조현용: 한국어 어휘교육 연구

삼 년만 전에 “미운 아기오리”란 아동 책을 읽어봤다.  그때 아주 낮은 한국어 실력의 탓에 사전이 있었어도 이해가 안 된다.  올해는 한국어 대학원 강의를 들을 수 있는 것에 자랑하겠다.  3년 안에 이 등급을 취득한 것은 신기하다고 생각할 수 있지만, 아직도 교재를 읽기, 강의를 듣기, 보고서를 쓰기 등에 숙달에 부족이 크다.  특히 이 책을 읽는 동안 죽을 뻔했다.  제출한 글이 다음과 같다:

 

2.2 이 절에서는 현재 제2 언어교육자들이 겪고 있는 문제를 정확히 찾아내고 있다고 할 수 있는 것이다. 또한 저자는 이러한 문제에 적절한 균형 있는 접근을 제시한다. 현재 제2 언어교육자들이 문자의 의미와 정확성, 즉 의사소통과 자연스러움의 균형을 맞출 방안을 모색하고 있다고 할 수 있다. 특히 성인 외국어 교육의 측면에서 연구가 더욱 활발히 진행되고 있다. 성인 한국어 학습자들의 발화의 목적은 의미 전달에 있을 뿐만 아니라, 성인으로서의 기본적인 소양을 갖추고 있음을 나타내고자 하는 데에 있다고 할 수 있다. 성인이 제2 언어의 사용이나 문법이 적절하지 않을 경우에는 발화의 의미가 무시 당할 수 있다. 성인에 비해 아동 학습자들은 오류를 범하여도 청자는 크게 신경을 쓰지 않는 편이다. 특히나 제2 언어를 사용하는 경우에 그러하다. 그러므로 성인 학습자들은, 아동과 달리, 다소 문법이 완벽해야 한다고 느낀다. 

 

제1 언어 사용자로서 문법이나 형태에 대한 교육을 유창성이 발전하기전에는 받지 않는다. 그렇다 보니 교육 몇몇 연구자들은 학습보다 습득이 더 자연스러우며 효과적이라고 한다 (예를 들어 Krashen의 입련 가설). 위에서 언급한 바와 같이 많은 제2 학습자들은 그렇게 할 여유가 없다고 생각한다.  이러한 의미와 정확성의 사이에 있는 긴장을 완화할 수 있는 균형을 통합교수법이 제시한다고 할 수 있다. 저자가 언급한 바와 같이 특히나 한국어의 복잡한 형태론적인 과정을 고려하면 이러한 균형이 필요하다.

 

3.3 Richard가 제시하는 일련의 기준이 거의 포괄적인 것 같다.  이 외에도 기본어휘를 선정하는 데에 다른 영역에 도움을 줄 수 있는 어휘가 추가될 수 있다. 예를 들어 초급 영어 교재에 사용 빈도가 낮은 “fuse”이나 “pole”과 같은 특정한 발음 현상을 나타낼 수 있는 어휘가 다소 포함된다.  자모 수준에서의 한국어교육에서는 음운 교육이 중요하므로 음운 교육에 도움이 되는가에 관한 기준을 적용이 좋지 않을까 하는 생각이 든다.

 

3.3.1 이 와 같이 어휘 목록을 만드는 데 구어와 문어의 차이를 고려해야 한다.  한국어에 그러한 차이가 상당하므로 이에 주목해야 한다.  영어와 같은 서구 말뭉치에서는 구어와 문어의 차이 아니라, 일상적인 언어와 격식적인 언어의 차이라고 할 수 있다.  한국어에 비해 영어에는 문어와 구어의 차이가 별로 없다고 할 수 있다. 그러므로 한국어 말뭉치에 서한이나 회화 등을 구분하는 자료가 들어가는 것이 중요하다.

 

4.1.2.1 어휘교육의 한 부분으로서 관용표현을 논의하면서 제기되는 질문은 어떤 것을 “관용적”이라고 할 수 있는가 하는 것이다. 분명히 단일어와 교수법이 비슷하므로 고정 연어가 관용적인 범주에 포함되어야 하나, 관용어구, 속담, 사자성어의 경우에는 더 불분명하다.  한 측면에서는 이와 같은 언어적 요소들이 한 단위로 여겨야 한다고 할 수 있다.  이러한 언어 단위를 분해하면 의사소통이 어색해지거나 저해될 수 있다. 특히 표현에 고어가 포함되는 경우, 어휘를 따로 가르치는 것을 시간 낭비라고 할 수 있다. 심지어 사자성어의 경우 개별 요소들은 거의 무의미하다고 할 수 있다. 이러한 관점에서 보면 아무리 길어도 관용표현을 한 단어처럼 가르치는 것 좋은 듯하다.

 

반면에는 표현에 있는 단어를 따로 가르치는 것은 이해와 기억에 도움이 되며 주요한 문화적인 정보를 전달할 수 있다는 점을 무시할 수 없다.  따라서 다른 교육영역과 같이 학습자의 수준 및 수업 기간을 고려하는 균형적 접근법이 적절할 것이다. 

 

4.1.2.2 제2 언어 학습자로서 동음이의어를 구별하는 것은 가장 빈번히 겪는 어려움 중 하나이다.  불규칙용언, 말음의 중화, 한글 맞춤법 규정에 의한 동음이의어 때문에 학습자들이 곤란을 겪으나 이는 주로 구어에 국한된 어려움이라고 할 수 있다. 회화에서 “곧, 곶, 곳”을 구별하기는 어려우나, 쓰여있을 경우에는 명확한 것이 그 예이다.

