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Syntactic Argumentation and
the Structure of English
Syntactic Argumentation and
the Structure of English
DAVID M. PERLMUTTER
SCOTT SOAMES
Copyright © 1979 by
4 5 6 7 8 9
Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ix
INTRODUCTION xi
V
vi Contents
DISCUSSIONS OF PROBLEMS
BIBLIOGRAPHY 591
A CKNO WLEDGMENTS
The people who contributed to this book in one way or another are
too numerous to mention. They include the many students and teaching
assistants who used these materials in different stages of development and
whose suggestions and questions led to improvements. Special thanks go to
Jane Soames for her invaluable work in typing and editing the manuscript
and for living with this book over a long period. Without Brian Joseph, the
chapter on modern Greek could not have been written. Polly Jacobson read
and commented on the manuscript of Part 8. Mark Baltin, Geoffrey Pullum,
Ivan Sag, and Annie Zaenen gave valuable advice on the Bibliography. Philip
Hubbard, Keiko Otsuka, Gregory Richter, Carol Schwartz, and Kunitoshi
Takahashi helped with proof-reading, and Ava Berinstein escorted the edited
manuscript from Cardiff-by-the-Sea to Los Angeles.
ix
Introduction
The best way to learn syntax is not simply to study it, but to do it. The
purpose of this book is to bring readers to the point where they can "do syntax"
themselves. This ability is essential for understanding the field and reading its
burgeoning literature.
We have designed the book for students in linguistics, for those in related
fields, and for those studying linguistics for what it can contribute to their
general education. We have found that focusing on syntactic argumentation is
the key to meeting the needs of each of these groups.
The student who learns how to use linguistic data to argue for one hypoth-
esis over another learns the essence of scientific method. An important advan-
tage of linguistics in this respect is that its data is generally much more accessible
than data in other sciences and typically can be obtained without time-
consuming experiments. In the course of constructing syntactic arguments, the
student discovers that each time a set of data leads to the rejection of one
hypothesis, another must be formulated and tested against further data. In this
way, one is led to investigate language in greater and greater depth and to
discover the surprising intricacy of what may initially have seemed to be a
familiar and ordinary phenomenon.
Syntactic argumentation is also crucial for the student who wishes to go
further in linguistics. For this student, it is as important to learn the reasons for
a theory as it is to learn the theory itself. Particular theories and proposals will
give way to others in time. What remains most stable are the standards of
argumentation and the criteria for choosing among competing hypotheses. In
xi
xii Introduction
addition, as new theories replace old, each new one is expected to account for
the data covered by its predecessors. Thus, in constructing arguments the stu-
dent not only learns why some hypotheses have been rejected in favor of others,
but also becomes familiar with data that has shaped the direction of the field.
Most arguments in syntax use data to show that if one makes certain
assumptions, then certain conclusions follow. Examples of various argument
forms are the following:
In general, arguments are not absolute. They typically do not show that some-
thing must be the case, independent of other assumptions. Rather, they show
that given specific assumptions, certain conclusions follow.
In some cases the arguments we present are quite abstract. For example,
after giving an argument of the form (1), we might speak of "freeing conclusion
D from assumption B." Doing this involves showing that the data requires D,
whether or not one assumes B. Abstract though they may be, arguments of this
type are vital for an understanding of the theoretical and empirical bases of
linguists' conclusions.
2. THEORETICAL ORIENTATION
Language pervades almost every aspect of our lives. We talk, think, argue,
question, theorize, command, insult, promise, and joke—all with language. An
infinitely adaptable system, human language allows speakers to be as specific or
general as they wish in communicating on an endless variety of topics. The
ability to use language in this way is unique to human beings. It is so important
that we can scarcely imagine what our lives would be like without it.
The focus of the study of language is linguistics, which aims at the devel-
opment of a unified account of all human language. Although linguistics deals
with a wide variety of different areas involving many complicated and subtle
issues, its central questions can be simply stated:
3
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Author: Various
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VOL 3, NO 3
MAY '53
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119 Ward Rd., North
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VERSE:
THREE A. M. by Walt Klein
AT TAKEOFF TIME by R. L. Clancy
NOVA by Keran O'Brien
THE SEA AT EVENING by A. Duane
TAVERN MOOD by Walt Klein
FEATURES:
... ENTR'ACTE
ASSAY REPORT
WHAT THE CAT DRAGGED IN
... ENTR'ACTE
This issue was published with the thought in mind that it would be
nice to distribute it at the Midwestcon—in the rush to get it finished,
the aid of Robert J. Fritz (editor of the now defunct HYPEROPIA)
and Joseph M. Fillinger (editor of the now defunct GHUVNA). This
was a mistake—as a matter of fact, two mistakes! Note the
sloppiness of the interior reproduction. Note the cover, and realize
that Joe swiped it from a Momberger cover on the second issue of
GHUVNA; it suffered in the process, and I expect Charlie to sue me
any day now. I'm tired of saying in each issue that the next one will
see, finally, publication of the DeWeese story. It is not a myth ... and
it will appear. What? Well, now, you just wait and see!!
