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Native Listening Language Experience and the
Recognition of Spoken Words 1st Edition Anne Cutler
Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Anne Cutler
ISBN(s): 9780262305457, 0262305453
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 22.32 MB
Year: 2012
Language: english
Native Listening
Native Listening
Anne Cutler
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic
or mechanical means (including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval)
without permission in writing from the publisher.
MIT Press books may be purchased at special quantity discounts for business or sales pro-
motional use. For information, please email [email protected] or write to Special
Sales Department, The MIT Press, 55 Hayward Street, Cambridge, MA 02142.
This book was set in Times Roman by Toppan Best-set Premedia Limited. Printed and bound
in the United States of America.
Cutler, Anne.
Native listening : language experience and the recognition of spoken words / Anne Cutler.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0-262-01756-5 (alk. paper)
1. Speech perception. 2. Listening. 3. Language and languages—Variation. 4. Speech
processing systems. 5. Linguistic models. I. Title.
P37.5.S68C88 2012
401′.95—dc23
2011045431
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To all those who made it possible, with a special salutation to those among them who
are no longer here to read it, and foremost among the latter Betty O’Loghlen Cutler
(1915–1994) and C. Ian Cutler (1920–2005), who involuntarily provided me with the
cortical wherewithal to support a career in speech perception research (see chapter
8) and deliberately provided me with the confidence to pursue it.
Contents
Preface xiii
6 What Is Spoken Language Like? Part 2: The Fine Structure of Speech 191
6.1 Predictable and Unpredictable Variation 192
6.2 Segmental Assimilation Phenomena 198
6.2.1 Perception of Phonemes That Have Undergone Regressive
Assimilation 200
6.2.2 Perception of Phonemes That Have Undergone Progressive
Assimilation 202
6.2.3 Obligatory versus Optional Assimilation in Word Recognition 203
6.2.4 Universal and Language Specific in the Processing of Assimilation 205
6.3 Liaison between Words 206
6.4 Segment Insertion in Words 208
6.5 Segment Deletion 210
6.6 Variant Segmental Realizations 213
6.6.1 Word Recognition and Word-Final Subphonemic Variation 214
6.6.2 Word Recognition and Subphonemic Variation in Word Onsets 215
6.6.3 Word Recognition and Phonemic Variation 219
6.7 Phonemic Neutralization 221
6.8 Multiple Concurrent Variations 222
6.9 Conclusion 225
7 Prosody 227
7.1 Prosody in the Lexical Activation and Competition Processes 229
7.1.1 Stress 229
7.1.2 Pitch Accent 237
7.2 Irrelevant Lexical Prosody 241
7.3 Prosodic Contexts and Their Role in Spoken-Word Processing 242
7.3.1 Processing Prosodic Salience: Words and Intonation Contours 243
7.3.2 Processing Cues to Juncture: Fine Prosodic Detail 248
7.4 Universal Processing of Prosodic Structure? 253
7.5 Conclusion: Future Developments in Perceptual Studies of Prosody? 258
x Contents
recent years in our knowledge of how spoken-word recognition happens, but mainly
it is because the spoken-word recognition story so beautifully forms a theater in
which the whole story of language-specificity in listening plays out.
There is a tendency in all science for the majority of research, and certainly for
the majority of highly cited research, to come from countries where English is the
local language. In many branches of science this has no further consequences for
the science itself, but in psycholinguistics it can have far-reaching implications for
the research program and for the development of theory. As chapter 1 explains, this
threat was indeed real in early psycholinguistics.
Psycholinguistics is lucky, however, in that a serious counterweight to the mass of
English-based evidence has been added by the experiments of the Max Planck
Institute for Psycholinguistics (where I have had the good fortune to work since
1993). This institute, in existence since the late 1970s, happens to be in Nijmegen,
where the local language is Dutch. Dutch may not be that different from English,
but in some respects it is certainly different enough to motivate interesting conclu-
sions (see chapters 1 and 2). Quite a lot of the work discussed in this book was
carried out on Dutch. I hope that one effect of this book is that evidence will be
found from many more languages and wherever informative comparisons are to be
made.
The book’s introductory chapter lays out the necessity of a crosslinguistic approach
to the study of listening to speech and illustrates it with two in-depth case studies.
After this, the story of what speech is like, and how its structure determines every
aspect of the spoken-word recognition process, is laid out in chapters 2–6. Chapters
11 and 12 then fill out the psychological picture—chapter 11 by addressing the flex-
ibility of speech processing, and chapter 12 by drawing out further implications of
the story for an overall view of the language processing system.
Whoops! What happened to chapters 7–10? They enrich the story with further
indispensable detail: chapter 7 on the processing of prosodic structure, chapter 8 on
infant speech perception, and chapters 9 and 10 on perception of speech in a second
language.
The audience I had in mind while writing this book was, first of all, people like
my own graduate students; the book contains what I would like young researchers
to know as they survey the field in search of a productive area to work on. (My
personal tip for readers falling into this category is that chapter 6 or chapter 11
could be exciting places to start right now—a lot of progress is happening there.)
My graduate students come from a variety of backgrounds, both disciplinary
(psychology, linguistics, and adjacent fields) and theoretical. Theories, as we know,
Preface xv
are the motors of science, with data being the fuel they run on. Surely, every single
piece of research described in this book was motivated by a theoretical issue, and
many were specifically prompted by particular models of spoken-word recognition.
Although it is not hard to discern where my own theoretical preferences lie, this
book is not aimed at pushing a particular approach. (Every theory, after all, is ulti-
mately wrong in some way.) The data any theory have called into being will remain,
however, and may serve as the foundation for new theories. So that research findings
may be evaluated by everyone, regardless of their own preferences, the text mostly
tries to concentrate on the implications of the findings for new theories, rather than
on the particular motivations that brought them into being.
This has meant that many prominent theories in the field hardly appear in the
text (although the data they have generated may appear). The focus of my investiga-
tion has not been a history of the field itself but the growth in our knowledge about
how spoken-word recognition works and, in particular, the role of language struc-
ture in this process. Likewise, many important topics of debate are not discussed
here if they do not directly generate lessons about how we understand words; this
includes debates in the phonetic literature on the nature of speech sounds (i.e., not
only does the spotlight not shine much above the word level, it doesn’t shine much
below it, either). A text has to stop somewhere, and unless a topic had serious influ-
ence in the psycholinguistic literature on recognizing words, I left it out. And finally,
although I felt that chapters 7–10 were needed, I did not add further enriching
chapters on, for instance, language impairment at the lexical level, the representa-
tion of words in the brain, children’s representation of words, the role of spelling
in spoken-word recognition, or many other topics that might have been added
even without leaving the spoken/lexical level of focus or indeed without leaving
the list of topics that have exercised me. Maybe these can be included in a future
volume 2.
The book is dedicated “to all those who made it possible.” The list of people in this
category is far too long to enumerate on a dedication page. The list is so long
because I have been so very lucky in my scientific life.
