VIJAY K. BHATIA
Genre, register, style, text type, and a number of similar concepts seem to have been motivated by a common concern to highlight functional variation in the use of language; however, in spite of this shared concern, they are conceptualised, discussed, and used in applied and sociolinguistic literature somewhat differently. Each one of these concepts represents a particular way of identifying functional discourse on the basis of typically shared characteristics within that category; however, at the same time, each category is also used to identify variation across other members of the same category. News report as a genre, for instance, is identified on the basis of “generic integrity” (Bhatia 1993, 1994) which most news reports represent, but at the same time, news report as a genre can also be used to distinguish variation in language use by comparing it with other genres, such as editorials, film reviews, or letters to the editor, even if they are located in the same newspaper. The same is true of registers, text types, and styles. World Englishes, in a similar manner, indicate integrity within a particular variety as well as variation across varieties. Most speakers of Singaporean English, for instance, will have a number of common features that will identify and establish Singaporean English as a variety in its own right, but this variety, at the same time, will be different in a number of other ways from other Englishes, such as Indian English, Nigerian English, or Australian English. Most of these concepts thus are motivated by a shared understanding of integrity and identity on the one hand, and variation, or creativity, on the other. In this chapter I would like to explore the dual complexity of some of these interesting concepts by looking at a diversity of examples from real life discourse contexts. In doing so I would also like to devote some attention to the motivations for such variations in discourse, both in terms of the use of text‐internal resources, such as lexicogrammatical features available and allowable in specific relevant contexts, and also in terms of text‐external resources and constraints operating on these discourses, such as the rhetorical context, the communicative purpose, the sociocultural action that individual discourses tend to serve. However, before undertaking such a task, I would like to clarify some of these concepts by offering in brief my own perceptions of these terms.
Genres are instances of situated linguistic behaviour in institutionalised academic, professional, or other social settings, whether defined in terms of “typifications of rhetorical action,” as in Miller (1984), “regularities of staged, goal oriented social processes,” as in Martin (1993) or “consistency of communicative purposes,” as in Swales (1990) and Bhatia (1993). Genre theory, in spite of these seemingly different perceptions, approaches, and orientations, covers considerable common ground. Genre is viewed as an instance of language use in a conventionalized social setting requiring an appropriate response to a specific set of communicative goals of a disciplinary or social institution, and thus giving rise to stable structural forms by imposing constraints on the use of lexicogrammatical as well as discoursal resources. Although genres are primarily identified on the basis of text‐external factors, such as rhetorical context, communicative purpose, rhetorical strategies, sociocultural and other institutional constraints, etc., text‐internal factors, such as lexicogrammatical resources, discourse organisation patterns, etc., often serve as insightful indicators and hence are given considerable prominence. Besides, although genres tend to be conventionalised communicative events, they are “dynamic rhetorical structures” which enjoy a certain degree of natural propensity for innovation and are often “manipulated according to conditions of use” (Berkenkotter & Huckin 1995, p. 6).
Emphasis on conventions and propensity for innovation, these two features of genre theory may appear to be contradictory in character, in that one tends to view genre as rhetorically stable textual activity, having its own “generic integrity” (Bhatia 1993, p. 145), whereas the other assigns genre a natural propensity for innovation that is often exploited by experienced writers to create new forms in order to respond to novel rhetorical contexts. However, as we know situations may not always recur exactly in the same way, that is, a person may be required to respond to a somewhat changing sociocognitive need, thus encouraging him or her to negotiate a response in the light of recognizable or established conventions. It is also possible that the individual may decide to communicate “private intentions” within the rhetorical context of a “socially recognized communicative purpose” (Bhatia 1993, p. 13), which might encourage established members of a professional community to exploit generic resources to negotiate individual responses to recurring and novel rhetorical situations. Or it is also possible that people may consciously introduce variations in the use of lexicogrammar, rhetorical strategies, or discourse patterns (Bhatia 1996) to indicate their creative ability to establish their own individual identity, or to achieve a specific effect. However, such liberties, innovations, creativities, exploitations are often realized within rather than outside the generic boundaries. The nature of genre manipulation is therefore invariably realized within the broad limits of specific generic boundaries. Any drastic disregard for these generic conventions leads to opting out of the genre and is noticed by the concerned “discourse community” (Swales 1990) as odd. However, one can see the tension between “generic integrity” and “generic creativity” (Bhatia 2002) here which is highlighted in some of the following assertions.
