# Adapting and Writing Language Lessons/Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3
EVALUATING AND ADAPTING LANGUAGE MATERIALS
INTRODUCTION
With the growing shortage of time and money for writing new textbooks, particularly in the seldom-taught languages, there is a premium on making effective use of what already exists. We have sometimes acted as though, for any given set of materials the choice was only between using them and rejecting them. Adaptation, as a third alternative, has received very little either of time or of money or of prestige. Rewriting, a fourth possibility, is often viewed both as unjustifiably troublesome for the rewriter, and as an affront to the original author.
Yet among the many dozens of language teachers who have been consulted in the preparation of this book, there has been scarcely one who does not claim that he or she makes some changes or additions to the printed textbook, even if it is supposedly of the programmed self-instructional variety. Many of those interviewed described major changes. A few operate with a minimum outline and a few props, and recreate the course every time they teach it. Under these circumstances, two points need emphasis: First, the various degrees of adaptation, augmentation and rewriting form a continuum, at the far end of which stands the preparation of original materials. Second, before one can begin to adapt or augment or write or rewrite, and before one can even decide which of these four to undertake, it is necessary to evaluate what is available. This chapter offers guidelines for evaluation, and outlines a general procedure for adaptation. The guidelines and the procedure ​receive detailed illustration in the appendices, and particularly in Appendices A-F.
EVALUATION
More than courses in French, Spanish, German or English, a course in a seldom-taught language is likely to be the brain child of one author, conceived in desperation, brought forth in obscurity, and destined to be despised and rejected of all other men. Sometimes rejection is inevitable, but often it is the result of hasty, or unperceptive, or unappreciative examination of the existing book. The following guidelines for evaluation may be applied to the efforts of others, but also to one's own handiwork both before and after it is completed. The guidelines are stated in terms of three qualities, three dimensions, and four components.
EVALUATION: THREE QUALITIES
Every lesson, every part of every lesson, and even every line may be judged on three qualities, which we shall call 'strength,' 'lightness' and 'transparency.' As we shall use these terms, their opposites, weakness, heaviness and opacity are usually undesirable.There are however situations in which a certain amount of heaviness and opacity can be useful, and the same may even be true for weakness (see, for example, Appendix D). It would be a mistake, therefore, to assume that strength, lightness and transparency are absolute virtues, or that an increase in one of these values necessarily means an improvement in the lesson. Nevertheles, weakness, heaviness and opacity are in general warning signs, and their presence calls for special justification in terms of the lesson or the textbook as a whole. ​Strength
'Does it carry its own weight by means of the rewards that it makes available?' As we pointed out in Chapter 1 (p. 23f), rewards may be of at least five different kinds; they must be valid in terms of the values of the learner, and not of the materials writer only.
In the evaluation of an entire course, concern about strength will lead to such questions as:
Looking at a single lesson from the same point of view, one may ask:
On the smallest scale, a sentence like 'your horse had been old' (cited by Jespersen, 1904) is weak to the point of being feeble, because there is no situation in which anyone can use it. The cliché 'The book is on the table' is stronger, because the situations in which it can be used are fairly frequent. But we must distinguish between the ease with which a situation can be created in the classroom, and the frequency with which it actually gets ​commented on in real life. In this latter respect, 'The book is on the table' is still relatively weak. A sentence like 'I need a taxi' (Taylor, p. 50) is potentially stronger because most people are more concerned about being able to verbalize this need than they are about being able to describe the most obvious location of a book.
In the same way, 'I need a taxi' is stronger for most students than 'I need a hinge. But other things being equal, strength is always relative to the needs and interests of the students: some people talk about hinges every day and never see a taxi. For this reason, we cannot build strength as a permanent and absolute quality into any fixed set of materials.
It is impossible to give simple directions for determining what would make materials strong for any given class.
Questionnaires may help, and being psychically 'with' one's students may help. Certainly it is necessary to be more than a purveyor of words and a master of drill techniques. This problem is discussed under 'specification' in Chapter 4 (p. 135ff); pp. 21–25 in Chapter 1 and pp. 54–57 in this chapter also relate to it.
