M. NourbeSe Philip audio file of her reading

M. NourbeSe Philip gave a reading on May 12 as a guest of the Poetry and Poetics Workshop (of the Alice Kaplan Humanities Institute at Northwestern) and of the Center for the Writing Arts.  (See http://www.nourbese.com)

Philip read from her 2008 book Zong!, which seeks to discover an adequate way of showing the inadequacy of our ability to write anything as extreme as the history of a slave massacre at sea.  In this work, Philip pursues the disassembly and reassembly of syntactical structures and the use of words as objects. Public radio station WBEZ of Chicago recorded the reading, and it can now be heard at: http://www.chicagopublicradio.org/Content.aspx?audioID=42193

From Robert Gundlach (2009), “Reflections on the Future of Writing Development,” in Beard, R., Myhill, D., Riley, J., and Nystrand, M. (eds.), The Sage Handbook of Writing Development. London: Sage Publications Ltd., pp. 574-580 – excerpt pp. 576-8.

Out walking on an autumn afternoon not long ago, I came upon five-letter inscription written in chalk on an otherwise unoccupied sidewalk near my home.  Written entirely in upper case letters, it was apparently the work of child who lives in the neighborhood.  The letters were these: STRTE.  A box-like rectangle of chalk lines was drawn around the set of five letters, creating the impression that the text may have been designed to resemble a sign or banner.   Combining my knowledge of the neighborhood, in which children sometimes organize sidewalk races on bicycles or big-wheel riding toys, and my experience deciphering young children’s early experiments with written language, I arrived at the guess that STRTE was written by a six or seven year old child, was meant to represent the word “START,” and that the surrounding rectangle signaled an aim to produce a sign or banner indicating the starting position of a riding course for young riders of bicycles or big-wheel toys.

If we grant the plausibility (if not the firm accuracy) of this conjecture, we can see that this small bit of discarded writing was very likely the work of a child who now, as we approach the end of the first decade of a new century, is just beginning to develop the ability to write — is very nearly at the start, so to speak, of understanding how to use written language effectively, of knowing how to create conventional written forms and novel written texts, and of managing various writing tools and processes.  Assuming that this child will advance beyond the current “STRTE” level of understanding and skill, what can we say about what lies ahead as he or she continues to develop as a writer?  What will be involved as this beginner continues to develop as a writer in the years and decades to come, with the processes of learning, relearning, adjusting, and adapting possibly spanning nearly the entire twenty-first century?

Perhaps the first observation is that the tools for writing — writing’s technology — available to writers and appropriated by beginning writers may vary more than is accounted for in many of the discussions of new media and written communication.  This young writer wrote with chalk on a sidewalk.  For this child, there was, as Roger Chartier (2004) puts it, a certain abstraction of text from materiality, inasmuch as a starting-line banner, if my guess about this text is right, was simulated rather than produced directly.  But there was a palpable materiality to this written composition nonetheless: a mark made with chalk on concrete, a gesture that left a trace.  Learning to write for this young writer may be like learning to write for many other young writers, involving a physical, social, and cognitive act that extends the functions not only of speaking but also of drawing and certain kinds of play (McLane and McNamee 1990).

Even this glimpse of one young child’s experimentation with writing alerts us to the complexity and variability of writing development. Writing development can be shaped in crucial ways by formal writing instruction, but, as recent scholarship has suggested, a premise of understanding writing development is that learning to write often involves more than being taught. (Gundlach 1992, Tolchinsky 2006). Viewed more comprehensively as a dimension of language development, learning to write can be understood as an outcome of the interplay of interacting histories, which, for each individual person, are both broadly cultural and specifically biographical. Individuals begin learning to write, and continue developing as writers — when indeed particular individuals do continue to develop — along various trajectories. These trajectories are shaped by the interplay of individuals’ own inclinations to experiment with writing and their experiences with writing and written language in their families, their communities, their schools, and, especially notable in our time, in the extended virtual geography, sometimes multilingual, of both public broadcast media and personal computer-based, on-line reading and writing activity. (Danet and Herring 2007, Gundlach, 2004). Generalizations about writing development must be tempered by the steady recognition — and hence the firm qualification — that people differ in the ways they learn to write and in the resources they are able and inclined recruit to support the process. These differences are not determined exclusively, and perhaps not chiefly, by the extent to which a writer has access to advanced technology.  Access to chalk, a neighborhood sidewalk, and friends who ride bicycles may form at least a small part of the story for some beginning writers, both now and in the years ahead.

