1Corentin Bourdeau’s recently published PhD dissertation provides a morphosyntactic analysis of Wolof’s basic clause and information structure. While there are several previous studies on these topics in Wolof (e.g. Torrence 2013; Lowry 2015), the author highlights the novelty of his work as focusing specifically on morphosyntactic analysis (p. 2).
2This open-access monograph consists of five chapters, along with an introduction (Chapter 1) and a concluding summary (Chapter 7). Each chapter is essentially an independent paper that has been only slightly revised for integration into the monograph (publication details can be found on p. 13 and 31, and the introductions to Chapters 2 through 6 reference this format). Given that the chapters function as standalone works, it is reasonable—despite common practice—to analyze them individually rather than as a single cohesive unit.
3Chapter 1 offers a succinct overview of key statistical information, beginning with the scope and objectives of the research, as well as the research questions, which focus on both the grammatical and semantic aspects of the constructions being studied. This is followed by a section providing geographical, statistical, and linguistic details about Wolof. The introduction then moves on to define key terms such as “focus” and “verum”, and concludes with a description of the data and methodology. The scope and objectives are clearly presented, considering the diversity of the chapters. The section on Wolof is informative but lacks sufficient detail in its typological profile—especially regarding aspect (p. 6), where only the imperfective is discussed, with no mention of alternatives except for a brief reference to the perfect.
4One notable omission is the absence of a discussion on Wolof dialects and their closest contact languages. Given that the book emphasizes contact phenomena, a dialectal profile is crucial. The dialectal variation in Wolof is significant (Robert 2011), and this diversity likely influences the information structure, as observed by the author on p. 21. Additionally, the data collection raises concerns about its representativeness. The author notes that the data was primarily drawn from YouTube TV shows, with an emphasis on Urban Wolof. However, Urban Wolof is a highly specific variety, heavily influenced by French (Dieng 2022). The extent to which this influence affects the information structure of Urban Wolof, and how representative it is of other, less French-influenced dialects, remains unclear.
5Overall, the introduction sets high expectations for the subsequent chapters but leaves some gaps in the language description and highlights a significant structural issue in the research data.
6Chapter 2 starts with an overview of argument-focus constructions in Wolof, as in (1).
(1)
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Foota
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laa
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tudd
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|
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Fota
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cfoc.1.sg
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be.called
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|
|
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‘My name is Fota.’ (Robert 2000: 8, as quoted on p. 15)
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7The author continues by discussing Robert’s (2000) analysis, which interprets these constructions as twelve distinct conjugations. However, he rejects this approach, arguing that reducing these constructions to a conjugation paradigm “is not desirable as it overlooks the underlying syntactic structures” (p. 18). He then moves to another existing analysis of Wolof subject- and complement-focus constructions, proposing that they are clefts, following Kihm (1999). The author makes a significant modification, suggesting that these are not standard clefts but rather copulaless clefts, “that is, clefts of the form FOC | TOP” (p. 25).
8However, the evidence for this hypothesis appears insufficient. While affirmative clauses lack a copula, the presence of a copula in negative clauses, as demonstrated in examples (33) and (34) (p. 27), contradicts this claim. This opens the door to an alternative interpretation—one that is applicable to related languages (such as Senegalese Pullar, as noted in Peace Corps 1987)—where the cleft is a regular construction with a zero-expressed copula. Cleft constructions are not unique to Wolof; they are also somewhat documented in Sereer and thoroughly studied in Fula (Koval 2003). For instance, the shift from SVO to OVS word order in complement-focus clauses (see examples (7) and (8), p. 17) is a well-known feature in Fula, explained as a combination of clefting and conjugation (Gnalibouly & Koval 1982; Koval & Gnalibouly 1997).
9Thus, the author’s dismissal of Robert’s analysis does not seem entirely justified. As an expert in several Atlantic languages, Robert may have overlooked some more typologically common features, such as the zero copula. However, the paradigm-based focus marking in Atlantic languages is a notable isogloss that cannot be disregarded (Robert 2010).