Lightness
'Is a single "unit" so long that the student wearies of it before it is finished, and loses any sense of its unity?' 'Does an individual line weight heavily on the student's tongue, either because of the number of difficult sounds or because of its sheer length?' Insofar as new words or structures, by virtue of their newness alone, make a line or a lesson tiring, they may also be said to contribute to its weight, but lightness is intended here to refer primarily to sheer physical characteristics. With respect to lightness, 'Your horse had been old' and 'I need a taxi' are approximately equal. Heaviness in this sense may vary with the language background of the learner: many would find 'I need ​a hinge' to be noticeably heavier than 'I need a label,' depending on whether the native language has initial /h/ (German has; French and Spanish have not), or final voiced stops (French has; German and Spanish have not).
In general, of course, we try to make early lessons rather light. But Alex Lipson is one authority who advocates putting some heavy items into the very first sessions of a new class, while the students are in their freshest and most open state. This is one example of how none of the three qualities has absolute positive value, and temporary lack of one of these qualities is not necessarily bad.
Transparency
Transparency is primarily a cognitive problem: how readily can the user of the materials see the units and their relationships? Looking at a textbook as a whole, we may ask:
With regard to single lessons, we may ask:
With regard to single lines, we may ask:
​Once again, transparency is not an absolute value. One good aspect of inductive teaching of grammar, for example, is the fun of working one's way out of a temporary structural fog.
Needless to say, opacity is to be calculated from the point of view of the learner. If the writer or adapter knows the language too well, he may forget that what seems obvious to him may be perplexing for students from a very different language background. On the other hand, writers sometimes spend much effort in elaborate explanation of a point that really causes the students no trouble.
Summary comments on the three qualities
The differences among the three qualities may perhaps be clarified by looking at the following sentences:
Obviously, in even the best of lessons some lines will be stronger than others, every line has some heaviness, and many ​will be partly opaque. Furthermore, the three criteria will often conflict with one another: a line may be very strong but also heavy, or transparent but also weak. Even so, they may be worth the attention of anyone who is writing or evaluating language lessons. Lightness and transparency can conceivably be made permanent attributes of permanent lessons, but only constant adaptation will keep strength from deteriorating.
EVALUATION: THREE DIMENSIONS
The content of a textbook, or a lesson, or a drill, or a single line may be plotted in each of three dimensions: linguistic, social and topical.
The linguistic dimension. ('How well must they speak?)
In a course as a whole, the linguistic content that is needed is relatively independent of the age, occupation or special interests of the prospective students. This content consists mainly of phonological patterns and structural devices. Because this aspect of content is so dependable, text writers have too often accorded the linguistic dimension absolute primacy: Social and topical content need not be absorbing, but only plausible and appropriate for illustrating a series of linguistic points. This is particularly likely to happen when the materials developer is also a trained linguist, intent on sharing with the readers his enjoyment of the intricacies and symmetries of linguistic structure. Even before the ascendancy of linguistic science, of course, one type of textbook subordinated everything else to the purpose of conveying patterns. (That must surely have been the purpose behind 'Your horse had been old.') But in the absence of resolute and meticulous planning for other sources of reward, strength is drawn ​primarily from the social and topical dimensions. This is one reason why some linguistically brilliant textbooks have been pedagogical flops.
The social dimension ('Who is talking with whom?')
It is therefore a good idea, before starting to adapt existing lessons, to draw up a simple two-dimensional matrix. The social dimension lists the kinds of people with whom the student most urgently needs to interact, by occupation of course, but also according to their social status with reference to the communication event. The choice of interlocutors determines not only the content of what one says, but also the style in which one says it. If the training site is a junior high school in an entirely English-speaking town, the original list might include only the teacher and the other students. The reality to which the matrix refers may be prospective as well as immediate, however. Many teachers prefer to operate on the principle of 'now now and later later:' stick to present realities while the students are coping with the rudiments of the language, and begin to use more distant ones in the intermediate stage. Policemen, taxi drivers, landlords and many others may thus be added to the matrix. But they may only be added if the prospect of encountering them is psychologically real to the students themselves. To add them at the whim of the teacher or for the convenience of the materials writer would result in a spurious matrix, invalid from the point of view of the student, and a source of weakness rather than strength.
