn. Its first part is formatted as an isolated time adverbial (on time ), that is, as a loose end without a recognizable beginning. It needs a fitting grammatical environment in prior speaker’s turn in order to make sense of it. Its function is similarly ‘parasytic’. The speaker of the increment turn does not make a point on

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his own, he just ‘tweaks’ the point made in the utterance he is expanding (cf. Schegloff 2016: 261). Note that this also has consequences for how the turn can be taken up. Contrary to what we have seen for position expansion, Jan does not respond by doing agreement with Oliver. Instead he re-issues his own complaint by answering the question through which it was initially delivered (that is (really) not possible, line 9). It is as though Oliver’s increment has not changed the response space of the turn it is expanding. Position-expansion turns, on the other hand, are not formatted as ‘loose ends’. They begin with a tying device, the and-preface. By beginning a turn with prefatory and, a speaker projects that he is going to add a unit of some type to a unit of the same type in the preceding interaction. Although the design of position-expansion turns is also grammatically dependent on prior speaker’s turn, the turns begin with a turn-initial operator that frames the upcoming TCU as an equivalent continuation of a similar type of unit in prior speaker’s turn. And although the unit after the turn-initial connective in position-expansion turns is not recognisably formatted as a ‘beginning’ either—compare the complementiser dat (that ) in Extract 12.2 or the zero subject in a subordinated clause in Extract 12.3—recipients look for the type of unit current speaker is ‘adding’ his turn to as a second conjunct because of the turn-initial operator. In the case of position expansion, the most likely candidate for this is the unit in which prior speaker makes the same point as current speaker. Position-expansion turns continue prior speaker’s action with an action of the same type; they don’t modify prior speaker’s action by incrementing its terms. Technically, position expansion is also different from collaborative completion (cf. Lerner 1991, 1993, 2004). A speaker who does position expansion adds a next turn to prior speaker’s possibly complete turn, whereas collaborative completion is a method for entering into the turn-space of current speaker in a way that makes it recognizable as a candidate completion of the ongoing, still incomplete turn (Lerner 2004: 227–228). See Extract 12.10. Ciska has just started to make a summary assessment of the argument she developed before, with chair Wim as her primary recipient (line 1). But before she can complete the turn, her colleague Mary takes over and finishes the turn by preemptively producing her version of the kind of completion projected in the TCU-so-far (line 2).

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Extract 12.10 Collaborative completion

Mary delivers a predicate kernel that fits the completion projection of the current speaker’s turn-so-far and in line with the direction of the preceding discussion.14 “By producing a version of what had been projected as a part of the prior speaker’s turn” (Lerner 2004: 225), the speaker of the anticipatory completion ‘co-constructs’ the action the original speaker has begun. A position-expansion speaker, on the other hand, is not co-constructing prior speaker’s action but adding the same type of action to the possibly complete turn of prior speaker.15 14Mary’s collaborative TCU-completion in line 2 of Extract 12.10 exploits the projection that is based on the current speaker’s use of a verb form from the set Dutch verbal expression [nodigadj hebbenverb]/ have a-need-for + complement. The speaker of the anticipatory completion provides the [adjective + complement] part of this multi-word verb construction. 15Note that the original speaker of the turn-so-far in Extract 12.10 does not treat the proffered completion as a display of understanding or agreement with the action underway. She does not confirm or reject it. Instead she does a ‘delayed completion’ of her own turn (Lerner 2004: 238) that deletes the anticipatory completion of her colleague from the interactional surface (line 3). It restores the conditional relevance of a response to the action in her turn (see lines 4–8 in Extract 12.10).

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The result of position expansion is a cross-speaker multi-unit action in which the speaker of the second part joins the speaker of the first part to make a point as a collective. The second speaker does the same type of action as prior speaker, with respect to the issue at hand. S/he thereby recycles and re-instantiates the sequential constraints and expectations that the speaker of the first part had already established. The other participants respond in the first instance to the conditional relevance of the second speaker’s action, making their reaction contiguous with the action in the immediately preceding turn (cf. Sacks 1987). However, a recipient may also treat the actions of both prior speakers in the second instance as a unit, by formulating them as a single opinion statement, as Ciska does in line 6 of Extract 12.2. What does a speaker gain by continuing the prior speaker’s turn with a position expansion? One has to go back to the activity context of each specific case in order to be able to get an idea about this. In Extract 12.2, for example, Boris does position expansion on a turn in which the prior speaker makes an opinion statement that is opposed to the policy the team leader is defending. By doing agreement with the prior speaker through position expansion, he supports prior speaker’s position and starts building a coalition. Eventually, after a long and complicated discussion, this coalition will persuade the team leader to withdraw his support for the contested policy. But position expansion is just one of several methods for agreeing with the position taken by the prior speaker. In Extract 12.2, for example, we see that Ciska is also taking part in the alliance, but she does so first by affirmation and then by making an agreeing position statement of her own. The difference with position expansion, however, is that its speaker takes part in the coalition as a member of the same group as the originator of the sequence. Position expansion thus differentiates between various kinds of members and ‘parties’ within the coalition. Its speaker is or claims to be more closely associated with the leading discussant with respect to the issue at hand. Doing position expansion is perhaps also based on the scarcity of opportunities for claiming co-ownership of the position brought forward by the speaker of the host turn. A co-participant might do more than just do agreement or provide support with the position taken by the prior

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speaker. They might want to claim a kind of co-authorship. For example, because they contributed to an earlier discussion about the issue at hand with the speaker of the host turn as the other member of the collective (this is the case for Extracts 12.2 and 12.4), or because the speaker of the position expansion competes in one way or another with the prior speaker with respect to who has primary or sufficient epistemic authority (which may be the case in Extract 12.3). But in a multi-person and perhaps also multi-party setting such as a meeting, one of the few types of environments in which this can be done immediately, publicly, and without extra effort is within the sequential position that prior speaker has created. Position expansion is a method for dealing with this scarcity. Position expansion is an action with which a speaker makes an agreeing opinion statement in response to prior speaker’s opinion statement in a multi-person setting in such a way that it takes over the sequential relevancies established in prior speaker’s turn. The action effectuates a re-organisation of the local participation framework and demonstrates its speaker’s claim to be in a group with prior speaker with respect to the issue at hand. This type of multi-layeredness is partially comparable with, for example, how an action like telling a next story event may also count as a ‘resumption’ at the level of the organisation of sequential progression of the interaction (cf. Mazeland and Huiskes 2001). If the description proffered in this paper is ‘on target’, position expansion might be an example of a set of multi-layered interaction-reorganizing actions that still await description in action formation research (cf. Schegloff 1996b; see also Levinson 2013). The exploration of its features points to the importance of examining the ‘relative positioning’ of turns—that is, to look at the ways a speaker ties his/her turn to prior speaker’s turn—in order to understand how a speaker is doing what they are doing.