These are some of the relevant issues for us, as we reconsider typically identifiable and largely differentiated instances of genres, focusing on variations, not only in the use of language in different contexts, but also, perhaps more important, in the way these variations might represent differences in the experiences, aspirations, attitudes, and belief systems of speakers of World Englishes. As we may expect, there are likely to be regularities of various kind, in the use of lexicogrammatical, discoursal, and generic resources; there will be recurrence of rhetorical situations, though not exactly in the same form, or manner; there will also be expert and well‐established users of language from specific disciplinary cultures who would like to exploit, appropriate, and even bend generic conventions and expectations in order to be creatively effective or innovative in their use of language. However, before we discuss these issues any further, I would like to bring in the role of style variations in the shaping of these genres.
Whereas genre as a category is often identified predominantly in terms of text‐external factors, style is generally defined in terms of text‐internal factors, especially in relation to two parameters: a typically individual use of language or a typically functional use of language, sometimes configured in terms of contextual factors of field, mode, and tenor of discourse. In the second sense, it is also called register, as in Halliday, McIntosh, and Strevens (1964), whereas some prefer to call it style, as in Crystal and Davy (1969). However, it is possible to see a considerable degree of overlap in these two terms. In this chapter, I would like to distinguish variation in language use in both these senses, style to refer to an individual’s use of language, as for instance, when one refers to E. M. Foster’s or Hemingway’s style, and register to refer to a functional use of language to suit a particular configuration of contextual factors of field, mode, and tenor of discourse (B. Kachru 1992b). The primary motivation for considering these two together is the fact that both of them are primarily identified in terms of text‐internal factors, such as the use of lexicogrammar, or sometimes, discourse structures, typically used by a genre writer.
However, when we compare the two concepts, especially the way they are identified, we find an interesting and somewhat confusing contrast. Genres, as we have seen in the preceding sections, are primarily defined in terms of text‐external factors, but they also have text‐internal indicators, such as the typical use of lexicogrammatical, discourse moves or cognitive structuring. Styles are primarily defined in terms of text‐internal features distinguished either in terms of an individual’s use of language (Jane Austen’s style), or any specific register‐sensitive use of language (conversational style or legal style). Registers, in this respect, come close to style; although viewed in terms of specific configurations of contextual factors such as field, mode and tenor of discourse, they are also essentially analyzed in terms of typical uses of lexicogrammatical features, with some attention to either discourse patterns, or text‐external factors such as participants, communicative purposes, activity type etc. The main distinction, in my view, between genre and style, then is the degree of attention paid to text‐external or text‐internal features. This also underpins another crucial distinction between linguistic forms and communicative values that linguistic forms take on in real life discourse. Genre focuses more on the communicative values, whereas style pays more attention to linguistic form, although both of them are crucial to our understanding of variation in language use. I think this distinction is fundamentally crucial to our understanding of variations in genre and style, which also explains why genres are recognized, shared, owned, maintained, and even policed by discourse or professional communities, whereas styles are often more centrally associated with individual writers.
World Englishes, in a similar manner, are viewed in terms of text‐internal characteristics of language use by individuals, though they are also conceptualised in terms of text‐external perceptions of the world we live in. Like styles, World Englishes are also reflections of individual uses of language though motivated by sociocultural differences in perceptions and attitudes. Since both styles and World Englishes share the use of text‐internal resources with genre, any creative change in or innovative use of allowable lexicogrammar will also bring in some degree of creativity in the genre construction and interpretation. Differences in style, or variations due to World Englishes, thus have the potential to create significant differences in genres too. However, so long as genres are identified in text‐external factors, changes in lexicogrammar are less likely to bring in substantive variations in the perception of generic integrity, although it is true that such changes or creative variations in lexicogrammar may bring in interesting variations in style. Besides, there may be a number of other factors that influence variation in genres and style in the context of World Englishes, one of which is the nature of individual genre in question, whether it is liberal, and hence more versatile in accepting creativity, or conservative and rigid in allowable use of lexicogrammatical resources. Let me give more substance to such constraints on variation.
