Sunday, March 3

Linguistic Doodles: Part 1 of 2 (English Syntax)


I'm taking three language-related courses this semester, which means that some of my doodles are actually on topic. This one comes from the difference between how an adjunct and a complement are diagrammed in a sentence. Which, erm, requires some explanation:


A complement is a phrase (in this case, "at the clown"), that starts with a particle. A particle is a little word that looks like a preposition, but isn't (because a preposition is involved in adjuncts, which I'll explain next), but it acts like a detached part of the verb and, without it, the verb would mean something different. For example:
"throw the cat" vs "throw up the cat"
 In this case, "up" is the particle. As you can see, we get two very different meanings.

When sentences with complements are diagrammed, as in the picture above, there is no extra anything on top of V (laughed) to separate it even more from PP (at the clown). I decided that this is because complements are friendly, adorable little suckers that the verb simply can't resist being as near to as possible.

An adjunct, on the other hand, is a preposition, which means that it doesn't affect the meaning of the verb. It only affects where (or when) the verb is taking place. For example:
"cartwheel" vs "cartwheel up a lava floe"
Either way, you're still cartwheeling, and that little preposition is only ensuring that your physical activity gets just a little more dangerous interesting.

When it comes to diagramming the sentence, as shown in the picture, there's an extra level above the V.  It's technically called V-bar, and I haven't the slightest clue how to make my keyboard do it. I decided that, unlike the complement, the adjunct is one of those people who knows exactly what personal boundaries are only to use them in such a way to make you feel as totally uncomfortable as it is possible for you to feel. As a result, the V (laughed) has to put up a boundary between itself and the PP (at the school), and that so happens to be a bar.

As a result:

The verb on the complement side is so darn close to grabbing
the particle and squeezing it within an inch of its life.
That's what particles get from being so darn endearing.

How any of this is practical for anyone other than a linguist? I'm still trying to figure that out. On the other hand, you've learned more things, which means your brain is now that much more awesome.

When in doubt, go tobogganing.






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