References Asmuß, Birte, and Sae Oshima. 2012. Negotiation of entitlement in proposal sequences. Discourse Studies 14 (1): 67–86. Boden, Deidre. 1994. The business of talk: Organizations in action. Cambridge: Polity Press.

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Bolden, Galina B. 2010. ‘Articulating the unsaid’ via and-prefaced formulations of others’ talk. Discourse Studies 12 (1): 5–32. Button, Graham, and Wes Sharrock. 2000. Design by problem-solving. In Workplace studies: Recovering work practice and informing system design, ed. Paul Luff, Jon Hindmarsh, and Christian Heath, 46–67. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Couper-Kuhlen, Elizabeth, and Tsuyoshi Ono. 2007. Incrementing in conversation: A comparison of practices in English, German and Japanese. Pragmatics 17 (4): 513–552. Egbert, Maria. 1997. Schisming: The collaborative transformation from a single conversation to multiple conversations. Research on Language and Social Interaction 30 (19): 1–51. Goffman, Erving. 1981. Footing. In Forms of talk, ed. Erving Goffman, 124– 159. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Goodwin, Charles. 2013. The co-operative, transformative organization of human action and knowledge. Journal of Pragmatics 46 (1): 8–23. Günthner, Susanne. 2008. ‘Die Sache ist …’: Eine Projektorkonstruktion im Gesprochenen Deutsch. Zeitschrift für Sprachwissenschaft 27: 39–71. Halliday, M.A.K., and Ruqaiya Hasan. 1976. Cohesion in English. London: Longman. Heritage, John, and Marja-Leena Sorjonen. 1994. Constituting and maintaining activities across sequences: And-prefacing as a feature of question design. Language in Society 23 (1): 1–29. Houtkoop-Streenstra, Hanneke, and Harrie Mazeland. 1985. Turns and discourse units in everyday conversation. Journal of Pragmatics 9: 595–619. Huisman, Marjan. 2001. Decision-making in meetings as talk-in-interaction. International Studies of Management & Organization 31 (3): 69–90. Jefferson, Gail. 1986. Notes on ‘latency’ in overlap onset. Human Studies 9 (2–3): 153–184. Kangasharju, Helena. 2002. Alignment in disagreement: Forming oppositional alliances in committee meetings. Journal of Pragmatics 34 (10): 1447–1471. Kendon, Adam. 1977. Studies in the behaviour of social interaction. Lisse: Peter de Ridder Press. Lakoff, George, and Mark Johnson. 1980. Metaphors we live by. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Lerner, Gene. 1991. On the syntax of sentences-in-progress. Language in Society 20 (3): 441–458. Lerner, Gene. 1993. Collectivities in action: Establishing the relevance of conjoined participation in conversation. Text 13 (2): 213–245.

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Lerner, Gene. 1996. Finding face in the preference structures of talk-in-interaction. Social Psychology Quarterly 59 (4): 303–321. Lerner, Gene. 2004. Collaborative turn sequences. In Conversation analysis: Studies from the first generation, ed. Gene Lerner, 225–255. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: Benjamins. Levinson, Stephen. 1983. Pragmatics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Levinson, Stephen. 2013. Action formation and ascription. In The handbook of conversation analysis, ed. Jack Sidnell and Tanya Stivers, 103–130. Oxford: Blackwell. Local, John, and Gareth Walker. 2012. How phonetic features project more talk. Journal of the International Phonetic Association 42 (03): 255–280. Local, John, Paul Drew, and Peter Auer. 2010. Retrieving, redoing, and resuscitating turns in conversation. In Prosody in interaction, ed. Dagmar Weingarten-Barth, Elisabeth Reber, and Margret Selting, 131–160. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: Benjamins. Mazeland, Harrie. 2006. ‘VAN ’ as a quotative in Dutch: Marking quotations as a typification. In Artikelen van de vijfde sociolinguïstische conferentie, ed. Tom Koole et al., 354–365. Delft: Eburon. Mazeland, Harrie. 2009. Positionsexpansionen: Die interaktive Konstruktion von Stellungnahme-Erweiterungen in Arbeitsbesprechungen. In Grammatik im Gespräch: Konstruktionen der Selbst- und Fremdpositionierung, ed. Susanne Günthner and Jörg Bücker, 185–214. Berlin and New York: de Gruyter. Mazeland, Harrie, and Mike Huiskes. 2001. Dutch but as a sequential conjunction: Its use as a resumption marker. In Studies in interactional linguistics, ed. Margret Selting and Elizabeth Couper-Kuhlen, 141–169. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: Benjamins. Oh, Sun-Young. 2005. English zero-anaphora as an interactional resource. Research on Language and Interaction 38 (3): 267–302. Oh, Sun-Young. 2006. English zero anaphora as an interactional resource II. Discourse Studies 8 (6): 817–846. Ono, Tsuyoshi, and Sandra A. Thompson. 1997. Deconstructing ‘zero anaphora’ in Japanese. Berkeley Linguistic Society 23: 481–491. Sacks, Harvey. 1987. On the preferences for agreement and contiguity in sequences in conversation. In Talk and social organization, ed. Graham Button and John R.E. Lee, 54–69. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters. Sacks, Harvey. 1992. Lectures on conversation, vol. I, ed. Gail Jefferson. Oxford: Blackwell. 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.