Best of all, I have enjoyed long-lasting collaborations. Experimental science is not
a solitary undertaking; we all work in teams. But a long-term collaboration is like a
bottomless treasure chest, always able to supply new gems of ideas and the riches
of intellectual comradeship. For bringing such fortune into my life I am deeply
grateful to Dennis Norris (35 years so far), James McQueen (25 years so far),
Takashi Otake (21 years so far), and the co-makers of magical music with Dennis
and me for more than a decade of the 1980s and early 1990s, Jacques Mehler and
xvi Preface
Juan Segui. (What a lot of happy years all that adds up to!) Indeed I owe an enor-
mous debt of gratitude to all the colleagues with whom I have worked productively
and enjoyably, for however long that has been. This holds too for my students—
thirty-three dissertation completions so far and more on the way; I am grateful not
only for the joys of collaborative work but for all the times they made me rethink
what I thought I knew. And while I am on that topic, let me also thank my scientific
enemies (some of them from time to time good friends, too) for the same service.
It is a mystery to me why any scientist would ever confuse theoretical disagreement
with personal incompatibility. We should all cherish those who disagree with us; we
would not progress half as quickly without them!
Now comes another enormous group to whom gratitude is owed. Throughout this
book I describe experimental work in psycholinguistic laboratories. This work would
be impossible without the enthusiastic participation (often for trivial monetary
reward, or course credit, or no material reward at all) in those experiments by listen-
ers who were willing to subject themselves to sometimes rather tedious tasks and
only receive explanation of the purpose of the experiment after it is over. Their
intelligent comments on the experiments and on their experience as subjects have
frequently been of considerable help to the experimenters. The tasks to which they
were subjected, however, were not designed by them nor did they know in advance
the rationale of the study in which they participated. This allows me to get off my
chest that it is entirely appropriate to refer to them under these circumstances as
“subjects” and referring to them by this or any other term in no way signifies
whether or not they were treated with respect.
For the past three decades these experiments have been carried out in some of
the most supportive working environments any scientist could wish for; from 1982
to 1993 at the Medical Research Council’s Applied Psychology Unit, from 1993 on
at the Max Planck Institute for Psycholinguistics, and from 2006 on at MARCS
Auditory Laboratories. Being privileged to work in such approximations to paradise
is yet another way in which I have been inordinately fortunate, and I convey my
thanks to all the colleagues who have contributed to making each place special.
Finally, I offer acknowledgments at the more specific level of the book itself. My
life in science so far has made me aware that writing articles describing experimental
work has become a natural exercise for me, but writing a book is highly unnatural;
for advice on the art of completing a book manuscript, but even more for setting a
magnificent example, I owe unending gratitude to Virginia Valian. To Bob Ladd, I
offer heartfelt thanks for many years of patiently showing me how prosody works.
Both of these also belong, with Ann Bradlow, Roger Wales, Elizabeth Johnson,
Taehong Cho, Emmanuel Dupoux, the reading group of the MPI Comprehension
Group, and Kate Stevens and the MSA Writing Group at MARCS, in the category
of those who read and gave comments on all or part of the manuscript. I am awed
Preface xvii
and honored by their willingness to put so much of their time and effort into this
task, and I am deeply grateful to them all. Roger Wales, especially, spent a month
being the first manuscript’s first reader; it was one of the last months in which he
took good health for granted. I am but one of the many in psycholinguistics who
wish that he could be a reader of the published version too, rather than one of its
dedicatees.
At the manuscript preparation stage, a small army of MPI research assistants (I
said this was one of the most supportive environments imaginable, didn’t I?) has
been involved in solving technical issues, including making figures. Thanks to all of
them. Special thanks to Natasha Warner for lending her voice for many spectro-
grams, and to Bernadette Jansma, who (years ago!) drew the tasks in the panels. But
by far the brunt of the manuscript work has been borne, as ever, by Rian Zondervan.
The really essential people in one’s life always figure right at the end of the acknowl-
edgments! Rian’s help with the work on the book has been without any doubt
indispensable, and that has been true of her help on all counts for, now, nearly two
decades. Last of all, so most essential of all, comes my husband, Bill Sloman, his
years of patience with “The Book” now swelling the grand sea of all that I thank
him for.
1 Listening and Native Language
This book is about listening to speech—specifically, how humans turn the sounds they hear
into words they can recognize. The central argument of the book is that the way we listen is
adapted by our experience with our native language, so that precisely how we listen differs
from one language to another. The psycholinguist’s task is to find out what parts of the process
of listening are universal, what parts are language specific, and how they became that way.
Two case studies in this chapter illuminate how the task needs to be approached. First, con-
sider that listening is given a universal substrate by how speech is produced; this determines,
for instance, the acoustic characteristics of vowels and consonants, which in turn determine
how listeners perceive speech sounds. But although acoustic vowel-consonant differences
are universal, studies of the perception of vowels and consonants, and of their role in word
recognition, show that examining these issues in just one language is not enough. Only
cross-language comparison allows the full picture to appear. Second, the same is true of a
language-specific feature such as lexical stress. Comparisons across languages reveal its role
in listening, and despite the language-specific nature of stress, its story further illuminates the
universal account of listening. Listening must be studied crosslinguistically.
A book about listening should really be spoken. The recurring themes of this book
are how naturally and effortlessly we understand speech in our native tongue and
how different listening to a nonnative language can be from listening to the native
tongue. Speech would do these themes greater justice than print. The final conclu-
sion of the book is that listening to speech is so easy (when it is easy), or so hard
(when it is hard), because it depends so much on our previous experience of listen-
ing to speech. A printed text leaves such experience untouched; a spoken text would
augment it!
Using speech is one of humankind’s favorite activities but also an outstanding
achievement of the human mind. With such vital subject matter, psycholinguistics
is an exceptionally rewarding discipline; speaking, listening, signing, reading, and
writing are all cognitive operations of enormous complexity that have richly repaid
investigation. Listening seems like the easiest of these operations; we cannot recall
having had to learn to listen to speech, and under most circumstances we notice no
difficulty in listening. Yet, as the following chapters will reveal, when we are listening
2 Chapter 1
we are carrying out a formidable range of mental tasks, all at once, with astonishing
speed and accuracy. Listening involves evaluating the probabilities arising from the
structure of the native vocabulary (see chapter 2), considering in parallel multiple
hypotheses about the individual words making up the utterances we hear (see
chapter 3), tracking information of many different kinds to locate the boundaries
between these words (see chapters 4 and 5), paying attention to subtle variation in
the way the words are pronounced (see chapter 6), and assessing not only informa-
tion specifying the sounds of speech—vowels and consonants—but also, and at the
same time, the prosodic information, such as stress and accent, that spans sequences
of sounds (see chapter 7).
So listening is not really easy, though it undeniably seems easy. After those six
chapters have laid out the complexities involved, chapter 8 discusses how listening
to speech first begins and acquires its necessarily language-specific character, and
chapters 9 and 10 detail the consequences of this language-specific specialization
for listening to other languages. Chapter 11 elaborates on the flexibility and adapt-
ability of listening (as long as we are listening in the native language), and chapter
12 draws some general conclusions about how language-specificity and universality
fit together in our language processing system.
