Category: Reflections

Marie -Laure Ryan mentions computer games in the discussion of interactive texts and ergodic literature.  I had never really put computer/video games in this light of an interactive drama before. She notes that although the player does not contribute text, but skills such as shooting, jumping, diving, problem and riddle solving require far more active participation that selecting items from a menu as would be done on a preprogramed webpage or virtual reality art display.  In many games today, especially role-playing games, the plot and subsequent series of events often depends on the actions of the player(i.e. which door is opened or which items are picked up in the room).  Video games are often overlooked as a form of interactivity with text.  In the future, it will be interesting to see how much games will evolve depending on the decisions of the player.  Thus making reality more blurred perhaps?

The Drawn Pavement of October Nights

Briefly, you question why he’s even sent you to such a place. Without an interpreter to aid or guide you, you silently pray that your instincts have proved you right. The coffee table remains cluttered from previous travelers. Your hand sticks to the counter, picking up the residue of day old ketchup stains, and Lord knows whatever else could possibly land on the counter of an abandoned diner in the middle of no-man’s land.

          It doesn’t make sense to you. It shouldn’t. You’ve managed to make it thus far in the game. But still, no leads to what you’ve been called for- why they’ve sent you here. They came rushing, with an army of green men and walky-talkies; the smell of rust and dried apricots trailing behind them that one October night. Already confused as to how these men have found you, you let go of the intriguing trace of apricots wafting into the room of your still and odorless city loft, and focus on the present scare. With swift and heavy feet, they assemble you into the bolts of green jacket. This, of course, is installed for their security from yet another outburst. Your heart beats, fluttering beneath the skin of your chest.

          Why have they done this, you ask reader? Well, perhaps the proper question would be, for what do they have to gain as a result of your kidnapping?

          You pass by an old warehouse. You remember its dingy doors, heavier than its appearance should allow. And yet, this very passage, where deals and transactions were executed; where dealers, courted by your wittingly priceless charm, landed you in the very position you presently face. You’re at the mercy of a handler you’ve never met, and perhaps will never meet.

          This memory is brushed away by a torn hand stained by day-old condiments. Sweeping it across the back of your head, you’re hoping that your memory fails you. It doesn’t. You stretch your hand in hopes of the pain escaping sharp cuts and bruises; you continue wondering if the plotted memory of its abuse will ever escape your haggard mind. Sure, you hit him hard, but he hit you even harder- and still, it feels good to conjure that sudden scene of personal retaliation, an outburst that should’ve been prevented by brass nuts and bolts of a stray jacket.

 The diner clock reads 11:56 pm. She’s always late. She should’ve been here 56 minutes ago- and still, you wait. Do you love her? Possibly. Noooo. You would never wait for anyone this long. Does she love you? I don’t know. Reader, I’m not sure. Should she love him? What kind of love purposefully allows the one you adore waiting center stage in a danger zone?

She does, I have decided. She makes you wait for the purpose of testing you. Do you love her? Then you’ll continue waiting. If not, you would have left an hour ago, or perhaps would have never even showed up. She watches from the cold window of a ‘72 rusty green Camero. She rubs her hands on her thighs, warming them, she hopes; out of anticipation even, she rubs them. But fear keeps her caged in even longer.

The car mirror flips open. Painted lips become even deeper. The heavy door slams. Green paint from the car flickers off of the wet pavement, as her black boots march beneath her.  “Hi ma’am, do ya’ need a seat?” You’ve spotted her.

She’s always so mysterious- that’s what annoys you about her. But then again, that’s what mystifies you, intrigues you, even, to stay. As she takes the seat across from you, you get a whiff of her perfume- she’s wearing your favorite. “So what- you take three showas again?” She doesn’t answer, but moves her head right to left. She smiles and you smile back. Wow, you really love her. “Why did you want me here?” she asks. Her hands are pink from rubbing them. They’ve been mounted on the table, mocking the same rubbing motion committed during stake-out. It’s a sign— she’s nervous. “Want you here!… I was ordered to meet here at 11… I follow orders Cammi……. I just—-follow—–orders.”

What you don’t interpret is the sarcastic tone in her voice. Unaware, you’ve also failed to realize that this mysterious handler you’ll never meet, the very handler, that has assumed the position of decisively turning your quaint life of journalism completely upside down, tangles you in a web of deceit through the scent of her body and neck- your favorite perfume on a woman.

After reading the final portions of Italo Calvino’s (“Calvino”) book if on a winter’s night a traveler, I have a much clearer understanding of interactive text. The book was thought provoking in the way it shifted story lines, presented newly created words, and contained all the book’s format in a weaved circular pattern. The book allows you to think of possible new ending to each story’s plot.

I was impressed when begin the 9th chapter relating the airplane to a metallic uterus. The uterus holds the life of an unborn fetus until delivery time; while the airplane holds its passenger until arrival time. The book’s text implied ways that a person could eliminated writers block by just writing and weaving a story with the experiences of you life, someone else’s life, or just vision from your mind. And, if that is not enough, you could mix all or part of the elements listed combining them in any form you desired and continue your story. Calvino did just that when he visualized Lotaria and incorporated her into many different personalities.

The characters she represented are as follows: Lotaria – Corina – Gertrude – Ingrid – Alfonsina –Shelia – Captian Alexandra. Calvino begin reading a book to get the girl, ended his novel with the revelation that he love the girl, and chapter 12 married the girl. He could have asked her to marry his in the first few pages, but instead he took the reader on a textual journey.