In the analysis of variation in genres and styles, especially in the context of World Englishes, an important role is played by the inherent nature of individual genres in question. Genres seem to form a continuum, at one end of which we may find extremely conservative discourse forms, for example, legal contracts, legislative statements, and statutes (Bhatia 1982), and at the other end, we may see exceptionally liberal forms of discourse, both fictional such as literary genres, and nonfictional, such as advertising. The behaviour of many of these standardized genres in respect of their propensity for variation and innovation, including creativity, appropriation, and exploitation, largely depends on the extent to which individual genres may allow variations in the use of text‐internal features of language use, such as lexicogrammar, discourse structuring, and perhaps rhetorical strategies, and the extent to which they may allow variation in text‐external features without changing the nature of linguistic behaviour. In order to ensure that these constraints are respected, we often find social gatekeeping procedures that tend to maintain generic integrity and style, more in professional and institutional discourses than in literary and social genres. In much of academic publishing in English one can see all forms of editorial control by established publishing houses to maintain generic integrity as well as house styles. In some respects, authors are, whether consciously or unconsciously, influenced by what they read, particularly in academic contexts, which is seen as a natural process of initiation into a specific discourse community. This in itself is an essential process of acquisition of genre knowledge, which is a crucial influence on genre construction and interpretation. Over and above that, reviewers and editors play a significant role in curbing individual freedom to innovation (Bhatia 1997). Unfortunately, such constraints often translate in terms of conformity to largely western and native English norms, thereby constraining variation, creativity, and innovation in language use, especially motivated by variations in World Englishes. These factors are important contributors to the maintenance of generic integrity in most conventional genres.
In most of the literary genres, which are primarily identified in terms of their formal characteristics, creativity, and innovation in the use of linguistic form are viewed as a great virtue, whereas in most conservative genres, such as legislative documents, variation in linguistic resources is certainly detrimental to the maintenance of unambiguity, clarity, precision, and all‐inclusiveness, and hence viewed as a serious problem (Bhatia 1993). Genres such as advertising and a number of other promotional documents have traditionally been considered conventional but are increasingly being seen as more and more liberal in their use of linguistic resources, including rhetorical strategies. Interesting from the point of view of variation in the use of English will be what Swales (1996) refers to as “occluded” genres, which invariably escape “the overarching dominance of anglophone nativespeakerism” (Swales 1997: 381). To illustrate some of these processes and their effects, let me consider examples from a range of discourses, some highly conventionalised, both professional and institutional, and others less so. I would like to begin with one of the most conservative forms of discourse, that is, legal texts. Here are four examples of arbitration clauses, constructed and recommended in four different countries, India, the UK, China, and Japan. All four of them represent the same genre but are written and used in different countries.
(The Indian Council of Arbitration)
(London Court of International Arbitration)
(China International Economic and Trade Arbitration Commission)
(The Japan Commercial Arbitration Association)
These four arbitration clauses from different countries appear to be perfect examples of a single genre, highly conventionalized not only in terms of their use of lexicogrammatical resources to bring in a relevant degree of specificity, unambiguity, and clarity of expression, typical of legal statements, but also in terms of their conformity to the typical use of lexicogrammatical resources. The only significant difference one may find in these different and yet overlapping versions are varying degrees of specificity and control, which are the functions of the individual legal systems, rather than any other factor. They represent the most conservative genre and are written in the same legal style and are exceptionally similar in text‐external as well as text‐internal factors. It is possible that they may have been copied from the same source, as it often happens in this area of language use. The gatekeeping is essentially the function of the legal culture prevalent in these contexts, though differences in legal systems sometimes bring in interesting variations.