Beginning with this issue I am experimenting with kinds of stories—
I'm tired of publishing tales that "almost made the pulps;" eventually,
FAN-FARE will be issued in a better format than mimeographing—I'd
have it lithographed beginning right away if I thought reader support
would pay most of the cost, but I've learned from others' mistakes.
And I refuse to issue it in the not-so-costly microscopic form which
early issues of SF DIGEST used.... I'd have to provide magnifying
lenses!
Next issue the regular page of book reviews should return, and I
hope to have another installment of the Loverontz column—having
been an observer to one of the latest atom explosions, he should
have interesting things to comment on....
—8 June, 1953
—THE EDITOR
THE ANNALS OF AARDVARK
BY HARLAN ELLISON
CHAPTER 1
THE ENTRANCE
C'mon in won't you? You can sit right down there in that rocking
chair. Oh! you saw the sign on the door and wanted to ask me about
Aardvark, did you? Well, I guess I'm the best person to tell you about
him since I was with him from the moment he entered the country.
Do you want to hear from there or from the real beginning? Well,
okay, I'll tell you about the start when he met the Valkyries.
You see Aardvarks can live only in the warmest places. So, when the
Aardvark got lost in the Swiss Alps, he was very uncomfortable.
Don't ask me how an Aardvark got to the Swiss Alps or what he was
doing there in the first place. He's never told anyone, except maybe
the Valkyries.
Anyhow, stumbling around in the freezing cold, he got lost; but good.
Just as he was about to give up and say farewell cruel world, he
stumbled upon an ice crypt. Stumbled, he ran into it and knocked out
two teeth.
This crypt which was set in the side of one of the glaciers was not an
ordinary one, for frozen within its icy walls, rent free, were two
Valkyries and a large elephant. Even the elephant was unusual. He
was the sole owner (the Valkyries obviously had no use for one!) of a
handsome brown handle-bar moustache, nicely waxed and
glistening.
The Aardvark, who was inquisitive as are all great men, strolled up to
the ice crypt as nonchalantly as a freezing Aardvark could, and dying
of hunger, put forth an exploratory tongue and licked the ice. To his
amazement, the ice was lemon flavored. Wait a minute, I'll tell you
why it was lemon flavored, but first let me tell you what happened.
Knowing full well the consequences of licking open this age-old ice
pack, but racked with hunger, the Aardvark proceeded to lick open
the crypt. After several minutes of lightninglike licking, the Aardvark
sated his hunger and in the process freed the Valkyries.
The Valkyries were forever grateful and proceeded to show the
Aardvark this by bursting into a Wagnerian opera, complete with
flowing braids.
After the preceding formality had been dispensed with, introductions
went around and the Aardvark found out the fact, which is of
practically no use to anyone, that the Valkyries' names were Olga
and Ketanya Schwartz. Very old lineage, this name. The elephant,
who had been sitting by looking very bored about the whole thing,
was named Rubin.
The Valkyries, it seems, were delivering a package of lemon flavored
Jell-O to the cook in Valhalla, and en route, had gotten frozen in the
ice. The elephant was their mode of conveyance since all the good
horses had a day off and went to the people races at Lowaleah.
The Aardvark heard all of this in a rather detached way, for you know
most Aardvarks can neither talk, write, nor understand human
language.... The Valkyries who perceived this deficiency were
contemplating giving the Aardvark some of their Valkyrie Local
Number 86112 Magic, Pat. Pending, when the recipient in question
suddenly turned a lovely shade of aquamarine, shivered, and
dropped over, frozen solid. This solved the problem very effectively.
They worked their second-hand magic on the fellow, and when he
awoke...! Well, there was a complete change in him. This was the
exit of Aardvark, boy nothing, and the entrance of Cassius Quagmire
Aardvark, man of the world.