1. Psycholinguistic Experiments
The comprehension of spoken language is a mental operation, invisible to direct inspec-
tion. No techniques yet in existence allow us to observe the process of recognizing
individual words across time. But psycholinguists have devised many ingenious ways of
looking at the process indirectly (in the laboratory, mostly). These laboratory methods
often involve measuring the speed with which a decision is made, or a target detected, or
a verbal response issued (reaction time, or RT for short). Alternatively, the percentage of
correct responses may be measured, or the percentage of responses of different types.
It is important to make sure that the task is reflecting what we want it to reflect— specifi-
cally, that there are no uncontrolled artifacts that might support alternative interpreta-
tions. Also it is important to relate the results of the highly controlled laboratory task to
the natural processes we actually want to study. Some tasks that have been in use in the
field for many years are now well understood and can provide quite subtle and detailed
insights.
Ten of the most useful tasks—thus, the ones that are used in most of the research
described in this book—will be illustrated and briefly described in panels in the first three
chapters. Basic findings with most of these tasks are listed in Grosjean and Frauenfelder
1996. Panel 12 in chapter 12 gives some hints for deciding which task to use to test a
particular hypothesis as well as how to construct a new task if none of the existing ones
seems quite right for the job.
Listening and Native Language 3
The rest of this introductory chapter explains why listening to speech should be
studied, and understood, by comparing across languages. There are some ways in
which languages are all much the same, and there are some ways in which they are
wildly different, but whatever aspect is being considered, crosslinguistic comparison
is vital for understanding it fully. Also, in this chapter, attention is given to how
psycholinguists study listening. We know about the impressive number of cognitive
operations so efficiently accomplished during listening because researchers have
devised ingenious methods for distinguishing between these operations and assess-
ing the course and outcome of each one in turn. These laboratory methods mostly
involve simple tasks performed while listening to speech; panel 1 introduces this
thread, which runs through this chapter and the two that follow.
If psycholinguistics has one most fundamental premise, it is this: children learn the
language of the environment. This concerns listening because of the vital role played
by the language input that the little learner receives. Take a baby born of English-
speaking parents, a baby born of Taiwanese-speaking parents, and a baby born of
Igbo-speaking parents, place those children in the same monolingual Spanish envi-
ronment, and they will all learn Spanish, in much the same way, and certainly without
any differences that can be traced to the language spoken by their biological parents.
Place them in a Tamil-speaking environment, and they will all acquire Tamil. Expose
them to an environment where everyone is deaf and uses a sign language, and they
will all acquire the sign language. The only thing that really matters for the learning
outcome is the language input to which the child is exposed.
This leads us to conclude that the infant, not specialized for any particular
language, is a sort of universal learning system. In line with this, the process of
language acquisition runs its course in a very similar way for all languages. Not
only that, there are structural similarities common to all natural languages.
Acquisition of Spanish and acquisition of Taiwanese and acquisition of Igbo are
not radically different achievements of the human mind, but in essence the same
achievement.
This conclusion is important for psycholinguists because, as cognitive psycholo-
gists, they want to know how the mind works—the human mind. They want to know
how the Spanish mind works, and the Taiwanese mind, and the mind of every lan-
guage user in the world. Language is the core of the human mind and its operation.
Psycholinguists thus seek to understand how language—any language—is spoken
and understood. Since psycholinguistics began as a separate discipline in the mid-
twentieth century, psycholinguists have had as their goal a universal model of lan-
guage processing—that is, of the operations by which an intention to communicate
4 Chapter 1
be one in which all the processes at every level of speaking and understanding are
constant across languages. (We return to this issue in chapter 12.)
The question of what is universal across languages, or indeed whether anything is,
has occupied much linguistic energy over the years (e.g., Greenberg 1963; Comrie
1989; and, as a recent installment, Evans and Levinson 2009, with the associated
commentaries). Fortunately, there is an undisputed universal substrate to the task
of listening to speech. Speech is spoken by humans; any aspect of speech that follows
necessarily from the physiology of human speech production will be universal across
languages. The nature of the task of recognizing words also has many unavoidable,
and hence universal, characteristics, described in chapters 2 and 3. The separable
sounds of speech, or phonemes, are universal constructs by definition: a phoneme
is a minimal unit that distinguishes one word from another. Such a minimal unit can
be a vowel (bad differs from bed), or it can be a consonant (bad differs from sad
and from bag)—speech sounds come in these two varieties: vowels and consonants.
This fundamental phonological difference is certainly determined by how we articu-
late speech and thus is certainly shared by all languages.
Consider that mama is a basic word in the vocabulary of many languages. This is
not an accident: it is because it is so easy for an infant to say. If an infant expels air
through the larynx, with the mouth otherwise in a relatively neutral position, the
result is a vowel, probably one like [a].1 If the infant then temporarily interrupts this
production in the simplest way, by closing and reopening the mouth, the result is a
syllable beginning with a bilabial consonant—ma, or if the closure is more abrupt,
ba or pa. Assigning meaning to such simple early productions is apparently an irre-
sistible option for language communities across the world.2
If we want to know how people understand spoken language, it makes good sense
to begin with the speech sounds and their universal properties. Speech is produced
by expelling air from the lungs through the vocal folds in the larynx to generate an
auditory signal and then modulating this signal by adjusting the configuration of the
reverberant chamber through which the sound passes—the mouth. This process
creates the two different kinds of speech sounds. For the really, really full story, see
Ladefoged and Disner 2012, but here is a brief summary: Vowels are sounds made
without obstruction of the air passage—they differ according to the size and shape
of the vocal cavity as they are uttered. This size and shape is controlled by where
the speaker positions the tongue and whether the lips are protruded or spread. If
there is constriction of the passage of air through the vocal tract, so that it is either
entirely stopped for a moment, or it is modulated by being forced through a very
narrow opening of the throat, teeth, or other articulators, the resulting sound is
6 Chapter 1
called a consonant. Consonants differ according to where the flow of air is obstructed
(place of articulation), how it is obstructed (manner of articulation), and the timing
of voiced phonation during the constriction (voicing). All languages make up their
stock of communicative material on the basis of a small set of speech sounds—some
vowels and some consonants.
Besides these phonetic (articulatory) differences between vowels and consonants,
there are also phonological differences—that is, differences in the role that each
may play in the sound patterns of language. Speech sounds are not uttered in isola-
tion but as part of larger units; the unit where the phonological differences between
vowels and consonants occur is the syllable. The syllable is also an articulatory unit
in the sense that the smallest possible act of speech production is a syllable. In
general, every word of every language must consist of at least one syllable, and every
syllable must consist of at least a nucleus. The nucleus presents the primary vowel-
consonant difference: all vowels can be the nucleus of a syllable, but most conso-
nants cannot. In some languages, sonorous consonants such as [m] or [r] can function
as a nucleus, and in a very tiny number of languages (some of which will turn up in
chapter 5), other consonants can be a syllable nucleus, too. But in very many lan-
guages, only vowels can be the nucleus of a syllable.