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Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1968. Sequencing in conversational openings. American Anthropologist 70 (6): 1075–1095. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1987. Recycled turn beginnings: A precise repair mechanism in conversation’s turn-taking organization. In Talk and social interaction, ed. Graham Button and John R.E. Lee, 70–85. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1991. Reflections on talk and social structure. In Talk and social structure: Studies in ethnomethodology and conversation analysis, ed. Deirdre Boden and Don H. Zimmerman, 44–70. Cambridge: Polity Press. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1996a. Turn organization: One intersection of grammar and interaction. In Interaction and grammar, ed. Elinor Ochs, Emanuel A. Schegloff, and Sandra A. Thompson, 52–133. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 1996b. Confirming allusions: Toward an empirical account of action. American Journal of Sociology 102 (1): 161–216. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2000. Overlapping talk and the organization of turn-taking for conversation. Language in Society 29 (1): 1–63. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2004. On dispensability. Research on Language and Social Interaction 37 (2): 95–149. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2007. Sequence organization in interaction. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schegloff, Emanuel A. 2016 [2001/2007]. Increments. In Accountability in social interaction, ed. Jeffrey D. Robinson, 239–263. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Thompson, Sandra A. 2002. “Object complements” and conversation. Towards a realistic account. Studies in Language 26 (1): 125–163. van der Schoot, Mirjam, and Harrie Mazeland. 2005. Probleembeschrijvingen in werkbesprekingen. Tijdschrift voor Taalbeheersing 27 (1): 1–23. Selting, Margret. 1996. On the interplay of syntax and prosody in the constitution of turn-constructional units and turns in conversation. Pragmatics 6 (3): 371–388. Selting, Margret. 2007. Lists as embedded structures and the prosody of list construction as an interactional resource. Journal of Pragmatics 39 (3): 483–526. Sidnell, Jack. 2012. Turn-continuation by self and other. Discourse Processes 49 (3–4): 314–337. Stevanovic, Melisa. 2012. Establishing joint decisions in a dyad. Discourse Studies 14 (6): 779–803. Verhagen, Arie. 2005. Constructions of intersubjectivity: Discourse, syntax, and cognition. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Part V Epilogue

13 Epilogue Cornelia Gerhardt and Elisabeth Reber

1 Introduction This edited volume brings together eleven original research papers1 exploring a plethora of activities in different languages and in institutional and everyday contexts, revealing the inextricability of language and body in different face-to-face and mediated settings. Activities are courses of actions defined by coherent goals and/or topics, situated in

1In

the epilogue, the names in round brackets refer to the chapters in this edited volume; thus Mazeland2 is Chapter 2, on Activities as Discrete Organisational Domains, and Mazeland12 is Chapter 12, on Position Expansion in Meeting Talk. All other chapters will simply be referred to by the name(s) of the author(s).

C. Gerhardt (*)  Saarland University, Saarbrücken, Germany e-mail: [email protected] E. Reber  University of Würzburg, Würzburg, Germany e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 E. Reber and C. Gerhardt (eds.), Embodied Activities in Face-to-face and Mediated Settings, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-97325-8_13

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space and unfolding in time. This epilogue seeks to discuss the findings of the eleven research papers on embodied activities in the volume.2 The activities studied in this volume are manifold: reporting to a fellow football club member, making an appointment with a friend, putting on compression stockings in a caretaking interaction, assessing a product in a telemarketing call, deciding about a pupil’s promotion in a report-card meeting (all Mazeland2), introducing new objects during guided visits, filming (as research method) (both Mondada), laparoscopic gallbladder surgery (Bezemer et al.), tidying a kid’s room (Gerhardt), shopping at a local farmers’ market (Stukenbrock and Dao), different activities during handball timeouts (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt), enticing sequences during Prime Minister’s Questions in the British Parliament (Reber), first performance and repeated instructions in musical master classes (Reed), comforting in mother-child interaction, in the classroom, and in a mediated political broadcast (Kupetz), telling in talk-in-interaction (Li), and argumentation in meeting talk (Mazeland12). The discussion will focus on the questions of what embodied activities are (Sect. 2) and how they are embodied (Sect. 3) as two perspectives on the findings from the research papers collected in this volume. We will close with an outlook on future research (Sect. 4).

2 Embodied Activities in Interaction—What Are They? In the contributions to the volume, activities have been characterised by the following features: Activities are local achievements (Sect. 2.1), can be embedded in other activities (Sect. 2.2), have different levels of organization (Sect. 2.3), are shaped by extralinguistic affordances (Sect. 2.4), are goal-oriented (Sect. 2.5), are cooperative achievements (Sect. 2.6), are displays of social rights and moral obligations (Sect. 2.7), are

2This

is a summary only. For relevant literature, please refer to the individual chapters.

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multifunctional (Sect. 2.8), and can be mediated (Sect. 2.9). We will flesh out these points in what follows.

2.1 Activities as Local Achievements The question of whether something constitutes an activity (rather than, for example, a practice or action) cannot be predetermined; it is a local achievement by the participants, emerging in space and time through their embodied vocal and verbal conduct. For instance, ‘reporting’ represents a full-blown activity in the data studied here (Mazeland2), but it could also be a one-turn-action in some other activity or a linguistic practice through which some other action is achieved. The moment participants produce recognizable patterns (for themselves, but also the analyst(s)) across a minimal or larger sequence of actions oriented towards some goal, they can be said to perform some activity.

2.2 Activities as Embedded in Other Activities The papers suggest that activities can be embedded in other activities. The subsequent steps in some overarching activity may represent activities in their own right if they consist of courses of actions with a specific goal. The attainment of that goal (e.g. forming a huddle in handball to allow communication between coach and team members) would then represent a prerequisite for the attainment of the overall goal (a successful time-out that fulfills instructional, recreational, and motivational functions; Meyer and von Wedelstaedt). To give another example, a student must first perform a piece of music before the master can assess the student’s performance. This also holds for comforting (Kupetz) where the activity analysed in not incipiently embedded in the overarching activities of the data sets (e.g. reading a book with a child or teaching), but the goal of comforting has to be achieved before the higher-level activity can resume its orderly course.