 

이러한 동음이의어와 달리, 한자에 의하여 필기까지 같은 동음이의어가 구분하기 훨씬 더 어렵다고 할 수 있다.  대부분의 원어민들이 장단음의 구분을 준수하지 않기 때문인 것 이다. 이 책에서도 그러한 예가 발견된다.  연어에 익숙한 원어민에게는 “이 과정을 통해서 학생들은 동일 의미장에 속하는 어휘 묶음을 늘릴 수 있게 되며 . . .”에 있는 “과정”의 의미가 명백한 것 같으나 외국인 학습자에게는 “process”이나 “course”란 번역이 둘 다 가능해 보일 수 있는 것이다.  이러한 경우에는 맥락보다 연어 지식이 큰 도움이 될 것으로 보인다.

 

 

 

6.1.1 초급 학습자들은 배경 지식이나 어휘력이 낮기 때문에 여러 가지 학습 책략들이 덜 유효적이므로 간단한 핵심어 기법을 자주 사용하는 편이다.  학습자들이 고급으로 올라갈수록 보다 맥락의 해석과 같은 선진 책략을 적용할 수 있게 될 것이다.  그러나 핵심 기법이 단어의 의미를 알아내는 점 그 외에 기억 흔적을 강화하는 장점이 고급 학습자에게도 도움이 될 수 있을 것으로 보인다. 

 

고급학자라도 가끔 새로운 어휘를 맞닥뜨릴 때에 사전이나 맥락으로 의미를 발견하다가 그 다음 쪽에서 똑같은 어휘를 읽으면 기억 흔적이 없기 때문에 벌써 의미를 잊는 경우도 있을 수 있다. 이러한 상황에서는 의미를 해독했으나 습득이 안 된다고 할 수 있다.  이와 같은 선진 책략이 비효과적인 경우에는 기억 흔적을 위하여 간단한 핵심어 기법이 적절할 것으로 판단할 수 있다. 

 

저는 이러한 개념을 확인할 수 있도록 스스로 적용해보기로 했다.  본 연구에서는 제가 몰랐던 “유도”라는 어휘가 자주 사용된 것이다.  사전이나 맥락으로 의미를 찾아냈으나 기억에 흔적이 없기 때문에 다음 번 나타났을 때 또 검색해야 했다.  그러므로 6장에 있는 핵심어 기법의 원리를 적용해 보았다.  “유도”의 “도”자를 중심으로 마차 기사가 도넛으로 말을 유도하는 시각상을 만들어놓았다.  그 후에는 다시 사전에 검색할 필요가 없었다.

 

핵심어 기법이 효과적이기 때문에 다른 기억이 안 되는 어휘에 적용해 보았다.  본 연구에서 많이 나타나는 “유사”란 단어를 중심으로 “I wonder if you saw the similarities”이란 문장을 만들어놓았다.  이 번은 시각상이 없어도 다시 “유사”를 검색할 필요가 없었기 때문에 시각상이 필요 요소가 아닌 것으로 보인다.  아마도 여러 가지 학습 양식을 갖는 학습자에게 다양한 핵심어 기법의 적용이 효과적일 수도 있을까 하는 생각이 든다.  즉, 시각적인 학습자에게 시각상을 중심으로, 청각적인 학습자에게 문장을 중심으로 실시하는 것은 효력적인 것으로 보인다.  그러나 다른 학습 책략은 효과가 없다면 고급 학습자에게도 핵심어 기법을 적용하는 것이 적절할 선택인 것으로 보인다.  6장에 언급한 바와 같이 주의해야 하는 것은 핵심어가 너무 많으면 핵심어의 내용을 암기하는 것이 어휘 정의를 암기하는 것보다 부담스러워질 수 있기 때문에 적당히 적용하는 것이 중요하다. 

 

Annie Hall

Why do books still exist?  For that matter, why do stages?  One would think that the inventions of film and television would have made them both obsolete.  There must necessarily be something that a book can do that a movie cannot, or the natural selection of memes (not the internet medium, but the original sense of a social concept that behaves like a gene) would have made them extinct fifty years ago.  And such a position is not difficult at all to support.  Can you imagine a movie version of My Name is Red?  Impossible.  Or Tropic of Cancer? 

And by the same token, the very appearance of Film in the natural order of things means that it must occupy some niche, that there is something a film can do that a book or a play simply cannot.  Of course there is the matter of visual spectacle, that's obvious enough.  I can't  imagine Independence Day or Pacific Rim doing very well as a musical. But there is something else to film.  An overlapping of thought and reality is possible in that medium that is extremely difficult to make clear in a book, and nearly impossible on the stage.  On the page, the reader must either be led through the process, or deliberately misled if the effect is to succeed.  On the stage, scene changes, or at least lighting cues are necessary whenever there's a movement between past and present.  If one's goal is to meld the two, to show how the "real" world takes place at the same time as the world in our minds,  there can't be such lines drawn.  To that end, Annie Hall does exactly what film was meant to do, and in a way that I don't know has been successfully duplicated since.

Which is not to say that I liked it.  Just that it was brilliant.

E.M. Forster: Howard's End

There are evidently some out there who view this book as Forster's best work.  As for me, I wouldn't even put it in the top five . . . it lacks the tidiness and unity of Passage to India, the thematic clarity of A Room With a View, and the personal connection of Maurice.  Even The Razor's Edge had more of what I have come to appreciate from Forster, everything just works so nicely as a unit, in a word: craftsmanship.  Forster is a master craftsman, as demonstrated in nearly all of his other work.  Why has he sacrificed that endearing quality here?  Rather than being disappointed, one has to marvel upon realizing that behind  this very sloppiness lies the whole meaning of the book.

Forster throws a winking hint to the reader about a third of the way through, possibly just when one is wondering where this is all going:

"Margaret realized the chaotic nature of our daily life, and its difference from the orderly sequence that has been fabricated by historians.  Actual life is full of false clues and sign-posts that lead nowhere.  With infinite effort, we nerve ourselves for a crisis that never comes" (103).