The same principle applies to the training of adults who expect to go immediately to jobs where they will use the language. The roles that make up the social dimension will be more numerous, and the prospects will be more clearly defined, but care in selecting and defining the roles can still make the difference between strength and weakness.
​Most writers give some attention to the social dimension when they are writing dialog material, although there have been some exceptions. Drill materials, on the other hand, are usually treated as socially neutral. They are not always completely so, of course. Any German, French, Russian or Spanish sentence in the second person must necessarily imply choice as to level of respect, and the same is even more true for many other languages. Some drills may in fact concentrate on the contrast between tu- forms and vous-forms. This is fine as far as it goes, but it is not enough. Even the lowliest substitution drill can be checked for its social implications ('Who might say these things to whom?'). Thus, 'Have you received an invitation?' and 'Have you met the ambassador?' are compatible with each other, but not with 'Have you brushed your teeth?' Any internal inconsistencies should have some clear justification.
The topical dimension ('What are they talking about?')
At right angles to the social dimension, the topical dimension lists the things that the trainee is most likely to want to talk about: greetings and general phrases for getting a conversation started, expressions needed in conducting a class, street directions, diagnosis of poultry diseases, and so forth. Some topics are of interest to trainees of almost all kinds, while others are highly specialized. The problem, for the writer who wants to produce strong materials, is that the trainees' most specialized interests are often the very ones that are most vivid for them. Even for a generally useful topic like street and road directions, the actual locales that excite most interest will vary from one class to another.
​The socio-topical matrix
The intersection of the social and topical dimensions produces a set of boxes. For some situations, the boxes might be labeled as follows:
* Adult stranger
* Small Child
* Policeman
* Colleague
* Host etc.
Note that not all the boxes will be equally plausible: one will not expect to praise the policeman's cooking or ask directions of a four-year-old child. This kind of matrix is useful both for making an inventory of what is in an existing book, and also for plotting the needs of a particular group of students. with the addition of a linguistic dimension, as in Chapter 4, p. 142, such a matrix may ​serve in planning entire courses. For the adapter's needs, however, this two-dimensional grid is easier to manage, and almost as effective.
Ted Plaister (private communication) has suggested how selected boxes from such a matrix might be placed on individual cards or sheets of paper and made into starting points for adaptations or for complete lessons.
EVALUATION: FOUR COMPONENTS
Earlier drafts of this chapter ventured the guess that a successful lesson needs components of four--and only four--kinds. Subsequent experiments, and discussions with many dozens of language teachers, have turned this hunch into a belief. The four essential components,whether for speech or for writing or for both, are: occasions for use, a sample of the language in use, exploration of vocabulary, and exploration of (phonetic, orthographic or grammatical) form. To make this assertion is not, however, to prescribe a method or a format. Each of the four components may take any of countless shapes, and the student may meet them in any of several orders. It should also be pointed out that the order in which the components are written need not be that in which they are placed before the student.
Component 1: occasions for use
Every lesson should contain a number of clear suggestions for using the language. Each of these suggestions should embody a purpose outside of the language itself, which is valid in terms of the student's needs and interests. Insofar as these purposes relate to the external world (see Chapter 1, p.21f), most of them will fall under one or more of the following rubrics:
* Establishing or further developing real social relationships with real people, including classmates. Simple examples are greetings, introductions, autobiographical matters including personal anecdotes, participation in garnes, exploration of likes and dislikes.
* Eliciting or imparting desired information. What is the climate like at various times of year in Sarkhan? How does the currency system work? How is a certain dish prepared? How does the electrical system of an automobile work?
* Learning or imparting useful skills: sewing, dancing, playing soccer, thatching a roof.
* Learning to make culturally relevant judgments:distinguishing ripe from unripe fruit, candling eggs, predicting the weather, estimating water depth.
