Associated Readings

Background

Part V

Part V, “Hypertexts & Interactives” contains three essays that present, defend and explore varying types of hypertexts.

The first essay titled, “Card Shark and Thespis: Exotic Tools for Hypertext Narrative,” named respectively after the hypertexts that they present, offers what Bernstein and Greco (B & G) call “a strange system, a hypertext environment that might let us step back from Storyspace and the web…” (170). Card Shark is a hypertext system designed to place the participant in control of making connections between the nodes, which contain various lexia. Unlike traditional hypertexts, which according to B &G are comparatively “simpler, more elegant, more flexible, [and] more widely available,” Card Shark, as suggested by its title, literally deals out the story and allows the participant to choose which node or card, will be presented next (170). The choice of which node to utilize is advertised by simple conditions set as titles containing verbs such as assert, require, retract, etc. As a result, the story will finish with certain nodes having never appeared. The authors assert that their use of nodes, unlike traditional nodes that may “maintain coherence and causality,” are designed to leave gaps in the text and at times “startle” the participant.

Adding to the Card Sharks unorthodox use of transitions, there is no cyclic nature present. In fact, the hypertext was designed create more of an interesting scenario, which of course remains coherent based on the design of the lexia, that seeks to avoid placing attention on the artists’ design and the structural nature of the system.

“Thespis,” B & G’s second hypertext, uses the same foundation as Card Shark with the addition of “actors” being present. What is meant by this is that the characters in the text are granted emotional attributes from the beginning that are meant to collectively represent life and social situations in the same way –as you may guessed via the title– that theatre does. Though the characters are static by nature, it is the interactions and situations thrust upon them that act as the attention grabbing mechanism of the story. In this respect, the platform, which is a visual landscape consisting of a particular scene, is no different that a set of a stage play where there is only one area/stage to use as the setting. Interestingly enough, B & G make is clear that this method of storytelling is in fact hypertext because there is no “assigned mission… and many consequences can be imagined” (176). The use of “cards,” as described in the Card Shark section, adds a new dimension to the possibilities of Thespis by creating the opportunity for new characters, tangible plots, and settings to be introduced into the mix of the story. Ultimately, the story, as presented through the actors, hold many possibilities which would be quite difficult to reproduce.

Following B & G’s essay, Andrew Stern responds by comparing the foundational operations found in both Card Shark and Thespis to his one interactive drama, “Façade.” Stern illuminates the fact that B & G’s hypertexts are not intelligent and as a result, are a less sophisticated hypertext. This statement hits on the idea of distinguishing a hypertext and game. Stern defends this separation by stating the key difference is that the use of artificial intelligence (AI) in Façade is solely to bring out “the appearance of intentionality and individuality” (168). Stern spends a significant amount of time defending the use of first person interaction with AI in hypertexts in rebuttal of B & G’s statement that “Illusions that place the reader on stage necessarily founder when promised freedom of action is contradicted by the limitations of the simulated environment” (171). Stern’s view point is that participants’ interactions with AI, though limiting in many senses and restricted by technological and artistic restraints, “can in fact match at least some of our aspirations” and is worth the vast amount of effort that designers of hypertexts like Façade must put into generation “recovery” situations in which the system must respond though at a loss as to what the participant is requesting. The complexity of design found in Façade makes it a perfect contrast to B & G’s hypertexts as it reveals the level of sophistication, usability, and overall capability of the latter as a, at it’s best, participant initiated “theatrical” hypertext system.

The second essay, “Moving Through Me as I Move,” by Stephanie Strickland, presents a rather abstract format for hypertext—hypertext poetry. In summation, Strickland exonerates the stenographer as being more than just a writer, reader and monitor, but consideres her an “operator of an appliance” (184). With this statement, she is referring to a method of hypertext that presents unconventional displays of text on a screen that requires a reader to interpret, similar to the experience offered by some modern art. In essence, this form of hypertext has no rules but instead thrives on endless creativity and digital art which, as Raley replies, approaches “a mode of perception that still awaits future realization”; or, as Utterback replies, lacks unintentional mark-making supplied by participants, which is “at the very least a sign of our human presence… [and] The lack of these marks in the digital realm informs much of what feels sterile about our travels there” (186). You decide.

The final and third essay, “The Pleasures of Immersion and Interaction,” by Douglas & Hargadon, is a very entertaining bit that examines the fundamentals of human interest across a broad ranges of media. Below are some of the key thoughts elaborated on in this essay:

• Main question asked: “What keeps us turning the pages…” (192)?
• Not much attention has been given to the affective aspects of reading in contrast to the pleasures of reading (193).
• We must understand what gives pleasure to reading (193).
• Schemas are the building blocks for the world as we learn to know it (194).

• McDonald’s, movies, and other schema used in scripts stimulate reader perceptions (195).
• Participants can become equally immersed in a novel or video game (197).
• Rules seem to be a universal component to all media of interest to people. Examples are simple video games, such as “Pong,” to complex modern ones in which rules are not obvious and must be discovered (197).
• Pleasure emerges from being able to discern schema which may also reveal the rules and/or puzzle pieces (198).
• The thrill of discovering and finding puzzles pieces alludes to the possibilities of going beyond the perceived narrative frame, a quality which relates to participant immersion.

Analysis