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Mooseover.
Attending the tonight's reading and talking with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
veek got me thinking about this "e-literature" thang. On the whole, I don't like it. And I take exception for "interactive fiction." I thought that I should put these ideas down into a concrete form, so I'm doing it here, fully expecting, and anticipating, a response from veek, at least, pointing out flaws, raising questions, and directing me towards e-lit that is more my style.
Let me begin by saying that the term "e-literature" is amorphous and academic and since I don't really travel in those circles, I'm probably going to horrible misuse it. Further, "interactive fiction" is a vague term defined by tradition among a group of people who often can't come to a consensus about whether or not to come in from the rain. So my terms are undefined, and they will probably get worse as I go on. This is why I am writing in my journal, and not to some important place.
I'll start by talking about "hypertext," another vague term, which is usually what I see when I look for e-literature. That link has a very good definition, though: Text which does not form a single sequence and which may be read in various orders.
Now, the idea of hypertext is not bad, in fact, I love it. You've probably guessed that based on my liberal use of links in my livejournal. If I had the time and resources, I would probably add even more links to maps, photos, essays, reference books, news sites, etc. Hypertext is the best thing that's happened to non-fiction and expository writing. In my perfect world, all of the libraries in the world are hypertextually linked to each other, so that there is no need to rush back to a card catalog, change floors, or find and replace books. Simply follow the stream of an idea. While researching a 19th-Century French melodrama, I could skip quickly to a book of 19th-Century French art to look at period homes and fashion. Jump to a listing of plays performed in Paris concurrently. See if the play performed six months later stole from the first play. Check the Bible for allusions. Flip to a 1970 travel guide of Paris to see how things have changed. I want to be able to follow the thread of my own ideas. This is why I love veek's RolandHT so much. There's no barrier to the flow of my own thoughts on Roland. Instead, those thoughts are allowed to roam free, within a given framework, of course. (Veek's may be a wonder woman, but the uber-hyper-library is still a bit beyond her ken. Maybe next year.)
But when I read fiction, or any kind of creative work, I am not really interested in my own thoughts. I have my own thoughts all of the time, in fact, it's very difficult not to have my own thoughts. Even when I am asleep, I'm having my own thoughts, though they be fractured and incoherent. But reading, for me, is a chance to delve into someone else's thoughts, to enter into someone else's frame of mind. So when I come across a web of fiction, I am stymied and confused.
The work linked above, These Waves of Girls, was on that was read this evening. I enjoyed the reading a great deal, but even as I enjoyed hearing the author interpret her work, I could see that I myself would be incredibly frustrated trying to read it on my own. At one point in the work, the author interrupted her reading of a page to click on a link, which led to an apposite page, then returned to the first page and continued reading. I can remember thinking I would never have hit that link. Why? Because I was enjoying the writing. When I am enjoying writing, I want to read what comes next, not jump to another page. So I'll read through the whole page, and then figure out what to do, which usually doesn't include back tracking again to find a link to click. And if I am distracted enough to click on a side link, then I'm doing research, reading a non-fiction piece or just bored by the writing. When I'm engaged by a text, I want the text to lead. I want to let the author or authors take me on a journey. I'm fully capable of making a decision CYOA-style at the end of a passage, but during the passage, don't bug me with links. (At this point, having gone far into the realm of personal preference, which may have little or nothing to do with the perceptions of others or of future generations, I remind both the reader and myself that this is a personal essay, one detailing my beefs with e-lit and hypertext, not one claiming to expose their essential flaws.)
I have a problem with the hypertext interface. As much as a hypertext claims to be interactive, I can never see it as much more than random. The random passages may be interconnected and interesting, but still random, and thus my interaction is unnecessary. Why random? Most hypertext interfaces I have seen boil down to three components: scroll, click, and mouseover. Further, the connections that are given between texts are often opaque. Where will the link labeled "read the code" take me? Well it could be anywhere! So I often feel my "interaction" limited to a random clicking machine that serves to create a stream of text. Why not just have a computer assemble the texts in a random order and then read them as a hard copy? I further have a problem with the links themselves. I do not interact well with text. Let me give some background. I have difficulty dealing with text as merely text; I jump very quickly to the idea that it represents. So when I see blue highlight on the word conjure I cannot think of it as a gateway to another text. It is part of the current text. It is inextricably linked to the words fours and her that surround it.
All of this leads me to IF (which I like). I like the interplay between text and reader, which has been measured, mostly through trial and error. There is a certain length of text that one doesn't want to exceed for any given input, a length that can only be determined when it has been exceeded. There are no distractions during the text, the entirety of the text builds towards the impending input. And this input, for me, is what sets apart IF from any other form of interactive thingamabob. Interactive fiction takes input from the user which is both action-based and theoretically limitless. Interactive fiction does not just ask a reader to navigate, it invokes an active response, which response the reader then returns to text. This focus on action is why I love IF.