* Doing things for fun:humor, garnes, singing, relaxation
Some of the 'occasions for use' should involve muscular activity: playing, pointing, handling, writing, etc.
As many occasions for use as possible should be written in the form of 'behavioral objectives:' what students are to do should be described so clearly that there can be no question as to whether anyone student's performance meets the requirements. There should be some overt way in which each student can know (a) that he has performed, and (b) how well he has performed.
For example:
Even the latter is better than:
Occasions for use, then, should be both useful and specific. But they should also be stimulating and open-ended.
Excellent examples of such suggestions are to be found in the sections on Using the Materials, in Appendix R, pp.346- 364. Rehg (private correspondence) comments on some of these examples as follows:
An important aspect of Ponapean culture is the title system. Each adult, unless he is something of an outcast, is assigned a title, and is subsequently known by that title in all formal and many informal situations. However, most foreigners do not know these alternate 'names.' A student who has learned the relevant structures and vocabulary can be assigned a task of the following kind:
(a) Elicit the titles of the adult members of the family you are staying with. Record this information, and bring it back to your instructor.
(b)What are the literal meanings of these titles?
(c) within the Ponapean title system, how important are these titles?
Completion of these tasks accomplishes a number of objectives. Part (a) gives the trainee an opportunity to use the language that he has learned in a manner that is useful following an assignment that is specific. Part (b) provides him with the basis for countless hours of interesting discussion on a topic that fascinates most Ponapeans; therefore, the task is open-ended. Part (c) brings the student to grips with the power structure of the community. Foreigners seem to be very curious ​about the matter of titles, and so the task is also stimulating. Students very quickly recognize busy work, so a useful, specific, open-ended but nonstimulating task will probably be non-productive.
We have discussed 'occasions for use' before the other three components because writers and teachers so often slight them, or ignore them altogether. It is true that the student normally performs them at the end of a lesson, if at all, but a writer or adapter would be wise to begin thinking about them as soon as he has chosen a lesson. Even in the student's book, the planned occasions for use might be listed at the head of the lesson, so that the student can form a clearer idea of the potential strength of the rest of the lesson. Occasions for use should certainly affect the writing or revision of every other component.
Component 2: a sample of language use
Every lesson should contain a sample of how the language is used. The sample should be:
* long enough to be viable. (Two-line dialogs, no matter how timely or realistic, have proved not to meet this requirement.)
* short enough to be covered, with the rest of the lesson, in 1-4 hours of class time.
* related to a socio-topical matrix that the students accept as expressing their needs and interests.
The sample may take any of several forms. Many courses in the past 25 years have used the 'basic dialog' to fulfill this role, but other kinds of sample are more useful for some purposes.The most concrete is probably the 'action chain' (or 'action script'), which lists a series of activities that normally occur together. ​The most familiar example is 'I get up. I bathe. I get dressed…,' but the same format may accommodate discussion of technical processes, negotiation with a landlord, public ceremonies, and many other topics. Another kind of sample, particularly suitable after the first 50-100 hours of instruction, is a short passage of expository or narrative prose (see Chapter 7).
Whatever form the sample takes, it should contain at least one or two lines that lend themselves to lexical and/or structural exploration of the kinds that will be discussed in the next two sections of this chapter. If the sample does not contain such lines, then it will become an isolated compartment within the lesson, rather than a productive part of it. Appendix C illustrates this danger. Appendix G, among others, shows what we would consider to be a more desirable relationship between the sample and the rest of the lesson.
'Language in use' of course implies 'language as one part of a communication event,' and spoken language is always accompanied by other bodily activity, including gestures, facial expressions, posture,nearness to other people, and so forth. These aspects of communication ought to receive attention also. See Appendix B for examples.
