‘Repetition is based on body rhythms, so we identify with the heartbeat, or with walking, or with breathing.’ Karlheinz Stockhausen
In part 1 of this blog, I listed various types of repetition that will be familiar to you and others that may not be. In this offering, I’ll be looking at examples of how you might get your pupils to use some of these complex terms, and will explain why I think it’s a good idea to do so.
Let’s start by looking at a famous passage, from Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh, that contains repetition:
‘Choose a life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a big fucking television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers… Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, sticking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away in the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life… But why would I want to do a thing like that?’
A pupil well drilled in the AFOREST mnemonic will be able to easily spot the language feature of ‘repetition’. They’ll notice that the word ‘choose’ is repeated throughout the passage and will probably be able to write that ‘Welsh uses repetition to suggest the narrator’s feelings of frustration with modern life’. Lots of English teachers will argue that that’s enough, that there’s no need to complicate matters by introducing obscure terminology. I disagree. Apart from naturally sounding more sophisticated, I contend that the different terms outlined in the previous blog allow a) greater understanding of the nature of any given repetition in a text and b) more chance of insight into the context.
And context is key with language features. How many times have you been asked by a pupil about the purpose of a rhetorical question or alliteration? I used to be guilty of waffling on vaguely on about ‘making the reader think’ or ‘speeding up the rhythm’ but now I just explain that it is totally dependent on the context of the example. This can be explained to some extent by the background skills vs knowledge debate: we can all stick up posters that tell our pupils what a metaphor is and teach the generic skill of spotting them, but only when we get them to truly understand the specific usage in a text can they usefully analyse the use of that device. So, let’s have a go at applying something more complex and teasing out the context a bit further:
The use of anaphora places emphasis on the opening to sentences. Therefore, the writer is encouraging the reader to pay particular attention to the beginning of each sentence/clause/line. This is a deliberate choice, of course. Rather than just repeat the word (or group of words), as the label ‘repetition’ would imply, they are very much accentuating the initial lexical choice. In this instance, Welsh chooses to place the verb ‘choose’ at the start for the following reasons:
- It highlights the fact that, before anything – big or small – can be achieved, first we have to make a decision
- It conveys the unrelenting pressure to make those decisions
- It makes each sentence an imperative; there is the paradox that we are being instructed to choose
- The options that follow the choice become increasingly less appealing. Yet, the primacy of the verb leaves us hammered into still feeling like we must select something
- The continual use of anaphora reflects the desire to choose ‘objects’ to possess. This gets to the heart of Welsh’s anti-consumerist, anti-capitalist, anti-conformist message. For the author/narrator, our choices are anything but: we have been brainwashed into automatically – the anaphora illustrating it is literally the first thing we think of – into yearning to choose something to have
- ‘Choose life’ was a 1980s anti-drug slogan. Welsh subverts it by using the initial verb as a springboard for each other decision about our existence.
You’ll also notice that the extract uses anaphora in a circular manner. In this case, it’s an example of commoratio (returning to the strongest argument). Switching the initially optimistic imperative into a nihilistic rhetorical question nails down the existential angst of the narrator. This rhetorical question isn’t just making the reader think, it’s making the reader question their worldview and ultimately the futility of our existence.
Let’s look at another example, from Othello, of where using the specific term – epizeuxis this time – makes the analysis more precise:
‘Even now, now, very now, an old black ram
Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise!’
Shakespeare’s use of epizeuxis ‘now, now, very now’ could be interpreted in the following ways:
- the use of successive ‘now’s emphasises the terrible immediacy of the situation (Othello seemingly taking advantage of Brabantio’s daughter): it is literally happening as we speak
- By placing these words next to each other it also (apologies for the indelicacy here but Shakespeare wouldn’t mind) implies the penetrative nature of the words going into Brabantio’s head and mirroring the sexual act – Stockhausen’s ‘body rhythms’ taking place.
- The third ‘now’ is actually diacopic, adding emotional intensity and prolonging the telling of the awful rumour. The intervening adverb ‘very’ amplifies the sense of urgency and futility that the father feels.
- The epizeuxis of ‘arise, arise!’ acts as an imploring coda, a passionate call to action that wouldn’t have the same affect if spaced out.
I hope by now that you’re starting to feel that there may be something in this. I fancy the challenge, you’re thinking, but how should I teach these terms practically? My advice:
- Don’t try and introduce them all in one go. Giving them a long list and getting them to find examples of each in passages is a bad idea. They’ll be overwhelmed and likely to start saying ‘this is the one where it’s at the end and the beginning but I don;t know what it’s called’. Do no more than three at a time, and go back to test that they’ve stuck. I’ve been teaching my Year 10s for two terms now and we’ve only covered four or five of the more complex ones.
- Choose the ones that will feature prominently in the literature texts you will study, preferably in your key quotes. There’s little point spending ages on obscure terms and not giving pupils the chance to apply them in context.
- Tell pupils not to panic if they can’t remember the term, or the correct spelling, during assessments. If in doubt, ‘repetition’ will suffice.
- Don’t reward pupils for merely using the term. Ideas are only sophisticated if clearly expressed. If they spot the use of symploce, say ‘so what?’ until they can explain why it’s been used in that example.
- Think structure as well as language analysis. Is there a pattern, like in the Trainspotting example?
- Link to evaluation where possible. Is the commoratio effective or are we drifitng into homiologia?
- Get them to use these rhetorical devices in their own writing. That’s bloody obvious isn’t it. Isn’t it?
Thanks for reading,