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2.3 Activities with Different Levels of Organisation Activities consist of a number of steps, or little projects (Mazeland2, Reed) that are ordered in a way to attain the goal of the overall activity. Activities may consist of specific sequences of adjacency pairs, or talk may primarily accompany practical actions that lead to the completion of the activity (Mazeland2). One sub-task often projects the next, e.g. walking and turning both signal that a new object is being turned to in guided visits (Mondada). Putting on stockings has a clear orderly progress (Mazeland2). Tracing a structure with instruments projects cutting during laparoscopic gallbladder surgery (Bezemer et al.). ‘Showing’ an object during the activity of tidying a room is understood as a prompt to identify the object (Gerhardt). Gaze shifts often project a next move (Stukenbrock and Dao, cf. below in the section on gaze). The screaming of a team’s name is immediately and unfailingly followed by the last choral motivational shout in a huddle (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt). Holding on to a folder may project a short turn by the current speaker in parliamentary debates (Reber), projecting turn-completion. In contrast, the bodily re-orientation of a student singer to the audience shapes the trajectory in indicating the imminent beginning of the performance (Reed). Head nods project closing a telling sequence (Li). In some activities, lower-level activities or actions are recyclable, e.g. re-performances by a student musician (Reed), examining a market stall (Stukenbrock and Dao), and showing the next sortable (Gerhardt) or notable (Mondada) item can all be repeated ad infinitum from a structural point of view. In such cases, transition to the next step has to be carefully negotiated (Stukenbrock and Dao). The overall goal of the activity is not abandoned at these moments, but these recyclable steps often represent the core of the (higher level) activity. The practices in these slots are closely tied to the achievement of the overall goal, be it practical, as in the instances above, or otherwise. For instance, the frequent use of the index-up gesture in Parliament is closely tied to the hidden agenda of the speakers, a display of authority and superiority. Hence certain practices can be seen as core elements of activities, or, vice versa; some activities are marked by certain central practices.

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On the other hand, in some activities, the attainment of one step automatically entails the next, e.g. when putting on stockings (Mazeland2), making for a much more automated progression. Hence, these separate steps, specific actions (or activities, cf. above) performed with the help of locally shaped practices, set constraints on the following step, or the next action, projecting it, e.g. when introducing a new object that is present (Mondada) or when answering a trap-setting uncontroversial first question in Parliament (Reber). Such local contingencies may be momentarily suspended, e.g. through position expansion (Mazeland12) or humming (Gerhardt). Clear violations of the order of the consecutive steps may be sanctioned, e.g. when a player starts shouting motivational exclamations to his teammates before the coach has addressed the team as a whole (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt).

2.4 Activities as Shaped by Extralinguistic Affordances Contextual affordances shape the practices chosen by the participants to perform relevant actions as meaningful tasks within an activity. For instance, the activities pertaining to time-outs are shaped by time-pressure and the noisy environment (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt). Activities in the House of Commons are shaped by the architecture (Reber). The pressure of the organization of turn-taking in multi-­ person settings marks activities during meeting talk (Mazeland12). When shopping at a market (Stukenbrock and Dao) or visiting a garden (Mondada), the participants move towards relevant objects; when sorting out a room (Gerhardt), the relevant objects are moved around.

2.5 Activities as Goal-Oriented Goal-orientedness does not entail that all participants have either the same goal (e.g. to buy food at a market (Stukenbrock and Dao) or to agree on an opinion (Mazeland12)) or a reciprocal goal (e.g. to comfort and to be comforted (Kupetz), to tell and to listen (Li), or to teach and to learn (Reed, Bezemer et al.)) during the communal bringing-about

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of an activity. Activities are emergent (Mazeland2, Mondada, Gerhardt, Stukenbrock and Dao, Meyer and von Wedelstaedt). Boundaries or delimitations have to be constructed and transitions have to be coordinated (Mazeland2, Reed, Li, Meyer and von Wedelstaedt, Mondada). While there may sometimes be institutionalized practices (e.g. the ‘critical view’ in surgery to decide whether to cut or not; Bezemer et al.), in mundane situations multiple exclusive trajectories may be incipient, e.g. to buy something or to continue to the next stall (Stukenbrock and Dao). Some activities may only be performed reluctantly by one of the participants (Gerhardt). In mediated political interaction, hidden agendas and adversarial goals seem all-prevalent and constitutive (Reber).

2.6 Activities as Cooperative Achievements Thus, activities are local achievements that are brought about by the cooperation of the participants. Everyday activities often stand at the risk of being abandoned: for instance, the shoppers may decide momentarily that they will stop walking across the market first and instead start the actual buying project (Stukenbrock and Dao). At many moments during the recording of the father-daughter dyad, the father could potentially reframe the girl’s actions as playing, which would result in a recontextualisation of their encounter from the activity of cleaning the room into reprimanding or conflict talk (Gerhardt). Other activities like surgery (Bezemer et al.), parliamentary debates (Reber), or musical master classes (Reed) are much more institutionalized; yet their effortless progression depends on the finely attuned cooperation of the participants and a recognition of each other’s projects. Hence, the members monitor each other closely, signalling their recognition of the activity under way. Many chapters illustrate moments when the participants are clearly orienting to the overall organizational unit activity rather than to local contingencies. For instance, the thanks at the end of putting on the stockings cannot be understood in its verbal sequential placement; it is only understandable as part of the closing of the embodied activity (Mazeland2). The question of which film the participants are going to see is not based on asymmetric epistemics,

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but it represents the next step in their joint activity of planning to go the movies together (Mazeland2). Objects that are made relevant in the environment can only be understood as noteworthy (Mondada), sortable (Gerhardt), or buyable (Stukenbrock and Dao) against the backdrop of the activity. The tracing of the triangular structure during surgery is recognized as a practice with future relevance for the activity by the surgeons and nurses (Bezemer et al.). The rebuke for a misplaced contribution highlights that an umbrella structure is in place (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt). Bodily repositioning signals awareness of and creates transitions in music classes (Reed) or guided visits (Mondada) (cf. below).

2.7 Activities as Displays of Social Rights and Moral Obligations Since participants assume specific roles during activities, an array of social rights and moral obligations are constructed and displayed for and by the participants: social values that are intricately tied to the assumed roles and the goal-orientedness of such coherent courses of action. Participants can display their entitlement to specific verbal or embodied actions, for instance, the gardener in the botanical visits (Mondada) or the coach in handball time-outs (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt). Moreover, epistemic authority may be assumed: for example, the gardener in his expert position as guide (Mondada), the girl as authority over the objects in her room (Gerhardt), and politicians displaying claims of their superior knowledge through the index-up gesture (Reber). We can also witness the interactional construction of morality, e.g. when the father makes his child join him in the activity of cleaning her room (Gerhardt) or a teacher comforts a child (Kupetz). However, it can also be the goal of such asymmetric activities to challenge the adversary’s authority, such as in the pairing of the Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition of the British Parliament (Reber). In mediated contexts, activities are marked by the embedded participation framework of political broadcasts (Reber, Kupetz). Even though the primary interaction may be between the co-present interlocutors, the goal of the participants is geared towards the non-present overhearers,

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e.g. politicians are not trying to convince the oppositional party of their opinion, but the general public (Reber).

