H o w t o R e a d L i t e r a t u r e1 1 8What we call works of literature differ in this way from roadsigns
and bus tickets. They are peculiarly ‘portable’, able to be carried
from one location to another, which is true of bus tickets only for
those intent on defrauding the bus company. They are less
dependent for their meaning on the circumstances from which
they arose. Rather, they are inherently open ended, which is one
reason why they can be subject to a whole range of interpretations.
It is also one reason why we tend to pay closer attention to their
language than we do with bus tickets. We do not take their language
primarily as practical. Instead, we assume that it is intended to have
some value in itself.
This is not so true of everyday language. A panic- stricken shout
of ‘Man overboard!’ is rarely ambiguous. We do not normally treat
it as a delectable piece of wordplay. If we hear this cry while on
board ship, we are unlikely to linger over the way the vowel- sound
of ‘board’ rings a subtle change on the vowel- sound of ‘Over’, or
note the fact that the stresses of the shout fall on the first and last
syllables. Nor would we pause to read some symbolic meaning into
it. We do not take the word ‘Man’ to signify humanity as such, or
the whole phrase as suggestive of our calamitous fall from grace.
We might well do all this if the man overboard in question is our
mortal enemy, aware that by the time we were through with our
analysis he would be food for the fishes. Otherwise, however, we
are unlikely to scratch our heads over what on earth these words
could mean. Their meaning is made apparent by their environ-
ment. This would still be the case even if the cry was a hoax. If
we were not at sea the cry might make no sense, but hearing the
chugging of the ship’s engines settles the matter definitively.
In most practical settings, we do not have much of a choice over
meaning. It tends to be determined by the setting itself. Or at least,