Throughout the book, the reader, especially if conditioned by other literature, is wondering who will end up with whom.  For whom does Forster intend Charles?  And for whom Paul?  In any other book, or indeed in any modern movie, such a character would be happily coupled with one of the females by the end of the book.  Forster, pointedly rebelling against such silliness, does no such thing.  The book is not a commentary on relationships at all, but rather on our irresistible human tendency to make narratives out of everything. 

Even in our daily lives, if something happens that seems foruitious or significant, our instinct is to wonder "What does it mean?" and work it into our personal narrative somehow.  If the event is startling enough, it may even prompt us to rewrite the narrative to accomdate it.  For Forster, this is not the way life works.  There is no narrative, no underlying structure to the things that happen in our lives.  The simply happen, and they may or may not end up having significance on the last page.  Life is filled with "red herrings", as he puts it, and this book properly reflects his view.  While not a delight to read, it is perhaps more brilliant for that than if it had all worked out in a way that left us feeling like the last piece of a puzzle had been properly fit into its niche.

"

Friedrich Durrrenmatt: The Visit

 I found this piece to be hilariously entertaining.  The comic possibilities were leaping off the page, and I found it very eaasy to visualize a directorial approach that would have the audience rolling in the aisles.  Unlike The Physicists, the comedy was mostly situational, and wouldn't depend entirely on the comedic chops of the leads.  Sadly, Durrenmatt was not content to write something at once astute and hilarious.  He had to tack on an ending that felt disjointed and didactic.  How much better this play would have been if that last scene followed the tone of the rest of the piece, instead of lapsing into Greek rhetoric of the most obvious and tedious sort.  I would have much preferred it if Ill, the protagonist (?) was spared at the last minute, and then unceremoniously dispatched by the panther that had been prowling around ominously for the bulk of the play. What a great piece it would have been then!  In fact, maybe I'll do a quicky rewrite if I'm ever called upon to direct it . . .

배창환 엮음: 시 읽기 1

Normally a book that I've read in Korean would merit an entry written in Korean, but I find that the language I want to use to describe, not only these poems, but the process of reading them is far beyond my current capacity.  Besides which, I find that a lot of what I have to say isn't about the poems themselves, but about the process of reading poetry in a foreign language.  I have often in this blog railed against the evils of translation in general, and translation of poetry in particular.  Such generally respected authors as Juan Ruiz and Jean de le Fontaine left me completely cold, and I can only attribute that to having read them in verse translations.  On the verso is a wonderful book that I've been picking at for some time: The Poem Itself, edited by Stanley Burnshaw. Burnshaw seems to agree with me that translation in general is generally useless, translation of poetry is insulting, and translation of poetry into verse sacriligeous.

Nonetheless, we simply can't help ourselves, can we?  Upon finding a beautiful gem of a poem, what is one's first thought? Naturally to share it with like-minded readers.  When that poem is in a language not widely understood, the choice between keeping it to oneself and risking its mutilation by translation is a difficult one.  Expressive by nature, I choose to err on the side of communication.

Like Burnshaw, though, I feel strongly that translations cannot stand on their own.  There is simply too much in the original that can't be captured.  Take, for example, the brief but beloved Korean poem "너에게 묻는다" (I ask you), literally /it is asked of you[familiar]/:

연탄재 함부로 차지마라.
너는
누구에게 한번이라도 뜨거운 사람이었느냐.
~안도현

Such a brief poem, and so dense with imagery and layers of meaning.  Take, for example the word "연탄재". I suppose I could translate it simply as "spent charcoal", but that takes away so much.  연탄재 are a special type of pressed heating fuel that become very brittle when used up, and Koreans stack the spent cylinders outside their houses after use.  They make such a satisfying crumble when kicked, that kids sometimes go around kicking the neighbor's stacks.  Is there a comparable habit in America?  The feeling is like that you got as a kid (if you were naughty like my friends and I were) of throwing spent flourescent tubes on the ground to hear the pop, or tipping over the neighbors' garden gnomes.  How can one capture that in a word? 

And then there is the final line. "에게" is something of a multipurpose prepositional ending, and can be translated as "for" or "to" when attached to the pronoun "누구" (somebody).  So in the final line, is it "You were once warm to somebody" as in "you had warm feelings for them", or "You were once warm for somebody" as in "they once had warm feelings for you"?  The first line tends to support the former reading, but it is my belief that a good writer (and 안도현 certainly falls into this category--see the earlier entry on his novella 연어) always embraces multiple meanings, especially in poetry.  Mercifully, the multiple possible meanings of "뜨거운" are captured in the English word "warm", so that doesn't present a problem. 

A three line poem.  A paragraph of explication for each word.  This is why translation into verse is nearly always sacrilegous.  But in the immortal words of Jim White, "We're okay with a little sacrilege here".  Accordingly, here is my best effort at capturing the feeling of the above poem in English:

I Ask You

Don't just go around kicking at spent briquettes.
You too,
Though it may have only been one time,
Were once warm to somebody, weren't you?

~Dohyeon An

What do you think?  Should I have tried to keep it in three lines?  Preserve the brevity of the original?  Did putting a line break at the end of the prosodic phrase (linguistic term that doesn't apply to English; don't get me started)  add or subtract from the texture? 

Perhaps I should try one in Burnshaw's style.  Here's 도정환's 칸나꽃밭 (Field of Canna Lilies).  Even the title is problematic, because there is no English expression that captures "꽃밭". "Flower bed"?  Not a good translation.  "Flower field"? Sounds stupid.  Anyway.

가장 화려한 꽃이
가장 처참하게 진다

네 사랑은 보아라
네 사랑의 밀물진 꽃밭에
서서 보아라

절정에 이르렀던 날의 추억이
너를 더 아프게 하리라 칸나꽃밭

(1-2) The most glorious(spectacular) flower / the most grisly(gruesomely) loses(becomes). Do here selects some richly layered adjectives to describe the nature of the canna lily, which at its peak is indeed the most showy and colorful of flowers, but thereupon quickly becomes brown and crusty-looking.  처참 also carries the meaning of decapitation, and the final verb 지다 can mean to end up a certain way, to be defeated, to fall, or to get stained, all of which are appropriate readings here. 

