Source: p 178, 179. Syntax, A Generative Introduction (3 ed, 2012) by Andrew Carnie
[p 178:] 81) Adjunct rule: X' ⟶ X' (ZP)
82) Complement rule: X' ⟶ X (WP)
[p 179:] What this means for complements and adjuncts is that you can have any number of adjuncts (87), but you can only ever have one complement (88): [...]
Why not a Noun Phrase with multiple equipollent Prepositional Phrases?
I saw this on Reddit, and someone commented
The theory that Carnie is using makes a number of assumptions -- most of which are no longer assumed by most linguists -- and then juggles everything to make sure that these assumptions are not violated by any analysis. This results in a lot of messy non-terminals, many of which are empty and useless; these come with a
Do Not Remove Under Penalty Of Lawsticker in a textbook.
Examples. I embolded the multiple complements.
- On The Road by Jack Kerouac. 1957.
“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.”
“For Heaven only knows why one loves it so, how one sees it so, making it up, building it round one, tumbling it, creating it every moment afresh; but the veriest frumps, the most deject of miseries sitting on doorsteps (drink their downfall) do the same; can’t be dealt with, she felt positive, by Acts of Parliament for that very reason; they love life. In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and jingle and strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.” —Mrs. Dalloway, by Virginia Woolf.
“There was a wisteria vine blooming for the second time that summer on a wooden trellis before one window, into which sparrows came now and then in random gusts, making a dry vivid dusty sound before going away: and opposite Quentin, Miss Coldfield in the eternal black which she had worn for forty-three years now, whether for sister, father, or nothusband none knew, sitting so bolt upright in the straight hard chair that was so tall for her that her legs hung straight and rigid as if she had iron shinbones and ankles, clear of the floor with that air of impotent and static rage like children’s feet, and talking in that grim haggard amazed voice until at last listening would renege and hearing-sense self-confound and the long-dead object of her impotent yet indomitable frustration would appear, as though by outraged recapitulation evoked, quiet inattentive and harmless, out of the biding and dreamy and victorious dust.” —Absalom, Absalom!, by William Faulkner