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TWO related issues cause me concern for the future of out language teaching profession: (1) the role of conscious language awareness in the form of explicit grammar teaching and the attitude toward such instruction and (2) the place of beginning-level language study as a university discipline and the attitude toward that endeavor. There is no denying that the proficiency movement brought the language field out of the dark ages of grammar translation, but the field is in need of balance: students used to come out of language class with grammar knowledge but no practical language skills. Now, they get no grammar, and in three hours a week of instruction we cannot generate the momentum to deliver the communicative competence we advertise. The literature on the input hypothesis from the 1980s argues for language input as the key to second language acquisition and strongly against explanation of grammar rules (see Krashen, “Input Hypothesis,” “Formal Grammar”). Toward the other end of the continuum is Leo van Lier, who advocates and energetic program of language awareness (which draws on but is not limited to linguistic theory) on the part of all educators, especially language educators. At the far end are Marguerite Mahler, who speaks for linguistics but not for a particular linguistic theory, and Suzanne Flynn, who quite directly champions incorporating explicit linguistic theory, ideally Chomskyan generative grammar, even if in mild form, into language instruction. I argue for a middle position, specifically, that grammar teaching need not detract from active practice but that grammar teaching has to done well enough that learners see the benefits. In addition, such enlightened grammar instruction promotes a sense of language as a subject worthy of respect in its own right and not merely as a means to other ends. 1
Whether our individual specialties are literary analysis, pure linguistic theory, or the many notions are gather under the umbrella of culture, we all face classes of monolingual young-adult anglophobes. Many of them have studied a second language in high school, but just as many have never been exposed to or studied one. They are confronting the cold truth that expressing oneself in another language is not just a matter of using a dictionary to match English words with target language words. These students are facing the unwelcome reality that their target language may have what appear to be the same linguistic units as English but that the apparent correspondence does not mean that these units function the same way in both languages.
Take French or German: each has what are called indefinite articles just like English, but neither uses them with certain well-known kinds of nominal predicates, namely, ethnonyms and professional titles. 2 French and German keep “Il est médecin” and “Er ist Artzt” ‘He's a doctor’ distinct from “C'est un médecin” and “Das ist ein Artzt” ‘That's a doctor’ by coupling the personal pronoun with the absence of the article or the demonstrative subject with the presence of the article. High school students may not appreciate this subtle dichotomy, but I think we can expect college students to begin to bring their ideas of grammar up to college level. 3 All three languages have the same parts of speech, but the items do not match function for function. French and German do not “leave the article out” in these expressions—as if they had started with English models in mind. Rather, indefinite articles in French and German play a role different from their role in English. The above-average college French student, after several hundred examples of natural input, might begin to notice that French has nominal predicates with and without indefinite articles, but do we expect such a student to be a field anthropologist and to deduce the semanticosyntactic motivations for such structures.? A simple statement of consistency—that is, a rule!—would give the learner the assurance that the presence or absence of an audible article is not a mistake or a frill but a correlate of a certain semantic class of predicate. (I agree that it would be going too far to point out that the presence or absence of an article may be related to speech situation reference [deixis] in “C'est un médecin” and to larger discourse reference [anaphoral] in “ ll est médecin.”)
In addition to making our students actively proficient in a second language we must simultaneously work on exciting and developing their linguistic intuition. They do not have the mental pigeonholes—or do not know they do—to sort out the active input we give them in the limited time we have, and we cannot depend on them to reflect on that input outside class. With fifteen or twenty students receiving fifty minutes of input, typically while seated in a four-walled environment, from a single source—who, incidentally, is in an unequal power relation to them—they need some sort of cognitive hook to remind themselves what went on in a given class. The problem with explaining grammar is that for many language teachers explanation entails repeating the same bloodless textbook rules they themselves learned in school and that their students heard (or did not heat at all or tuned out) in high school. 4 Add to this problem teachers' assumptions that students hate grammar and attempts to go around or bypass grammar altogether. Indeed, students have picked up the message from the rest of society that grammar is a boring, irrelevant relic of earlier days and that learning grammar is somehow antithetical to learning to communicate in the target languages. 5 The truth is that these students are not in high school anymore. When we show them what grammar is and what good it can do them should not continue the perspective tone of high school instruction.