(3-5) Look at your love / At the flower field flooded with your love / Stand so as to look. Do's choice of the imperative case here imparts an urgency to the stanza, even as he uses the most familiar of posessive pronouns to imply his own involvement in the scenario.  He again uses the verb 지다 to describe the condition of the field, at once fallen, defeated, stained, and finished.

(6-7) The memory of the day that reached the climax / may well make you hurt more field of canna flowers.  Do here chooses the more personal noun for memory (as opposed to 기억) to deepen the connection to the scene, and waxes a bit rhetorical with the choice of 리라, a choice that combined with the imperative case in the previous stanza give the poem a rather detached, advisory tone.  The structure of the final line is grammatically unconventional, and conflates the addresee of the poem with the flowers themselves, which was pointedly not the case in the previous stanza.

While this style of explication certainly is more thorough, I can't help but feel like it takes away the magic of the texture in the original.  What is a poet/scholar/translator to do?  Is there some middle road?  Or should one take the path that is most often trod, namely abandoning the idea that the texture of the original can be captured at all, and skipping straight to the chase.  Shall we see how a Korean poem would appear in the Norton Anthology of World Literature?

Mountain

In the mountain,
There is something that can't be known.

The trees unknowingly
Are growing,

And the soil unknowingly
Is breathing.

What is more, the mountain
Unknowingly,
Is incubating us.

~Dongju Seo

I hate this translation!  Incubate is such an ugly word; I hate the texture of it.  I hate the texture of this whole thing!  It's garbage.  But what is one to do?  Leave an entire body of Korean poetry untranslated?

Friedrich Dürrenmatt: The Physicists

Well the main thing that I can think of to say about this play is that the enjoyability of any performance would have to hinge on the actors involved.  The text simply doesn't offer a lot.  The idea is intriguiging, and the situation is positively hilarious, but not a lot of it comes across on the page.  It's the sort of humor that would have to be delivered in complete earnest, not witty but sly.  Of the kind that one must think about.  As a result, I can't say that I enjoyed reading it much, but that I imagine I would enjoy seeing it on the stage quite a bit.

David Hirsh (ed): Current Perspectives in Second Language Vocabulary Research

I'm not sure how I feel about including this much academic literature in a blog that has heretofore been a bit recreational, but I am a completist by nature.  I have written without fail about every book I have read for nigh on eight years now, and can't think of a good reason to exclude this volume, even though it will be of little interest to most people.  If, by the way, you have an interest in linguistics and literature, leave a comment and we can become pen pals :D

Which is not to say that I have a lot to offer about this book.  I had high hopes for it, simply based on the title, but the connection to my desired topic was rather tangential.  This is a good thing, though!  In developing my thesis, I have become a bit paranoid that my (in my opinion) rather insightful and potentially significant findings have already been documented elsewhere, and are therefore old hat.  What a relief that this book came nowhere near my topic, instead focusing on such things as whether frequency or manner of instruction has a bigger influence on retention, or the distinctions between productive and receptive vocabulary acquisition.  Both significant, to be sure, and I don't consider the reading a waste of time, but I have found that much more helpful material comes from the psycholinguistic perspective, rather than such a pragmatic viewpoint as this volume represents.

Philemon

I confess to a bit of prejudice before starting this book, because I kinda know how the story ends.  It's like someone spoiled the ending of The Sixth Sense for me . . .

1:4 Knowing what Paul is about to ask of Philemon, this certainly smells like buttering up.

1:8,9 A nice touch, and seemingly sincere

1:10 Wow, I didn't expect to find this so touching.

1:20 Hmm I wonder what other requests could reasonably be made under this logic.

So here's the mystery of this disappointingly brief book: who was Onesimus?  What connection did Paul feel with him, or was this a matter of principle, Paul making a point about the relationship between slaves and their masters?  Paul's sincerity pours off the page here, in a way that one seldom sees elsewhere in his writings, so I choose to believe the former: that Onesimus was indeed a remarkable fellow, and special to Paul in some way.  Is he the same Onesimus that later became bishop of Ephesus?  That seems highly dubious, but a fascinating line of inquiry.  In the dogma of the early church, would the power of love and equality as expressed by Christ and, to a lesser extent, by Paul, be strong enough to overcome social prejudices and human pride?

The Godfather Part II

I'm not quite sure what the draw of this movie is.  I know plenty of people who love it better than the first one, but as far as I can tell the only difference is that there's a lot more Italian.  What made the first movie so powerful in my mind was the beautiful study of Michael's evolution into the eponymous character.  Pacino's performance, Coppola's pacing and cinematography--a liquid, nearly musical piece of art. 

Part II? Not so much.  The people who love this movie seem to be drawn by the why and how of the family's development, and the contribution to the mythology of the Corleones, but the difference between I and II in my mind is the difference between showing and telling a story.  Sure telling us why Michael et al are the way they are is effective, but showing us the process (as in I) is affective, and, in my mind, art.

양인자: 늦게 피는 꽃

이 책은  내가 읽은 셋째의 한국 아동 책인데  공통점이 있다.  세 권 모두 부모가 없어서 고민을 겪는 아동에 대한 내용이다.  한, 두번이라면 우연이라고 생각할 있지만 세번이라면 우연의 일치 아니다.  그 아동 책외에, 내가 읽은 연어란 책도 그러한 내용이 들어간다.  한국 문학의 특징인지 모르지만, 생각해보니 한국 영화에도 많이 나오는 내용같다.  왜 그랬을까?  난 부모가 없는 한국인을 별로 안 만났다.  만약에 한국 독자와 시청자들은 그러한 극적인 주제를 좋아하기 때문일까?  아니면 한국 생활에 외떨어진 마음이 흔해서 비유로 표시하는 게 아닐까?  추신에는 작가가 그 후자를 나타낸다.  자기 성장에 대해서 짧게 이야기한다.  "'빨리 빨리'를 강요하니 얼마나 힘들었겠어요 . . . 언젠가는 자기만의 꽃을 피운다는 거, 잊지 말자"고 들려준다. 

