This talk is not about Gija verbal groups… why not?
When Yaegan was pressing me for a talk in the series, my first inclination was to talk about some work Anna Crane and I did together over the summer on Gija, as we finished off a paper for the Lingua special issue on verbal groups from an SFL perspective (which reviewers trashed and rejected outright). I thought at first it might be interesting to bite the bullet and try to explain to a live audience how over many years of work together Anna and I had formulated a description of what many acknowledge is the most diabolically complicated verbal group in the world. I know you would have been patient with us, and polite, if you chose to come; I do trust our community as far as presenting work on grammar is concerned. But I was also mindful that if you had a choice, as you had at ISFC UNSW in relation to our word structure symposium, most of you would find other much more interesting and relevant talks to attend than ours. So I decided to spare you from a talk on Gija, and talk instead about the role of grammar description in SFL, which some of us believe is foundational. But what do we really know about how grammar has shaped our SFL world – our theory, our descriptions and our applications. Let's see… beginning of course with IFG.
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Grammatical Gaslighting and the Velvet Sulk: A Close Reading of Jim Martin’s Seminar Abstract
Jim Martin’s abstract for an upcoming seminar at the University of Sydney is, on its surface, a modest reflection on a change of topic. But for those familiar with the field of Systemic Functional Linguistics (SFL), the text reads more like a masterclass in interpersonal manoeuvre, genre manipulation, and rhetorical sleight of hand.
The talk, Martin tells us, was supposed to be about Gija verbal groups—until “reviewers trashed and rejected” the paper. So instead, he will offer a broader discussion about grammar description in SFL. But behind this apparent pivot lies a carefully staged negotiation of authority, injury, and institutional memory. Let’s examine the interpersonal logic of this performance.
Positioning Through Deflection
The most striking move in the abstract is Martin’s portrayal of himself as a speaker reluctantly retreating from a specialised topic for the benefit of the audience. He claims:
“You would have been patient with us, and polite, if you chose to come—but most of you would find other much more interesting and relevant talks to attend than ours.”
This is not just humility. It’s a rhetorical performance that does at least four things at once:
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Pre-emptive mitigation: If the audience is small, or uninterested, that’s because the topic is arcane—not because the work is weak.
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Collegial flattery: It assumes the audience’s kindness, even as it subtly casts them as part of the problem.
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Shared disillusionment: It recruits the audience into a common position of resignation and weariness with foundational description.
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Alibi: It casts the shift in topic as an act of generosity rather than a necessary retreat after rejection.
In short, this isn’t just an abstract—it’s a soft power move.
Reframing Rejection as Theoretical Neglect
The key line is deceptively simple:
“This talk is not about Gija verbal groups, because the paper in which they were described has not been accepted for publication. This is the one I thought at first might be interesting to talk about—until I realised that you would have been patient with us… but probably not that interested.”
There’s a quiet reframing here: the rejection of the paper becomes a rejection of the field of inquiry. What begins as a local peer-review event is projected outward as symptomatic of the field’s loss of interest in grammar.
This is an important manoeuvre. It removes the rejection from the domain of quality control and inserts it into a narrative of intellectual marginalisation. Martin doesn’t have to defend the specifics of the paper; he only has to convince us that its rejection reflects a broader neglect of foundational grammatical work.
By shifting the level of explanation, the logic becomes moral rather than analytical: “It’s not that I failed to do good work. It’s that we’ve all stopped valuing this kind of work.”
Cloaking the Sulk
There is, unmistakably, a sulk in this text—but it is expertly disguised. Consider this line:
“What I decided to do instead was talk about the role of grammar description in SFL, which some of us believe is foundational.”
This is a subtle act of self-elevation. Martin does not say “I believe it is foundational,” which would expose the personal investment. He says “some of us,” which both distributes the stance across an implied cohort and leaves space for others to disagree—without appearing defensive.
At the same time, it positions Martin among a dwindling minority who still defend foundational grammatical description. The implication is that the community has drifted—but he has not.
The sulk is there, but it is a graceful sulk. Not bitterness, but weariness. Not grievance, but resignation. Not “I deserved better,” but “We all deserve better—but especially those doing the hard work no one values.”
Strategic Repositioning
Martin is not merely reacting. He is repositioning. By presenting himself as a defender of the grammatical tradition, he aligns himself with Halliday’s legacy—despite having spent much of his career moving the field toward discourse semantics.
This is perhaps the most ironic feature of the abstract. For decades, Martin and Rose have argued that clause-level grammar and system networks are insufficient for capturing meaning. They have championed discourse semantics as a more powerful and extensible model. Grammar, in their hands, has often been subordinated to higher-level categories like genre, phase, and appraisal.
And yet, here we find Martin invoking the centrality of grammatical description—invoking the very Hallidayan project he once helped to relativise.
Why?
Because grammar, now under threat, can be rhetorically repurposed as heritage. By wrapping himself in Halliday’s flag, Martin is able to reframe the rejection of his own grammatical work as a betrayal of SFL’s founding ethos. It’s a brilliant manoeuvre—but also a revealing one.
Casting Doubt on the Reviewers
Perhaps the most important rhetorical function of the abstract is to cast doubt—not directly on the reviewers, but on their expertise.
By giving a seminar on Halliday’s grammar, Martin positions himself as a senior scholar with authority over one of the most technical and foundational parts of the field. This move tacitly undermines the legitimacy of those who rejected the paper. If the author of Working with Discourse and Genre and Institutions is still explaining the verbal group to postgraduate students, then who are these anonymous reviewers to “trash” his work?
The seminar becomes not just a fallback, but a demonstration—a reassertion of disciplinary authority through pedagogical performance. It says: “You may have dismissed my paper, but I’m still the one explaining how the system works.”
Interpersonal Stratification: The Social Logic of the SFL Seminar
In SFL, seminars are not just technical presentations; they are social events where meanings are negotiated and allegiances performed. Martin’s abstract enacts this with precision.
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It lowers interpersonal dominance through humour and self-deprecation.
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It raises ideological stakes by invoking foundational commitments.
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It manages face by displacing critique onto the field’s changing values rather than his own missteps.
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It reclaims authority by performing expertise rather than claiming it.
In this light, the seminar abstract is not just a preamble to a talk—it is itself a talk, one that stages a rehearsal of legitimacy and belonging.
Conclusion: When the Ground Shifts, Shift With It
What we see here is not simply disappointment, nor merely resilience. It is a finely tuned rhetorical strategy that turns critique into community reflection, rejection into reframing, and personal injury into institutional allegory.
Yes, it’s a sulk. But it’s a strategic sulk.
And yes, it’s ironic. A career of elevating discourse semantics over grammar culminating in a defence of grammar’s centrality? That’s rich. But it’s also what makes the text so fascinating. It stages, in miniature, the long-running ideological tensions of the SFL tradition—while gently repackaging them as an after-hours chat among friends.
In the end, Martin is not asking the field to accept his paper. He is asking the field to remember who it is—and who he has been to it.
And that’s a move no reviewer can fully reject.
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