Harrah-Conforth, Bruce

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BE HERE NOW: 
EXPERIENTIALITY IN THE NARRATIVE 
Bruce Harrah-Conforth 
As John H. McDowell points out in his article 
"Beyond Iconicity: Ostension in ~ams/a Mythic 
Narrative," narrative may be seen as a method 
of recapitulating an experience by using verbal 
sequences to match the actual sequence of events. 
This, he states, may be viewed as experiential 
iconisism, borrowing the term from Nils Erik 
Enkvist. In this respect, the text "becomes an 
icon of experience" (McDowell 1982:121). It is 
McDowell's contention that the iconicity "resides 
in the capacity of the discourse to replicate 
a chain of temporal juncture located in some 
experiential substrate. Narratives are verbal 
icons of experience in that they repreduce intact 
(or allow for the recovery) an ordered sequence 
of events presumably encountered beyond the narra- 
tive itself" (1982:122). Narratives, then, are 
presumed to transcend the realm of mere discourse 
and to operate as "shifters," to use a term from 
Koman Jakobson, that allow both the narrator 
and his audience to enter two planes of existence 
simultaneously--the realm of the here and now 
as participants in the discourse, and the then 
and there of the experience itself. This paper 
shall address this latter notion and will shed 
some light on the way(s) in which narrative accom- 
plishes such a seemingly arduous task, that of 
being in two places at one. In order to achieve 
this end, two versions of the same narrative 
will be examined: one which is reported and exists 
primarily in the here and now, the second a per- 
formed version, existing both here and now as 
well as there and then. It is hoped that suffi- 
cient differences in the two versions will provide 
evidence as to the structural efficacy of the 
performed narrative toward "shifting" our senses 
and acting as an experiential icon.(l) 
Experience is temporal and episodic. Inter- 
spersed throughout the "time" of our experiences 
are high and low points. Even in dramatic circum- 
stances, such as a battle in war, there are mo- 
ments when nothing happens. Equally temporal 
is narrative discourse. As Dennis Tedlock states, 
!'The spoken word is never delivered in the grey 
- 
masses of boxed-in words we call prose: indeed, 
as much as half of the time spent in delivering 
spontaneous discourse is devoted to silence, 
and pausing is as much a part of the art of spea- 
king as the vocal utterance of words itself" 
(1971:127). Indeed, in the performed version 
of the narrative used in this paper, fully one 
minute out of its total four minute duration 
is devoted to silence. 
More importantly than the use of one-fourth 
of the time for silence, however, is where and 
how the silence is employed. There are thirteen 
pauses in the introductory section, which I have 
deemed the scene section; eight in the initial 
action section; six in the main action section; 
and eight in the resolution. I would posit that 
these pauses accomplish several actions which 
directly influence the reactions of the narra- 
tive's audience. During the introductory section, 
the pauses may function as a means of allowing 
the listener time to enter the experience, to 
"shift" from "real" time to the story time. 
Pauses in the scene section could provide the 
listener with a chance to visualize the settting 
of the narrative and to localize the events to 
come in his own reservoir of experience. Pauses 
in the initial and main action section could 
serve a similar function, to allow the narrator 
to stress specific elements of the tale and to 
allow the listener time to share the experience. 
A slightly greater number of pauses in the resolu- 
tion section could allow both the narrator and 
the listener time to unwind from the experience 
and to enter "real" time. 
If my assumptions are correct, there should 
be a different amount and use of silence in the 
reported version, and indeed there is. The intro- 
ductory section of the reported version has only 
two pauses, not much time to enter the narrative. 
The scene section likewise has two pauses. The 
initial and main action sections have been com- 
pressed into one element with the greatest number 
of pauses, four, and the resolution finishes 
with two pauses, not allowing much time to leave 
the narrative. Indeed, the listener has never 
really been allowed to enter the story, and so 
there is not much need for a device to allow 
him to leave. 
188 
Silence is not the only temporal aspect of 
the narrative that may be considered. As already 
indicated, the story is episodic, consisting 
of episodes that may be clearly delineated as 
shifting from one series of events to another. 
During each of the sections, specific words are 
stressed either by change in volume or by inflec- 
tion, following a chronology of textual impor- 
tance. In the performance of the entire narra- 
tive, there is a structural aesthetic, not un- 
like the composition of a musical piece, with 
an introductory statement, the introduction of 
theme, exposition on a theme, and resolution, 
each with specific "action-related" words being 
stressed. In structure, too, the reported version 
differs from the performed one; it contains far 
fewer stressed words, and its structure seems 
to have no real bearing on the narrative. 
Yet another "shifter" that is incorporated 
into the performed version along with the stress- 
ing of words is speed. Words are manipulated 
per their duration, and the sense of time is 
altered. During the introductory section of 
the performed narrative, words are stated at 
an average of 2.4 words for every second, a 
rather slow pace, once again allowing time for 
the listener to enter the experience. The scene 
section increases speed slightly, signalling 
increasing involvement, but only achieves a rate 
of 3.1 words per second. The initial action 
section makes a jump to 3.7 words per second 
and the main action takes place at a rate of 
4 words per second, reaching an amazing peak 
of 4.9 during a particularly active portion. 
The resolution of the performed narrative drops 
down to the normal 2.2 words per second, returning 