CHAPTER 2
MASS EXODUS
After the Valkyries had revived Cassius with the aid of a bouquet
consisting of a quartet of red flowers in liquid form, they placed him
and themselves upon the back of the elephant Rubin, who it was
found was permanently grounded after three or four thousand years
of disuse, and proceeded to the almost obscure town of
Eeahohaheeee, Switzerland, where they intended to settle down.
But the people of the town upon seeing the apparition of a large
elephant with a moustache carrying two beautiful girls and a strange
animal, wanted to burn the aardvark and his companions at the
stake thinking them a figment of their imaginations.
The elephant did not care for this in the least and rearing back on his
hind legs proceeded to tell the townsfolk so, much to their dismay. In
large groups they immediately depopulated the Swiss village.
Cassius, the Aardvark, finding himself alone in the middle of a
deserted town with a moustachioed elephant and two Valkyries
decided that here they were not appreciated, and made preparations
for leaving the country.
In a deserted haberdashery he found a fine, warm English tweed, a
top hat, white gloves, a white bow tie, and a pair of lavender
earmuffs, which he quickly donned. The elephant was equipped with
a can of moustache wax and a muffler, while the Schwartz sisters
doffed their filmy negligee type goddess gowns and donned two
lovely business suits.
Then, well clothed and happy, the elephant replaced his travelling
companions upon his back, and calmly swam the Atlantic Ocean to
arrive at the United States of America, where the Aardvark's
appearance was destined to cause a stir and tremor in the daily life
of every American.
CHAPTER 3
"... IT'S A BARGAIN"
A warning of the thing to sweep the country shortly was evidenced
when the moustachioed elephant Rubin came lumbering through the
water in the New York Harbor. People from miles around who got
wind of the news (he was a very smelly elephant) rushed to the
docks to watch, or climb to the tops of buildings with binoculars. And
when Rubin climbed ashore on Ellis Island, the city was thrown into
a panic.
It seems that Cassius began conferring at once with two of the
immigration officers about entrance into the country. This was flatly
refused by the officials, who cited a weak clause in the handbook
which excluded all uncivilized beings; and anyone could see that
Cassius was uncivilized,—whoever heard of wearing lavender
earmuffs with an English tweed?
When his traveling companions heard this, they were all for hurling
the immigration officers head first into ye olde New Yawk Harbor.
Right about there is where I came in. Yeah, good old Charlie Smirtz,
that's me. I had been waiting on the Island for a shipload of animals
from Africa and being a producer of some reknown, saw the latent
possibilities in the appearance of these, and I use the term loosely,
people. I had just finished a show on Broadway that had run three
years and was just getting together an animal circus to tour the
country. But when I saw this Aardvark in an English Tweed with a top
hat, tie, and ivory-topped cane, a moustached elephant wearing a
muffler, and two of the most gawjus dames in the world, I knew that
this was something a little unusual. I was sure of it when I saw that
the Aardvark was wearing lavender earmuffs.
Sauntering casually over to where the Aardvark and his companions
were sitting, I introduced myself, and in a low voice related to them
the fact that if they would consent to signing a contract, I would
personally see that they were inside the country before morning. The
Aardvark gives me the cold eye at first and then says, "If you
promise, and write it out in this contract that we are not to appear in
any sideshow type things, we might consent."
Before the fellow could twitch his short brown tail, I had pulled out
my Foster pen that writes under water, air, ink, blood, and money,
and was writing in the clause he mentioned. Then he signed the
contract, and so commenced the partnership of Smirtz, Aardvark,
Schwartz, and Rubin, Inc.
CHAPTER 4
THE CARBUNCLE VOYAGE
After the signing of the contract, Cassius and his companions retired
to the harbor to wait till I had made the arrangements. Late that
night, very late (about five o'clock), a small tug pulled up to the island
and out came one Hawser Dawson. I can truthfully say that Hawser
is the mouldiest looking animal ever to set foot upon dry land. Or wet
water, for that matter. He is so filthy that his clothes stand up by
themselves when he takes them off at night. And the smell!
WHEWWW!! Hawser Dawson smells like Mrs. Murphy didn't get
home with the eggs in time. He is dirty, smelly, and dumb besides,
but he is loyal and one of the best tugboat captains that ever tripped
on a two inch line.
We had arranged to get the Aardvark and his buddies into the
country under cover but I had forgotten to mention to Hawser how
big the group was. When Hawser saw the elephant he almost
fainted. His ship, which was as leaky as Stalin's head wouldn't carry
that load. It could hardly carry Hawser himself. So we arranged to
hang the Aardvark and the elephant under the ship while the
Valkyries and myself rode upstairs.
