In this week's blog I'll be tackling five topics, two left over from last week and three related to this week's readings:
1. Is the "Utopian impulse" a universal law of human psychology, as Bloch argues?
2. Do utopias reflect "our own incapacity to conceive them," as Jameson contends?
3. In light of Topic 2 above, how do I read Herland?
4. What thoughts come to my mind in reading the various critiques of Herland?
5. How is Herland analyzable according to Elisa's framework of utopian/dystopian characteristics?
I. The Utopian Impulse
Jameson (2007) writes, "To see traces of the Utopian impulse everywhere, as Bloch [1961] did, is to naturalize it and to imply that it is someone how rooted in human nature" (p. 10). Here Jameson counters Bloch by noting that utopian projects "have been historically more intermittent" and suggesting we must distinguish between "daydreams" and "fantasy production."
In my view Jameson is on the right track here, in a way that is important for our studies this semester. Let me cite two reasons. First, are we to say that every idle daydream or conjecture is a "utopia"? If so, we would universalize the term "utopia" to the point of meaninglessness as an analytical construct.
Second, while I might concede to Bloch that imagination is a human trait, I would also bring in my own studies in intercultural communication. Researchers (e.g., Hofstede, 1980; Kluckhohn & Strodtbeck, 1961) in that discipline have developed typologies by which to analyze cultures.
These researchers agree that cultures differ widely in their attitudes toward the future and the relationship of individuals toward it. Some cultures (e.g., United States) are highly future-oriented, while others (e.g., Mexico) put a higher value on living spontaneously and in the moment. Some cultures are oriented to long-term thinking and others to short-term thinking. Some cultures have a "doing" orientation toward activity (i.e., humans are actors) and others have a "being" orientation (i.e., humans are acted upon).
So I argue here against Bloch, believing insteasd that it's important for our studies this semester not to "see traces of the Utopian impulse everywhere" lest we lose the integrity of the construct.
II. Our Capacity to Conceive
Is novelty possible? Jameson opines that utopias reflect "our own incapacity to conceive [them] in the first place" (1975, p. 230; quoted in Fitting, 1998, p. 9) since authors can only build their imaginary worlds from extant cultural materials "of which we are all in one way or another prisoners" (1982, p. 153; quoted in Fitting, 1998, p. 10).
I see a good deal of truth in this. As I blogged last week, I believe we can tell much about a culture by what it regards as idyllic or hellish, or by the futures it imagines. And I am also compelled by the Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis which holds that different language patterns produce different though patterns. In other words, the thoughts we can think are somewhat constrained by the language we have to express those thoughts.
But the dystopian extreme of the Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis is Orwell's 1984 and its portrayal of a despotism that seeks control over language so that it becomes impossible for residents to think unapproved thoughts. In Newspeak, for example, the concept bad is eliminated; residents of Oceania can only conceive of good and ungood.
I've long wrestled with this issue of cultural determinism and last year wrote a paper on it. I took issue with Goldhagen (1996) who argued that the Holocaust happened because Germans could not ideationally escape the antisemitism of their national culture. I countered that ordinary Germans, when confronted with the wholly novel knowledge of state-sponsored genocide, were compelled to rhetorically invent a novel belief in its legitimacy in order to keep their cognitive world in homeostasis.
Anyway, this is a good question for our class: Are literary utopias simply reflections of the authors' culturally constrained ideational tools? Or can utopias be wholly novel, creations that can't be inferred from previous ideas?
III. My Reading of Herland
Surely everyone noted the feminist and socialist aspects of Herland since, after all, it was Gilman's intent to make these arguments explicit.
What struck me most, however, were the taken-for-granted assumptions of her utopia. All is clean and tidy. The roads are straight and smooth. The land is a tended garden; even the wild forest was uprooted, each tree replaced, and pests eliminated. The technology is contemporary. Husbandry and economy are perfectly rationalized; no need even for a profit motive. Education is progressive. Population is controlled. The people are generous and wise; they are natural psychologists. Human relationships are satisfyingly platonic. The most sympathetic character, Van, is a humane sociologist and man of science.
This is a profoundly modern utopia. Despite the strenuous efforts of contemporary feminists to claim Gilman (a claim which is, in the main, justified), her underlying cultural assumptions and her very ontology are thoroughly Modern. Gilman's socialist utopia is just as Modern in its way as, say, the modernity of Wells in Things to Come (1936).
And yet, and yet . . . I wonder if Gilman herself really sees Herland as a utopia. Yes, she constructs Herland as a vehicle to illustrate the possibilities for women who can develop without preconceived biases. But toward the end of the novel Van and Ellador engage in discussion about sexual union.