나의 한국 친구를 생각해보니, "맞아, 생활이 얼마나 힘들겠다"는 생각이 든다.  여러분 사방에서 강요를 받고 자기 지위를 높이도록 무리해야 하고, 문제가 생기면 혼자서 풀고 . . . 고립감이 얼마나 심할 것 같다.

Stephen Krashen: The Input Hypothesis: Issues and Implications

I feel like a dinosaur sometimes.  Other linguists and teachers talk about the "interactive hypothesis" and "communicative competence" and other relatively modern ideas about language acquisiton, and I think to myself, "humbug".  For all the backlash, and certain undeniable limitations, I feel like Krashen was right 30 years ago in asserting there really is only one cause for authentic language acquisiton: comprehensible input.

Now it's not that simple, of course.  There are matters of monitoring, and affective filters and the like, but there really is nothing that can compare to input when it comes to explaining successful language acquisition, both from a pedagogical and a cognitive standpoint.  This is not to say that one can just throw books at a student and step back, or that as a learner I can just read and read and hope to get better.  Too often, I will read something, encounter a new word, look it up in the dictionary and promptly forget it.  That input didn't get put in for some reason--to use more standard jargon, it didn't become intake.  The question that a believer in Krashen, such as I am, must ask is: what's the hangup?

Krashen often (here and elsewhere) identifies the necessary second element as a lowering of the affective filter, an openness to new information.  Others point to the necessity of attention, that one cannot simply receive input, one must also attend to it.  Neither of these explanations satisfy me.  In the specific case of seeing a new word, looking it up in the dictionary, and even then writing it down in an original sentence, the affective filter seems to be lowered, and attention is certainly being given. 

One might say then that the word is decontextualized, and therefore doesn't find a home in the cognitive matrix.  This is also unsatisfying.  I am surely not alone in learning a word or phrase for a specific, sometimes very necessary purpose, using it correctly in context, achieving my intended linguistic goal, and then promptly forgetting it.  For example, take the word 이발 (haircut).  In preparing to go to the barber, I looked the word up, remembered it, used it correctly, got my haircut, and then a month later had to repeat the same process again. And the following month.  And the following month. That linguistic item was highly contextualized, but somehow it did not beome intake.  It found no home in the syntactic matrix. 

Further complicating matters is the not infrequent occurrence of encountering a word once, and immediately acquiring it--even if it was completely decontextualized and unattended, and my affective filter was sealed tight.  For example, the word 호출 (pickup service).  I heard a taxi driver use it once passively, and have not forgotten it since--and this word is neither common nor particularly useful.  Or even more curiously, the word 바작 (a particular container used by farmers for collecting grass).  I read it in a poem once, looked it up, and have never forgotten it.  This word is so useless that native Korean speakers don't even know it exists.  If I try to use it, they tell me I'm mistaken, until they look it up in their Korean dictionary.  What elements are present in this type of experience that are absent when I purposefully try to learn a word, even making flash cards and trying to cram it awkwardly into conversation? 

As much as I agree with Krashen on every point, he comes up short in this department.  He is not wrong, for he doesn't really adresss it.  It's not a disagreement, just a deficiency in the Input Hypothesis, about which you can bet your lace panties I will continue to have something to say.

H. Douglas Brown: Principles of Language Learning and Teaching

I usually don't write about textbooks here, and not only because it's rare that I read them cover to cover.  In general this blog is intended to examine the way we look at literature and media in all forms, and I just don't know that textbooks often qualify as such.  Furthermore, by the time I "finish" with a textbook, I feel like I've already been called to write about in the most sterile ways possible, and wouldn't have a lot left to say that would feel at home in this context.

But this book is an exception, and not only because I did read it cover to cover.  When I say that this blog is about "media", and even go so far as to express that in the title, I mean that it is about the way in which words and images are used to convey a message, about the signs of which the things that we watch, read, and listen to are signifiers, as Saussure would put it.  In that sense, isn't language the ultimate medium?  The signifier that begets and predicates all others?

If that's the case, how does it work?  Before asking what High Noon means or conveys, suppose we asked how in the hell humans have come to agree what "High" or "Noon" are in the first place.  It's amazing, really, that humans even try to communicate, let alone that we've tried to establish some procedure for doing so.  The fact that it seems to work, that we are on occassion able to send some thought into the mind of another, is veritable science fiction.  In this textbook, which is admittedly a mere scraping of the question's surface, Brown makes the well-advised choice of simply presenting some ideas, not all of which are supportable, and encouraging the reader/student to come up with some sort of framework that works for her or him.  In this arena, after all, a framework is all that can be really hoped for. 

As for me, the idea of how we acquire language has gone through some evolutions.  Chomsky works from the theory that in our brain is a sophisticated circuit devoted for the acquisition and employment of lanugage, but it sure doesn't seem that way sometimes.  It feels more like there's a pachinko machine in our brains that we shoot words into, and sometimes one of them goes into the right hole and becomes "acquired".  I've also at times thought of it as a Klondike game, although they call them different things elsewhere.  You know, the game that you can see at arcades or county fairs that has a stack of quarters or tokens  constantly getting pushed forward by some bulldozer-like blade, into which you shoot still more tokens or quarters, hoping to push some off the ledge and reap your reward?  You just keep putting words into the top until you get lucky and something comes out of the bottom.  Woohoo!

