Tagged: pop culture

Message, Medium, Megabytes, Multiplicities

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the differences between printed text and hypertext, and the similarities between some writing experiments in both mediums. Although traditional mediums, such as print, still have the potential to push the boundaries pretty far, and I think Denham‘s point about traditional media still having the ability to challenge linearity is valid, I’m also inclined to agree with Bolter that

The ephemeral character of electronic text makes possible new methods for organizing and visualizing the text.

The key things that distinguish hypertext from what I can understand are the potentials for crossover between mediums and the increased agency of the audience in relation to the text – allowing for even more divergent interpretations of the text.

 

Old School Cool

At the moment, I’m reading Culture of One, a verse novel by American poet Alice Notley. I heard about Notley because she was referenced a number of times in I Love Dick, a seriously fabulous book by NZ filmmaker/writer Chris Kraus (which everyone should read. Seriously. Get on it.) I trusted Kraus’ taste in poetry because of this interview with the Poetry Foundation. I chose to purchase Culture of One online and have it shipped to my mailbox rather than any of Notley’s 36 or so other volumes of poetry because of this empassioned review.

ANYWAY. All that aside, what’s really incredible about Culture of One is that Notley has completely messed up the linearity of the text, whilst still leaving a narrative through line (a verse novel is not just a collection of poems – the poems build together to create a clear narrative) and the poems are all stacked on top of one another, which gives the text a bizarrely jarring impact as we move between places, times and voices until you get used to the flow and sort of end up reading above the text if that makes sense. It probably doesn’t. Read it and maybe that will make sense.

This is just an example of how traditional media can generate similar effects to hypertext. Landow cites Coover,

Robert Coover claims that with hypertext “the linearity of the reading experience” does not disappear entirely, “but narrative bytes no longer follow one another in an ineluctable page-turning chain. Hypertextual story space is now multidimensional and theoretically infinite, with an equally infinite set of possible network linkages, either programmed, fixed or variable, or random, or both”

and whilst I think this is true, traditional media is still capable of this effect. However, hypertext does extend this not only through messing with linearity (not particularly revolutionary – even the circular narrative structure of 1940s Film Noir has that down) but more to do with audience agency, and crossed mediums.

J.M. Coetzee’s Diary of a Bad Year also has a disrupted narrative flow, as it’s told through two separate narrators and a series of essays, published on top of one another, occurring simultaneously, like so:

 

So you read the events from one perspective, then flick back and read it from another angle which makes you reinterpret the first perspective you read. And then there’s a bit of philosophy and ethics thrown in with the essays interspersed through the novel. Quite an experience.

 

Medium

I have been thinking about the crossovers between medium that hypertext allows, as distinct from print texts. For example, this morning I was considering how well film, photography and other primarily visual mediums can capture a moment in a very different way to language. I caught myself making up stories about people I walked past, simply based on their appearance, or how they walked, or an anxious tic such as looking over their shoulders. I thought about how interesting it would be to be able to insert something as simple as 5 seconds footage of someone’s smile, or their walk, or a sound clip of someone speaking. You could cover passages worth of description just by stepping into another medium for a moment.

The first hypertext that I was aware of reading as ‘hypertext’ was < http:// en.wikipedia.org/ wiki/ Geographic_tongue _in_5UFO_parts > (yes, that’s the title.) a poem in Going Down Swinging’s Multimedia issue, #34. It’s a bizarre, labyrinthine ride with some really arresting visuals and reading it was unlike any other experience I’ve ever had with poetry.

This is what the title page looks like, except the spheres are rotating and exploding, the computer is flashing, and the rainbow arrows are in motion too:

 

Power / Audience Agency

Landow looks at authorial power

From one point of view, then, such an approach merely intensifies the agenda of high modernism, using linking to grant the author even more power.

On the other side of this, though, you have projects such as Coover’s Hotel, aiming to allow the audience a level of agency within the telling of the story that is certainly distinct from previous writing technologies.

Bolter points out that

more often, soft structures change without a change in materials

And although there is always an element of creation and collusion as the reader interprets texts in their own way, or imagines how the characters might look, talk, speak and so on, hypertext has the potential to unleash this in a much more tangible way, for example being able to redirect or change the trajectory of the story, or further develop the characters within the text.

Even with set texts, such as published books, there is often an impulse within the audience to get involved and share in creating the story. Fan and slash fiction provides a great example of this, as all kinds of literary characters, from Harry Potter to Buffy, get reworked into new narratives and alternative worlds inspired by the original texts.

(yes, this is actually from a digital comic about Buffy acquiring superman powers…)

I hate Strong Female Characters & Creating New Archetypes

Sophia McDougall’s August article in the New Statesman, I hate Strong Female Characters really struck a chord with me. Two weeks after reading it, I’m still talking about it, so something must have clicked. McDougall’s central argument revolves around ‘the patronising promise of the Strong Female Character’ – presented as anomalous (i.e. this character is special because she’s strong and ‘normal women are weak and boring and can’t do anything worthwhile’) and ultimately one-dimensional. McDougall’s questions why we are expected to be accepting of and excited by SFCs because they kick ass or break the mould of previous archetypes like whores and god’s police. Is one dominating character trait enough, even if it differs from previously normative traits? McDougall points out that merely being ‘strong’ is a fairly small and uncomfortable box that believable and well-written male characters aren’t expected to be confined to.

 

 

Why celebrate SFCs when that is as good as it gets? When in contrast, male protagonists are not only strong, but also intelligent, moody, vulnerable, abrasive, Bohemian, whimsical, neurotic, sad, vain, rude, courteous, artistic and the list of contradictory adjectives goes on. Just because the SFC isn’t a sex kitten or a nun or puts up with/cuts to pieces the cards that she’s dealt doesn’t mean she isn’t still a one-dimensional side kick to the real action.

 

 

Of course male characters are not necessarily perfect, portrayed with real depth or breaking the archetypal moulds of old either, and gender is only one lens through which to criticise the imbalance of archetypes and uneven spread of multifaceted protagonists (race and sexuality provide interesting lenses too, to name a few). However, McDougall’s argument that the SFC is a facade hiding old tropes is well founded. I find this particularly interesting when thinking about the creation of new archetypes. How do you create new archetypes? What happens when the audience and other creators don’t have the pop-cultural vocabulary to interpret new archetypes?

 

 

Recently, watching an interpretation of a female protagonist in a short play I wrote, this was particularly striking. The actor’s instinct was to dramatise and become almost hysterical when reading the words I wrote, and although I am all for the process of interpretation (in fact I think it’s vital in theatre) I baulked at it. The whiny and melodramatic 17-year-old I saw on stage wasn’t what I thought I had written. Of course, this portrayal was valid and my ideas about how a 17-year-old young woman might respond to a situation probably vary wildly from the next person’s. This wasn’t what irked me. What got in my grill was that in my view the actor was falling back on previous experiences of how other people had portrayed 17-year-old young women, and rather than interpreting her as a person through what was on the page, this actor was falling back on the framework of what she thought a 17-year-old young woman should be.

I’m not sure that there is a solution to these gaps in intention and interpretation, but I hope that actors, directors and audiences are open to exploring new archetypes with greater depth and human contradiction rather than falling back on what they have seen before, or what they think female characters ‘should be’.