Component 3: lexical exploration
In this and the following section, we have made frequent use of the word 'exploration.' This word is perhaps confusing, and hence ill-chosen. We have used it in order to emphasize the active, creative, partially unprescribed role of the learner, and to avoid an image of the learner as one whose every footstep is to be guided by a pedagogue. 'Exploration' in this sense stands in contrast to 'inculcation.' ​'Lexical exploration,' then, refers to those aspects of a lesson through which the student expands his ability to come up with, or to recognize, the right word at the right time. The simplest kind of lexical exploration uses lists of words, sometimes with a sentence or two illustrating the use of each. In a well-constructed lesson, there may be a number of sub-lists, each related to some part of the basic sample. Thus, the basic dialog for unit 2 of French Basic Course (Desberg et al., 1960)contains the line:
| Crest ça, et reveillez-moi demain a sept heures. | Fine, and wake me tomorrow at seven. |
and the section devoted to Useful Words provides the expressions for 'one o'clock' through 'eleven o'clock,' plus 'noon' and 'midnight.' The dialog for Unit 5 includes the words for 'autumn' and 'winter,' and the Useful Words add 'spring' and 'summer.'
For a more coherent lesson, it would be desirable to relate lexical exploration not only to the basic sample, but also to the projected occasions for use. One way of approaching this goal is through use of 'Cummings devices' (Chapter 6). In a Cummings device, a question or some other line from the sample may be presented along with a number of sentences which are alternative answers or other rejoinders to it. The device may also include other questions that are very similar to the first. Both questions and answers should be chosen with careful attention to how the student can use them for more than mere linguistic drill. For example, in one set of lessons in Mauritian Creole (cf. Appendix E), a narrative sample of the language describes a woman going to market.
It contains the sentence:
| Zaklin aste rasyõ komã too Ie semen. | Jacqueline buys groceries as [she does] every week. |
A Cummings device that focusses on the lexical exploration of this sentence is:
Questions:
| Lil Moris, eski zot aste dipẽ too Ie zoor? | In Mauritius, do they buy bread every day? |
| Lil Moris, eski zot aste doori too Ie zoor? | In Mauritius, do they buy rice every day? |
| etc. | etc. |
Rejoinders:
| Zot aste dipẽ too Ie zoor. | They buy bread every day. |
| Zot aste doori too Ie semen. | They buy rice every week. |
| etc. | etc. |
Students first learn to pronounce, understand and manipulate these sentences, and then go on immediately to use them in the form of two-line conversations. Note that these conversations remain in touch with reality, for this Cummings device contains accurate information about the frequency with which various items are bought. Because of differences in marketing practices and refrigeration facilities, the student will find certain differences between Mauritius and his home. A factually inaccurate answer to one of these questions is just as wrong as a linguistically incorrect one. Thus, as the student practices a new construction ('too Ie zoor/semen'), he is also learning some down-to-earth facts about the place where he expects to live.
​Component. 4: exploration of structural relationships
The final essential component of a language lesson guides the student in exploring such matters as the relationship in both form and meaning between the third person singular present subjunctive of a verb and the corresponding third person singular present indicative; or between two different ways of embedding one sentence in another; or between the definite and the indefinite article. These relationships are the subject matter of what is usually called 'the study of grammar.' Bosco (1970, p. 79) distinguishes among three 'modes of representation.' Following his analysis, the exploration of structural relationships may take the form of drills ('enactive' mode), charts and diagrams ('iconic mode'), or grammar notes ('symbolic' mode). Much past and present controversy among language teachers turns on the relative prominence to be assigned to each of these modes, and the order in which they should occupy the student's attention. Learners synopses (Chapter 5) are principally symbolic presentations of major structural relationships.
Lado (1958) may have been right in speculating that 'it is possible to learn a language without ever repeating the same sentence twice.' To do so, however, would require extraordinary materials, extraordinary teachers, and probably extraordinary students as well. For some structural relationships, adequate exploration may require a certain amount of retracing one's steps, both within and between lessons. This may involve one, two, or all three of the 'modes.' What we usually call drills may in this sense be regarded as 'reiterated enactive exploration,' to use a phrase which is as monstrous as it is descriptive. Looking at them in this way is probably better than inflicting them as 'necessary neuromuscular inculcation.' This matter is discussed in Chapter 8.
​Because the sentences in anyone Cummings device are often grammatically similar to one another, the device has advantages in structural, as well as lexical, exploration.
