Many of the posts so far have explored the “So?” question of House of Leaves. The “what’s the point?” question. But I think that a lot of this question is coming from the way that HoL breaks genre conventions. Why don’t we ask “what’s the point?” of any literature we read? Because we’re accustomed to genre conventions, we automatically accept normal genres of literature as fulfilling the functions of education and/or entertainment. I think what HoL is doing is forcing us to reexamine our own genre assumptions and conventions. This process of reexamination forces us to ask the questions: “What is the purpose of literature?” and “How do we determine and construct that purpose?”
By foregrounding the process of the construction of the text, HoL does not allow us to fall back into our normal mode of reading literature along genre conventions. Some of the conventions I mean are: a book has a clear and authoritative narrative voice; there is one overarching story arc; characterization is consistent; there is a demarcated line between fiction and nonfiction; there is one font used throughout; there are chapters; there are page numbers; footnotes are denoted with numbers; text is arranged in a rectangular block and read all in the same direction and orientation; there are paragraphs, and they are indented and spaced; except for dialogue, spelling and punctuation are standard; illustrations are pertinent to the story; the text aims to enlighten or entertain the reader. I’m just spelling out a random few, mostly determined by what conventions HoL has broken. Perhaps it is this last one that is so disturbing. HoL doesn’t seem to care much about the reader. Indeed, the anti-dedication warns us away. Yet for a text that seems to ignore the reader’s desires and frustrate her expectations, it encourages great participation on the part of the reader. The fact that the forum and the album were released along with the book contributes to the view of HoL as encouraging active reading. But to what end? Why bother to shake us up?
By highlighting different aspects of “what makes a book a book”, HoL exposes the fact that any book is merely a house of leaves – the sum of its component parts. The concept of “book” itself is a kind of constructed cultural narrative. Perhaps by becoming aware of the constructed nature of “book” and not taking its existence as a naturally coherent whole, readers will be able to participate more actively in the construction of meaning around them. By viewing critically and strategically the various sites of cultural construction, readers can then learn to influence the reiteration of those constructs toward an iteration more favorable to themselves.
I would have to read more of Danielewski’s interviews on his own motivations (if indeed he reveals them), but this type of awakening agents of political change could be one answer to the “So?” question.