Week 10 Readings: Nelson, Aarseth, Hayles
I cannot imagine how anyone did quantitative research before computers. It is difficult enough to input data into the proper format to have a software program like SPSS compute t values and standard differentiations. The fact remains there are programs available to do pretty much anything – and if there is not, then someone somewhere can write one. “There are so many possible specific functions that the mind reels,” writes Nelson (1965, p. 134). It is only through an impossibly simple interface that people like me, who are probably pretty technically savvy compared to the general population, can utilize a computer even close to its full extent.
Nelson’s vision was to create a type of mega memex, a “dream file” that would arrange bits of data precisely how the author wants it and have the ability to be easily recalled and rearranged. He argues the theory that all anyone really needs is a good outline is false, but then he calls for a system to allow dynamic outlining. “Changing an outline (or an index) changes the sequence of the main text which is linked with it, this would permit a writer to create new drafts with a relatively small amount of effort, not counting rewordings” (p. 137). Did he mean for something like the cut and paste function of any word processing program? Or did he imagine some sort of A.I. writing tutor that could tell when a paragraph was out of place?
To amuse myself, I used Word’s AutoSummarize to cut 75% of the last two paragraphs. What the program spit out are the two sentences in bold – hardly an appropriate summary. Maybe my argument is that computers work based on logic and writing, even non-fiction essay writing, is emotional.
Much like our earlier discussion of whether a book is only a book if it exists in codex form, Aarseth (1994) examines non-linear texts by asking, “What is a text anyway?” (p. 763). He offers a few definitions, but the one I think works best is “A text is a fixed sequence of constituents (beginning, middle, end) that cannot change, although its interpretations might” (p. 763). Remember that with handwritten books, there was the ability for a scribe to make a mistake, add or omit something. The invention of the printing press allowed everyone to be able to read the same copy of a book. Then glosses became popular, making each individual book into something unique. Despite all of this, two people reading different copies of the same book were still more or less reading the same text. What makes a text non-linear is that two people can read the same thing but, based on the choices they make, have very different experiences. That seems to make sense: There is something about the text itself that makes it non-linear, such as the example Aarseth gives about a book that asks its readers to skip ahead 50 pages (pp. 763-764).
Aarseth explains the simplest way of achieving nonlinearity “is a script forking out in two directions on a surface, forcing its witness (the user) to choose one path in preference to another” (p. 768). Now consider Aarseth’s instructions: “It must immediately be pointed out that this concept [nonlinearity] refers only to the physiological form (or arrangement, appearance) of the texts, and not to any fictional meaning or external reference they might have. Thus, it is not the plot, or the narrative, or any other well-known poetic unit that will be our definitive agency but the shape or structure of the text itself” (p. 762).
Moving back to the book, the reader may choose to follow the instructions, or heed the book’s earlier warning of “possible attacks of illegitimate nonlinearities” and keep reading (pp. 763-764). Either way, the reader is making the choice for him or herself (provided there is actually something to read on those 50 pages). A film viewer, however, is not readily given the choice to skip ahead and must watch “out-of-order” films as they are presented. Therefore, it would seem that the narrative of a film like 21 Grams is non-linear, but not the film itself. Does that place restrictions on which media can be non-linear?
Touching briefly on Hayles (2002), when calling for media specific analysis, she cautions against studying a medium in isolation. “Media constantly engage in a RECURSIVE dynamic of imitating each other, incorporating aspects of competing media into themselves while simultaneously flaunting the advantages their own forms of mediation offer,” she writes (p. 31, emphasis in original). From an industry standpoint, media are incorporating aspects from each other, but still clinging to their individual, separate identities. This issue ties into my wiki post about teaching journalism students about true multimedia convergence. A newspaper with a Web site will always be just a newspaper with a Web site until its staff embraces the online edition as an integral part of its daily product. Likewise, many television stations will hold stories for their Web site until after they have aired on the nightly news. By then, they are just repeating old information. In my previous life, I was constantly working with my station to upgrade its Internet presence and I am displeased to report the program page I created has not changed, save to take my name off it.
In the second article by Hayles (2005), she discusses the relationship between a text and its presentation. While a PDF scan of a rare book will never replace the feeling of holding that book in your hands and turning the pages, an electronic version can be accessed by millions more than the original ever could. There is an old saying that you should never judge a book by its cover, but the truth is we do and maybe we should. A textbook that has pretty pictures, sidebars and pull quotes is easier to read than one than does not, even if they were otherwise the same. Aarseth questions whether the author’s name constitutes part of the text, as it is typically found on the cover and hence outside the text. Even when the author is writing under a pseudonym or using a ghostwriter, he argues the name belongs to the text (p. 764). As a teenager, I read books in the Sweet Valley High series. Although Francine Pascal stopped writing the books years before I began reading them, her name on the cover was what kept the franchise going.