Tag: narrative

“Lovelines” Leading to an Internal Narrative

“Lovelines,” like “We Feel Fine,” is, of course, a database, at least per the parameters Lev Manovich sets. In the statement of the work, the statement’s author clearly indicates that he used the same “data collection engine” to acquire the material that pops up on the page before the reader’s eyes. However, I feel as though “Lovelines” is in an interesting look into the dispute between whether or not a work is merely a database or a narrative. “Lovelines” seems to look deeply into the eye of the human condition, particularly because it is less randomized than “We Feel Fine.” By dragging the gray heart across the line at the bottom of the web page, the reader can develop a sense of what love and hatred mean in our society. The beginnings of the statements range from “I love,” “I like,” “I want,” to “I hate,” and so on. While we are often aware of our own opinions on various matters, it is unlikely that we would have any sort of opportunity to voyeuristically peer into the desires and dislikes of others if it were not for a database like “Lovelines.” Perhaps by eavesdropping, one could do such a thing, although it would be a different experience from interacting with “Lovelines.”

When I wrote about “We Feel Fine” for the media inquiry assignment, I briefly mentioned the concept of an internal narrative taking place within the reader’s mind while interacting with the database. I feel as though this is more likely to occur, however, with “Lovelines.” As people, we are inclined to be at least partially influenced by the opinions, desires, and dislikes of others in relation to our own. For example, I can relate to one blogger who writes, “I love Family Guy I love Family Guy I love Family Guy.” I feel a connection to what seems like a person because I am aware that this statement was attached to a person in that they wrote it. Another example might be that one blogger writes, “I hate when I start reading a book and then have to put it aside.” While it had not previously occurred to me in a conscious way that I hate student loan companies, I agree with this statement and therefore have identified something that already existed within myself without my even knowing it.

One major difference between the influence one might feel while interacting with “Lovelines” as opposed to everyday human interaction deals with peer pressure. In a group, one person might say, “I hate ___” or “I love ___” and perhaps the rest of the people in the group concur, so one who does not necessarily agree will say that they do for the sake of fitting in or continuity. In the realm of the Internet, there is nothing at stake whether the reader agrees with a particular statement or not, though it is likely that some form of internal narrative will take place, regardless. The anonymity of, as well as the level of control the reader has in “Lovelines” allows the reader to engage in a deeply introspective internal, personal narrative that is evoked by interacting with the “Lovelines” database.

Blog #3: Photopia

Eventually, I came to a dead end in Photopia after spending about 45 minutes to an hour playing around with it. However, after becoming accustomed to what commands the program could process, it became a relatively easy process overall to navigate through Photopia. I enjoyed the fact that I played a relatively passive role in my outcome—I was more focused on exploring each scenario as much as possible, making the program less plot-based and more interactive in the sense that I had the illusion of choice-making. As the person interacting with the text, I was able to “explore the field of the possible” (211) as Marie-Laure Ryan discusses. By typing commands such as “listen,” “go north,” “examine ____,” et al, I felt included in the reading of a story, and I was allowed to make choices in terms of the order in which I learned elements of the story.

I feel that Ryan would place Photopia in the category of “electronic, interactive, nonergodic texts” (209), because of the inevitable outcomes of the various scenarios presented, though the allowance exists for the reader to make certain choices in the ways in which these scenarios unfold.

I am curious about the intentions of the author, however, due to the abrupt changes in plot lines. A screen will appear with a block of color that is somehow related to the story to come. For example, an all-black screen with a yellow bar that reads “gold” proceeds to lead into a story where the landscape is a shore with golden sand. Perhaps it is as simple as the author wanting to create a distinct barrier between each differing story line.

I understand that Krisztian felt that there was something left to be desired in Photopia, although I am a novice to almost all interactive text and enjoyed many of the elementary aspects of the program. However, I was deeply unimpressed by the lack of graphics and visual stimuli. In MBCBFTW, though I was disinterested in the story itself, I felt that it was greatly enhanced by the multimedia incorporated into the text.

Photopia does not seem to lend itself to a deep level of interpretation, especially since it seems intended for a younger audience. I felt that this was indicated by the fact that several words were defined for the reader of the text. Additionally, there’s very little that’s aesthetically stimulating about Photopia, as I mentioned earlier. It is an extremely simple, straight-forward presentation of text, with the only added creativity being the incorporation of different color schemes. It was almost like reading a book online (though one is able to interact with it personally) due to the large amount of narrative that will frequently pop up after a user command. The program also seems to act as a rudimentary video game, with the user collecting an inventory of items, such as a seed pod and a shovel.