10Finally, while the author argues that there is no universal copula in affirmative Wolof argument-focus constructions, more evidence is needed to support the claim that elements like la (that are regarded as copulas by Kihm 1999) should be analyzed as distal definiteness markers (see examples (27) and (28), p. 26). A set of examples demonstrating the use of such elements in non-focus constructions would clarify this point. Given that definiteness markers behave differently across languages, assessing the function of these elements, rather than merely their presence, is essential to support or refute the proposed analysis.
11Chapter 3 focuses on the subject-focus construction in Wolof, which is a cleft construction with a “determinative” element, as presented in (2).
(2)
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Omar
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a
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ko
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jёnd
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Omar
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det
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3.sg.o
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buy
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‘It is Omar who bought it’ (Diouf 2009: 175, as cited on p. 32)
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12After introducing the construction, in which the copula reappears in negative clauses, the author moves on to discuss the subject-focus construction in Berber languages. In Berber, this construction is marked by a focused element and a relative clause, where a= signals the free relative clause. See the Tamashek example in (3).
(3)
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Ənta
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a=hi
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i-nhœy-œn
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|
|
|
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she
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a=1.sg.o
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3.sg-see-ptcp
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|
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‘[It was] her who saw me.’ (Heath 2005: 644, as cited on p. 37)
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13The following section, titled “Grammatical Parallelisms between Wolof and Berber Languages”, deals exclusively with subject-focus constructions, drawing comparisons between the rules for clitic attraction, copula insertion, and some morphological similarities. The author then presents lexical evidence of borrowing from Berber into Wolof, and in section 3.4, uses data from oral tradition and historical sources to argue that such borrowings are plausible.
14However, this chapter raises several questions and concerns. First, while the historical contact between Wolof and Berber is undeniable, the set of lexical borrowings provided by the author appears insufficient, with the age of these borrowings being unclear. The argument would benefit from additional sociolinguistic evidence. Second, while the author proposes structural similarities between Wolof and Berber subject-focus constructions, the claim that Wolof's copulaless clefts as subject-focus constructions are unique among Atlantic languages could be challenged. For instance, in Pular (Fula), the element ko is used, and scholars agree that ko functions both as a copula and a focus marker, though these roles are related but distinct. When negated, the copula ko takes the form wonaa, whereas subject-focus constructions in Pular use standard, non-focused conjugations for negation (Diallo 2000: 182). This distinction suggests that Pular’s subject-focus construction cannot be analyzed as having a copula. While this observation does not undermine the chapter’s central argument, which posits that Wolof’s subject-focus constructions align more closely with Berber than Fula, the possibility of a genetically closer language sharing a similar construction should be considered before suggesting Berber-Wolof borrowing.
15Finally, the evidence provided—three examples of a particular construction—seems insufficient to fully support the hypothesis. All Wolof examples involve third-person subjects, but subject-focus behavior may differ for first- and second-person subjects.
16In summary, while the chapter explores an intriguing hypothesis of borrowing of a grammatical construction from a genetically unrelated contact language, the evidence presented seems inadequate to substantiate this claim completely.
17Chapter 4 focuses on verbal focus, which centers “on the lexical content of the verb” (p. 50). An example of this is the use of dafa, which conveys verbal focus (4).
(4)
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Dama
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ko
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wann
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dafa.1.sg
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3.sg.o
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swallow
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‘I swallowed it.’ (Robert 2010: 474, as cited on p. 50)
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18The author then explores additional uses of the dafa form, one of which involves what the author calls “explanatory meaning” (p. 57), or, in other words, its use in a reason clause. Three hypotheses regarding the origin of this form are presented. The first hypothesis breaks dafa into da- as a focus marker and -fa, which is either an agreement marker or means ‘there’. Both interpretations are dismissed because they do not account for the third-person form dama. The second hypothesis proposes that dafa can be split into def- ‘do’ and -a, which serves as either a copula or an operator verb. The author rejects both of these hypotheses in favor of his own, originally presented in Diouf (2009), suggesting that dafa is diachronically derived from ndax- ‘because’ and -a, a determiner.
19The author’s proof of this hypothesis unfolds in three steps. First, he unifies all verbal focus forms under an underlying structure involving dafa. Second, he derives dafa from ndax-a ‘because’. Finally, he connects the remaining -a to the determiner. The author then reviews the uses of dafa and argues that the proposed etymology can explain both the verbal focus and explanatory meanings.