Several of my colleagues—even those with training in linguistics—call teaching explicit grammar a waste of class time because grammar does not foster communication. Their job is to teach language, not metalanguage, they say, in agreement with Stephen Krashen that “only comprehensible in put is consistently effective in increasing proficiency” (“Input Hypothesis” 410) and they look incredulously at those of us who “still” teach grammar. I grant that reciting the irregular passé simple, ‘simple past’ of vivre ‘to live’ or natûtre ‘to be born’ will not get learners café au lait on the Champs Elysées and that no German will stop them on the street and demand to know what case the preposition nach ‘after’ takes, but such arguments assume a reactionary view of grammar. Restrictions on class time and lack of control over how students spend their time outside class almost demand that we train them in cognitive skills. The message of the proficiency movement, in my estimation, is not, “Ding dong, the wicked grammar is dead!” but rather that grammar concepts, properly presented, can become useful tools without inhibiting proficiency. Ultimately students may see those tools as objects with intrinsic value that offer intellectual satisfaction instead of as intimidating obstacles.
Many language teachers have a distinct distaste for linguistics, but I am not insisting that we teach linguistic theory. We should all be equipped to give students some kind of conceptual framework that they can use to catalog and interrelate the intuitions they gather through active practice. First, we should redefine grammar, at least in its pedagogical sense, as something that students will not reject, for example, as the making explicit of conceptual distinctions and social implications encoded in the forms of language. 6 Second, I concur wholeheartedly with van Lier that it is part of our job to sensitize language learners to the grammar of both English and the target language, and that such an awareness, properly developed, makes our jobs easier in the long run. Students need rules, but tempered with a feeling for the sense behind the rules. This awareness does not have to assume the grand proportions of Edward Sapir's classic analysis of “The farmer kills the duckling” (82–90). Roman Jacobson's rarefied homage to Franz Boas's “The man killed the bull” (Jakobson 489–90), or Charles Fillmore's masterful unpacking of “May we come in?” (1–15), though one can well imagine such awareness as the engine that drives the idea of notional-functional or communicative language teaching, and this approach does not mean that students must always monitor their production. If we do not teach the sense behind the rules, though, the old adage that one learns one's own language better by learning another language undeservedly becomes a myth or a lie. 7
Life would be much simpler for German teachers, for example, if they could take just thirty seconds of class time to say, “German puts its conjugated verbs in second position in main clauses and at the end of subordinate clauses,” and then spend the other 2970 seconds of any given class period practicing this rule in real contexts, confident that students had not only an idea of what a verb is and what a clause (and that there are main and subordinate ones), but also the knowledge that English does not follow this pattern (Fradkin, Wild Verb Phrase 98–99). Starting the rule would not guarantee that every student would produce model German clauses every time, but at least the goal would be clear. Classroom activity could be focused on reinforcing the rule, and learners could work on adjusting their ears and even their breathing rhythm to the sentence-final topic stress of “Ich schreibe ein Buch ” ‘I am writing a book’ and the sentence-medial topic stress of “Ich weiß, daß du ein Buch schreibst” ‘I know that you are writing a book.’ 8 Furthermore, students have lost the feeling for the distinction between a word and a linguistic unit. They see individual words and do not listen for the meaning of the whole sentence. Most students do not understand that the have and wrote of “I have a book” and “I wrote a book” are one-word verb phrases, while “I have written a book” contains a two-word verb phrase and “I have been writing a book for six months” a three-word verb phrase (Fradkin, Wild Verb Phrase 108, 113, 121, 130). Whether we use the auxiliary or even conjugated auxiliary does not matter as long as the concept is clear. (If the classroom textbook includes terms like auxiliary, then it is part of our job to help students use the book to advantage by explaining the terms. No one else will.)
The semantic question of tense systems naturally dovetails with the morphological issue just discussed. The existence of the morphologically parallel French “J'ai écrit une livre” and German “Ich have ein Buch geschrieben” does not guarantee their semantic equivalence with the English “I have written a book.” All three languages have a simple past—I wrote, j'écrivis, ich schrieb —and a compound past, as illustrated above, but the relation between these tenses is different for different languages. The American English simple past is the unmarked past, while the two-word perfect assumes a certain relation between the past event and the current speech situation. The French and German two-word verb phrase is the unmarked past, while the one-word simple past is restricted to certain types of narrative. Thus, the American English perfect matches the French and German perfect all the time, but the American English simple past matches the French and German simple past only rarely. (British English is somewhere in the middle). Just to complicate matters, of course, the three-word perfect progressive in the English sentence “I have been writing a book for six months” corresponds to a one-word present tense in French “J'écris un livre depuis six mois” and in German “Ich schreibe ein Buch seit sechs Monaten.”