Literary works, on the other side of the liberal‐conservative divide, present a contrast to what I have referred to as legislative frozen genres, and literature in world Englishes is full of instances of creativity that one can see in different literary genres (see B. Kachru 1990, 1992a; Canagarajah 1994; Lowry 1992; Osakwe 1999; to name only a few). Instead of repeating what has been clearly and convincingly demonstrated in published studies, I would like to focus on another closely related genre, film reviews, which also allows sufficient scope for creativity. Let me take up three reviews of the same film, Something’s Gotta Give, the first written by a native English‐speaking film critic, the second by a Singaporean critic, and the third by an Indian film critic. The three writers seem to be very familiar with the genre, and hence in terms of text‐external factors the three reviews are very much similar. However, in terms of text‐internal factors, the three appear to be very different. They talk about the same film, but in the way they describe people and characters, the way they talk about the plot, their descriptions of events and character relationships, there appears to be little in common. The styles are also very different. Let me illustrate this by taking extracts from each one, where the three writers introduce the main character Harry Sanborn played by Jack Nicholson, and the way they close the review.
The three reviews, although based on the impressions of the same film, are similar as generic constructs, though they are very different in terms of their use of lexicogrammatical resources, so much so that they hardly appear to be talking the same way about the same thing. That is where one can clearly see the tension between “generic integrity” on the one hand, and “generic creativity” on the other. In other words, one can appreciate fully the distinction between genre and style so richly displayed in these examples, which was completely lost in the earlier legal examples. In the context of world Englishes, one can see an interesting tension between “conformity” to native English, on the one hand, “nonnative creativity,” on the other. Example (5) makes use of typical American humour in his babe of the moment, some scenes that should sparkle with screwball effervescence sputter instead. The Singapore extract (6) is an attempt to conform to the expectations of the native English audience by using American slang expressions such as gramps and his woman, my favourite sleazebag Jack Nicholson and the gorgeous Diane Keaton, the run‐of‐the‐mill romantic comedy, some even outdated ones in the US. There is also a typical Singaporean touch as well in the use of abbreviated forms, as in gramps and exec. The Indian one (7), in contrast to these, brings in descriptions coloured by the traditions reminiscent of the oriental culture, such as species of the male gender, a 63‐year old flirt, in one word incorrigible, everything that a woman WANTS a man to be, truly enchanting moments of yearning and longing, to laugh in the face of death. Instead of using dates as in the other two, it makes use of sleeps, which is consistent with expectations in Indian culture, though things seem to be changing now. Similarly, 63‐year old flirt is preferred to the playboy in (5) and sleazebag in (6). One can see how style can be manipulated in two different directions depending on the background and intentions of the author, either toward conformity to native language and culture, as in (6), or towards one’s own culture (7), which seems to be an attempt to translate Hollywood to almost Bollywood style. This creativity in style takes an even more interesting bilingual turn in the review of a Bollywood film Masti, as the focus is on Indian audiences.
This one introduces another factor to our discussion, that is, the intended audience, which in earlier movie reviews were predominantly Native English or upper middle class nonnative English speaking, well versed in English language and culture. As compared with these, the last one from a review of Bollywood movie, the audience consists primarily of Hindi movie enthusiasts, very much familiar with Bollywood culture, who would recognize interpretations of expressions such as shadi ka laddo “wedding sweet”, masti “to frolic; make merry” (appropriated from the title of the movie, but used as a verb in the review), mixed with more modern native English colloquial expressions such as spice up and wacky…adventure. The interesting point here is that experienced and expert writers often have a choice between conformity to native‐English expectations, or creativity in the use of nonnative English or bilingual expressions, and sometimes the choice is made on the basis of assumed audience characteristics and expectations.
Let me now take my third set of examples, which come from a discourse which appears to occupy a place somewhere in between these two rather extremes, that is, cooking recipes. The three examples are from Indonesia, Britain, and India.
Put the coconut milk with all the flavourings and spices and salt into a large saucepan with a well‐fitting lid, and bring slowly to the boil, uncovered. Stir in the rice and return to the boil, then turn heat very low, cover and steam for 20 minutes. Uncover, fork the rice very lightly from around sides of pan, mixing in any coconut milk that has not been absorbed, and replace lid for 5 minutes. Serve hot with fried chicken or curries and hot sambals.
(Solomon 1976: 76)
To make Spice Bag, place peppercorns, black onion seeds, cumin seeds, chillies, cinnamon, cardamom pods, ginger and bay leaves in the centre of the piece of muslin. Draw up corners and tie securely.