Syllables may, but need not, also contain consonants accompanying the nucleus,
either in the preceding (onset) or the following (coda) position. Vowels are near-
obligatory and always central, consonants are permitted and near-universally
peripheral: this is a general statement of syllable structure, although it covers a wide
variation in legitimate syllable types (from languages where the only legal syllable
structure is a single vowel preceded by a single consonant onset, to languages that
allow syllables to be anything from a single short vowel to a long vowel preceded
by a triconsonantal onset and followed by a triconsonantal coda—such as English
screeched [skrit∫t], which counts as a single syllable). Phonetic differences in articula-
tion of vowels versus consonants apply in all languages, and so do vowel-consonant
differences in phonological function within syllables.
What do these difference entail for the listener’s task? For speakers, the articula-
tory differences between vowels and consonants are simple: either there is free flow
in the vocal tract or there is constriction. Acoustically, however, and in consequence
perceptually, the effects of the articulatory difference reach further. Phonetic infor-
mation transmitted by an unobstructed airflow is continuous, and hence allows for
greater durational range than information transmitted by a temporary obstruction.
Vowels can vary from quite long to quite short, but a stop consonant such as [b] can
only vary within a much more limited range. Similarly, the crucial portion of the
speech signal of a vowel is a steady state, whereas the crucial portion of the signal
for consonants can be a transition from one state to another. These differences have
perceptual consequences. The longer a sound, and the more steady-state compo-
Listening and Native Language 7
nents it comprises, the more resistant it is to noise masking; so, for instance, vowels
are sometimes perceived more accurately than are consonants against a noisy back-
ground (see, e.g., Cutler, Weber, et al. 2004), and slips of the ear are more likely to
involve misperception of consonants than of vowels (see, e.g., Bond 1999).
When listeners are asked to decide which speech sound they are hearing—in
other words, to perform phonetic categorization (see panel 2)—differences between
vowels and consonants also arise. Typically, what listeners are presented with
in phonetic categorization is a continuum of speech sounds that has been made
by taking two sounds and gradually morphing the feature(s) distinguishing
them. Thus the continuum runs from the value typical of one of the sounds to the
value typical of the other. Then we can ask listeners to identify sounds along the
2. Phonetic Categorization
In normal speech, listeners hear speech sounds that are mostly reasonably good
exemplars of their categories. But in phonetic categorization, listeners get to hear sounds
that are not at all good category exemplars. It is possible to make an artificial continuum
from one sound to another; the middle of this continuum then consists of sounds that the
listeners presumably have never heard before. But they do not report hearing new sounds.
They often report a sudden switch from tokens of one category to tokens of the other —
“categorical perception” (see figure 1.1).
The phonetic categorization task was developed for phonetic research, but it has also
proven useful in psycholinguistics. For instance, categorical functions can shift if one
decision would make a word but the other would make a nonword. There is a lot more
about research with this task in chapter 12.
8 Chapter 1
continuum (is this [b] or [p]?); or we can ask them to discriminate pairs of sounds
([i], [I]—same or different?). Even when the input is in fact ambiguous between two
categories and corresponds to nothing in the listeners’ prior perceptual experience,
listeners find the task of identifying speech sounds as exemplars of one phoneme
or another simple to do. It has long been known (Stevens et al. 1969; Pisoni 1973)
that experiments of this kind produce different response patterns for vowels and
consonants.
For consonants, the response function that usually appears reflects what is called
“categorical perception”; only within a narrow range does each possible response
receive substantial support, showing that listeners feel unsure only in that small
portion of the continuum. Quite a lot of deviation from the typical value is tolerated
before identification responses start to change from what the typical value itself
receives. There is also a parallel effect in the discrimination responses; differences
can only be well discriminated to the extent that they can be well identified. That
is, although listeners can discriminate well between two exemplars of different cat-
egories, discrimination of exemplars within a category is poor.
For vowels, in contrast, the identification curves are less steep, which suggests that
listeners perceive finer distinctions than they do with consonants. Most importantly,
the discrimination function for vowels is not dependent on the identification func-
tion in the way it is for consonants. Within-category discrimination is at chance (i.e.,
50%) for consonants but quite high for vowels. Listeners seem to be capable of
discriminating small vowel differences even when no difference of category label is
involved. Figure 1.1 depicts this difference in patterning, for one example vowel pair
and one example consonant pair. The identification function shows a less steep
crossover between categories for [i]-[I] than for [b]-[p], whereas the discrimination
function is always above 75 percent for [i]-[I] but hovers around 50 percent for
[b]-[p] except at the category boundary, where it shows a sudden peak.
Although these differences between vowels and consonants are striking, they are
not really absolute. Vowels and consonants actually range along a continuum called
the sonority hierarchy. On this continuum, vowels are at the most sonorous end,
unvoiced stop consonants at the least sonorous or most consonantal end, and various
continuant consonants range in between. Patterns of responses in categorization
experiments differ with position along the sonority hierarchy. The patterns are even
mirrored by our own experience as speakers—we can utter a continuous vowel
sound and make it change gradually from any one vowel to another, but we would
have enormous difficulty uttering sounds that we would accept perceptually as a
sequence of intermediate steps along a continuum between most pairs of conso-
nants. The articulatory reality of the vowel-consonant distinction, in other words,
translates to a perceptual reality that causes strong category binding for consonants
but a certain degree of category insecurity, or flexibility for vowels.
Listening and Native Language 9
Correct AX discrimination
Percent identification
75
Percent
50
[i] [I] [b] [p]
25
0
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
Figure 1.1
Identification functions for vowels varying from [i] to [I], and for stops varying from [b] to
[p], plus discrimination functions for the same continua. (Data from Pisoni 1973; reproduced
with permission.) The identification functions show the percentage of choices in each case of
the category of the endpoint at left (dotted line) and of the category of the endpoint at right
(solid line). The discrimination functions show the percentage of correct discrimination
between two differing tokens within a category (left and right points) versus across the cat-
egory boundary (middle point).
Category insecurity for vowels may seem to conflict with the fact that vowels
are more resistant to noise-masking. But in fact both effects follow from the
continuous, steady-state nature of vowel sounds. Speech presents more acoustic
evidence for vowels. This evidence gives listeners a better chance of recognizing
a vowel against noise, but it also allows them to make a more fine-grained
analysis of the acoustic support for one vowel rather than another. In a phonetic
categorization experiment, where the acoustic evidence actually is mixed from
two sources, listeners have a better chance of appreciating this ambiguity. The lesser
amount of acoustic evidence for consonants, which renders them more likely to
be misperceived (e.g., in noise), also makes it less likely that listeners will accurately
interpret the ambiguous portion of a phonetic continuum. If external evidence
(e.g., visual information about the speaker’s lips) is on offer, listeners make more
recourse to it in making decisions about consonants (Cohen and Massaro 1995)
but base their decisions about vowels on the acoustic evidence. Thus the universal
basis of the vowel-consonant difference surfaces, in speech perception, as a
difference in how listeners make categorical decisions about the two types of
speech sound.
10 Chapter 1
Just about any aspect of language that is neither a consequence of the physiology
or acoustics of speech nor a consequence of the nature of the word-recognition task
can vary crosslinguistically. In fact, whole dimensions of phonological structure may
be language specific, in that they feature in an account of some languages’ phonol-
ogy but are simply irrelevant for the description of other languages.