An example from the realm of subordinate clause markers illustrates the pragmatic and stylistic import of a handful of quick and painless rules that may help students of “standard average European.” 9 English grammars teach that who, which , and that introduce adjective clauses. These words are functionally differentiated into who for people, that for things in restrictive clauses, and which for things in nonrestrictive clauses (and in informal style for whole propositions). These rules are true, but they typically stop at such half-truths. They do not say (or want to admit) that normal English must have the clause market only if the marker is the subject of the clause 10 and that who can be subsumed under that in informal style, that is, that the relative pronoun that does not differentiate between human and nonhuman reference, as in “the guy who (or that ) lives next door,” “the most that roared,” “they guy whom (or that or no relative pronoun) I saw,” “the guy whom (or that or no relative pronoun) I talked about” (Fradkin, Wild Verb Phrase 65–71). 11 Textbooks of English for American schools teach written language and dismiss normal English as colloquial, as if colloquialism were bad. (ESL textbooks, of course, present both normal spoken and normal written English.) When a French or German textbooks explains who, which, and that it may fail to mention that students thinking in normal English may not find a who, which, or that to translate and may incorrectly say “l'homme que j'ai vu” or “l'homme j'ai parlé de” instead of “l'homme que j'ai vu” ‘the man I saw’ or “l'homme de qui (or duquel or dont ) j'ai parlé” ‘the man I spoke of.’ English can use the presence or absence of clause introducers to mark formal or informal style, especially when prepositional phrases are involved: “they guy about whom I talked” is he King's English, but hardly anyone else's, not to mention that guy is probably not in the King's lexicon. (See Bolinger for a fine-tuned attempt to determine whether the market is merely optional or whether its presence or absence is meaningful [ That's That ].) French and German do not have the option of absence and, therefore, cannot use it as a style marker. Distinguishing between human and non-human reference using that and who is a nonissue for French and German: case dominates in French ( quai for subject of clause; que for object), and the case-number-gender triad is of concern in German. Learners need to be aware that what is a choice in their native language may not be a choice in the target language, even if the words seem to match.
Finally, the construction in order plus infinitive is another area where prescriptive textbooks tell half-truths that lead students to make erroneous assumptions about the target language. French and German textbooks usually note that this construction is paralleled by French pour plus infinitive and German um zu plus infinitive. That statements is true, but English speakers are not aware that in order is a stylistic option and that this option applies only to “purposive infinitives” (Fradkin, Wild Verb Phrase 158–9). French and German always use the preposition-like pour or um zu construction. An English speaker says, “I went to the store to buy milk,” and the unadorned infinitive expresses a purpose, while the French speaker must say, “Je suis allé au magasin pour acheter du lait.” The teacher must be able to head off at the pass textbooks statements that minimize rules or gloss over major mismatches between the assumptions that those rules will engender in the learner and the realities of the target language. In the example just discussed, the functional notion of purpose is common to both languages, but English has a morphosyntactic flexibility that French does not have.
University-level foreign language classes should not shy away from discussion of language as a total phenomenon, as a system of interrelated signs, and as a major aspect of human behavior; language class expectations at the university level are not so limited in adult evening classes meeting perhaps once a week. If our students hate grammar we can blame the legacy of too prescriptive textbooks. We may be right to abandon or to critique that tradition, but we must replace it with something substantial. Whether that replacement is linguistic theory or something else, it is our job to teach grammar in some sense as a supplement to input.
It is not hard to get the impression from colleagues in other universities around this country, both in the language field and in other disciplines, that language teaching and learning are a second-class enterprise. Beginning-level language courses are often seen as practical skills courses that are not expected to have an analytical basis. (Of course, this assumption does not appear anywhere in print as a policy, but the indications are clear and widespread. At present, I can offer no solution except to keep educating our colleagues in other fields about what we do.) The practicality of language study is undeniably its greatest appeal to learners, but this pragmatism need to prevent us, as it sometimes does, from injecting intellectual material. I think two main sets of factors contribute to the perception of second-class status.
First, foreign language is not seen as an academic discipline equal with history or biology or even literature: there are no research papers to write; classes are fun, focusing on mundane or even silly topics; what students think is far less important than whether and how they express themselves. Consequently, language teachers are often not accorded the same degree of respect as professors engaged in other academic pursuits.