2.8 Activities as Multifunctional Finally, activities are multifunctional. Similar to language functions that have been described for different text types or genres, activities as complex human encounters cannot be reduced to a simple mechanical input–output scheme. For instance, the hand-ball timeouts not only allow communication between the coach and the team for tactical orientation, they also serve as little breaks for the players. For this reason, drinking water is regularly done by the players (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt). In the interactions in a nursing home, the activity of putting on stockings serves the additional purpose of also representing a social encounter for the participants (Mazeland2). Activities may be recognizably shaped by their goal-orientedness and the function that is associated with a particular goal, however, concurrently, as social encounters, they usually also re(create) social ties, inform about different inner states or stances of the participants.

2.9 Activities and Mediation Screens may be used to make an activity more visible and to enhance or allow mutual monitoring (Bezemer et al.). Furthermore, the observability and hence visual accountability can also be seen in the behavior of the camera person recording an activity for research purposes (Mondada). The use of data generated by mobile eye-tracking glasses, worn by participants guide the analysts’ vision in their analysis. The use of such tools, too, mirrors the trajectories of the emerging progression of the activity at hand. Moreover, these kind of settings and data constitution push the boundaries of what is treated as “mediated setting”. Perhaps most radically, all video data deployed for embodied analysis are mediated in that their constitution is intrinsically tied to the filming practices of the researcher. On the other hand, the recent technical progress has meant that activities which would have been a prime example

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for face-to-face interaction only some decades ago, e.g. operations, have been transformed to interactions, where co-present participants interact based on a shared vision mediated by cameras.

3 The Embodiment of Activities in Interaction By turning to the embodiment of interaction, by adding the seeable to the hearable, one realises that visibility is not a given, but that it is constructed, both by the participants in the data and by the researcher during the recording. The relevance of this observability can be seen in the positioning of the bodies in space in that they are finely attuned to the other participants, to relevant objects in the world, and to the progression of the activity under way. Such constitutions of visibility often go hand in hand with a construction of interactional space. Drawing on the findings assembled in the volume, we argue that embodied activities are visible activities (Sect. 3.1), accomplished through multimodal gestalts (Sect. 3.2). Apart from the use of linguistic resources, these involve bodily positioning (Sect. 3.3), gestures (Sect. 3.4), gaze, head movements, and facial expressions (Sect. 3.5), prosody (Sect. 3.6), and (written) objects (Sect. 3.7).

3.1 Embodied Activities as Visible Activities In a guided tour, it is the guide and the visitors who continuously have to rearrange themselves with regard to the observable objects and the other participants as the tour and the interaction unfold (Mondada). The practice of ‘seeing aloud’ describes moments where participants name relevant objects in their surroundings, such as when a participant spots an item during shopping (Stukenbrock and Dao). During the activity of cleaning a room, the father places himself strategically to make his actions observable to the daughter, a positioning that acts as an incitement to cooperate (Gerhardt). During time-outs in handball, teammates arrange themselves into an F-formation, visibly orienting

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to each other’s co-presence by leaving gaps for arriving players (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt). In addition to the positioning of the body, gaze behavior and gestures are likewise relevant semiotic means used by the participants (see below). Often such practices of visibility manipulate and shape the physical context and create the very objects that are fundamental to the activity at hand: this includes the ‘critical view’ in laparoscopic cholecystectomies displaying a triangle of tissue (Bezemer et al.), the huddle that allows communication under time-pressure in a larger group (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt), ‘sortables’ during the activity of cleaning a child’s room (Gerhardt), ‘learnables’ as those parts that are repeatedly studied in music class (Reed), and relevant ‘buyables’ during shopping at a market which turn ‘walk-by-able’ stalls into relevant shopping sites (Stukenbrock and Dao).

3.2 Embodied Activities as Accomplished Through Multimodal Gestalts The plethora of differently natured activities illustrates the abundance of semiotic resources used by the participants. It becomes clear that these resources are not arbitrary, but are finely attuned to the specific constraints and goals of a given activity (Bezemer et al., Meyer and von Wedelstaedt). The body cannot be schematized a priori (neither by the participants nor by the researcher) into fixed categories such as head or hand (movement), but its conduct is made locally relevant by participants (Mondada) and demonstrably oriented to, creating meaningfulness against the backdrop of the unfolding activities. The papers bear witness to the observation that the use of language and bodily behavior are intertwined in complex ways in the activities studied. For instance, standing up and sitting down in the British Parliament is synchronized with turn-taking in a very formal way in this institutional setting (Reber). In musical master classes, the master leaning forward or getting up introduces the verbal teaching sequence after the performance (Reed). As a further example, head nods occur at potential closings of tellings (Li). Hence, the different resources

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discussed below should not be thought of as being newly assembled by the participants either in using them or in understanding them. Instead, they seem to come in complex semiotic packages where the meaning of the whole gestalt cannot be reduced to the meaning of its separate parts: a tour in a garden (Mondada), handball timeouts (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt), practices like showing (Gerhardt), and actions like responding (Reber) are analysed as multimodal gestalts or sign complexes. It is important that the labels we (or the members) attach to them are verbal glosses only that do not and cannot represent the full meaning-potential of the actual gestalts in the data. Their meaning often goes beyond semantics, for instance when touch forms an integral part of the activity (Kupetz, Meyer and von Wedelstaedt, see below).

3.3 Bodily Positioning The positioning of the (whole) body/bodies seems relevant in all data sets (cf. above for the construction of visibility), in that the body necessarily has to be positioned in a specific manner in space. It can be used to create joint attention (Mondada, Stukenbrock and Dao, Meyer and von Wedelstaedt, Gerhardt), activity space (Mondada, Gerhardt), or mutual alignment and orientation (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt). Different postures constitute visible displays of orientation to the activity and changing participation or stance (Mazeland2, Mondada, Gerhardt, Meyer and von Wedelstaedt, Reber). For instance, in comforting, specific postures seem to represent a vital element of the meaning (Kupetz). The body may also be used for reenactments of embodied actions, here fouls, or in choral productions a whole group can create meaning together (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt). Also, in the British Parliament, members of each party (the audience) act as one body (Reber).