In contrast to the universal substrate of listening, which is really rather limited,
the extent of language-specificity is certainly larger than we yet know. All different
types of variation have consequences for the listener’s task. Some of the language-
specific phonological phenomena dealt with in this book are: tonal as well as seg-
mental information to distinguish between words (chapter 3); harmonic restrictions
on vowel patterns (chapter 4); constraints on the size of stand-alone words (chapter
5); linking phenomena across words, such as liaison in French (chapter 6); constraints
on what phonemes may occur in sequence (chapters 4, 10, and 11); and there are
many more. Chapter 7, which deals with prosodic structure, is probably all language
specific.
Prosody provides notorious examples of the language-specificity of whole dimen-
sions of structure. One case is stress. Stress can be accentuation of syllables within
words, when it is called lexical stress (e.g., LANGuage; upper case marks the location
of the stressed syllable, in this case the first one); or it can be accentuation of words
within sentences, when it is called sentence stress (compare What did the CAT eat?
with What did the cat EAT?). In languages with lexical stress, the syllables of a
polysyllabic word are not created equal—some syllables may bear accentual promi-
nence whereas others are prohibited from bearing prominence. English is a stress
language, and it would be incorrect for prominence to fall on the second syllable of
language in any English utterance. Perceptually, stressed syllables are more salient
than unstressed syllables, and this alone makes stress a relevant aspect of spoken-
word recognition in languages such as English.
However, lexical stress will not be at all relevant for an account of spoken-word
recognition in Japanese, or Mandarin, or French, or many other languages. Words
in those languages do not contrast stressed with unstressed syllables. Further, not
all languages that do contrast stressed with unstressed syllables within a word do so
in the same way. In some languages, such as Finnish or Polish, stress always falls at
a particular position within the word (“fixed stress”). In other languages, such as
English or Spanish, stress placement varies (“free stress”), so that some words have
stress on an early syllable, others on a later syllable. There are at least as many
fixed-stress as free-stress languages in the world (Goedemans 2003). We will see
that stress provides some telling examples of how listening must sometimes be
language specific (including the second case study in this chapter as well as more
Listening and Native Language 11
accounts in chapters 2, 4, and 7); but all of the language-specific phenomena that
there are can similarly produce consequences for listening.
Vowels and consonants differ in both their phonetic form and their phonological
function, and these differences hold across languages. The vowel-consonant contrast
is thus a universal part of listeners’ experience. Does this mean that all listeners
show exactly the same response patterns in listening experiments with vowels and
with consonants, respectively? And do the differences between the two types of
speech sound mean that they play different roles in the understanding of spoken
language? For instance, do they differ in their contribution to understanding a word?
We can use the psycholinguist’s repertoire of tasks that provide insight into linguistic
processing to ask whether listeners make different use of the two types of speech
sound when they are recognizing spoken words. An appropriate task in this case is
word reconstruction (see panel 3).
3. Word Reconstruction
Hear nonword Reconstruct word Speak word
anced inventory, with five vowels and twenty consonants. So perhaps the asymmetric
pattern of response in the word-reconstruction task is related to the asymmetric
distribution of Spanish phonemes across the two major phoneme classes? For
instance, given that Spanish listeners have only five vowels to choose from, trying
out the five vowels might more easily yield the target word than trying out the
twenty Spanish consonants.
In that case, we would have to expect a different pattern of results if we carried
out the experiment in, say, Dutch. With a relatively balanced set of sixteen vowels
and nineteen consonants, the makeup of the Dutch phoneme inventory differs sig-
nificantly from the asymmetric Spanish situation. Cutler et al. (2000) indeed carried
out the same experiment in Dutch. The pattern of results turned out to be exactly
the same as in Spanish: vowels were easier to replace than consonants. Listeners
Listening and Native Language 13
found it easier to turn hieet into hiaat ‘hiatus’ than dieet ‘diet’, and easier to turn
komeel into kameel ‘camel’ than komeet ‘comet’. Again, the pattern was robust across
the various conditions in the experiment.
Dutch is so close to having a balanced repertoire of vowels versus consonants
that the vowel advantage here cannot be ascribed to an imbalance in the phonemic
inventory. The vowel advantage also appears in English (woman, not lemon, is the
preferred response to wemmen; teeble gives table, not feeble, and eltimate gives ulti-
mate, not estimate; Van Ooijen 1996). Van Ooijen considered several reasons for the
asymmetric results in her original study.
One suggestion was that English vowels might give rather unreliable information
about word identity because they vary so much across dialects. Consider how the
three words look, luck, and Luke are pronounced in American or standard southern
British English. The three are different. But in Scottish English, look and Luke
are pronounced the same, and they contrast with luck. In Yorkshire English,
look and luck are pronounced the same, and they contrast with Luke. Nor do Ameri-
can and British vowels always run parallel. British English uses the same vowel in
pass and farce—these words rhyme, and they contrast with gas. American English
uses the same vowel in pass and gas, which contrasts with the vowel in farce.
On this explanation, English listeners would find it easier to change vowels
because of their experience in adjusting between other dialects and their native
dialect, whereby most of the adjustments involved vowels. The Dutch-Spanish study
ruled this suggestion out, however. In Dutch, both vowels and consonants vary
across dialects. In Spanish, the five vowels remain pretty much the same across the
dialects of Peninsular Spain versus Latin America, but the consonants differ quite
a lot, the most well known difference being seen in words like gracias, where the
middle sound is spoken by Castilian speakers as [θ] (as at the end of English path)
but by Latin American speakers as [s] (as in pass). So a dialectal explanation would
predict equivalent word-reconstruction effects for vowels and consonants in Dutch,
and a consonant advantage for Spanish. This was not what happened: Both lan-
guages showed a vowel advantage, as had English.
A second reason suggested by Van Ooijen (1996) was likewise language specific:
Perhaps English just has too many vowels for listeners to be able to tell them apart
reliably. Certainly British English, with seventeen vowels, does not make vowel
discrimination easy for listeners. But because the pattern of results was essentially
identical in English (seventeen vowels), Dutch (sixteen vowels), and Spanish (five
vowels), we have to reject the vowel inventory size account, too.
Only the third explanation was based on articulatory and acoustic effects that
occur in all languages and thus could correctly predict the universally consistent
pattern observed. On this suggestion, vowels are intrinsically more likely than con-
sonants to vary in different speech contexts. Change in the articulatory form of a
14 Chapter 1
vowel due to influence from surrounding consonants is more likely than change in
a consonant due to influence of surrounding vowels. There are articulatory reasons
for this: the articulation targets for consonants involve closures (of lips, tongue, etc.),
whereas the articulation targets for vowels require that the vocal tract be open but
in a certain shape or configuration. In speaking, the vocal tract configurations that
produce vowels are notoriously approached and departed from at speed and with
great variation induced by the closures surrounding them. This means that a vowel,
especially a short vowel, can take quite different acoustic forms, depending on which
consonants precede and follow it. Listeners should, as a result, have become used
to the frequent experience of making an initial hypothesis about a vowel that turned
out to be wrong. They have developed, in consequence, a certain facility in altering
these initial hypotheses in the course of word recognition. This explanation in terms
of universal properties of speech is the best account of the crosslinguistically con-
sistent results.
the way that phonemes in speech are influenced by the other phonemes that sur-
round them. In general, across languages, vowels are influenced more. Consonants
are less likely to be so altered that they are initially misidentified—at least, so those
word-reconstruction results suggest.