But not only did Dawson get paid twice as much as he should have,
he wanted the Aardvark and Rubin the elephant to work their way in.
He whispered something to Cassius and Rubin and then came
aboard. When the elephant and our hero were slung under the ship,
the leaky tub sank so low into the water that it was wetter on the
bridge than it was under the ship. We got under way shortly and as
we sailed around under cover of darkness we heard a weird sound.
It was a systematic metallic whonking under the boat. When we
asked Dawson what the noise was, he told us that the Aardvark and
Rubin were working their way over by cleaning barnacles off the
bottom of the tugboat with their teeth. I almost fainted when I heard
this. Our future star, the brightest new personality in years ...
scraping barnacles! Oh no!
After breaking a steel pipe over Dawson's head, we got the Aardvark
into the ship and started chipping the remnants of his work from his
bicuspids. It was about this time that we got into the small dock that
Hawser had told us would be waiting. We dragged the slightly
defunct sea captain out of the ship, got Rubin out from under and
proceeded to enter the United States of America, which as you know
has been renamed since by some people, the United States of
Aardvark. One of the reasons is because of what happened in the
Drunken Cockroach Nightclub. Oh was that a queer night. It
happened on the same evening we got into the States....
CHAPTER 5
IN THE DRUNKEN COCKROACH
We got the Aardvark settled quickly in a hotel near the center of town
and then decided to go out and eat someplace. Hawser Dawson
wanted to go along till he got his money and since he wanted it in
cash and the banks didn't open till the next day we decided to let him
tag along. There was but one stipulation: that he take a bath. This
almost broke Stinky's heart but he consented and when he met us in
the lobby a few hours later, he was (as he termed it) "disgustingly
filthy clean."
Rubin was looking quite elegant in a rented tux which was a size
sixty-seven. The Schwartz girls were absolutely ravishing in their two
evening gowns that were strapless, hemless, backless, topless,
bottomless, frontless, and with a plunging neckline.
But the really dashing one was Cassius Q Aardvark. He was decked
out in a conservative green and red suit with a yellow tie, spats, a
cane, top hat and the perennial lavender earmuffs. We could never
understand it but the newspapers said the next day that about fifty
cases of color blindness and shock were brought into the hospital
raving about an Aardvark with a top hat and earmuffs.
That was really a queer night. We started out at the Stork Club.
Sherm Billingsley had gotten wind of the Aardvark and had a special
room reserved with a wall knocked out for the elephant Rubin. The
men were practically fawning all over the Schwartz Valkyries who
calmly broke Champagne bottles over their heads and continued to
stay by their erstwhile pal, the Aardvark. After we had gotten well
well placed I looked at the Aardvark. He was holding sway like a
royal Sultan, complete with dancing girls. The young blade was
surrounded by the chorus line and was having a rough time with
them. But he had eyes only for the Schwartz sisters. They sat there
exchanging guttural sounds.
After we got finished at the Stork we took in rapid succession the
Mocambo, the 21, 22, 23, 24, and 25 Clubs, the Noire Pansy Club,
and the Hi, Low, Top, and Homburg Hat Clubs.
About nine o'clock we were just about pooped out when we noticed
that we had lost Hawser someplace. It was quite a relief to us as he
had poured the contents of a potted palm over himself at the Noire
Pansy Club to make himself feel more at home and he had begun to
reacquire the odor that was peculiar only to his body.
It was then that Cassius remarked, "Look at the neighborhood we're
in. This is lower than low."
Truer than true were his words. We were in a neighborhood that
looked like the inside of a shell-shocked oyster shell. We were
surrounded by broken down houses and buildings that looked as
though they had been old when Moxie's Army was chewing on
rattles. At the end of the street that we were on was a building that
was a little better; just a little. By better, I mean it was standing.
There was a sign over the door that proceeded to tell us in no
uncertain terms that this was the "Drunken Cockroach Nightclub."
I was all for turning back as was Cassius Q, but the Valkyries, Olga
and Ketanya who had consumed a great deal of wine (they learned
how in Valhalla, they told us) ran on ahead and without a backward
hiccough vanished into the rickety building which threatened at any
moment to fall on their heads.
With a shrug to the Gods of Chance Rubin, Cassius and myself
proceeded to the Spirit Hostelry, or as you choose, Beer Parlor.