Why, goodness, I could do anything! I could PROOF THE JOB; I could SING; I could SMASH THE COMPUTER; I could UPDATE JOURNAL; I could QUIT. There's a lot more that I could do, too. Of course, the writer of this IF piece probably has something in mind and will try to subtly lead the reader towards actions for which the author has better prepared, but when I am a reader this freedom of action, even when that action is pointless, is incredibly important. Because it's my action. I often use SING as a command in games I play, and it very rarely helps me to achieve and specific plot or puzzle objective, but it allows me to imagine that in this text the hero is singing a little song while he has no idea what to do. This is important to me. This is the kind of thing that makes something interactive to me. This is why I am usually very blase when veek points me to an on-line creative hypertext. (Hopefully, I've explained it well, but I've already stayed thirty minutes late after work, so I'm going to move on.)
...Move on to other forms of electric literature: flash animations, toys, multimedia displays, and the like. Mostly, I feel that these forms are pointless...so far. When I see the ELO defining "digitized audio or video of a text being read or performed" as electronic literature, my gut reaction is that this is a pointless definition. Why would the recorded version of a reading be e-lit if the live performance isn't. But on further thought, I can see the value in this. Essentially, there is a groundwork being laid for future works that may incorporate such aural texts into a piece. But right now, I mostly see these types of multimedia works as simply being rehashes of works in other media.
But I certainly see the potential. Just because there hasn't been much effective use of this ultimate collage doesn't mean that there won't be soon. The John Cayley piece involving readings of poetry was one of these.
The problem, I think, relates to something veek said during a panel today, which has started to make a bit more sense now that I've emptied out so many ideas. She said, if I may brazenly oversimplify, that the academic world is stifling new media by not giving the proper deference to collaboration. So Ph.D. candidates are encouraged to work alone so that a Ph.D. board won't have to try to sort through who did what work in a collaborative process. If e-literature is going to become something new and amazing, this will have to change.
I've run out of things to say, and I need to get some dinner. Hopefully, all of this makes a modicum of sense. If not, well, I'm sure I'll be seeing the comments soon.
veek got me thinking about this "e-literature" thang. On the whole, I don't like it. And I take exception for "interactive fiction." I thought that I should put these ideas down into a concrete form, so I'm doing it here, fully expecting, and anticipating, a response from veek, at least, pointing out flaws, raising questions, and directing me towards e-lit that is more my style.Let me begin by saying that the term "e-literature" is amorphous and academic and since I don't really travel in those circles, I'm probably going to horrible misuse it. Further, "interactive fiction" is a vague term defined by tradition among a group of people who often can't come to a consensus about whether or not to come in from the rain. So my terms are undefined, and they will probably get worse as I go on. This is why I am writing in my journal, and not to some important place.
I'll start by talking about "hypertext," another vague term, which is usually what I see when I look for e-literature. That link has a very good definition, though: Text which does not form a single sequence and which may be read in various orders.
Now, the idea of hypertext is not bad, in fact, I love it. You've probably guessed that based on my liberal use of links in my livejournal. If I had the time and resources, I would probably add even more links to maps, photos, essays, reference books, news sites, etc. Hypertext is the best thing that's happened to non-fiction and expository writing. In my perfect world, all of the libraries in the world are hypertextually linked to each other, so that there is no need to rush back to a card catalog, change floors, or find and replace books. Simply follow the stream of an idea. While researching a 19th-Century French melodrama, I could skip quickly to a book of 19th-Century French art to look at period homes and fashion. Jump to a listing of plays performed in Paris concurrently. See if the play performed six months later stole from the first play. Check the Bible for allusions. Flip to a 1970 travel guide of Paris to see how things have changed. I want to be able to follow the thread of my own ideas. This is why I love veek's RolandHT so much. There's no barrier to the flow of my own thoughts on Roland. Instead, those thoughts are allowed to roam free, within a given framework, of course. (Veek's may be a wonder woman, but the uber-hyper-library is still a bit beyond her ken. Maybe next year.)
But when I read fiction, or any kind of creative work, I am not really interested in my own thoughts. I have my own thoughts all of the time, in fact, it's very difficult not to have my own thoughts. Even when I am asleep, I'm having my own thoughts, though they be fractured and incoherent. But reading, for me, is a chance to delve into someone else's thoughts, to enter into someone else's frame of mind. So when I come across a web of fiction, I am stymied and confused.
