Beginnings of a Rough Draft

I find it easier to just jump in when I am writing a paper, without brainstorming. Here is the draft I have so far.

“You don’t have a Soul. You are a Soul. You have a body.” –C.S. Lewis

Lewis’s definition of the human identity establishes an interesting idea; humans are the essence of themselves; the body is simply a container for the soul, and does not define the nature and personality of people. This presents an interesting dichotomy between body and soul, meaning and medium, form and function, especially when it is applied to not just humans, but works of art as well. Does the form through which the meaning is relayed affect how that meaning is interpreted? Shelley Jackson, considering the technologically dominated society of modern times, addresses this question in her hypertext Patchwork Girl, inspired by Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and other works by writers such as L. Frank Baum. Shelley’s computerized disc sent shock waves throughout the literary community, as it presented a new medium through which writers could present their works. Some, however, viewed this revolutionary new method with horror and trepidation, including critic Sven Birkens. Birkens points out the many fallacies of using hypertexts such as Shelley’s, leading to the ultimate conclusion that while hypertextual literature is an innovative idea, the obscure organization of it detracts from the overall meaning presented.

One of the most frustrating issues for readers of texts such as Patchwork Girl is the organization- or lack thereof. In Patchwork Girl, there are many different sections to click, which in turn lead the reader to somewhere completely different; this pulls the reader off the original track they were on, until they have lost comprehension of the meaning of the story. Additionally, the text can be viewed in different formats, ranging from hierarchical charts to flow charts. The same information is presented in different ways, complicating the reading even more because not only are there different sections to read, but different formats in which to read it. In Jackson’s own words, “Hypertext is schizophrenic: you can’t tell what’s the original and what’s the reference.” Furthermore, “A hypertext never seems quite finished, it isn’t clear just where it ends, it’s fuzzy at the edges, you can’t figure out what matters and what doesn’t, what’s matter and what’s void, what’s the bone and what’s the flesh, it’s all decoration or it’s all substance” (Jackson). Clearly, hypertext renders the story, and thence the meaning, confusing; there is no direction or plot to follow. Because there are so many routes to follow (none of which are clearly designated) no clear resolution is established, making the reader feel that there is no worthy point to text.

Part of this organizational chaos can be attributed to the lack of linear structure; in novels, the story is laid out in a series of pages, and a beginning, middle, and end are clearly designated. Thus, every part of the story is identified and read, and the reader ends the book with a sense of resolution. “The order of print is linear, and is bound to logic by the imperatives of syntax… Print communication requires the active engagement of the reader’s attention, for reading is fundamentally an act of translation” (Birkens 122). However, with hypertext, no clear direction is designated. “Hypertext doesn’t know where it’s going” (Jackson). The reader is presented with many sections to choose from, thus there is no sense of a beginning or end. Furthermore, the reader finds it difficult to fully commit themselves to whichever section they arbitrarily selected, because they are unsure whether or not they missed a crucial part of the story before their current reading. Indeed, one feels disconnected from the text; they are unaware of the basic plot in the story, and therefore do not feel any desire to continue reading. The responsibility of choosing the next section of the story can be overwhelming, as well. As Birkens relates, “For the effect of the hypertext environment, the ever-present awareness of possibility and the need to either make or refuse choice, was to preempt my creating any meditative space for myself (Birkens 162). Thus, the medium itself is so distracting, the reader loses focus on the actual meaning.

Despite the abstract nature of words, many readers enjoy being about to feel a concrete book in their hands and physically see the letters in print. With hypertext, however, the screen acts as a barrier between the reader and the words. According to Birkens, “Words read from a screen or written onto a screen- words which appear and disappear, even if they can be retrieved and fixed into place with a keystroke- have a different status and affect us differently from words held immobile on the accessible space of a page” (Birkens 154). Clearly, hypertext fails to hold the same potency, and deliver the words as powerfully and completely, as books, because it seems so transient; in novels, the words are firmly, irrevocably printed onto the pages, while on screen, the potential to delete or edit exists at the discretion of the reader’s fingertips.

Nearly weightless though it is, the word printed on a page is a thing. The configuration of impulses on a screen is not- it is a manifestation, an indeterminate entity both particle and wave, an ectoplasmic arrival and departure. The former occupies a position in space- on a page, in a book- and is verifiably there. The latter, once dematerialized, digitalized back into storage, into memory, cannot be said to exist in quite the same way. It has potential, not locus (Birkens 155).

The soul- or essence- of something

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