20However, this etymological theory presents several challenges. The first step—bringing all verb focus forms back to dafa—appears well-supported. The second step, which claims that dafa originates from ndaxa through “general sound change patterns” (p. 57), seems less convincing. First, the hypothesis first expressed in Diouf (2009) lacks detailed argumentation and merely proposes the idea. Second, there is no formal description of the phonological changes needed to support this claim. The example provided from Germanic languages is insufficient, as different language families follow different phonological rules. The /x/ > /f/ sound shift is rare in Atlantic languages (Cissé 2006; Pozdniakov & Segerer 2006), so postulating such a large-scale exception requires explicit reasoning. Third, the argument that “the meaning of dafa follows from its hypothesized origin in ndax ‘because’” (p. 57) lacks substantial evidence. Wolof dictionaries offer multiple meanings for ndax (e.g. Peace Corps 1995), so the choice of ‘because’ as the original meaning needs justification. Even if dafa and the various meanings of ndax share a common origin (which is possible), there is no proof that ‘because’ is the proto-meaning. Using this as an established fact seems speculative, and the author himself acknowledges in section 4.5.2 that not all uses of dafa can be explained through the ‘because’ interpretation.
21That said, the final step of the analysis, which interprets the -a in dafa as a determiner, is well-reasoned and faces no objections. However, in this case, the author must clarify how dafa applies to entire propositions, as it cannot be explained by dafa meaning ‘because’.
22In conclusion, the hypothesis linking verbal focus and explanatory meaning is plausible, but the claim of a shared etymology between the two lacks sufficient evidence. A more traditional straightforward explanation that these are homonymous but independent forms, seems more plausible at this stage.
23Chapter 5 focuses on the na-construction. Although there is some morphophonological variation in this construction dependent on the person of the subject, its general structure remains consistent, as shown in (5).
(5)
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Xam
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na-al
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li
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ma
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wah?
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know
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na-2.sg
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what
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I
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speak
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‘Do you know what I said?’ (Diouf n.d.: 12, as cited on p. 73)
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24After outlining the paradigm, the author challenges the generally accepted analysis that categorizes this construction as perfect. He begins by offering several definitions of the perfect tense and, following an illustrative example of a na-construction that fits the perfect category, he presents counterexamples. One involves a stative verb, which the author argues cannot be interpreted as perfect, and another counterexample is found in a performative context.
25The author then proposes that the na-construction, in contrast to the neutral dafa-construction, encodes verum, a truth emphasis. The neutral-verum opposition is exemplified in (6)-(7).
(6)
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Bubu
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bii
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dafa
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rafet
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|
|
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boubou
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this
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dafa
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be.beautiful
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|
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‘This boubou is beautiful.’ (Robert 1991: 57, as cited on p. 79)
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(7)
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Rafet
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na
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(de)
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|
|
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be.beautiful
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na
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ptc
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|
|
|
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‘It’s beautiful indeed!’ (Robert 1991: 57, as cited on p. 79)
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26According to the author, this usage does not reflect the perfect tense but rather a broader concept of verum, which can be divided into presuppositional (confirming presupposed information) and assertive verum (affirming the truth value of a proposition).
27Another instance where the morpheme na has been previously interpreted as perfect is in the future marker dina. The author argues that, in this case as well, na encodes verum, lending the form a sense of “certainty” (p. 93). Although supported by examples, the author acknowledges that further research is needed to fully understand the semantic processes at play.
28While the hypothesis that na encodes verum in Wolof is plausible, the author’s critique of the traditional interpretation of this morpheme raises typological concerns. The most contentious claim is that perfect cannot apply to stative verbs, performatives, or situations. However, in the closely related Fula language, there is a specific construction that allows verbs to function descriptively, due to the lack of adjectives. For instance, the verb ‘be big’ can be used attributively both in a general and in a resultative sense, as seen in (8)-(9); note that ‘grow’ is a related, but different verb.
(8)
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Bubakar
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no
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njand-i
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Boubakar
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cop
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be.big-act.st
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‘Boubakar is tall.’ (Zoubko 2000: 95)
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(9)
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A
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njand-ii
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dey!
