Single-Word Recognition Need Not Depend on Single-Word Features: Narrative Coherence Counteracts Effects of Single-Word Features that Lexical Decision Emphasizes

Abstract

Research on reading comprehension of connected text emphasizes reliance on single-word features that organize a stable, mental lexicon of words and that speed or slow the recognition of each new word. However, the time needed to recognize a word might not actually be as fixed as previous research indicates, and the stability of the mental lexicon may change with task demands. The present study explores the effects of narrative coherence in self-paced story reading to single-word feature effects in lexical decision. We presented single strings of letters to 24 participants, in both lexical decision and self-paced story reading. Both tasks included the same words composing a set of adjective–noun pairs. Reading times revealed that the tasks, and the order of the presentation of the tasks, changed and/or eliminated familiar effects of single-word features. Specifically, experiencing the lexical-decision task first gradually emphasized the role of single-word features, and experiencing the self-paced story-reading task afterwards counteracted the effect of single-word features. We discuss the implications that task-dependence and narrative coherence might have for the organization of the mental lexicon. Future work will need to consider what architectures suit the apparent flexibility with which task can accentuate or diminish effects of single-word features.

Appendix

There was once a scientist who rose to fame due to his work on the atomic bomb. Since his success, he has moved to the Midwestern United States where he lives a simpler life. Most mornings he spends drinking coffee and reading the newspaper on his terrace.

Watching the birds today, he saw a cardinal bird at the feeder he has put up. The sun was shining, and he sat and sipped his coffee slowly, working his way through the New York Times magazine. A chill passed over him, and he looked up to see cloudy weather covering up blue sky. He walked indoors with his newspaper under his arm. When he closed the sliding door behind him, he noticed a weird burning smell coming from his kitchen. He went to his kitchen, and he saw his microwave on fire. He soaked his newspaper in the faucet and slapped water against the microwave with his drenched paper until there was a steaming puddle of food and soggy paper on the counter.

Once the fire was out, he saw that someone had tried to reheat Chinese food in the microwave with the metal still attached to the take-out box. The question was “who?” The scientist never ordered this kind of food because he is allergic to MSG. The burnt food sitting on the countertop begged for an explanation. Someone must’ve placed it in his microwave, but who and why? His otherwise normal Sunday had turned into the beginning of an unsolved mystery. As he tried to pick up what was left of the take-out box, he burned his fingertips. He cursed the man who discovered how to generate kinetic energy from microwaves. He briefly thought about finding the serial number of his microwave. Maybe he could get a free repair if it was under warranty, but replacing his ruined kitchen appliance would not provide a meaningful answer to the mystery of the flaming Chinese food. He felt compelled to seek answers even though he had turned away from nuclear research. He never could turn down an intellectual challenge because he was an active boy at heart. The scientist thought back to his distant community in Los Alamos where he and his former coworkers had exploded bombs at a furious pace.

“Thank Almighty God,” he thought, “that there were no inexplicable radiation fires back there.” Well, none besides the bomb testing which he regarded as having a just cause. However, he found the military even more confusing than his microwave problem. For that, sometimes the generals and offices called him a stuck-up snob.

“Oh well,” he sighed to himself. There was nothing he could do about his far-off past. Instead, he tried to focus on the annoying present as the puddle began dripping onto the floor, spattering his legs with brown-colored water. He finally arrived at a possible answer. There was a hospital in Los Alamos where a kind medical doctor had offered someone of the nuclear researchers a workspace shortly following a minor accident. The doctor had called him months ago wondering whether the physics research could return the favor. He himself wondered if his friend would have just barged in without saying anything and used the microwave. They were pretty immature guys back in the day, playing pranks on the military with escaped lab rats, but he didn’t think that his friend would assume he could walk right into his house. Hello, he called nervously. From another room, there was a frightened thump. It was the doctor falling out of his chair in surprise. He had thought the scientist was away while he was just reading the news and watching the birds. The scientist had not heard the doorbell.

“Sorry to drop in on you like this, but my wife divorced me. She just stormed out, calling me a filthy bum, and the kids are in school, so it’s an empty nest back home.” When the doctor saw the microwave, he remarked that he had always been a hopeless failure at cooking.

“Oh well,” the scientist sighed comically. “I don’t have as much food here as I haven’t been to the grocery store in a while, but I can offer you some crackers and some coffee if you can manage to slice us some Swiss cheese.”