Nonetheless, the increasingly pervasive use of digital technology for written communication in cultures across the world will very likely change the character of writing development in the decades to come in ways that we can scarcely predict today.   Liliana Tolchinsky makes an important contribution in her recent book, The Cradle of Culture and What Children Know About Writing and Numbers Before Being Taught, by emphasizing the value of focusing on the cognitive and linguistics processes involved in the individual “child’s personal work” in “imposing certain principles on the information provided by the environment.” But as Tolchinsky notes, “Children’s ideas [about writing and written language] are not idiosyncratic inventions–although they may appear as such–but rather reflect the selection and elaboration” of what they have encountered in their experience of interacting with readers and writers and their encounters with written language (2003: 93).  In the encounters of the future, children will come upon readers and writers who are increasingly likely to use computers to read and write.  They will also find themselves engaged with computers themselves, and very possibly with machines that offer a mechanized voice reading aloud a text from the screen, whether the text has been created by another writer or by the child himself or herself.  Furthermore, as speech synthesis software programs become more common for reading aloud to beginners, it is also likely that speech recognition programs will also become more common and more adept in transforming a speaker’s utterance into a text on a screen (Sperber 2002, Gundlach 2003).  Some children’s apprenticeships in the course of writing development may well become partly facilitated by — and possibly shaped by — software with features designed to convert text to speech and speech to text.

As speech recognition and speech synthesis software programs become more sophisticated, the machine itself will seem to become increasingly “intelligent” in directing the writer’s choices, in making corrections or other adjustments, and in predicting on behalf of the young writer what the unfolding text could or should include next.  The processes of writing and re-reading one’s own writing-in-progress could thus become increasingly a matter of managing digital tools that offer meaning-inferring and choice-posing software.  Writing with such digital tools may become analogous to mathematical problem solving with the use of advanced calculators and other digital problem-solving tools. Writing development may increasingly involve learning to use “intelligent” composing and editing software effectively.

For at least some children, then, marking sidewalks with chalk may give way in future decades to experimenting with the use of digital writing tools that may resemble hand-held calculators for mathematical operations — writing tools that can create written sentences from a developing writer’s speech and that can speak back, in mechanized voice, the software’s best inference of the words and sentences the child has intended to enter as text.   Even in such intensely mediated and highly mechanized future environments for learning to write, however, a young writer’s development will continue to be influenced not only by access to the digital tools themselves but also by engagement with people who provide help with learning the use of the tools and, as important, for whom the writing and reading activities made possible with such tools have evident meaning and importance.  Such engagement will continue to provide what Emilia Ferreiro calls a child’s highly consequential “first immersion in a ‘culture of literacy.’”  This immersion, Ferreiro suggests in her comments on “Reading and Writing in a Changing World,” provides the experience of  “having listened to someone read aloud, having seen someone write, having had the opportunity to produce intentional marks, having taken part in social acts where reading and writing make sense, and having been able to ask questions and get some kind of answer” (2000: 59).   It is in this kind of sociocultural context, a context that provides opportunities for a child to interact (and, importantly, to identify) with more experienced members of a cultural community and to learn from observing them, that a child undertakes the social and cognitive work of transforming his or her experience in a linguistic environment into individual linguistic ability.

References

Chartier, Roger (2004). Languages, books, and reading from the printed word to the digital text.

Translated by Teresa Lavendar Fagan. Critical Inquiry 31, pp. 133-152.

Danet, Brenda, and Herring, Susan  C. (eds.) (2007).  The Multilingual Internet:            Language, Culture, and Communication Online. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Ferreiro, Emilia (2000). Reading and writing in a changing world. Publishing Research Quarterly 16, pp. 53-61.

Gundlach, Robert (1992).  What it means to be literate. In Beach, R., Green, J., Kamil,  M., and Shanahan, T. (eds), Multidisciplinary Perspectives on Literacy Research. Urbana:NCRE/NCTE, pp. 365-372.

Gundlach, Robert (2003). The future of writing ability. In Nystrand, M. and Duffy, J. (eds.),            Towards a Rhetoric of Everyday Life: New Directions in Research on Writing, Text, and            Discourse. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, pp. 247-263.

Gundlach, Robert (2004). Words and lives: Language, literacy, and culture in multilingual Chicago. In Farr, M. (ed.), Ethnolinguistic Chicago. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum, pp. 381-387.