Lately though, language seems more like one of those giant funnels you can see at malls or science museums that purports to reproduce the behavior of bodies in orbit.  You slip a coin into the rim of the funnel and watch it gradually make its way to the center.  Depending on the angle at which it enters the vortex, it could take a long time, or plop right into the middle.  That's what language feels like to me lately.  A vortex, a whirpool that pulls things into its center.  There are principles at work, to be sure, gravity, centrifugal force, the weight of the coin, the slope of the funnel, and lots and lots of mathy things.  But just because there are principles at work does not mean that you can plop something at the proper angle and watch it drop straight into the middle.  It does that sometimes! And it's weird! But good luck doing it twice in a row.  Like why did the relatively useless and obscure word 개강 go right into my sweet spot and become acquired after only one exposure?  While the far more useful and lexically simple word 이발 took me forever? Why did I still have to look it up in the dictionary even the fourth and fifth time I tried to use it to tell somebody I wanted a haircut? 

The fact that it's a mystery does not mean that it's random, as Brown clearly, and occassionally wittily presents in this textbook.  I can't say that I recommend it for pleasure, but if you are curious about how those quarters get in your slot, it's a good start.

Titus

After several years of this project, I feel like the end is really in sight.  Only ten books to go after this, most of them pretty brief, but at least one of which promises to be impossible to parse.

1:1 Paul's greeting here is markedly less warm and familiar than certain others, especially those to Timothy. 

1:2 And where exactly did God make this promise of eternal life?  I suppose it could be inferred out of certain passages in the Hebrew texts, but it is certainly not self-evident.

1:7 Bishop and Elder seem to be used interchangeably here.  I am curious about first century ecclesiastical hierarchy.  When did such distinctions develop, and whose idea were they?

1:10,11 In this, widely regarded as Paul's last letter, we still find the specter of circumcision.  What possible "sordid gain" could advocates of such a practice hope for?  Are they like modern moyls in New York who form an influential guild?  Such a thing seems unlikely.

1:15 Now here is a fascinating verse, one that is open to a whole range of theological interpretation.  If "to the pure, all things are pure", as indeed Paul has indicated in other books with regard to consumption of things sacrificed to idols, how far does this principle extend?  Exactly how far can someone get in the name of good intentions?  For that matter, if to the corrupt all things are corrupt, then the idea of conversion, salvation, and generally trying to better one's self takes on a gloomily futile note. 

1:16 Rather than taking such a thing too far, however, it seems Paul simply means that we shouldn't trust the godly words/deeds of ill-indended people.

2:1-9 It is interesting to notice the different lights in which Paul views the members of the congregation.  Theoretically, what is good is good, whether one is a master or slave, male or female.  However the only things that Paul seems to see as univserally desirable are chastity and self-control, having administered this directive to all four groups.  Slaves and women are, of course, both advised to be reverent/obedient to those in authority, but it is perhaps advisable to file this with the other many examples of conextual and social influences on Paul's writing, and not to give it any particular theological weight. It is perhaps more revealing that Paul gives older women the additional directive to be kind, something that is evidently not required of men.  Such a belief can not so easily be filtered out; the idea that kindness is a virtue is not a modern invention, and indeed permeates Jesus' theology.  Lastly, I notice that younger women are not even mentioned, and can eveidently do whatever they like.

2:11-14 Paul is always concerned with purity and uprightness, but I don't recall it being quite so pervasive in his other writings.  Such a focus is, of course, a marked reversal in tone from the Gospels, which focused on such external, positive things as charity, love, and forgiveness.

3:9-11 As strident as the above admonitions could seem, it is good that Paul dials it back a notch here.  He is seemingly telling Titus no to take silly things too seriously, including the deluded words of others, and I find this approach much more in line with the Gospel than the combative direction in which he seemed to be heading.

3:13 As this seems to be Paul's last book before his death in Rome, it is a bit ominous that he is requesting Zenas the lawyer to be sent to him.

Three American Westerns

In viewing movies from AFI's 100 Movies list, I have found myself in the process of constructing a theory of what makes a movie "great".  I started out by evaluating movies according to certain obvious, discrete elements: direction, performance, screenplay, aesthetics etc., but I lately find myself thinking along different lines.  For better or worse, I've lately been evaluating movies (and tv programs too for that matter) by the presence or absence of three things: character, story and idea.  Let's hold three items that I watched recently up to this candle, and see if it holds up.

The Treasure of the Sierra Madre

I think it's pretty clear by which of the three criteria this item shines, and by which it suffers.  When I look at the use of character in a movie, I find myself asking, "do the people in this film make decisions in a way that I can understand, or do they seem to make decisions because the plot demands it?"  Wrapped up in this question is, of course, the quality/naturalness of the dialogue and the performances.  Neither the writers nor the actors can solicit a "yes" to this question alone.  In Sierra Madre, everybody does a great job, and both screenwriter John Huston and actor Walter Huston (Son and father, respectively) deserved their Academy Awards that year.

When one looks at the story and the idea of the movie, however (are those two things really separate?), the movie begins to suffer a little.  When I think of story, I ask (among other things), "Does each plot element of the movie need to be there to get us where we are going?" And in the case of Sierra Madre, the answer is a pretty forceful "No."  Many things that happened, from the appearance of the mysterious interloper, to the implausible rescue of a drowned boy, seem to exist merely in order to make some other element of the story make sense, almost as though the story were worked out during filming.  As for the idea, it felt tacked on, and the end result is what we have come to see as an "Academy Award vehicle", namely something that exists to highlight performances, rather than to stand on its own merit.

The Searchers

Where the characters in Sierra Madre seemed to exist outside of the plot, the same cannot be said of this John Wayne vehicle.  The main character especially seems to be completely at the mercy of the script, and make decisions purely because he is told to do so.  Likewise, the various plot developments along the way never seem organic, but rather like the product of a committee filled with people who say things like "Wouldn't it be cool if . . ." and "Hey, is there a way to fit in . . ." as rationale.  All of which is not helped by the fact that the central idea is colored by pretty disgusting racism, to an extent that is difficult to explain away with social context. 