To my reading, Gilman treats sympathetically Van's argument that sexual love can go beyond mechanistic procreation and be a motivator for good. Or at least, Van and Ellador leave open the possibility of establishing a sexual relationship in a way that implies: Van is not wrong in his desire; such a relationship will, in fact, occur someday; and, when it does, sexual love will deepen a bond which was built first on mutual respect rather than physical attraction.
I wonder if this is the real utopia that Gilman proposes; that is, a "bi-sexual" society in which women and men can develop their potentials with no preconceptions and where sexual love is the completion, rather than raison d'etre, for their relationships.
IV. Critiques of Herland
Now that I've been expatiating awhile, let me end with some quick comments about the various articles which critique and interpret Herland.
> Murphy ("Considering Her Ways") puts Herland in a group of four matriarchal utopias that, she argues, instantiate an ethic of the collective hive. Further, because insects are the most Other to humans in our taxonomic boundaries, the hive metaphor serves to defamiliarize readers.
In the case of Herland, however, I think this (otherwise insightful) reading may be a stretch. Murphy takes two stray remarks made by the character Jeff and builds a whole case on them. But I would not agree that the insect or hive metaphor is explicit, implied, or in any way important in Herland. You could just as well point, as a counterexample, to Ellador's rapturous description of the childhood incident that led to her life's vocation as she basked in the praise of helping exterminate a noxious moth.
> Jones ("Evolving Rhetoric") offers a helpful distinction between "traditional" utopias such as Gilman's that function didactically as apologues, and more recent feminist utopias that are "implicitly rhetorical" by using the interplay of literary elements to "dissolve the generic boundaries" and "produce new models of women's individual and social experience."
> Arnold ("Utopian Cognitive Mapping") is not convincing in her joining of Jameson's cognitive mapping concept and Turchi's writing-as-mapping metaphor. She merely uses these concepts as convenient devices to provide a garden-variety recap of Herland. The theorizing of utopian cognitive mapping is underdeveloped and, indeed, not really attempted to any degree. I've published a couple of articles on cognitive-cultural models and schema theory, and found the social science literature in that area to be more illuminating.
> Berkson ("So We All Became Mothers") offers some nice historical background about the generations of Stowe and Gilman, which helps me put Herland in its context. By contrast, several other readings this week attempted, with uneven results, to place Gilman within the lineage of contemporary feminist writing.
> Deegan and Podeschi ("Ecofeminist Pragmatism") were, to my mind, the least successful among the articles we read this week. There are rather severe "incongruencies" between their thesis and Gilman's writings, which to their credit they recognize in the penultimate section of the article.
But these incongruencies are merely sidestepped as possible results of Gilman's publishing schedule, her depressive illness, or her generation's low ecological knowledge. In other words, things which don't fit Deegan and Podeschi's thesis are swept under the rug. This article is a rather transparent attempt to give ecofeminist pragmatism, which most trace to the 1980s, a longer pedigree and thus more academic legitimacy.
> Miller ("The Ideal Woman") compares Gilman's feminist utopia of 1915 and Charnas's of 1978 as a way of illustrating how different generations create victorious heroines (as compared to the frustrated heroines found in realistic fiction) with meanings for their own times. But this seems to me self-evident. The article could use more theorizing, such as an analytical matrix (like the "Utopian/Dystopian Characteristics" matrix on Elisa's website) we could use to compare utopian heroines from different generations.
> By the way, where would I place Gilman within Garrard's taxonomy of ecocritical positions? How about Gilman-as-social-ecologist? Though we've always got to be careful in projecting today's categories into the past, I might venture that Gilman could fit within Garrard's description of social ecologists who "promote exemplary lifestyles and communities that prefigure a more general transformation and give people practice in sustainable living and participatory democracy" (p. 30).
V. Utopian Characteristics of Herland
> Causality: accident of nature, leafing to violent revolution
> Cosmology: on earth and in historical time
> Maintenance: stability through social engineering
> Physical Characterisics: semirural garden; isolated; climatic
> Social Organization: specialization of labor; religious norming; crime eliminated; decision-making and judicial procedures unspecified but appear to be collective; population voluntarily controlled
> Economic Organization: maternity replaces profit as economic motivator; residents choose own labor specializations; economic activity is primarily pastoral; no money or private property
> Attitude Toward Science: technological level comparable to outside world; useful technologies admired; education highly valued
> Gender: women only; reproduction via parthenogensis
> Family Life: communal responsibility for child rearing; childcare is professionalized
> Epistemology: reason and rationality are central
> Metaphysics: central myth is first Mother; central symbol is Maaia, the God Mother
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
A New Semester
Asked to blog about my "hopes and expectations" for RCID 813 Topias, I believe an answer requires two parts: first, some background about my encounters with sf and utopian literature; and second, how that literature might dovetail with my current research interests.