We in institutions with small undergraduate foreign language departments without a ready stock of graduate assistants often have to staff lower-level course with part-time teachers from the local community at the last minute. (I have no statistics at hand, but in many places remuneration for this work is an insulting pittance.) Many departments look to lower-level courses to stabilize and develop their language programs and to nurture potential majors, but departments cannot guarantee the quality of these courses. Ironically, the other academic discipline forced into this precarious position is also one that cannot be taught in large, cost-efficient lecture halls, namely, English composition. Political science and economics departments would not tolerate such as practice. Why do we?
Students often see foreign languages as a “default” department for which no particular training is required. Language is seen as something one does, not a subject one studies. Native-speaking students come looking for easy credits, and older native speakers, whether or not they have any pedagogical or linguistic background at all, come straight to the foreign language department asking for teaching jobs because they know the language. We quickly show them why this is not acceptable, but it would not even occur to a healthy human adult to approach the biology department asking to teach on the grounds that a breathing, functioning human being knows all about the human body.
The second factor—probably related to the conditions alluded to above—is that we seem to have evolved into a profession that downplays its own professional terminology, its own metalanguage. This practice applies both to traditional grammar terms like subject and object and to any abstract reference to the activities of language learning and production, like pronominal reference or gender number agreement. Many language teachers avoid invoking concepts like verb phrase or subordinate clause because they assume students think such terms are obscure and because they are not convinced that such concepts enhance proficiency or merit the class time an explanation would require. No one would contend that knowledge of the rules assures proper production. 12 After all, may linguistic scholars are terrible language learners or if they do know another language would make abysmal language teachers. I am not advocating grammar for grammar's sake or equating grammar knowledge with language proficiency, but I do believe that college-level knowledge of language should be supported by knowledge about human language in general and bout the target language in particular. 13
In the best possible world, all language students would be required to take a “prelanguage” course that would give them the cognitive notions they used to get in high school as well as an idea of how to listen to people and how to extract answers from questions so that beginning-level language courses could proceed on a solid foundation and so that foreign language class would not be the student's first exposure to basic notions of face-to-face communication (see van Lier). Of course, no college has the staff to offer such a coarse on a regular basis of all the students of whom it requires language study, and no college can justify instituting yet another requirement. We have to decide how much to compensate, how much to backtrack, and how much to plow ahead on pure faith.
Students never object in principle to having to learn physics terms in physics class, yet they resist learning language terms in language class—and it is our own fault! They balk and we buckle under. A college language teacher who substitutes for terms like verb less threatening circumlocutions like “word that shows action” is like a physics teacher who sidesteps the term electron in favor of “the little particle that zooms around that clamp of other little particles.” Some students even declare that they just want to speak the language and do not care about the grammar, as if this goal justifies remaining at the stage of tourist phrase-book pidgin. Such students take little comfort when we tell them that if they just speak without an adequate idea of how target-language speakers form sentences they will not make very appealing conversation partners: native speakers, unless they have a lot of experience talking to a lot of nonnatives will have to work too hard to recast the learner's raw output into a mold that can be decoded more easily. (All credit is due, or course, to those few learners who pick up a second language without any outside coaching. I have seen remarkably few such students.)
In closing I find the driver's ed analogy useful. Most people learn to operate the vehicle, negotiate rush hour traffic, and parallel park. This process is like learning communicative language: you accomplish your goal without asking how. Many drivers, if they looked under their hood, would not know which part was which. Others could name the main parts and maybe even put in a quart of oil. This level of knowledge is like not knowing grammar consciously and having some idea of the parts but not their relation to one another. Nonetheless, learners would want the driving instructor to know what was under the hood, even if the instructor did not impart that knowledge. Similarly, language teachers need to be able to deal with any language issue that arises in class. Language students do not have to know linguistic theory. As for the rules of the road, they may seem like drudgery at the beginning—and no one could learn them merely by observing “native” drivers—but after a few semesters on the road they become unconscious and automatic.