I felt somewhat disappointed in reading this last sections of Calvino’s If on a winter’s night a traveler. All along I was intriqued by the mini-stories inserted within the general narrative, even if they do not have an ending, and the quest of the readers to find the complete volume; however when I read this last part the novel somehow lost its appeal. I think it might be due to the fact that the plot become too chaotic that it no longer resembles the style or characters that was presented to us in the first half of the book. Only at the last fifty pages there the events are completely strange and bizzare. The mini-stories between the narratives I already expected to be different, but now even the general narratives are twisted. In addition, there are lots more generalized thoughts and insights that the feel of the novel become more philosophical, metaphysical pondering on the act of reading experience instead of a story. It seems like Calvino, knows that he is wrapping up the novel, so therefore if we haven’t already grasped the vision that this novel is resembling something like “ergodic literature” idea, it’ll be stated all the more clearly.

Similar to the comic strip by Scott McCloud we engaged in completing a simple story earlier we are not given the underlying explanations to the complications in a chronilogical order. Which can be quite fascinating in movies and novels because it leads you to certain assumptions. Often leading you in certain directions purposely but in Calvios novel there have been numerous instances in which it seemed there was no particular direction the writer had in mind for your conclusions. However as the story ensued it has become appearant that he lead us through the readers’ narrative. Never knowing what to expect has kept me fascinated. The moment there is a comfort level, that is to say, I finally know what to expect from the style, he throws in another trick.

I have also considered the idea of reading and writing in different gender roles and have found that some books written in the female role to be less beleivable. It seems to have a slight effect when written in the opposite role of disconnection. Not that I enjoy a story any less either way but that I am less connected as one as I am more aware that it is not me. So, I found it quite interesting to compare more directly the effect upon the point of view and to see another characters function from within as I am not often allowed that chance. (I know it’s late, I just got off work ;)

This weeks readings promted a few different things for me to think about. First off, I was thinking about the differences that are possibly created for someone reading this book based on their gender. As Calvino briefly switched the point of view to that of Ludmilla, it made me think of the fact that for most of the book “The reader” had been through the viewpoint of a male, which could create an entirely different way of reading/taking in the book for those readers that are female. Our gender most definitely plays a role in how we percieve others actions, and I’m sure its no different in what we read as well. I could be way off, but it was just something I hadn’t really thought about before reading that particular page.

Secondly, it occurred to me that Silas Flannery was possibly a representation of Calvino, at least to some degree. Perhaps Calvino was having trouble finishing his stories, so he figured he’d throw them all into one book and came up with a very uniqe plot to tie them all together. Regardless of whether that is true or not (most likely not), I still wouldn’t be surprised at all if Calvino put at least some of himself in Flannery.

It is quite humorous that the “main” character in Calvino’s novel is having a difficult time tracking down all the ends or “connections” to stories that he is reading. He keeps reading stories that just end on him and it is very frustrating for him. This definitely parallels with us as the readers not being able to finish any of the stories that Calvino has written for us to read in this novel. I feel like this was purposely written with this sense of irony because it makes us as the readers really jump into the characters’ shoes — the character being the “I” or the “you” that the novel refers to here and again. I tried to keep this in mind while writing my own Calvino-esque story. I was trying to jump into the story in what would seem to be the middle of it. I felt that it was hard to do this, however; mainly because if you were really to jump into the middle of a novel or movie, you likely wouldn’t be able to get the background information that you missed at the beginning. I found it difficult to not present some background information though in my piece. Also like this novel, I inserted a hybrid of the names given by Calvino by presenting a character named “Cimbrian Marana.” While it was a fun excersize and homework assignment, I did find it sort of difficult because I didn’t want it to sound too off the wall. I think I was afraid of it not sound very legit, so I took it slowly to make sure I cover most questionable issues. Also, I haven’t written a story since probably 4th grade so it was different getting back into that story-telling frame of mind. I enjoyed the challenge though and felt that what I produced was pretty good.

I was doing some research on Calvino and read that he was part of the Italian resistance during WWII. I also read that he was involved in many “fantasy” writings earlier in his career, or before our current book. My question is do you think that going through war; especially at a time when war was much more hands on and brutal,( not that it isnt brutal now), had any psychological influence into why Calvino writes the way he does. I cant imagine any truly sane person being able to write as he does, do you think that if he had not been part of the resistance that he would be the same writer, did what he saw and what he experienced change him forever and bring something out in him that might not have been able to escape. We were talking about tormented writers in the last class and how one is either tormented or productive. It is my oponion that Calvino was both, but only because of his experiences during the 40’s. Would he be the same writer, was he the same writer before the war, did the war turn him from simply a productive writer to a tormented and productive writer? I suppose its impossible to tell, but interesting to ponder. Wes

I found this section (or sections, however you want to look at it) of Calvino’s novel to be the most interesting so far. By now the reader already should have an idea that this is a group of novels contained within one larger novel, but Calvino also starts including stories within stories within a single chapter. He also starts shifting the point of view around by letting you see from Ludmilla’s point of view, then the man’s point of view, in the same chapter. It’s a little disorienting at first, but it makes you wonder, who does Calvino want us to be as the reader of this novel? Calvino forces us to examine this novel from many different ways – as an outsider, examing the events that unfold; as a ‘reader’ in relation to the ‘writer’; and finally, as a character in the novel itself. It’s a little mind-boggling, but it’s pretty interesting nonetheless.

Again, I must say that I am actually coming to understand the writer’s repertoire. I have even begun to anticipate his next move, his next form of bizzarre antics, a kind of personal banter that only he truly understands; it’s interesting really, because initially I had concluded that I would never truly enjoy, or find in any way, this book some what entertaining. But, I must confess, I have traded this annoyance for a new form of an inquisitive detective-like instinct, attempting to figure out Calvino’s next move. ~ lindsey ps: I’ll come up with a question to ask in class :)