PART I: BACKGROUND
1950s-60s: Childhood
For as long as I can remember, a fascination with alternate worlds and imagined futures has been a mainspring of my reading habits. I still vividly remember the thrill (and pray I never get over it) of learning to read "all by myself" in first grade; of discovering the Doctor Doolittle series in third grade; of a reading enrichment class in sixth grade that introduced me to Lewis Carroll, Kenneth Grahame, Jules Verne, and Tolkien.
And during my preschool and elementary years of the late 1950s and then through the 1960s, the old sf serials such as Flash Gordon, Buck Rogers and Phantom Empire, plus the many sf movies of the 1950s, were staples on Saturday kids TV. In prime time (and later in syndicated reruns) I was enthusiastic viewer of Star Trek, Lost in Space, The Twilight Zone, The Outer Limits, The Time Tunnel, and other sf classics.
1970s-80s: Teen and Young Adult
Through the 1970s as I progressed through junior high, senior high and college (where I was an English major), I may have read American and Brit Lit for school. But sf and fantasy was my daily choice for pleasure reading. And of course, I can remember standing in line at the theater with my girlfriend to watch the first runs of Stars Wars (1977) and Star Trek: The Movie (1977). Even through the 1980s as I married and raised a young family, every night at bedtime I relaxed with a book that was nearly always a sf or fantasy novel.
A bibliography of all the sf and fantasy I read during the years would be long indeed! But generally I stuck to works by respected authors that impressed me as being of high quality, ones that challenged me to think, rather than pulp. A good example is my all-time favorite sf series, Asimov's Foundation Trilogy and Robot Novels. Another example from the fantasy genre is Le Guin's Earthsea Trilogy and its sequels, a real favorite of mine.
1990s: Time of Change
After 1990, however, my sf and fantasy reading began to decline, though it still formed a substantial portion of my daily pleasure reading until about mid-decade. Thus over the past dozen years or so I've read little in these genres (even though I have remained a loyal viewer of the various Star Trek spinoffs and love to watch classic sf movies and TV on cable).
Why did I stop reading sf and fantasy? Two factors:
> The first factor was November 9, 1989. If you didn't grow up during the Cold War then you don't realize what a paradigm shift that was for my generation. Suddenly I was living in an "alternate future" that was totally unexpected. To understand what was happening around me and this new world in which I lived, I felt driven to expand my knowledge of modern history. In time this drew me to my interest in Holocaust Studies.
> The second factor was the changing nature of sf and fantasy. What I enjoy best about sf and fantasy is, as described in the Moylan chapter (pp 50-53), the chance to enlist in the fictive culture and by stages figure out the absent paradigm. But after the mid-1980s when cyberpunk ruled, it seemed that sf became mocking and ironic with too much in-your-face philosophizing. And fantasy works seemed more and more derivative of Tolkien, except they competed for the most unpronounceable names of characters and lands.
2000s: Reflections
Yet I have always believed that my formative years spent in reading sf and fantasy were a wonderful boon for me. Not only did I spend many leisurely hours in the adventure of exploring imagined worlds, and not only did I read many great stories and much writing of high quality.
But I've always believed my immersion in sf and fantasy truly enlarged my ability to imagine and conceptualize and see a larger vision, an ability that has suffused and enriched every aspect of my life. And this passion for imaginative thinking I was able to share with my children and build into their lives, so that I'm now seeing its fruits in a new generation.
RCID 813 Topias is may very well be the last seminar that I take for credit in my academic career. So perhaps, in closing the circle, it's fitting that worlds of imagination should be our topic.
PART II: HOPES
Now that you've indulged my trip down memory lane, the question arises: How might a study of utopias/dystopias fit into my current research interests? Four thoughts comes to mind:
> Though I was an English major in the 1970s as an undergrad, later in life I got my MA in communication studies. So I find myself less drawn to literary criticism of utopian works and more attracted to the project suggested by Jameson of digging into the underlying culture which produced the utopian/dystopian vision.
It strikes me that the analyst could discern much about a culture by what it regards as idyllic or hellish. I find myself initially persuaded by the argument, encountered in our readings this week (see Fitting, pp 9-10), that utopian writers necessarily construct their imagined worlds out of materials provided by their extant cultures. And if one believes that readers co-construct the meaning of a text, then audiences are likewise working from their cultural assumptions.