On the one hand, I have been campaigning here for foreign language study as a discipline equal to other college subjects. On the other hand, it is quite different. All other university subjects ask students to expand their known world, to take the unfamiliar and bring it into their own sphere, to make it familiar. Language is, obviously enough, one of the assumed bases of such academic learning. (The extreme formulation would be that a command of the terminology of the subject is tantamount to a command of the subject.) Language learning, though, differs from other disciplines in at least three ways:
Many of the teachers alluded to above who think that it is wrong or that is beneath them to teach grammar recommend that students interested in grammar sign up for linguistics. With all due respect, such teachers are missing the point: most students do not consider language a subject in its own right, and it would never occur to them to seek out a course on language. Most language students do not see the connection between the highly abstract diagrams they are likely to encounter in Linguistic 101 and the practical skill of bargaining for a hotel room. Indeed, linguistics courses are not designed to promote practical language learning, paradoxical though that may sound. Linguistics is a subject with philosophical and methodological concerns that often leave students cold. But far from turning our courses into surrogates for linguistics, we can still excite our students by giving them an appreciation of the role of language in society, of language variation and the dictates on correctness, of the mind-boggling intricacy of language structure, and of the ways in which the target language may call on us to enact many of the processes we are already adept at in English, if in not so obvious ways. In a sense, part of our job as foreign language teachers is to take the foreign out of foreign language. Two indirect benefits of an increased sensitivity to language might also be an appreciation for variation within one's own language—so that one might avoid judging people from other parts of the country or from different socioeconomic circumstances unintelligent, provincial, or rude on the basis of language variants—and empathy, or even admiration, for nonnative speakers of English who have acquired or who are trying to acquire English. 14
The author is Assistant Professor of Russian and Hebrew in the Department of Foreign Languages and Literatures at Old Dominion University. This paper is based on a paper presented to the Modern Language Association of Virginia, 23 October 1992, in Richmond, Virginia.
1 My own position, as expressed in Stalking the Wild Verb Phrase, is like van Lier's. If students have heard anything about grammar in their precollege experience, their information most likely came in the form of traditional rules, misleading and full of value judgments and half-truths. In my book I start with those rules and terms and give users the opportunity to listen to their own speech and to observe their own language use in nonprescriptive ways, stressing the patterns and interconnectedness of rules with other semantic and pragmatic factors. Analysis exercises with an answer key help users arrive at a certain linguistic sensitivity on their own, outside class. I do not yet have statistical proof that learners can transfer this sensitivity to the target language, but I hope the few examples I give below will encourage antigrammar teachers to give grammar teaching another try—or at least to point their students to a self-help source so that students can give grammar another try.
2 I teach Russian and Hebrew, but I use examples from the more familiar French and German.
3 These examples demonstrate the professional title predicate. Recall that President John F. Kennedy learned a hard lesson about the ethnonym predicate in his famous “Ich bin ein Berliner” speech. The sentence is grammatically correct in a strict morphosyntactic sense, but in the terminology of pragmatics we would call it situationally inappropriate or infelicitous. Since Berliner is both an ethnonym and the name of a kind of filled doughnut, Kennedy's statement was roughly the linguistic equivalent of showing solidity with the Danish people by declaring, “I am a Danish” instead of “I am Danish” (adjective predicate) or “I am a Dane” (ethnonym predicate). (The human Berliners who heard Kennedy's assertion most likely interpreted it as a foreigner's mistake, not the surrealistic musings of a baker-poet.)
4 I must emphasize that I am not accusing my colleagues of not knowing their target language or of being boring teachers, but it is well known that many language teachers are naive about language in ways that music teachers could not imagine being naive about music.
5 Popular notions of bad grammar give equal weight to everything from subject-verb disagreement to faulty word choice to spelling nite for night to speaking with a regional accent to equating casual speech with slang. Popular publications do not help much to dispel the negative stereotype of grammar study. Graham Fuller does have some fairly useful, if lightweight, chapters on what to expect from other languages and cultures. Unfortunately, he propagates what he assumes to be the prevailing opinion and makes it fashionable to cringe at the word grammar with three chapters called “Grammar (Ugh!),” “More Grammar (Ugh! Ugh!),” and “Still More Grammar (Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!).” Thus, while enticing the novice into the world of language and culture he empowers the same novice to sneer at grammar. Other types of self-help books, such as the series of paperbacks that includes Edwina Cruise's English Grammar for Students of Russian , buy unimaginative grammatical tradition wholesale and do not try to make the inherited dictates any more palatable to an already reluctant audience.
6 Many students find the rule metaphor objectionable, as if grammar were something imposed on them from outside in an attempt to stifle creativity and individuality (according to many) or to correct mistakes. A rule insists that students do something. A “consistency” shows them what they already do but are not aware of (Fradkin, Wild Verb Phrase xx-xxi). The influence of labels on our perception of and attitude toward objects and concepts has been widely discussed over the decades (Whorf 135–37; Bolinger, Language 138–39). Perhaps a return to Sapir's “grammatical concepts” and “grammatical processes” is in order (57–119).