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|
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2.sg
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be.big-act.pfv
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excl
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|
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‘How tall you are!’ (lit. ‘How you’ve become tall’) (Sori e Mariama 1968-1978: 26)
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|
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29This is not strictly perfect (many researchers interpret it as perfective), but such usage is common in African languages (Beyer 2020). Thus, the na-construction in Wolof might have a simpler explanation within the broader typological framework of the language family. The author’s analysis of na as encoding verum raises further questions: How does the na-construction affect a focal dafa clause? And if na is indeed marking verum, what remaining morpheme marks TAM categories?
30A similar typological issue arises in the future marker analysis. In Atlantic languages, future tense is typically not expressed through a distinct form (Segerer 2002), but rather through various perfect/perfective or imperfect/imperfective aspects, depending on the speaker’s focus on results. Thus, while the author’s interpretation of dina as an imperfective marker combined with verum may suffice without typological context when that context is considered, the more plausible interpretation of na as a perfect marker for both future and non-future forms emerges.
31In Chapter 6, the author examines the minimal clause construction in Wolof, which refers to the neutral structure without focus or other markers of information structure. The first section addresses current definitions of minimal clauses, or more specifically, the absence of certain elements in a minimal clause – what makes it minimal. According to the author, these elements can include some or all tense, aspect, and mood (TAM) features, or non-paradigmatic elements like focus or assertive force. An example of an unambiguously minimal clause is provided in (10).
(10)
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Mu
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ne
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leen
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|
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3.sg
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told
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them
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|
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‘He told them: …’ (Robert 1996: 5, as cited on p. 96)
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32In the following section, the author explains that, while the minimal clause in Wolof is no different from other clauses in terms of expressing tense and aspect, it does lack topic-focus structure or any other information structure markers. These minimal constructions serve as a foundation for various information structure derivations, each of which is analyzed in section 6.4. The basic clause can be transformed to express different types of focus, such as argument focus—both subject and complement types (a/ -la construction), verbal focus with dafa using the syntactic rule of clitic attraction, and the verum construction with na using verb raising. Section 6.4.4 specifically addresses the negation of these constructions, particularly the negation of the na-construction, which is sometimes thought to be incompatible with negation. However, the author demonstrates that the standard negation structure can be applied to the verum construction, deriving it from the basic clause using the two rules of clitic attraction and verb raising.
33The system described in the chapter is well-structured and supported by existing research at various points. However, the explanation would benefit from additional examples of the basic clause, especially in the context of negation. It would be helpful to see the basic clause and its transformations at each stage, particularly if the author has access to input from a native speaker.
34Chapter 7, which serves as the conclusion, presents additional intriguing discussions, particularly in section 7.3, “Avenues for Future Research”. The author proposes an investigation into the use of intonational patterns in expressing focus, a highly promising research direction. However, to obtain reliable results, a more diverse dataset with greater quantitative detail will be necessary. Another potential research direction is the typological perspective, which is unfortunately lacking in this work. The author aims to demonstrate that many other Atlantic languages express focus using copulaless clefts, but again, more data is needed, as drawing reliable conclusions from just a few examples is insufficient.
35This publication successfully establishes the potential for research into the information structure of Wolof and outlines the methodological guidelines for pursuing it. Since Wolof's information structure has never been thoroughly analyzed as a distinct topic, this book marks a significant first attempt. The book’s structure is clear and accessible, and its format, comprising a collection of articles, allows individual chapters to be used independently. However, this format also introduces some redundancies (for instance, repeated introductions and conclusions) that detract from the overall cohesiveness of the work.
36Two key limitations of the publication should be considered when reading it: the restricted data sources and the lack of a typological framework. The former may lead to conclusions that are limited or one-sided and may not represent the language as a whole, especially given that the dialect used is heavily influenced by French. The latter means the absence of a perspective that could have provided simpler explanations for certain phenomena. Recent monographs and publications on various Atlantic languages offer reliable data for analyzing information structure, and in some cases, provide the analysis itself. It seems somewhat wasteful not to draw on this existing body of data to fill in the gaps in the current work.
37Despite these shortcomings, the book successfully frames the key questions and highlights the most intriguing aspects of Wolof’s information structure. It is a notable contribution and hopefully marks the beginning of further research into this African language, which certainly deserves such focused attention.