A FINAL WORD ON EVALUATION
Instructional materials do not consist of qualities, dimensions and components. Nor do the descriptions of the qualities, dimensions and components provide a blueprint for writing or adapting. Rather, the three terms stand for ways of looking at materials, and these ways are not merely restatements of one another. We have said that strength is often derived from appropriate sociotopical resources in a lesson, but a socio-topically relevant lesson that is poorly organized may still be weak, and some teachers know how to make lessons amply rewarding and strong with almost no relation to external reality. Similarly, occasions for use contribute to but do not guarantee strength.
ADAPTATION
Throughout recorded history, and probably longer than that, language teachers have been reminding one another of the necessity for 'bridging the gap' between manipulation and communication, or between the classroom and life. One of the ways in which they quite properly attempt to do so is through adapting old textbooks to fit new needs. Most, however, tend to place the center of gravity of their bridges on one side of the gap or another. To put the same thing in another way, they focus their attention either on the original textbook or on the rewards and relevancies of the project at hand, and slight the other. In the original sense of the word 'focus,' the first kind of adapter seems to be working his way out from the warmth and comfort of a hearth (the ​printed lesson) toward a perimeter (the end of the lesson) beyond which lies darkness. He sees his task as providing additional activities (dialogs, drills, games, or whatever) that lie not too far beyond the perimeter, and which may help to extend it. If this adapter were a plant, he would be a morning glory vine in the springtime, putting out its tendrils in search of anything at all to which it can attach itself. The second kind of adapter warms himself by a portable hearth wherever the interests of the students seem to lie, and may forget where home was; botanically he would be a dandelion whose seeds are scattered by the wind.
In this book, we suggest that a prospective adapter begin by making a careful survey of both sides of the gap he is trying to bridge. Once he has done so, he can connect the two sides by using whatever devices he is most comfortable with. The point is that he is working with two basic documents and not just one. Certainly he must take account of the lessons that he has set out to adapt, but just as certainly he must exploit the sociotopical matrix that summarizes his students' interests. He must satisfy the demands of the textbook, but in ways that will be satisfying to those who learn from it. He works around two foci, and not just one. Depending on the nature of the original materials, he may find himself preparing Cummings devices to go with dialogs, or dialogs to go with Cummings devices, or drills to go with either or both, or all of these to flesh out an existing set of grammar notes. In all cases, his most creative contribution will probably lie in suggesting how the learners can make early and convincing use of what they have just learned to manipulate.
​Obviously, in view of the great variety both of original textbooks and of student objectives, adaptation is and will remain an art.
We cannot here offer a mechanical procedure for accomplishing it. Nevertheless, on the basis of the principles outlined earlier in this chapter, we may venture to suggest an overall strategy:
* Predict what the students will need and respond to in each of the three dimensions: linguistic, social and topical.
* Make an inventory of the material at hand, in the same three dimensions.
* Compare the results of the first two steps, in order to form a clear picture of what you need to add or subtract.
* Draw up a list of ways in which the students may use the material. This is the most delicate step in adaptation because the list should be as heterogeneous as possible, yet stated in terms of actual behavior that the students are to engage in. It is also the most important step, however, because it opens up such valuable sources of motive power.
* Supply whatever is necessary (dialogs, drills, Cummings devices, etc.) in order to bring the students from mastery of the existing materials to the uses which you have listed in Step 4. Po1itzer (1971) has pointed out that changes may be in rate of progress, or in the means employed, or in the goals themselves. Adaptation of rate may take the form of added materials to make more gradual the transition from one part of the existing ​materials and another. It may also take the form of more complete instructions for the teacher, or detailed checklists to show the student what he should get out of each part of the lesson. Changes in the means employed will depend on what the adapter and the, prospective users find mutually congenial. Changes in goals should take account of one fact that some teachers seem not to be aware of: any topic may be treated at any degree of linquistic difficulty, from the simplicity of 'What is this? It is a (papilla, colony, Petri dish, centrifuge, etc.)' to the complexity of 'The never before published volume lying at an angle of approximately 37° to the edge of the table is wholly supported by it.'
This chapter is incomplete without one or more of its appendices.