3.4 Gestures Gestures are prototypically produced with the hand, e.g. pointing and showing to mark the relevance of an object for the activity

448     C. Gerhardt and E. Reber

(Mondada, Gerhardt, Bezemer et al., Stukenbrock and Dao, Meyer and von Wedelstaedt, Reber), or waving to attract the attention of other participants and invite them into the (upcoming) participation framework (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt, Reed). Pointing often incites gaze (Mondada, Gerhardt, Stukenbrock and Dao). Touching is another important means in interaction: it may be used to display different stances, to console or enact comforting (Kupetz), to attract attention and construct relevance (Mondada), to construct participation frameworks (Mondada, Meyer and von Wedelstaedt), or to indicate that a participant is finishing a sub-task within an activity (Mazeland2). Gestures can also be suspended to manage interactional concerns (Mazeland12). Some gestures display inner states, such as an imploring gesture, or can be used to signal how close a team is to winning a game (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt). The index-up gesture displays claims of epistemic authority and power (Reber). However, it may also be the sustaining of a leg when putting on stockings that is meaningful by indicating the orientation of the patient to the ongoing activity (Mazeland 2). Other practices performed primarily by the hands and arms of the participants include clapping to make teammates form a huddle (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt).

3.5 Gaze, Head Movements, and Facial Expressions Gaze or head movements are relevant throughout. While one may choose not to gesture, gaze behavior has the property that it is ineludible, i.e. participants cannot not look. So gaze is routinely taken as a display of the participants’ orientation, as a sign of the relevance of something or someone in the direction of the gaze. To mark objects in the vicinity as relevant, gaze accompanies pointing and showing in specific ways, often to construct joint attention (see above). It is also used to demarcate different participation frameworks (Reed, Mondada, Meyer and von Wedelstaedt, Kupetz, Mazeland12), a practice which is strongly connected to the positioning of the body in space (see above). Head nods seem to invite gaze withdrawal and indicate closing (Li) and they are associated with evaluation (Reed).

13 Epilogue     449

Of special importance for activities is that gaze (re)direction often marks transitions between different phases of an activity, often together with body realignment (Reed, Li). Hence, gaze redirection is often a marker of the next step, e.g. when the gaze is shifted from the shopping list to the first stall in the market (Stukenbrock and Dao). Mutual or reciprocal gaze is found to be an important marker of shared understanding: it may mark recognition of someone’s expertise (Mondada), mutual comprehension of each other’s concerns (Mazeland12), or joint attention to a story (Li). Fixed gaze on another person may represent a display of power and claim of dominance (Reber). Gaze and head movements are often analytically merged; gaze-tracking technology allows a clear differentiation between the two, indicating that pointing gestures are not quite as direct as they have generally been treated in the literature (Stukenbrock and Dao). Meaningful facial expressions that were deemed relevant for the analysis of activities include a quizzical face, the embodiment of the difficulty of a task (both Gerhardt), and grinning and teeth-baring (Reber). In addition, laughter is a powerful resource in political debate for derision (Reber), seemingly as complementary to the index-up gesture. Furthermore, the closings of storytellings are marked by laughter (Li).

3.6 Prosody Prosody and intonation as unavoidable meaningful features of spoken language are often found to be relevant to the analyses of the data, for instance, rising intonation is associated with mobilising response (Gerhardt, Bezemer et al.) or signalling continuation (Mazeland12). Lowering the voice may be involved in transition and completion (Mondada), doubtfulness or reluctance (Stukenbrock and Dao), closing (Li, Mondada), or comforting (Kupetz). The coach’s staccato intonation also functions as affect key (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt). Team moments are marked by rhythmicity and choral productions (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt). By participants speaking faster, digressions can be highlighted (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt). Volume can be used to signal different participation frameworks (Meyer and von Wedelstaedt).

450     C. Gerhardt and E. Reber

3.7 Use of Written Documents Besides through talk, language can also come into play with the help of other means: for instance, reading a shopping list out loud can serve as pre-orientation to the upcoming activity of shopping (Stukenbrock and Dao) or the manipulation of the notes on the dispatch box in the British parliament can serve to signal transition (Reber). Furthermore, an activity may be constituted by the use of a written document, when a mother reads a book with her child (Kupetz). This is signalled by the default orientation, posture, and gaze behavior of the dyad. Generally, meaningful body movements may be constitutively tied to the practical manipulation of objects, such as when the father shows different items to his daughter (Gerhardt) or a surgeon points with his or her instruments (inside the patient’s body), using the instruments as a semiotic resource (Bezemer et al.). During surgery, the patient’s body is also being manipulated like an object, and his or her tissue turned into a meaningful structure (Bezemer et al.).

4 Outlook By shedding light on a wide range of activities, the volume has demonstrated that dichotomies like ‘institutional’ and ‘everyday’ do not seem to be entirely helpful in demarcating differences in activities. Mazeland (2) proposes a differentiation between activities that are more oriented to the attainment of a practical goal versus those that have verbal actions as their baseline. This summary proposes a differentiation between activities that are in principal open-ended, since different parts of them are recyclable, often constituting the core of the over-arching activity, and those where the attainment of one step projects moving on to the following. More research is clearly needed in order to understand of the different natures of embodied activities. A further exploration of the idea of ‘data’ also seems necessary. Cameras are often conceptualized as recording the truth (e.g. in court, but see Mondada). They seem to provide an Abbild, a simple two-

13 Epilogue     451

dimensional likeness of reality. The use of the term ‘data’ reinforces the idea of objectivity. However, in studies in this tradition, data are not objective, computer-generated, quantifiable, scientific hard facts. Besides the manifold issues involved in the process of transcription, the context of the recordings has to be taken into account. While most data sets are procured by researchers, other data sets exist ready-made. Mediated settings with professional cuts and changing camera perspectives (Reber, Kupetz), also the images from the laparoscopic camera (Bezemer et al.), all represent members’ products, i.e. they are produced by participants who may pursue specific agendas. Mondada focuses on the recording of mobile interaction for research purposes as a practice highlighting its fabricatedness. Eye-tracking technology allows for a fine-grained analysis of gaze behavior that may not be available to the members themselves. Hence, not only the transcription of the data, but also the actual making of the images, merits further scrutiny and methodological considerations. The interplay of different semiotic resources should be studied further. Their interconnection is clearly visible in all of the papers in this volume. Many of the activities discussed illustrate that no preconceived distinction can be made between practical and meaningful actions (Bezemer et al.) since the advancement (or non-advancement) of the practical tasks is meaningful for the achievement of the goal, for the completion or advancement of the activity, and can hence be displayed for and observed by the participants (cf. the discussion of the different semiotic resources used below). Similar to the classic “next-turn proof procedure” in Conversation Analysis, it is the ensuing behaviour of the participants that indicates whether something can be interpreted as having semiotic force. For this reason, the findings in this volume suggest that it would be a fruitless endeavor to use fixed categories to draw a schematic framework of the resources used in embodied activities for future research. Even though a taxonomic approach does not seem fruitful, the exact workings of the different resources need much more scrutiny. Furthermore, some modalities, especially relating to the face, are completely understudied. While many papers point out the relevance of