Place water in a large saucepan and bring it to boil. Stir in rice, lemon juice and salt to taste. Add Spice Bag and bring back to boil, then reduce heat to low, cover and simmer for 12–15 minutes or until rice is cooked.
(Blackley 1993: 41)
Begin by warming the frying pan over a medium heat, then add the oil and the onions and let them cook for 3–4 minutes, until lightly brown. Next stir in the rice – there’s no need to wash it – and turn the grains over in the pan so they become lightly coated and glistening with oil. Then add the boiling water, along with the salt, stir once only, then cover with the lid. Turn the heat to its very lowest setting and let the rice cook gently for exactly 15 minutes. Don’t remove the lid and don’t stir the rice during cooking because this is what will break the grains and release their starch, which makes the rice sticky.
After 15 minutes, tilt the pan to check that no liquid is left; if there is, pop it back on the heat for another minute. When there is no water left in the pan, take the pan off the heat, remove the lid and cover with a clean tea cloth for 5–10 minutes before serving, then transfer the rice to a warm serving dish and fluff it lightly with a fork before it goes to the table.
(Smith 1998: 200)
The three recipes are written by speakers of three different Englishes, the Indonesian, the Indian, and the British. Although the recipes in all the three cases come from primarily nonnative contexts, the audience in all the three cases appears to be international, which encourages writers toward conformity to native English expressions, such as flavourings and spices, fork the rice, mixing in any coconut milk that has not been absorbed, Spice Bag, the centre of the piece of muslin, draw up corners and tie securely. Most of these expressions will be considered alien to those who are the natives of the place from where the dish originates. In the case of Delia Smith, who is demonstrating an Indian dish to mainly British audiences, you find an interesting variation in the form of explanations for a number of apparently unfamiliar processes, such as Don’t remove the lid and don’t stir the rice during cooking because this is what will break the grains and release their starch, which makes the rice sticky. In contrast to this, consider the following recipe from India for the Indian audiences.
(Parmar 1994: 57)
Semolina Laddu is an Indian dish and the recipe is addressed to a predominantly Indian audience. Look at the brevity of instructions, with the bilingual mix of terms such as ghee, karahi, khoya, 2‐string syrup, laddu, etc., which are assumed to be understood.
Let me move on to a sports event, that is, reporting on the day’s play in cricket. The two texts I have chosen are both from the same website Wisden Cricinfo (13 April 2004), but the first one is part of a report by an Indian writer Amit Varma on an India‐Pakistan match, whereas the second one is by Andrew Miller on an England‐West Indies match.
The two reports are typical of the genre of cricket reporting and both of them, irrespective of the fact that they are written by two different authors who speak two different varieties of English, seem to serve a similar communicative purpose and use similar rhetorical structuring. These are the opening paragraphs of the reports and hence as opening moves they are quite similar. However, there are elements of creativity brought in by way of variation in individual styles. The Indian writer typically views the match as a battleground, which is consistent with the history of prolonged rivalry, often leading to animosity, between the two countries. In the case of the second one, the use of expressions such as being roasted in the Caribbean sun, …suffered a prolonged dizzy spell, …the debutant Geraint Jones applied the cold towels with a soothing 73‐run partnership seems to add quite a bit of spicy explanation to the writer’s perceptions of the day’s play. The second one is a typical reaction from a writer for whom the suffering in the extreme temperature is as bad as doing badly in the game. In this respect, the Indian opening paragraph seems to be relatively more factual in comparison. But these are differences in style, motivated by different sociocultural experiences of the writers and expressed in their own typical styles of reporting in their specific varieties of English. In spoken commentary, one can notice a greater variation in individual styles, as we see in the following brief extracts from the programme Straight Drive on Ten Sports concerning India‐Pakistan cricket series. In response to the host Sanjay’s question on the performance of the two teams, the two specialists, one from India (Navjot Sidhu) and the other from Pakistan (Ramiz Raja) respond in the same genre but in their typical individual speech styles.