Sadly, looking at the movie through this lens fails to account for the one thing that was enjoyable it: namely that it was quite beautifully shot, and really lovely to watch.  Where do aesthetic elements fit into my little schema?  Not sure yet.

High Noon

All three of these movies are trying to do what Western seem to always do: show what a real man is like.  Of the three, High Noon is far and away the most successful.  "Real", of course, in the Western genre means "admirably masculine", but the sense of "human and believable" also applies here.  Gary Cooper's performance and a watertight script  create a character that manages to embody the ideal American male, while still acting like a human.  The story is similarly focused, driven, and relatively free of ornament.  What I found most enduring, however, was the idea of the movie, which seems to be a variation on Sturgeon's Law: ninety percent of everything is crap.  People suck, they really do, and if you, dear reader, manage to have somebody in your life who does not suck, marry them, throw your tin star in the dust, and take that buckboard as far off into the sunset as you can manage.

Juan Ruiz: The Book of Good Love

I'm not really sure how to approach writing about this book.  In fact, I almost feel like I haven't really read it at all.   According to at least one scholar (Spanish literary historian Salceda Ruiz), The Book of Good Love is among "the most beautiful, most humane, and most profoundly moral that literature has ever produced."  What I read, therefore, must have been some other book, because I found it stilted, unfocused and clumsy. Whether a translation can actually capture the spirit of the original is a subject worth considering in any medium, but I feel like a translation into verse is especially suspect. The translator, Elisha Kane, is to be credited for tackling such a task at all, of course.  English rhymes are so scarce compared to those in Spanish, I can only assume that the often forced nature of the end product was unavoidable.  Nonetheless, while he seemed to capture the story and humor of the original, I would be hard pressed to find a single passage that I would describe as "beautiful".  Whether the original was poetic in any way, I may never know, and that leaves me feeling a little dissatisfied.  Unless I plan on learning 14th century Spanish, however (spoiler: I do not), I will have to be content with what I can only assume is a smudged mimeograph of a masterpiece. 

안도현: 연어

난 서울에 거슬러오르기전에 노동현에게서 이 책을 선물로 받았다.  소중한, 순진한, 나를 사랑했던 동현.  그가 아마 우리 은빛연어와 눈맑은연어로 여겼다.  그가 우리 그 물고기처럼 거침을 넘어가고 위험을 맞서고 마침네 같이 죽겠다는 소원을 가지고 있었는 지 이 책을 우리 일음들로 도장 찍었가. 사실은, 난 그런 생각이 완전히 없다. 

난 로멘틱한 남자 아니다.  어떤 남자가 우리 평생을 같이 보내자고 하는 무섭게 내가 바로 도망친다.  그래도 난  은빛연어와 비슷하게 삶의 의미를 찾으려고 헤매오고 있다.  그 의미가 세상에 있는 지 모르지만 알게 된 것 한 가지 있다.  "바다는 지구 위의 모든 대륙과 손을 맞잡고 완전한 하나가 되어 있다.  땅을 물을 떠받쳐주고, 물은 땅을 저셔주면서 이 세상을 이루고 있는 것이다" (121). 지구와 물은 순을 맞잡고 나를 떠받쳐주기도 바란다. 

2nd Timothy

1:1 Not sure what to make, if anything, of the shift from "loyal child" in 1st Timothy to "beloved child" here.

1:3 And even more so now that I perceive real emotion coming through here.  I am especially touched by the relation of Timothy's matriarchal lineage, and find myself constructing a narrative of his life based on this one simple sentence.  I recall that in reading 1st Timothy I was confused by Paul's instructions that Timothy remain chaste, even in the same breath as he said that such a thing was not generally necessary for those serving in positions of responsibility in the congregation.  What was it about Timothy's case that called for heigthened restrictions?  Specifically, of all the sins that Timothy might have been in danger of, why did Paul single this one out for him, seemingly in front of the entire congregation?

The easy answer is, of course, that Timothy's responsibilities were of such monumental import that he could afford the distraction of an Earthly family even less than the bishops or elders of the congregation could.  That argument would indeed close the book on the question, but I am not in the habit of settling for the easy answer.  I am reminded of the persistent hints, both textual and historical, that Paul may have been fighting against his own homosexuality.  The evidence for such a supposition is embarassingly circumstantial, but let us wonder what it would mean were it true.  It certainly does not seem much of a stretch to suppose that Timothy was in a similar struggle, and the their mutual war against the flesh is responsible, not only for their close bond, but also for Paul's rather pointed and public admonition.

1:7 And this reading would dovetail nicely with Paul's emphasis on self-discipline here.

1:12 Referent malfunction.  What is "that day"? there is no day mentioned here.  I am going to make an educated guess and suppose that Paul is referring to the imminent day of his own death.

1:18 Well, so much for that interpretation.  this usage of "that day" is clearly not with any reference to Paul's death.  I guess we will have to assume that Paul is referring to the so-called Judgement day in a way for which Timothy would need no explanation.

2:4-7 Paul seems to be talking in code here.  What would be the "first share" to which he refers here, seemingly indicating that Timothy's reward will be greater than that given to others.  And why does Paul then cryptically tell Timothy to let the Lord tell him what this means?

2:11-13 I am always interested to know from where Paul is quoting whenever he says something like this.  It's not from the gospels anywhere that I recognize.  I am especially curious in this case, because of the interesting turn at the end.  Following the parallel structure that Paul so often enjoys, we might expect the last stanza to read "If we are faithless, he will be faithless toward us", but it does not.  In which case, Paul seems to be using "faith" in the rather narrow sense of "belief in a god".  If that interpretation holds, then this verse is merely a cute aphorism.  But if faithfulness is being used in the more broad sense of "acting with good intent", then this becomes a piece of interesting theology--although it would then contradict the preceding verse, so I don't know that I can really support such a view. Never mind. This is a liveblog, so my ramblings don't always lead anywhere . . .