452     C. Gerhardt and E. Reber

facial expressions, studies of their use in interaction seem scarce. Those papers in the volume that do discuss facial expressions deemed relevant for the interactions seem to do so based on intuition and general cultural knowledge. While this does not preclude a correct assignment of meaning, empirical studies are badly needed. Finally, the findings from other disciplines may be fruitfully integrated in this move from language only to embodiment and multimodality in interaction.

Index

A

Accent 193, 286, 288, 337 Accessibility principle 144, 169 Accusation 256, 263, 271, 275, 278, 282 Action 4, 5, 7, 15, 38, 46–48, 50, 63–65, 68, 70, 81, 88, 97–100, 108, 114, 132, 137, 138, 140–143, 153–155, 158, 219, 221, 239, 248, 249, 258, 264, 301, 309–313, 330–332, 371–374, 399–402 Action vs. activity 7, 57, 219, 220, 264, 265, 303, 369, 399 Activity baseline 43 context 43, 414 as a framework for making sense 47 role 35 space 140, 141, 447 transitions 305

Adjacency pair 4, 17, 40, 140, 208, 374, 401, 440 Adjacency-pair organisation 39 Adversarial 255 Agenda 34, 186, 223, 263, 420 Agreement-relevant environment 414 Alignment 6, 218, 370, 408, 447 And-prefaced other-continuation 403 Answer 33, 74–76, 156–158, 185, 259, 260, 263, 266, 268–271, 273–275 Apex 153 Appointment 43 Arbitrary 113, 130, 167, 249, 446 Architecture 441 Arm 84, 138, 330, 333, 337, 350 Assessment receipt 306, 309 Assessments 85, 162, 207, 268, 302, 370, 374, 376 Athlete 218

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2019 E. Reber and C. Gerhardt (eds.), Embodied Activities in Face-to-face and Mediated Settings, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-97325-8

453

454     Index

Attention 67, 140–142, 178, 228, 357, 372, 373 Audible 65, 221, 280 Audience 5, 6, 260, 299–302, 447 Authority 140, 256, 284, 314, 337 B

Bodily contact 331 Body 7, 64, 107–109, 143, 239, 305

Contingent/Contigency 107, 243, 262, 374 Conversation analysis 5, 12, 16–18, 20, 39, 63, 177, 331, 370, 451 Coordination 18, 64, 109, 177, 218, 262, 301, 331, 392 Course of action 4, 5, 64, 124, 138, 181, 208, 224, 256, 402 D

C

Camera glasses 69 Cameraperson 64 Camera work 64, 262 Caretaking interaction 43, 44 Choral production 245 Classify/Classification 10, 144 Classroom interaction 341 Closure/Closing 16, 35–39, 181, 243, 300–303, 338, 370 Coach 217 Coherence 5, 13, 305, 321 Collaborative/Collaboration 149, 249 Collaborative completion 425, 427 Comfort 329 Community of practice 52, 53, 56, 362 Completion 37, 110, 267, 303, 311, 370–372, 400 Compound question 289 Constraints 13, 97, 280, 357, 374, 421, 429, 441, 446 Contextualization 143, 351 Contiguity 130, 140

Deictic reference 92, 193, 202 Derision 449 Directing-to 144, 156, 161, 167 Directionality of address 423–425 Directive-compliance-receipt 301 Display 35, 140, 201, 271, 301, 330, 376 Distress 329 Documents 220, 250 Dominance 256, 261, 290 Doubtfulness 190 Dutch 42, 397 Dyad 137, 179, 230 E

Eating 17 Education 115 Embedded 8, 68, 143, 157, 178, 374, 410, 438 Embeddedness 258 Embodied action 142, 209 Embodiment 3, 139, 258, 445 Emergent 64, 148, 185, 304, 442 Emic 16, 70, 219, 304 Empathy 330

Index     455

Encounter 11, 12, 159, 303–305, 442 English 299 Enticing 259–261 Environment of use 48–50, 414 Epistemic 74, 140, 230, 256, 259–261, 314, 415, 443 Epistemic domain 423 Epistemic stance 79 Ethnography 10 Ethnomethodology 12, 65, 220 Everyday 12, 99, 179, 331, 373, 437 Evidential 256 Expert 35, 72, 154 Exploratory procedure 140 Eye contact 160, 237 Eye-tracking 177, 444

G

Garfinkel, Harold 12, 13, 15, 16, 65, 108, 133, 220, 221, 260, 289 Gathering 159 Gaze 64, 141, 177–180, 221, 265, 267, 305 direction 142, 179, 180, 416, 417 German 137, 200, 235, 331–333 Gestalt 97, 140, 171, 236, 269, 447 Gestural excursion 157 Gesture 64, 108, 138–143, 180, 221, 260, 313, 337 Goal-orientedness 171, 441 Goffman, Erving 6, 11, 12, 46, 51, 110, 114, 159, 180, 219, 301, 303, 304, 320, 337, 369, 420 Grinning 280, 281, 290 Group membership 413 Guided visits 69

F

Face 451 Face-to-face 4, 51, 207, 369, 373, 445 Facial expression 154, 280 Family likeness 9 Filming 69, 194, 438, 444 Finger-pointing 271 Finishing touch 46 First part 35, 96, 140, 405 Focus of attention 11, 64, 109, 144, 202, 203 Focused 11, 84 Follow-up 266, 269, 273 French 69, 260

H

Hand 44, 116, 130, 267 Handball 217–222 Head 335–341 Head nods 369–377 Hierarchy 300 Higher level activity 439 Huddle 11, 109, 219, 222, 227 Humming 151 I

Identify/Identification 67, 79, 108, 137 Inbreath 84, 162 Increment 92, 161, 400 Indexing site 144, 156, 169