Eventually, the game does exhaust its ability to be entertaining. It seems to become repetitive, even as different story plots emerge after “missions” are completed. Each story is a version of another story in which one must gather information, collect additions to one’s inventory, and complete some sort of mission. By the time I had come to a deadlock in the game, I felt like I understood the game well enough to understand its purpose as a source of interactive entertainment, rather than cyber art (i.e. MBCBFTW) or more complex hypertext, such as Hegirascope.

My Boyfriend Came Back from the War – Hypertext as Relevant Art

In My Boyfriend Came Back from the War, Olia Lialina merges visual images and narrative to create a realistic mini drama in hypertext.  The pages/frames are artwork that could stand alone without any text; the text could stand alone as free form poetry.  Lialina’s choice of black and white amplifies the dramatic effect of the work and dually serves to symbolize the tension associated with the words/relationship of the lovers. Although after the third page the reader is offered more choices of links to click, regardless of the order in which they are selected and read, the meaning is the same. Each frame contains a fragment or piece of the narrative.  Linear order is not essential to the meaning.  This hypertext is representative of Marie-Laure Ryan’s jigsaw-puzzle metaphor.  All of the fragments together – visual and text – complete the narrative picture.  Unlike the obscure text of Hegirascope’s, the message of My Boyfriend Came Back from the War is clear.  Anyone who has experienced the changes that result from long term separation from a lover can identify with this interactive narrative.  The fact that the lovers were separated by war adds deeper dimension to the conflict and further magnifies the drama.  The sequence of frames moving from simple to more complex and then to nothingness, visually maps the relationship from the boyfriend’s return until nothing is left.   This is the first hypertext I have experienced that has emotionally moved me.  According to Marie-Laure Ryan, emergent meaning produced through the interaction of the reader with the text that results in an emotional response is called emotional immersion.  I am impressed by Lialina’s hypertext and her ability to emotionally connect with me.  For me, this hypertext is poignant, relevant, and has redeeming value.  My test for good literature: After investing myself and my time, am I a better person?  After reading My Boyfriend Came Back from the War, I can honestly say that my time was well spent.   Olia Lialina passed my good literature test and has dramatically changed my view of hypertext as relevant art.

“Hegirascope”: Blog #2

In the early twentieth century, a group of artists in Zurich, Switzerland created an art movement by the name of “Dada” that utilized non-sensical imagery to communicate deeply textural and evocative concepts to a devastated and war-torn society. An admirer of this particular movement, I was initially intrigued by the “Hegirascope”. The mere chaos of it resembled the Dada ideology: because nothing in the world makes sense, neither will the art that attempts to reflect it. However if one pursues a further study of Dadaist pieces, they will find that many of the artistic works have a politically charged undertone to their near unrecognizable form. Therefore, members of the Dada sect did rely on some sort of representational meaning in order to portray an intensely evocative theory on the state of the world after World War I. When I think of “Hegirascope” in these terms, it suddenly doesn’t fit in at all. Although it can be argued that each segment is somewhat representational, the entire piece functions as a disjointed, abstract draft containing a vast variety of miniature plots that dream of assembling into an extended narrative.

Upon closer examination, the “Hegirascope” functioned as a sort of stream of consciousness. At each screen we abandon the center text when we wander to a particular link that had succeeded in distracting us from the central text. In an interesting comparison, Ryan says the text gave her the “impression of a loose collection of drafts and writing samples”. Like Ryan, I imagined that if we were able to break open the mind of a creative writer, the many textual fragments of “Hegirascope” would be what we would find. Each screen contained a cohesive idea, however before one could completely articulate that idea-the screen changed and a new thought was presented. To me, the web engine was a writer’s worst nightmare: capturing a moment to later build on only to lose it to another incoming idea. The “Hegirascope” acted as a controller, choosing when its thoughts were finished and moving onto the next (even if its reader was not ready for the shift).

In class we discussed Marie-Laure Ryan’s interpretative strategies for reading new media texts. Within her framework, I would probably describe “Hegirascope” dually as a “kaleidoscopic performance” piece. The “stories” the “Hegirascope” constructs are all made from the same fragments; however, with each new refraction the evocative meaning of the piece changes and a new narrative mosaic is created. 