Nonetheless, the more vowels there are in a language, the more variety there will
be in their influence on adjacent consonants. Can we find a way of seeing whether
this affects how the phonemes are processed?
The processing of individual phonemes can be examined with the phoneme detec-
tion task (see panel 5). This is one of the simplest tasks in psycholinguistics; all the
listener has to do is press a button whenever a particular sound is heard. The speed
with which this response can be made—the reaction time—is the measure of how
difficult the task is at a given point.
These detection tasks, in which subjects hearing speech listen for a target phoneme or
fragment, are among the simplest of psycholinguistic tasks. RT is the dependent variable.
Phoneme detection involves pressing a button whenever a particular sound is heard, such
as the sound [a] in the example in the drawing. This is very easy to do and the speech input
does not have to be understood for the task to be efficiently performed— the input can
just as well be nonwords or words of a language unknown to the listener. The same goes
for fragment detection — for example, responding to hearing the sequence bal-. These
tasks have been around for over forty years and it was once thought that they could
provide a direct measure of prelexical processing. Now their interpretation does not seem
quite so simple (chapter 12 discusses this in more detail), but the tasks are still widely
used. They can reflect how easy it is, at a given point, to extract sublexical information
(i.e., information below the word level) from speech. Thus they can reflect segmentation,
or how easy a preceding word or phoneme was to process, and so on.
18 Chapter 1
Phoneme-detection times for different speech sounds can vary. For English listen-
ers, it is often easier to detect consonants than vowels (Van Ooijen, Cutler, and
Norris 1991; Cutler and Otake 1994). But this is not the case for listeners in all
languages. In Cutler and Otake’s study, for instance, Japanese listeners found detec-
tion of [n] in words like inori, kinshi and [o] in words like tokage, taoru equally easy,
whereas English listeners presented with the same Japanese words (nonwords to
the English) detected the [n] targets faster than the [o] targets, just as they also
detected [n] in canopy, candy faster than [o] in atomic, kiosk in a further experiment
in their native language.3 There is certainly no systematic difference across lan-
guages in response times for vowels and consonants. Chapter 2 presents more dis-
cussion on the way language structure affects the processing of individual
phonemes.
However, certain factors are known to make phoneme detection easier or harder
in general. One of them is that the less uncertainty there is in the context, the easier
the task becomes. Thus detection of [b] is faster in a string of nonsense syllables like
su, fu, tu, bu, with a constant vowel, than in si, fo, ta, bu, with four varying vowels
as context. It is slower still if the context can vary across eight vowels (Swinney and
Prather 1980). So it is possible to compare the effect of vowel uncertainty on con-
sonant detection, which Swinney and Prather discovered, with effects of consonant
uncertainty on vowel detection. Is detection of [i] harder in su, fo, ta, bi than in bu,
bo, ba, bi? If so, is the effect the same as the effect in consonant detection, or perhaps
stronger, or weaker? And is the effect independent of the relative number of vowels
and consonants in the language?
Costa, Cutler, and Sebastián-Gallés (1998) discovered that the effects indeed
depended on which language the experiment was conducted in. They compared
detection of vowels in varied versus fixed consonant contexts, and detection of
consonants in varied versus fixed vowel contexts, in two languages. In Dutch, strong
effects of consonant uncertainty were observed in vowel detection, and equally
strong effects of vowel uncertainty were observed in consonant detection. So the
two types of speech sound were equivalent as context for each other. But this was
not the result that Costa et al. (1998) found in the other language in which they
tested—namely, Spanish. In Spanish, the effect of consonant uncertainty on vowel
detection was much stronger than the effect of vowel uncertainty on consonant
detection.
Figure 1.2 shows Costa et al.’s (1998) results. Note that the actual number of
varying phonemes in the experimental contexts in their study was held constant—at
five vowels and five consonants—across the two languages. Thus there was no actual
difference in the variability within the experiment—it was exactly the same for the
Dutch and for the Spanish listeners. The nonsense syllables were also the same, and
equally meaningless for each group. The difference in the result could therefore not
Listening and Native Language 19
100
Consonant
variable-constant Vowel
RT difference
80
60
40
Dutch Spanish
Figure 1.2
Inhibitory effect of variable context (variable-context RT minus constant-context RT) in
detection of consonant and vowel targets. For Dutch listeners, variable consonant contexts
threaten vowel perception about as much as vice versa. For Spanish listeners, variable con-
sonant contexts threaten vowel detection much more than the reverse. (Data from Costa
et al. 1998.)
can be harder, but they are less contextually variable so that the initial interpretation
can be more secure.
Insofar as vowels and consonants perform the same function—distinguishing one
word from another, for example—the way listeners process them seems to be much
the same. Differences are attributable to acoustic realization rather than to lan-
guage-specific structure. The cross-modal priming studies suggest that vowels and
consonants equally effectively mismatch or match candidate words. The word-
reconstruction studies show that listeners across different languages find it easier to
change vowel hypotheses than consonant hypotheses, which we interpret as reflect-
ing their experience of what happens to vowels in speech. Listeners are capable of
discriminating the subtle changes that result from contextual influence on vowels,
so they know that vowels are quite changeable as a function of the speech context
surrounding them. Experience of altering decisions, from one vowel category to
another, accrues as an inevitable consequence of the acoustic realization of vowels
and its implications for perception. Just one cross-language difference was discussed,
and it appeared not in a word-recognition task but in phoneme detection, where it
reflected the influence of phoneme-inventory makeup on listeners’ expectations of
how target phonemes can vary. Listeners with a balanced vowel-consonant reper-
toire expected equivalent variation for vowel and consonant targets; listeners with
an asymmetric repertoire expected asymmetric variation.
All the evidence suggests that speech perception is very sensitive to listener
experience, especially the experience of speech acoustics. Speech signals are evalu-
ated continuously, and any available information that is useful is exploited as soon
as it arrives. Later chapters will bolster this claim with many more types of evidence
(including evidence that the contextual influences of consonants on vowels actually
provide listeners with valuable information about the consonants—see chapter 3).
Vowels and consonants perform different functions in the structure of syllables, as
we saw, but this does not seem to be relevant for speech perception. It may well be
more important for speech production, given that producing speech requires compil-
ing phoneme sequences into syllables in a prosodic structure (Levelt, Roelofs, and
Meyer 1999). Clinical evidence from production indeed suggests a vowel-consonant
dissociation: Caramazza et al. (2000) reported on an aphasia patient whose vowel
production was disrupted but whose consonant production was unimpaired, and
another patient with a differently located lesion and exactly the reverse pattern of
impaired production. These patients had no impairments, and no differences in their
response profiles, in word-recognition and perceptual-discrimination tasks. Percep-
tion studies in general show no vowel-consonant differences in the brain. For
instance, PET scans made of listeners’ brains while they were carrying out word
reconstruction (Sharp et al. 2005) revealed the same location of brain activation
during vowel versus consonant replacement. Only the amount of activation differed:
Listening and Native Language 21
there was more for consonant replacement than for vowel replacement, as would
be expected given that the former task is harder. When patients whose brains were
being mapped prior to surgery made same-different judgments on simple syllables
such as pob, tob, direct electrical stimulation of an area in the left hemisphere dis-
rupted consonant processing but hardly affected vowel processing (Boatman et al.