456     Index

Index-up gesture 260–262, 273– 277, 290 Initial assessment 316 Institutional 4, 17, 30, 140, 264, 300, 330 Instruction 53, 96, 219, 238, 300–302 Instruction action framework 300 Instructional interaction 299, 306 Instruction-in-interaction 299 Interactional project 299 Interactional space 64, 74 Intercorporeality 219, 221, 249 Intonation 193, 220, 241, 244, 319, 337, 340, 358, 407

M

Mandarin 369 Merleau-ponty, Maurice 219 Meta-camera 69 Mobility 98 Mouth 162 Move to first business 301 Multimodality 3, 6, 64, 452 Multimodal resource 64, 219 Multi-party 398, 430 Multi-person 398 Multi-unit action 401 Multi-unit turn 17 Musical instruction 300 Music masterclass 299 Mutual gaze 73, 383

J

Joint attention 65, 178, 218 project 199

N

New referent 70–72, 97 News token 316 Noticing 66, 177–179

K

Kinesthetic knowledge 219, 239 L

Language 7–10, 13, 14, 140, 375, 437 Laparoscopic cholecystectomy 110 Laughter 95, 280, 281, 284, 384 Layperson 157 Local action directive 309, 310, 312, 317 Looking 53, 63, 206 Loudness 267

O

Object 64, 138, 179–181 Opening 39, 117, 181, 233, 248, 301 Opinion statement 400 Opposition 255–257, 348 Organisational agenda 414–416 Orienting 93, 128, 184, 274, 340, 442 P

Participation 79, 159, 218, 227, 447–449

Index     457

framework 6, 74, 157, 219, 301, 407 Patient safety 109 Perception 64–67, 109, 185 Performance 12, 43, 193, 223, 260, 270, 300–302, 358 action framework 300 Physical 5, 114, 168–171, 222, 256, 301–303, 329, 446 Pitch 267, 337, 400 Placing-for 144 Pointing 64, 108, 140–144, 178, 224, 447–449 Positioning 5, 66, 153, 286, 304, 445–448 Post-completion 280, 404 Power 150, 256, 300 Practical action 15, 43, 132, 142, 440 Practical task 46, 78, 114, 451 Practice 5, 7, 15, 48, 81, 122, 146, 185, 217, 259, 333, 377, 439, 443, 445, 448, 451 Prefaced 34, 263, 399 Preferred 269, 387 Preparatory principle 144, 169 Professional vision 66, 67, 108 Project 6, 33, 171, 198, 270, 299, 341 position 43 Pronoun 88, 121, 154, 244, 275 Prosody 4, 288, 337–339, 370, 402, 449 Public political debate 331 Pursuit of learnables 306

Q

Question 30, 71–75, 140, 185, 259–261, 310, 357, 426 Question-answer 4, 17, 30, 149, 261–263, 289, 307 Quizzical face 154, 449 R

Redirection 157, 449 Reference 110, 140, 194, 269, 358 Reflexivity 17, 220 Rehearsal 300 Relevance 11 Relinquishing movement 312 Reluctance 158, 190 Repair 37, 149, 230, 266, 358, 400 Reporting 31, 257, 374 Repositioning 157, 443 Resource 7, 15, 46, 65, 149, 177, 238, 260, 303, 330, 372 Response relevance 169, 186 Role 4, 9, 11, 35, 261, 369, 419 S

Salience 194 Schema 127 Seeing 21, 63, 108, 185, 186, 218 Sequence 4, 30, 64, 259–262, 301, 331, 372–374, 401 Shopping 177–179 Shoulder 151, 247, 260, 351 Shouting 232, 246, 271, 286 Showing 20, 36, 40, 41, 63, 64, 66, 68, 76, 97, 98, 110, 119,

458     Index

132, 138–146, 148, 149, 151, 153–158, 161, 162, 164, 167–171, 273, 330, 333, 360, 362, 413, 440, 447, 448 Situated action 49 Situated activity system 11, 51, 52, 57 Situated practice 15, 66, 142 Social interaction 4, 16, 22, 63–66, 70, 133, 210, 262, 300, 330, 340, 361, 362, 375 Sound object 336 Space 3–6, 15, 17–19, 88, 109, 143, 161, 167, 168, 171, 180, 226, 256, 257, 262, 265, 269, 289, 310, 315, 319, 330, 331, 357, 359, 398, 402, 405, 409, 412, 427, 438, 439, 445, 447, 448 Speech act 9 event 9–13, 114 situation 10, 12 Sport 218, 222 Stance 6, 159, 282, 336, 372, 403, 447 Steps 40, 79, 141, 199, 248, 439–441 Stopping 71, 225 Sub-task 440 Surgery 66–68, 107–109, 143 T

Talk-in-interaction 3, 29, 68 Task-transition space 46 Taxonomy 10 Teaching 13, 30, 111, 143, 150, 301, 375

Team sports 218 Telemarketing 50 Telephone 4, 31 Telling 35, 333, 389–392 Time-outs 221–225, 441, 443, 445 Touch/Touching 84–85, 88, 95, 232, 236, 247, 329–331, 342–347, 351, 359–362, 447, 448 Trajectory 40, 46, 51, 74, 76, 79, 140, 169, 185, 190, 194, 198, 262, 310, 376 Transcription 69, 72, 302, 451 Transition 34, 35, 37, 46–47, 79, 93, 116, 117, 122, 124, 229, 243, 246, 303–312, 320–322, 440, 442, 449, 450 Turn construction 84, 284 location 405 Turn-taking 17, 31–33, 159, 371, 398–401, 441, 446 U

Unknowing recipient 79 V

Verbal action 148, 236 Video 3–4, 17–18, 63–69, 79–81, 110, 210, 444 practices 64, 68 shooting 68 studies 63 turn 63 Videorecording 4, 19, 63 Visibility 63–68, 76–85, 97–98, 107, 113, 117–127, 155, 161,

Index     459

191–200, 203, 240, 256, 320, 416, 444–447 Visuality 19, 63–69, 76–85, 98, 99, 109, 121, 185, 186, 193, 198–199, 228, 267, 269, 273, 281, 305, 370, 375, 383, 390, 444 Visual practice 66, 67 Visual turn 63, 65

W

Walking 71–76, 80–81, 86, 89, 98, 179, 188, 190–191, 203, 208, 227, 309, 338, 346, 347, 350, 357, 359, 370, 440, 442 Wh-interrogative 265, 275