The inside of the Drunken Cockroach was worse than the outside. It
looked like a nightmare by Dali on a night when he had run out of
brushes and had started using his feet.
The bar, which ran across the back of the smoke-filled room, was of
a seasick green color while the walls were a burnt umber tinged with
beige. The floor was ornamented with a five-pointed star that
showed several crawly type animals such as the kind that "... go
bump in the night." They were of various hues and were, in all, quite
sickening. The bartender was the worst. A small sign above the door
related to the fact that he was Oliver Absinthe. He was not only
repulsive, he was nauseating. A large bald head encased in folds of
pink flesh was what surmounted the largest bay window in the
country, outside of Rubin's. He was wearing an apron that showed
the demise of many a martini. There were also spaghetti, dirt, milk,
coffee, and gravy stains on the apron besides a group of green
blotches that I couldn't quite place. It looked like the remains of last
week's spinach.
Have you ever heard a sick Hippo tell you about his operation? Well,
if not try to imagine how it would sound, since that was what this
fellow's voice sounded like. "What's ya pleasure," he said.
"Nothing much," I answered, looking for a quick way to get out if it
was needed.
We seated ourselves in a booth next to the Valkyries who were fast
at work guzzling beer. Rubin just stood with one foot on the brass
rail, which at the application of his weight, bent. He ordered another
double double scotch and in one gulp downed it. It was then that the
elephant began screeching in an unelephantlike way and kicking
himself in his more than ample posterior. We started shaking him by
the trunk and asked him what the trouble was and he yelled that the
last drink was one too many. He was seeing pink people.
After this outburst I returned to the booth to see that the Aardvark
was gone. My attempts at locating him were halted suddenly by the
screaming of another person. It seems as though that evening was
open season on howling. The person yelling was Oliver Absinthe,
the bartender, who was yelling at Cassius who was in turn yelling
and alternately beating with his fists and a cuspidor, a slot machine
that was not acting in the way Cassius expected it to. With a
resounding howl the machine exploded showering colored lights,
nickels, pieces of wire, and an Aardvark at me. The last was caught
by Ketanya Schwartz in one hand while downing a beer with the
other. Absinthe was jumping up and down behind his seasick green
bar while the rather shady looking patrons were scrambling for the
nickels.
Absinthe, who had been systematically withdrawing each strand of
hair from his chest (his head was bald), let loose a barrage of verbal
abuse that even singed my ears. Besides that, he let loose a string
of whiskey bottles that sailed across the room and felled, one at a
time, the clientele on the opposite side. The bodies began piling up
as Oliver the bartender became not only bald on his head, but upon
his barrel chest also. I for one dove for safety under the table, and
there was pleasantly surprised to find the half-pickled Olga Schwartz
still swilling spirits. I raised my head in time to see the Aardvark
swinging across the nearly-ruined room on the trunk of Rubin, who
was sitting in the middle of the floor hitting himself and repeating,
"Go away, go away." Giving out a sound like Tarzan with the gout, he
flew through the murky smoke-filled air and with a sidearm that
would do Bob Feller credit, hit the still-bellowing bartender a
resounding clunk in the cranium. Absinthe fell like a poled ox.
By this time there was much yelling and hollering by everyone within
a radius of two blocks. In the distance we heard the mournful wail
that signals the entrance of the blue coated gendarmes. With a
significant look we aroused Rubin, whose moustache had begun to
droop sadly, climbed upon his back, and amidst the clatter and crash
of beer bottles, escaped the "Drunken Cockroach Nightclub." Like I
said, what a night!
CHAPTER 6
NONE SO BLIND AS LOVE
These were the times. The good times that I still remember as I rock
back and forth before my fire. Eh? Whassat? Oh, yeah, less
ruminating and more expostulating. Heh, that's a good one, sonny,
but don't be gettin' flip with me ... old Smirtz can still tan the hide off'n
any young whipper snupper like you.
Well, anyhow, I had been making plans to put Cassius and his band
into a supra-super-colossal extravaganza that would out Florenz
Ziegfeld. It was about six months after that mad night at the
Cockroach that rehearsals were over, the show was prepared, the
public waited with bated breath and fish-hooks to see what had been
the most highly touted production in a decade.
Then that night.
I can remember it as if it were twelve years ago. (As a matter of fact,
it WAS twelve years ago). The marquees blazoned their messages
to the crowd that had formed a line fourteen times around the block
in front of the Garden. New York had turned out en masse. And, as I
said, those marquees!
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