1994; 1997). No region was found in which vowels were disrupted but consonants
were not, however. Thus it does not seem that perception of consonants and vowels
engages separate cortical systems, but rather that processing the two types of speech
sound, with the differing types of acoustic evidence they provide, can cause differ-
ential activation within a single speech perception system.
Vowels and consonants are the phonetic building blocks of all languages. However,
this case study shows that we could not have fully understood vowel-consonant
differences without having looked at more than one language. Only the cross-
language comparisons enabled us to interpret the word-reconstruction and pho-
neme-detection results.
The counterpart argument to this is that language-specificity does not rule out
insight into universals of processing. This is the lesson of a second case study, which
involves a structural feature that is unquestionably language specific: lexical stress.
Although stress is not a universal feature of languages, and free stress even less so,
a comparison of spoken-word recognition in three free-stress languages (Spanish,
Dutch, and English) nonetheless proves very informative about some universal
characteristics of speech processing. The question at issue is whether stress differ-
ences between words play an important role in lexical activation. But the answer
concerns not only languages with free stress, because it turns out to concern the
vocabulary (and all languages have a vocabulary!).
The relation between stress and phonemes differs across these three languages.
Phonemic distinctions, by definition, distinguish words from one another. Spanish
casa and capa differ by a single phoneme, as do casa and caso, and English case and
cape, or cape and cope. When listeners determine that they are hearing casa and not
one of these other, minimally different, words, they are without question processing
phonemic information.
In some languages, stress differences go hand in hand with phoneme differences.
If this were taken to an extreme, so that the phonemes in stressed syllables always
differed from those in unstressed syllables, listeners could extract stress information
from words as a byproduct of processing phonemic information, which they need
to do anyway to distinguish words. The relation between stress and phonemic seg-
ments is actually not so deterministic in any of the three languages discussed here.
22 Chapter 1
There is quite a strong relation in English, as we shall see, and a somewhat less
strong relation in Dutch. In Spanish, however, there is no necessary relation between
stress and phonemes at all. The distinctions between stressed and unstressed sylla-
bles are solely suprasegmental (i.e., variations not at the level of phonemic segments
but above it); the same phonemic segments are differently realized when they bear
stress than when they do not. Thus CAso differs from caSO in the suprasegmental
attributes fundamental frequency, duration, and amplitude. But the two words do
not differ in vowel quality—they have the same vowels.
Spanish is therefore a good language in which to examine the role of stress in the
recognition of spoken words, because the cues to stress are not mixed up with the
cues to phonemes. If listeners extract stress information from the signal in order to
recognize Spanish words, they are exploiting aspects of the signal that are not neces-
sarily involved in phonemic discrimination.
1.5.1 Lexical Stress in Word Recognition: A Comparison with Vowels and Consonants
Consider the Spanish words principe ‘prince’ and principio ‘principle’—they begin
with the same initial string of seven phonemes. But it is not quite identical. This is
because of stress. Principe is stressed on the first syllable and principio on the
second. Can listeners use stress information to distinguish between words in the
same way as they can use vowel and consonant information?
Yes, they can, as Soto-Faraco et al. (2001) discovered in the same study in which
they compared pairs of words distinguished first by vowel differences or by conso-
nant differences. Soto-Faraco et al.’s study also included pairs like principe-principio
in which the first distinction was realized by stress. Compared with responses after
a control fragment, the lexical decisions to the visually present words were signifi-
cantly faster when fragment and word matched in stress (e.g., PRINci-, PRINCIPE
or prinCI-, PRINCIPIO) but significantly slower when they mismatched (e.g.,
prinCI-, PRINCIPE or PRINci-, PRINCIPIO). Thus the stress information
favored the matching word and disfavored the mismatching word in just the same
way as the phonemic information had done in pairs like protector-proyectil and
minoria-mineria.
We saw earlier that Spanish listeners and Dutch listeners differed in some aspects
of their processing of vowels and consonants (they had language-specific expecta-
tions about the relative contextual variability of the two speech sound classes).
Perhaps they also differ in their processing of stress—for instance, they may have
language-specific expectations about permissible patterns of stress. Donselaar,
Koster, and Cutler (2005) conducted a cross-modal fragment priming experiment
in Dutch that closely resembled Soto-Faraco et al.’s (2001) stress study. They used
pairs of Dutch words like octopus ‘octopus’ and oktober ‘October’. Both words begin
with the same first two syllables, octo, with the same vowels; but the first syllable is
Listening and Native Language 23
stressed in octopus and the second in oktober. The results of their experiment exactly
paralleled the results found by Soto-Faraco et al. Responses were significantly faster
after matching primes (OCto-, OCTOPUS or okTO-, OKTOBER) and significantly
slower after mismatching primes (OCto-, OKTOBER or okTO-, OCTOPUS) than
after a control prime.
Thus there is no difference in the use of stress information in Spanish and Dutch
word recognition. Both Spanish and Dutch are stress languages, and in both lan-
guages listeners can use the stress information in a couple of syllables to reduce
their set of lexical choices—including some phonemically matching candidates and
excluding others.
syllable is to, pronounced [to]. In English octopus, however, the unstressed second
syllable is not [to]. It is [tә]. An unstressed syllable that follows a stressed syllable
in English, especially if the word is longer than two syllables, is nearly always going
to be reduced. This makes for a phonemic difference between octopus and October,
on top of the stress difference. As we discussed earlier, listeners always have to pay
attention to phonemic differences; so if they have a phonemic difference to distin-
guish these two words, how can we tell whether they are attending to the stress
difference or just to the phonemic difference? In order to tell whether they use
stress, we have to find a case where the suprasegmental stress difference is all that
can be used.
Well, there are such cases in English after all, and they are not completely differ-
ent from the Spanish and Dutch pairs. Soto-Faraco et al. (2001) had some Spanish
pairs that differed not in first versus second syllable stress, but in second versus third,
such as eSTAtua ‘statue’ versus estaTUto ‘statute’. Donselaar et al. (2005) likewise
had pairs in Dutch like paRAde ‘parade’ versus paraDIJS ‘paradise’. If one goes a
step further and allows first-syllable stress to contrast with third-syllable stress, then
English provides pairs in which the first two syllables differ only in stress. Indeed,
Donselaar et al.’s Dutch materials even included some such pairs—for example,
DOminee ‘minister’ versus domiNANT ‘dominant’. Third-syllable stress in an English
word necessarily means a secondary stress on the first syllable, because English does
not allow a word to begin with two weak syllables in a row. (Again, this requirement
is language specific—some free-stress languages, such as Dutch, do allow words in
which the first and second syllables are both weak, such as the Dutch word tegelijk,
‘simultaneously’.)