7 Here we can learn from our colleagues in the ESL (English as a second language) field. They long ago took grammar out of the realm of memorizing paradigms and included pragmatics as a natural part explanation (e.g., Larsen-Freeman). Grammar is a regular component of college-based ESL programs (Celce-Murcia).
8 I raise this issue because I have heard many students of German maintaining place stress regardless of what is in that place, as in “Ich weiß daß du ein Buch schreibst.” To the ear this habit produces the effect of a response about oranges to a question about apples.
9 It is worthwhile to receive Whorf's term (138) in this context because of the way continental European languages—at least, the contemporary Indo-European cousins Romance and Slavic languages, and to a certain extent Germanic languages—encode subordinate clauses. I have explored further the oppositions between nominative and nonnominative cases, between human and nonhuman reference, and between purism and prescriptivism (Fradkin, “Who's Who?”).
10 Depending on the syntactic framework involved, of course, the clause marker may be just that: a marker and not the subject. The subject is an instance of zero anaphora.
11 The debate over the distinction between who and whom could easily arise in this context. See Sapir's well-known discussion (156–61) and Fradkin, Wild Verb Phrase 37, 66–67, 85–86, 229–31. The last example points to the ironclad, though grossly misunderstood, prohibition on ending sentences with a preposition, but suffice it to say that the terminal preposition is another style-marking device of English. It is worthwhile to note that well-respected figures whom Bolinger calls shamans rally around this issue in the most unenlightened manner possible ( Language ). Edwin Newman, one of the great shamans, was the commencement speaker at Old Dominion University in December 1990. Instead of sharing his lifetime of rich journalistic experience with the graduates, he berated them for sloppy speech and for neglecting the distinction between who and whom and claimed that such neglect was causing out society to deteriorate. (If he were going to be consistent in insisting on maintaining the same grammatical distinctions that he was taught in the 1930s—already obsolescent though they were—then he should also distinguish between where and whither and between here and hither, but he does not.) These controversies ar far more complex than what we language professionals can treat. It is not so much that kids don't know grammar anymore but that they are losing the sense of the old boundaries between formal and informal language, school and home language, language for addressing adults and for addressing peers. The old school standard is no longer a model.
12 Let's face it: many teachers do not know these rules or are unconfortable talking about language. They may be good teachers, but their students lack an important dimension in appreciation of the target language. At the other extreme are those teachers who love grammar and answer the simplest question with the most florid discourse, a situation analogous to the proverbial saying “I asked him what time it was, and he told me how to build a clock.”
13 In discussing transfer of knowledge and applying rules in appropriate situations. Premack notes that students who perform well on a test of Newtonian physics do not drive more carefully or swing a bat more accurately than other students (251–52). Any of us could readily contribute similar examples, such as computer users who have no idea whether they are in RAM or ROM and jazz musicians whose riffs are no less inspired because they do not know what key they are playing in. The apparent gap between knowledge and practice does not make learning about physical laws, computer hardware, or music theory any less valuable—and in our current educational system, language class is the only place where language learners are going to hear about the inner workings of language and the real-world manifestations of those workings.
14 Thanks to Janet Bing, Charles Ruhl, Goedele Gulikers, and John Cross for helpful feedback on this paper.
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Fillmore, Charles J. “May We Come In?” Santa Cruz Lectures on Deixis. Bloomington: Indiana U Ling. Club, 1975. 1–15.
Flynn, Suzanne. “The Relevance of Linguistic Theory to Language Pedagogy: Debunking the Myths.” Alatis 547–54.
Fradkin, Robert. Stalking the Wild Verb Phrase: A Self-Paced, Self-Correcting Adventure into the Grammar of English for English-Speaking Learners of Other Languages. Lanham: UP to America, 1991.
———. “Who's Who? What's What? That's That.” Foreign Lang. Assn. of Virginia Annual Meeting. Richmond, 23 Oct. 1993.
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Krashen, Stephen. “Formal Grammar Instruction: Another Educator Comments.” TESOL Quarterly 26 (1992): 408–10.
———.“The Input Hypothesis: An Update.” Alatis 409–22.
Larsen-Freeman, Diane. “Teaching Grammar.” Teaching English as a Second or Foreign Language. Ed. Marianne Celce-Murcia. 2nd ed. New York: Harper, 1991. 279–96.
Mahler, Marguerite. “Linguistics in the Language Department.” Teaching Languages in College: Curriculum and Content. Ed. Wilga Rivers. Lincolnwood: Natl. Textbook, 1992. 261–80.
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© 1994 by the Association of Departments of Foreign Languages. All Rights Reserved.
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