"real" time. As we have found with all the other 
"shifters," the reported version of our story 
does not match the performed version on this 
criterion. Although the entire reported version 
occurs somewhat faster on the average than the 
performed one, there is little variation in 
speed. The introductory section places 3.7 words 
per second, the scene section 3.3, initial and 
main section 3 words per second, and the resolu- 
tion 3.6 words per second. It is almost as if 
the narrator here wants to "get the story over," 
so that he may go on to other things. 
The change in speed during the performed ver- 
sion seems to equate in a closer way to the way 
189 
an experience might actually take place. The 
constant speed of the reported version seems 
to echo a text in print--it is all there at once. 
This distinction is a prime example of the role 
that time plays in narrative, as identified by 
Tedlock: "Foremost among paralinguistic devices 
that give shape to narrative and distinguish 
it from written prose . . .  is the element of time" 
(1971:127). 
Pitch is the final "shifter" used in achieving 
narrrative experientiality. It has already been 
demonstrated that time may be altered through 
the use of pauses, episodic action and word rate. 
These devices offer the listener the opportunity 
to enter the realm of experience. Pitch, on the 
other hand, is the way of adding dramatic impor- 
tance to the events of the narrative body. To 
facilitate an understanding of the use of pitch 
in the narrative, each piece (performed and re- 
ported) has been transcribed in graph notation, 
an idea borrowed from ethnomusicology, specifi- 
cally the work of James Reid (1977). In the 
transcriptions, dots have been placed equi-dis- 
tantly in a series of five lines. The space 
between each dot is one word of the narrative, 
transcribed above the lines. The five lines 
represent relative pitch in the narrative, with 
the middle line representing normal speaking 
pitch, and the two above and below representing 
high and low extremes. 
In the introductory section of the performed 
narrative, it appears that the pitch remains 
in the area of normal speaking, occasionally 
dipping below it in the very beginning, intermit- 
tently jumping above it at stressed words. The 
scene section does likewise. As stated earlier, 
I would theorize that this is due to the relative- 
ly undramatic nature of this section of the narra- 
tive. Its chief role is to allow the listener 
the opportunity to enter the narrative, and as 
such, a great deal of dramatic pitch alteration 
would be unwise. In the initial action section, 
however, the pitch is gradually raised one level, 
so that by its completion, it is operative at 
a higher level of pitch, and subsequently of 
involvement. During the main action sequence, 
the performer not only sustains this higher level 
of pitch involvement, but is alternating within 
the uppermost reaches of speech pitch limitations. 
The main level ends with a drop down to normal 
pitch levels, and the narrative ends, slightly 
higher than normal, but normal than not. 
In the matter of pitch, as in all other aspects 
presented, the performed version has not failed 
to deviate from the reported one. Throughout 
the reported version, speech maintains an even 
flow within the normal pitch range, with only 
occasional excursions into the first pitch level 
above normal. The reported version is just that, 
reported. It has no more dramatic impact than 
an objective newspaper account of a new traffic 
light. 
As Henry Glassie states, "stories are narra- 
tives, artfully ordered to do the serious work 
of entertainment" ( 1 9 8 2 : 4 0 ) .  I would add that 
entertainment works only through involvement, 
and that involvement is one of the primary tasks 
of the narrative. In this paper I have attempted 
to show how that involvement, the shift from 
the here and now to the then and there, is accom- 
plished. I have deliberately stayed away from 
devices such as detail expansion or word play, 
for I believe that they have been covered and 
are being covered in sufficient manner. I have 
chosen, rather, to focus on the elements of 
narrative that seem to directly affect time, 
for time shifting is essential to narrative in- 
volvement. I have attempted to show, by comparing 
reported and performed versions of the same narra- 
tive, that there are several elements within 
narrative structure that can alter time in this 
way. Pauses within the narrative may function 
to provide the listener with time to enter the 
narrative, visualize the setting and localize 
the events, as well as providing the narrator 
with a manner in which to stress specific elements 
of his tale. The stressing of words may act within 
the narrative as a compositional device, giving 
the narrative the added dimension of a structured 
aesthetic. Further, the speed with which different 
portions of the narrative are told, enable the 
narrator to approximate a dramatic situation, 
one in which events do not happen all at the 
same pace. Finally, pitch alteration is a means 
of adding importance to the narrative, helping 
to sweep the listener away in the action of the 
moment. These elements of the performed narrative 
moment. These elements of the performed narra- 
tive, create the "real from the unreal," the 
there and then, in the here and now. 
NOTES 
1. This narratives were collected on the night of April 
2, 1983, in Bloomington, Indiana in a local gathering 
spot commonly frequented by folklorists. The informant 
wishes to remain anonymous. 
Performed Ver s ion  
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Scene s e t t i n g  s e c t i o n  
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oa, C  4 s Q b C S  vr 
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. . ~ . C , . a . a . u . + . ~ . 3 . s . b . ~ . . ~ . r d . 3 : 3 . ~ . m + . w . 3 . ~ . ~ .  
193 I n i t i a l  A c t i o n  
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Be Here Now: Experientiality in the Narrative

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Be Here Now: Experientiality in the Narrative

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