The work linked above, These Waves of Girls, was on that was read this evening. I enjoyed the reading a great deal, but even as I enjoyed hearing the author interpret her work, I could see that I myself would be incredibly frustrated trying to read it on my own. At one point in the work, the author interrupted her reading of a page to click on a link, which led to an apposite page, then returned to the first page and continued reading. I can remember thinking I would never have hit that link. Why? Because I was enjoying the writing. When I am enjoying writing, I want to read what comes next, not jump to another page. So I'll read through the whole page, and then figure out what to do, which usually doesn't include back tracking again to find a link to click. And if I am distracted enough to click on a side link, then I'm doing research, reading a non-fiction piece or just bored by the writing. When I'm engaged by a text, I want the text to lead. I want to let the author or authors take me on a journey. I'm fully capable of making a decision CYOA-style at the end of a passage, but during the passage, don't bug me with links. (At this point, having gone far into the realm of personal preference, which may have little or nothing to do with the perceptions of others or of future generations, I remind both the reader and myself that this is a personal essay, one detailing my beefs with e-lit and hypertext, not one claiming to expose their essential flaws.)
I have a problem with the hypertext interface. As much as a hypertext claims to be interactive, I can never see it as much more than random. The random passages may be interconnected and interesting, but still random, and thus my interaction is unnecessary. Why random? Most hypertext interfaces I have seen boil down to three components: scroll, click, and mouseover. Further, the connections that are given between texts are often opaque. Where will the link labeled "read the code" take me? Well it could be anywhere! So I often feel my "interaction" limited to a random clicking machine that serves to create a stream of text. Why not just have a computer assemble the texts in a random order and then read them as a hard copy? I further have a problem with the links themselves. I do not interact well with text. Let me give some background. I have difficulty dealing with text as merely text; I jump very quickly to the idea that it represents. So when I see blue highlight on the word conjure I cannot think of it as a gateway to another text. It is part of the current text. It is inextricably linked to the words fours and her that surround it.
All of this leads me to IF (which I like). I like the interplay between text and reader, which has been measured, mostly through trial and error. There is a certain length of text that one doesn't want to exceed for any given input, a length that can only be determined when it has been exceeded. There are no distractions during the text, the entirety of the text builds towards the impending input. And this input, for me, is what sets apart IF from any other form of interactive thingamabob. Interactive fiction takes input from the user which is both action-based and theoretically limitless. Interactive fiction does not just ask a reader to navigate, it invokes an active response, which response the reader then returns to text. This focus on action is why I love IF.
Distro
You are sitting in front of a computer in the Distribution Center. A massive proofing job sits before you. Your supervisor has left for lunch and is unlikely to return for another hour. It is the middle of the night, and little of what you do will have consequences.
WHAT DO YOU, THE PROOFREADER, WANT TO DO NOW?
>
Why, goodness, I could do anything! I could PROOF THE JOB; I could SING; I could SMASH THE COMPUTER; I could UPDATE JOURNAL; I could QUIT. There's a lot more that I could do, too. Of course, the writer of this IF piece probably has something in mind and will try to subtly lead the reader towards actions for which the author has better prepared, but when I am a reader this freedom of action, even when that action is pointless, is incredibly important. Because it's my action. I often use SING as a command in games I play, and it very rarely helps me to achieve and specific plot or puzzle objective, but it allows me to imagine that in this text the hero is singing a little song while he has no idea what to do. This is important to me. This is the kind of thing that makes something interactive to me. This is why I am usually very blase when veek points me to an on-line creative hypertext. (Hopefully, I've explained it well, but I've already stayed thirty minutes late after work, so I'm going to move on.)
...Move on to other forms of electric literature: flash animations, toys, multimedia displays, and the like. Mostly, I feel that these forms are pointless...so far. When I see the ELO defining "digitized audio or video of a text being read or performed" as electronic literature, my gut reaction is that this is a pointless definition. Why would the recorded version of a reading be e-lit if the live performance isn't. But on further thought, I can see the value in this. Essentially, there is a groundwork being laid for future works that may incorporate such aural texts into a piece. But right now, I mostly see these types of multimedia works as simply being rehashes of works in other media.
But I certainly see the potential. Just because there hasn't been much effective use of this ultimate collage doesn't mean that there won't be soon. The John Cayley piece involving readings of poetry was one of these.
The problem, I think, relates to something veek said during a panel today, which has started to make a bit more sense now that I've emptied out so many ideas. She said, if I may brazenly oversimplify, that the academic world is stifling new media by not giving the proper deference to collaboration. So Ph.D. candidates are encouraged to work alone so that a Ph.D. board won't have to try to sort through who did what work in a collaborative process. If e-literature is going to become something new and amazing, this will have to change.
I've run out of things to say, and I need to get some dinner. Hopefully, all of this makes a modicum of sense. If not, well, I'm sure I'll be seeing the comments soon.