The aim of this chapter is to clarify the relationship between what genetic critics1 (or philologists) call variants and what musicians call variations.2 Some work that has been done to understand the nature of variation, and in particular Nelson Goodman's analysis of variation in terms of reference rather than according to formal criteria,3 can help us to define the status of variants. Such a definition may serve as a helpful complement to a general model of the genetic process based on a dialogic relationship between versions.

There is an obvious connection between the notions of variant and variation: both have to do with similarity and diversity. However, their core meanings are quite distinct despite the fact that in loose specialized usage, as well as in general parlance, the terms overlap (even dictionaries often use one word to define the other). Typically, one speaks of variants when there is a choice between elements regarded as equivalent, and of variation when the similar but different elements are juxtaposed in space or in time.

A few examples should clarify this issue. For an instance of genetic variant, we can look at the genesis of the first sentence of Virginia Woolf's novel Mrs. Dalloway, for which there are three extant versions. Virginia Woolf first wrote, “Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the silk herself.” Then, she crossed out the word “silk” and inserted the word “gloves” in its place,5 and later on,6 the sentence became “Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the fl owers herself.” Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the silk herself.

gloves

flowers

The three variant words are obviously different, yet we know that they are somehow equivalent. The fact that “silk,” “gloves,” and “fl owers” are substituted for one another in the same position unites them as part of the same paradigm. We can try to analyze what they have in common: all three are nouns, they refer to things one might purchase, and more specifically may be categorized as luxury goods.

Now let us consider an example of variation taken from a literary work that deliberately sets out to imitate musical forms: the “Sirens” episode of James Joyce's Ulysses.7

—He's killed looking back.

She laughed:

—O wept! Aren't men frightful idiots?

With sadness.