As one can see, the two specialists, in trying to answer the same question, not only react differently but also use very different lexicogrammatical resources to establish their individual identities in what they say and how they say it, especially, Sidhu’s attempt to generalise or summarise in terms of metaphorical language, sometimes using clichés, but often very creatively, resonating what Y. Kachru (1992: 342) refers to as “the culture of sound,” in the use of it’s a different ball game altogether… a dismal cause… a hopeless cause… but then hope is putting your faith to work when doubting would be easier, they’ve started to believe their doubts and doubt their belief, if you give the opposition the impression that you’re on the defensive… you are dead meat… troubles are like babies, the more you nurse them the more they grow. It is so full of Sidhu’s own personal style, creatively carved put together in the form his unique selection of lexicogrammatical resources. Yet still, it is considered part of the same genre. On the other hand, Ramiz Raja answers the same question within the structure of the same genre, but in a very matter of fact, precise and clear manner. Both are working within the constraints of the genres, but their style features present an interesting contrast: one constructs his discourse in the true anglophonic direct matter‐of‐fact rhetorical structuring tradition, whereas the other resorts to his Indian rhetorical style to carve out a unique identity for himself in response to the same question. The two speakers make different choices, one toward conformity with the norms, the other towards creativity in his use of language.
In the preceding sections, I have made an attempt to clarify some of the confusion surrounding the perception and use of genre and style in the context of World Englishes. It was pointed out that genre and style, which have often been defined variously by different people in different contexts, share a large area of common ground, which can be effectively used to distinguish variations of different kinds in language use in the context of world Englishes. The two concepts of genre and style are different from each other in terms of their reliance on text‐external factors that determine a genre but are very similar when they are characterised by text‐internal influences. Variation in the use of English, which is also primarily perceived as a function of lexico‐grammatical choices, socioculturally appropriate discoursal patterns, and preferences in the effective use of rhetorical strategies, influence and, to a large extent, determine both the style and the genre in different ways: style more substantially, especially when we consider individual style but less so when we consider functional style, and hence more marginally when we consider genres.
We also considered genres on a liberal–conservative continuum. Most professional and institutionalized genres are relatively on the more conservative side, and hence are more constrained in terms of creativity and innovation, partly because there are gatekeeping mechanisms operating in most of these socially constructed genres (Goodrich 1987; Bazerman 1994). Besides, academic and professional genres are also used for academic promotions and international visibility, and hence two kinds of additional constraints operate on them: first, most writers like to publish in international journals, and second, they take extra care to make their publications conformative to the expectations of native‐speaking anglophone rhetorical traditions. As compared with professional genres, literary or social genres allow greater flexibility to experienced and established writers, who often exploit the versatility of generic constructs to introduce creativity in the use of lexicogrammatical resources of their own specific national varieties of English, keeping in mind their concern to create a unique identity for themselves in their work, their unique sociocultural experiences, attitudes, perceptions, and styles.
Finally, we also find that this process of genre construction has two sides to it; one expects conformity in the construction and interpretation of genres and the other encourages versatility in genre construction by allowing writers to exploit generic conventions to be more innovative. There is very little scope for variation in text‐external considerations; one can find immense scope for variation in the use of text‐internal resources, including some flexibility in the use of rhetorical strategies and discourse structuring but considerably more in the use of lexicogrammatical features. So genre writers, in principle, have two broad choices, either to follow the path of orthodoxy or that of creativity. Some conservatively follow the safe path by submitting to established generic conventions to fulfil their communicative objectives, hence stay with the dominant discourse community; whereas others take a more innovative attitude and exploit available generic resources to create an identity of their own through their innovative practices in genre construction. However, all these creative processes and innovations are constrained by several factors, some of which include the nature of genre in question, the intended audience, the place of publication, the gatekeeping constraints on specific genres, and the “private intention” that the author may have to use the product to fulfil a very specific objective.
To sum up, genre, style, and world Englishes are interesting concepts and all three of them give freedom to language users to construct their identities through various choices, which are not free‐for‐all kind of choices; they are restricted choices, controlled by forces that operate both text internally as well as text externally. Most important, they operate within the confines of a specific genre, rather than outside it. Genre, in this respect, is like a game with its own rules, conventions, and expectations. One may take a certain degree of freedom to bend these conventions, use them creatively within broad expectations of the members of the concerned discourse community, but the moment one takes these innovations too far outside the genre boundaries, it is seen as opting out of the genre and hence viewed as odd by language users, both within a particular variety or within a particular type of world English.