In English word pairs like admiral versus admiration, or elephant versus elevation,
there is therefore a contrast between secondary versus primary stress on the first
syllable. In both cases, the second syllable is reduced. The first syllable of both
admiral and admiration is [æd] and the second syllable of each is [mə]; but admiral
is stressed on the first syllable, whereas admiration is stressed on the third, which
triggers secondary stress on ad-. This is the only kind of contrast that one can
examine in an English experiment modeled on the Spanish and Dutch studies.
Cooper, Cutler, and Wales (2002) conducted an English experiment just like the
Spanish study of Soto-Faraco et al., using pairs like admiral and admiration, or
elephant and elevation. The listeners (Australian students) heard fragments of these
words at the end of nonconstraining sentences like I can’t believe he can’t spell admi-;
their responses to a visual lexical decision target such as ADMIRAL or ADMIRA-
TION were measured.
What they found was that English listeners could indeed make use of the stress
information, but they appeared to rely on it to a lesser extent than Spanish or Dutch
listeners did. Specifically, responses after a matching prime (e.g., ADmi-, ADMIRAL)
Listening and Native Language 25
Match facilitation
10 Mismatch inhibition
8
% difference from control
6
4
2
0
–2
–4
Spanish Dutch English
–6
–8
–10
Figure 1.3
In comparable cross-modal fragment priming studies in Spanish, Dutch, and English, primes
that match the target in stress pattern facilitate responses in all languages. Mismatching
stress, however, produces inhibition in Spanish and Dutch but not in English. (The figure
shows the difference between RT given matching or mismatching prime, and RT given
control prime, expressed as percentage of control condition RT. Data from Soto-Faraco
et al. 2001; Donselaar et al. 2005; Cooper et al. 2002.)
were significantly faster than after a control prime. But a mismatching prime (e.g.,
admi-, ADMIRAL) did not make responses slower than in the control condition.
In other words, the English listeners could not use stress information as effectively
to reject alternative interpretations of the input.
Figure 1.3 summarizes the facilitation due to stress match, and the inhibition due
to stress mismatch, across the three experiments with comparable bisyllabic frag-
ment primes. The English results resemble the results from other languages in the
matching condition (although the amount of facilitation in English is less than in
Dutch and Spanish), but they are really quite different in the mismatching condition
(where the English effect is almost nonexistent). Thus all three languages have free
stress, yet the degree to which listeners use the free-stress information in lexical
activation differs across the three.
evidence from other experiments reveals that they have just as much sensitivity to
mismatch as listeners in other languages. For instance, in a cross-modal fragment
priming study in which English listeners responded to, say, DEAF after the prime
daff- from daffodil, the vowel information was used rapidly and the potential com-
petitor word was rapidly rejected. English listeners are apparently just as sensitive
to mismatching segmental information as Soto-Faraco et al.’s Spanish listeners were
when they inhibited minoria after hearing mine- from mineria.4
2. Then could differences in the experiments have played a role? The experimental
design was closely matched across the three studies, but the materials could not be
exactly the same. Recall that the type of stress contrast tested in the English experi-
ment was primary versus secondary stress in ad- from admiral versus admiration,
because pairs differing in primary stress versus no stress (as in prin- from principe
versus principio) cannot be found in English. But pairs such as admiral/admiration
also occurred in the Spanish and Dutch experiments, as we saw, and they showed
stress effects no less than the pairs such as principe/principio or octopus/oktober.
Donselaar et al. explicitly tested the type of stress contrast in their statistical analy-
ses; pairs such as DOMinee-domiNANT contributed 45 milliseconds of facilitation
and 30 milliseconds of inhibition. Post hoc analyses of Soto-Faraco et al.’s materials
revealed that pairs such as eSTAtua/estaTUto likewise produced significant facilita-
tion and inhibition effects.
3. Could the fault be with English speakers and the cues they provide to stress?
Perhaps the information in the signal was simply not as useful in the English experi-
ment as in the others. But, in fact, acoustic measurements reported later by Cutler
et al. (2007) showed that the fragments in the Cooper et al. (2002) study differed
significantly in all dimensions in which stress is cued (fundamental frequency, dura-
tion, and amplitude), with an effect size large enough to be extremely useful to
perceivers.
4. Could the difference then arise from the use of stress as an interword distinction
across languages—that is, from the rarity of stress-based minimal pairs such as
trusty/trustee in English? No again, because such pairs are vanishingly rare in Spanish
and Dutch, too.
5. Could English listeners’ disregard of stress information then have arisen because
English allows vowel reduction, so that stress covaries with vowel quality in words?
No, again this alone cannot be the explanation, because Dutch has vowel reduction,
too. Spanish does not, but as we saw, the effects of stress in word recognition were
similar in Spanish and Dutch. It is only English that is different.
6. Thus a language-based difference between English on the one hand and Dutch
and Spanish on the other is the most likely source of the asymmetric results pattern.
Cooper et al. argued that the crucial difference was the rarity, in English, of unstressed
syllables with full vowels. Unstressed English syllables nearly always have weak
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
Rennes, 97.
Reymonenq, 55.
Richard (le roi), 136, 160.
Richard de Noves, 125.
Rieu, 87.
Riffart, 93.
Rigaut de Montpellier, 61, 193.
An. Rivière, 63.
Rixende de Puyvard (dame de Trans), 156.
Roch-Bourguet, 61.
Rocher (de), 93.
Rodel (Jean), 136.
Rodolphe (le roi), 124.
Rogier (Pierre), 184.
Rome, 168.
Roqueferrier, 194.
Roquefeuille (Ysarde de), 156.
Rostangue (dame de Pierrefeu), 156.
Roumanille, 55, 59, 61, 72.
Roumieux, 62, 63, 91.
Rousselot (l’abbé), 97.
Roux (J.), 91, 183.
Roux-Renard, 93.
Roux-Servine, 93.
Saboly, 178.
Sabran (Hugonne de), 156.
Saint-Antoni (Vte de), 186.
Saint Bernard, 165.
Saint Louis (roi), 160.
Saint-Pol (Cte de), 169.
Sainte-Beuve, 53.
Sainte-Palaye, 139.
Saluce (Mise de), 156.
Savari de Mauléon, 182.
Savinien (le frère), 96, 97, 227.
Schaffhouse, 125.
Schœll (Frédéric), 114.
Séguier (l’abbé), 194.
Silius Italicus, 109.
Simon de Montfort, 169.
Sordel, 153.
Stéphanette de Baulx, 156.
Swynford, 142.
Valence, 124.
Vertfeuil, 165.
Victor Hugo, 153.
Vidal (Pierre), 191.
Vienne, 124.
Vigne (l’abbé), 50.
Villemain, 81.
Villeneuve-Esclapon, 79.
Violante (princesse), 154.
Vitet, 97.
Voiture, 153.
W
Wagner-Robier, 93.
Wistace, 152.
Wœlfel, 118.
Zacharie, 127.
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