2:14 Paul, you seem to be reading my mind!  I was just now "wrangling over words" as you say. 

2:17 Okay, so here is a quandary.  This resurrection has not been a central part of Paul's teaching, at least in the portions of it that have been preserved by history.  So the fact that Hymenaeus and Philetus are censured for contradicting what is treated as an established doctrine makes one wonder what exactly the doctrine was.  Even today, most religions have very different ideas about what resurrection means.  What was Paul's exact take?  Whatever it was, it was evidently established enough that he could disown specific individuals for contradicting it.

2:25 I don't know that Paul has followed his own admonition to correct opponents with gentleness here . . .

3:5 This has always been an interesting verse to me.  What exactly does it mean to deny the power of godliness, or, in the translation I grew up with, to have a form of godly devotion, but to prove false to its power. I suppose one interpretation could be offered to the effect that such people don't allow the power of the gospel to transform them from the inside out, and I suppose that's as good as any.

3:6 "captivating silly women" is certainly a nice turn of phrase here, if emblematic of Paul's underlying misogyny

3:16 One of my favorite circular arguments.  All scripture is inspired of God, and benefical for teaching, for reproving, for setting things straight," in the translation I grew up with, not much different from the NISV here.  But is this book included in the appelation "scripture"?  If so, it's hardly a credible witness. . .

4:6 again, I find this verse unaccountably touching and poetic. 

4:13 What could possibly be important about this cloak such that it needs to be brought to Rome from Ephesus.  Even with the conveniences of modern travel, such a trip wouldn't be worth it . . .

In all, I enjoyed this book far more than its prequel.  Thematically consistent, by turns poetic and strident, and genuinely touching.  Timothy and Paul were lucky to have each other, whatever their relationship.

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington

Ok, I'm beginning to realize that the AFI really only has one criterion when it comes to selection.  It doesn't really matter whether the film is characterized by a brilliant script, visionary direction and riveting performances.  The only thing that really matters is the title.

To be more specific, what seems to matter is what the title evokes in people.  This is a combination of the film's reputation and the niche it fills in film history.  For example, The General, while not a great film on the whole, instantly brings to mind groundbreaking camerawork and silent film slapstick.  Important from both a technical and a historical viewpoint, onto the list it goes.

In the case of Mr. Smith, the title evokes, especially in people who may have never seen the movie, a sense of national pride, of belief in the political system, and especially the knowledge of what a filibuster is for.  In short, it has to some degree affected the political consciousness of the country, and so onto the list it goes.  It's too bad, though, because it is terrible.  From the blunt soundtrack to the flimsy script to the positively incompetent editing, this movie is from beginning to end a stinker.  The first five minutes are all you need to see what I mean, as the entire movie can be deduced from those painfully recited scenes. 

However, if I seem to resent AFI's choice of such terrible material to represent American film, I take solace in the fact that such prisms of unimpeachable quality as City Lights and Apocalypse Now remain on the list.  I'm still stunned by the quality of those films, so best to end on that note . . .

Apocalypse Now

I don't like war films. There always seems to be a lot of "Hoohah!" and "Fuck yeah!" and nonsense about glory and honor and bravery, none of which means very much to me in that context.  To me, there's more bravery and glory in the simple act of getting out of bed in the morning than in taking a machine gun and blowing shit up.  For that reason such favorites as Rambo and Top Gun don't just leave me cold, I actively hate them. Is there really anything enjoyable in that sort of macho nonsense?  Not for me.

Which is why I am surprised to be writing that Apocalypse Now may very well be the greatest movie I've ever seen.  Nothing about it felt affected or pretentious, and that sort of epic often deteriorates into a masturbatory spectacle.  The performances were impeccable, every last one, to the extent that I often wondered if there was even a script at all.  Certain of the soldiers' monologues especially struck me as uncommonly honest.  Of course, Coppola's camerawork and vision were also spot on, and the overall result was an immensely satisfying ambiguity that kept it far away from anything didactic. 

It is a bonus to my marginally literary mindset that it was not only flawless as a movie, but also literate, weaving in elements of Conrad and Eliot without making those things the centerpiece of the film.  I am pressing my mind to think of a "however", some point that was less than perfect, but I have nothing.  It was a masterpiece of film, and of literature.

이문열: 우리들의 일그러진 영웅

미국에서는 Huckleberry Finn이나 Lord of the Flies이란 책 시민의 80% 이상이 읽었으니까 그 책들을 읽어야 미국을 이해할 수 있다.  그래서 제가 한국을 이해하기 위해 친구에게 "중하생들 모두다 읽어야 하는 책은 무엇이냐"고 물었다.  답은 "우리들의 일그러진영웅"이었다. 

그 책을 읽기 시작했을 때는 벙역 없이 약 10%를 이해할 수 있었다.  한국어 실력이 노파질수록 이해하기가 더 쉬워졌지만 오늘 읽은 마지막 쪽을 50%밖에 이해 못 했다.  아쉽게도 중학생의 수준이 아닌 것 같는다. 

그래도 번역 덕분에 이 첵은 한국 사회를 잘 표시하는 지를 알게 되었다.  다른 독자가 다르게 생각할 수 있지만 제 생각은 엄속대가 일본을 비유하며 문제를 해결한 담임선생님은 미국.  전 미국을 존경하기 때문 아니라 오하려 미국은 별로 좋지 않다고 생각하는 만큼 담임선생님의 해결 방법을 승인하지 않는다.  그래도 한극의 해방에 데한 비유로 이 책만 할 것이 없다고 생각한다.