McLane, Joan B. and McNamee, Gilliam D. (1990). Early Literacy. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Sperber, Dan (2006). Reading without writing. In Origgi, G. (ed.), text-e: Text in the Age of the Internet. Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 144-154.

Tolchinsky, Liliana (2003). The Cradle of Culture. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum.

Tolchinsky, Liliana (2006). The emergence of writing. In MacArthur, C.A, Graham, S., and Fitzgerald, (eds.), Handbook of Writing Research. New York: The Guilford Press, pp. 83-95.

A Very Nigerian Literary Festival

SEFI ATTA was the Visiting Writer in Residence at the Center for the Writing Arts at Northwestern during the fall quarter of 2008. She was born in Nigeria, educated there and in England, and for some time has lived in Mississippi.  This is her post:

In September 2009, I was a guest writer at the Garden City Literary Festival in Nigeria. It was held in Port Harcourt, the capital city of Rivers State and commercial center of the oil-rich delta region. Port Harcourt is known as the Garden City, but in recent years has become the kidnap capital of Nigeria.

I wasn’t worried about traveling to Port Harcourt. I had read reports about oil rig workers and oil company executives who had been kidnapped by militia groups, but they were expatriates.  Just before I traveled, a gang had abducted a popular Nollywood actor and held him for ransom, but that was in a neighboring state. As far as I was concerned, no one in Port Harcourt would recognize me, except the festival director, Koko Kalango, and other employees of the Rainbow Book Club who had seen my photograph in their brochure.

I arrived in Port Harcourt in the early evening of the 24th to find my face and name on billboards advertising the festival, but I still wasn’t concerned about being kidnapped.  More renowned writers like J. P. Clark and Ngugi wa Thiong’o were attending the festival, and the only person who had bothered to waylay me was a Drug Law Enforcement agent at the airport.  He was just annoyed that he couldn’t intimidate me, and to scare him, I told him I was a guest of the state governor, which was true.  I was meant to be at a command performance of J. P. Clark’s play, The Wives Revolt, at the state government house that evening, and I was running late.  Koko Kalango, who was already there, had sent a driver and escort to meet me at the airport. The traffic to the city center delayed us further.

My hotel, Le Meridien, was fairly posh by international standards.  I got ready and the driver took me to the government house, where I met up with Koko Kalango.  I was in time for dinner, but I’d missed the play.  I reminded J. P. Clark that I’d met him once before as a child, through my late father, then I had an Obama moment when I met Governor Amaechi.  He was my age, but I’d always imagined Nigerian politicians as old men.  Governor Amaechi gave a welcome speech during which he mentioned that he had studied Ngugi’s books as a student.

This was the second year of the Garden City Literary Festival, a collaboration between Rivers State Government and the Rainbow Book Club.  For the next couple of days, drivers shuttled me and other guests from Le Meridien to Presidential Hotel, where the festival was located.  Because of the risk of abductions, we were always accompanied by armed guards, which didn’t actually make me feel safer, but I remained unconcerned.  There was a press conference to attend, workshops, open mic readings, interactive sessions and a prize-giving ceremony for school children.

Unlike the students I’d encountered at Northwestern University, the students who attended my fiction workshop at the festival did not write about personal relationships.  Their stories were topical.  I had stories about student cults and local abductions.  Some had typed their stories at home and others had gone to Internet cafes.  One asked if it was fair that I used the same standards I used overseas to critique their work and I said yes, as I did not expect less from them.  They were on par with American students, but none of them was writing for fun; they all wanted to be published, eventually.

Several Nigerian publishers were at the Garden City Literary Festival and I often hear that there is no money in publishing in Nigeria.  There is definitely not enough investment in the publishing industry and the market for literary fiction in particular is small, and so is discretionary income.  Plus, the average Nigerian would rather buy a Nollywood DVD than a book by a Nigerian writer.  But Nigerian publishers can and do get funding to promote books.

As an accountant turned writer, I find that the lack of accountability surrounding fundraising practices in Nigeria is cause for concern.  Private, for-profit publishers don’t seem to have any requirements to declare how much funding they raise in a writer’s name or how the funds are spent.  If a writer doesn’t have name recognition, or if (as I have recently discovered) a writer is unwilling to allow a publisher to solicit funds in this ambiguous manner, there is little incentive for a publisher to promote the writer’s book, so the experience can be rather like having your book held for ransom.