Reading Hegirascope

Because reading Hegirascope can be a maddening experience, I thought I’d give you some tips.

First, if you’re really confused, take some time to read Stuart Moulthrop’s introduction to the work. But if you’re feeling adventurous, dive right in.

The first couple screens will flash by automatically, but you’ll shortly see a page with several hyperlink choices. Choose whatever you want and keep exploring. Do read carefully what is on the screen and do think about the choices you make. At a minimum, spend at least 30 minutes with Hegirascope.

While you’re reading the work, take note of any individual pages that really interest you. Bookmark them or jot down the URL (just the last part of the URL is all you need, say, HGS084.html).

I’d like each student to come into class on Tuesday with the name and address of three pages from Hegirascope that he or she finds particularly key to the work as a whole. Be prepared to talk about what you think the text on these three pages mean, both literally and evocatively. Also, I want you to think about how the different categories of interactivity that Marie-Laure Ryan writes about in Narrative as Virtual Reality are at play in Hegirascope.

Why “Orson Whales” Is Not Plagarism

“Orson Whales” has very little literal, or representational meaning that is drawn from its actual basis, “Moby Dick.” Its story is told completely through the original drawings which are displayed over the actual book’s text and the commentary by Orson Welles. While I’ve never read the actual book, the animation seems to tell the story itself. Even Welles’ commentary is limited to highlighting certain aspects of the cartoon, rather than delivering a coherent narrative. He plays much the same role as the Led Zepplin song – supporting the story rather than narrating it.

This support role is exactly where Welles, Led Zepplin, and the text itself are most important. They make the background in which the cartoon itself can be expressed. The text acts as a visual background, while the song and commentary act as a sonic boon to punctuate strong moments of the animation. Rather than taking entire sections of the book from Welles’ narration, Alex Itin selects short phrases that coincide with the action, and even foregoes the commentary or the song in large parts. This is all present to establish the various evocative messages of the entire video – greed, lust and ambition all seem to lead to death at some point or another, and they are punctuated by appropriate sound samples of commentary and music.

None of that is any different from what all of us do everytime we write papers. We take from movies, music and books to make a basis for the point we want to make, or even as a justification for that point. What Alex Itin does is take Moby Dick and Orson Welles, and use them as a basis for an entirely different form of expression. He never passes their work off as his; he even cites them as the sources for his new work. We all gain insight from everything around us to help form our opinions and expression, Alex Itin just narrows his scope.

Orson Whales and Evocation

As Orson Whales guides viewers on a scrambled hunt for the white whale, it carries through different meanings.  To watch it straight through gives only a scattered narrative, almost like a fragmented stream of consciousness.  Still, anybody familiar with the story of Moby Dick can gather its intentions as a video.  As the images cycle and hit their cues along side the music, everything comes together to form the end result.  Still, however, the parts of the whole can tell–and no doubt have told–their own stories, from the very literal novel, serving now as a canvas, to the song, setting a tone and a tempo.

But these separate stories are not all told simultaneously, nor do they converge to tell the same story.  Instead, they all come together to form a new journey.  This is a path that is unchanging in its presentation, but likely not the same for any two viewers.  As such, the majority of the video’s impact is, I feel, evocative.  To those more familiar with the novel’s plot, this may be a gripping hunt for the white whale, riddled with vengeance and music fueling rage and confusion.  to those that haven’t read the work, the video still combines various arts to produce different feelings and interpretations.

Though the work is unchanging, unlike the other two works, it is much the same in that interpretation from one person to another is likely always different.  All the various elements come together to form an experience that anyone can access, but that nobody can experience like anybody else.  It is the difference between seeing the video, hearing its music, and then stepping back and taking it all in.  The cumulative effort of all the different mediums transforms a song, or a book, or a series of paintings into a collaborative work, and takes all the evocative meaning from those works and combines them into an amorphous thought, which can then be molded to any viewers’ tastes.

Welcome to ENGL 343: Textual Media

ENGL 343 is devoted to the critical study of texts produced and consumed in a digital environment, what generically we might call electronic literature.  And what you are reading now is the first entry on the class blog for ENGL 343. If you are a student in ENGL 343, you can register for the blog, something you’ll need to do before the first week of classes is over.

Even if you don’t want to register yet, you can still browse this site, which will play an essential role in our course this semester. Of particular interest to students in ENGL 343 will be the course guidelines and the day-to-day class calendar.