Twenty-five years ago in my hometown of Washington DC, I attended a Smithsonian exhibit entitled Yesterday's Tomorrows and also bought the accompanying book. The exhibit depicted how the futures imagined by people in the past tell us most of all about the great concerns of their own times. What a fascinating read! (In a similar vein, I recommend Larsen's The Devil in the White City and Gelernter's The Lost World of the Fair about, respectively, and 1893 and 1939 world's fairs.)
For example, in 1895 Wells's The Time Machine offered a commentary on industrialization and class division in his dystopian future world of Eloi and Morlocks. The 1960 film version was a riff on nuclear holocaust, not class struggle. And the 2002 film version was merely a shallow showcase for big-budget special effects with a few obligatory nods to feminist and environmentalist sensibilities.
Anyway, I can see some possible applications for my own researches. Right now I'm doing a lot of reading for my dissertation on organizational communication, discourse, and culture. Perhaps the utopias forecast by the organizations I'm studying might help me unlock their underlying cultures.
> Utopias are a mainspring that drives much of modern history. Consider the French Revolution (1789) . . . or the classical positivism of Auguste Comte (1830) that has deeply influenced science . . . or the Soviet workers paradise . . . or the Nazi vision of a racial New Order.
My dissertation is on the technical and organizational communication of the Holocaust. One recent framework for interpreting Nazism (as well as other revolutionary movements) is the concept of the political religion. (See Burleigh's recent books, Earthly Powers and Sacred Causes.) In that vein, perhaps this course in Topias may give me a new interpretive tools to analyze utopian political movements.
> I also have a research interest in religious rhetorics, and in particular that of Christian fundamentalism. Last semester I presented a couple of conference papers on the subject and now have one journal article at the revise-and-resubmit stage and another under review. Again, I can see possibilities for analyzing fundamentalist cultures by studying their utopias.
> Finally, I still enjoy sf even if I read less of the genre than earlier in my life. And who knows? Maybe after graduation I will have more time, and perhaps more of a need, for pleasure reading outside my main research interests. So perhaps this course will give me new tools for revisiting favorite old stories, encountering new stories, and deriving insightful new meanings from both.
PART I: BACKGROUND
1950s-60s: Childhood
For as long as I can remember, a fascination with alternate worlds and imagined futures has been a mainspring of my reading habits. I still vividly remember the thrill (and pray I never get over it) of learning to read "all by myself" in first grade; of discovering the Doctor Doolittle series in third grade; of a reading enrichment class in sixth grade that introduced me to Lewis Carroll, Kenneth Grahame, Jules Verne, and Tolkien.
And during my preschool and elementary years of the late 1950s and then through the 1960s, the old sf serials such as Flash Gordon, Buck Rogers and Phantom Empire, plus the many sf movies of the 1950s, were staples on Saturday kids TV. In prime time (and later in syndicated reruns) I was enthusiastic viewer of Star Trek, Lost in Space, The Twilight Zone, The Outer Limits, The Time Tunnel, and other sf classics.
1970s-80s: Teen and Young Adult
Through the 1970s as I progressed through junior high, senior high and college (where I was an English major), I may have read American and Brit Lit for school. But sf and fantasy was my daily choice for pleasure reading. And of course, I can remember standing in line at the theater with my girlfriend to watch the first runs of Stars Wars (1977) and Star Trek: The Movie (1977). Even through the 1980s as I married and raised a young family, every night at bedtime I relaxed with a book that was nearly always a sf or fantasy novel.
A bibliography of all the sf and fantasy I read during the years would be long indeed! But generally I stuck to works by respected authors that impressed me as being of high quality, ones that challenged me to think, rather than pulp. A good example is my all-time favorite sf series, Asimov's Foundation Trilogy and Robot Novels. Another example from the fantasy genre is Le Guin's Earthsea Trilogy and its sequels, a real favorite of mine.
1990s: Time of Change
After 1990, however, my sf and fantasy reading began to decline, though it still formed a substantial portion of my daily pleasure reading until about mid-decade. Thus over the past dozen years or so I've read little in these genres (even though I have remained a loyal viewer of the various Star Trek spinoffs and love to watch classic sf movies and TV on cable).
Why did I stop reading sf and fantasy? Two factors:
> The first factor was November 9, 1989. If you didn't grow up during the Cold War then you don't realize what a paradigm shift that was for my generation. Suddenly I was living in an "alternate future" that was totally unexpected. To understand what was happening around me and this new world in which I lived, I felt driven to expand my knowledge of modern history. In time this drew me to my interest in Holocaust Studies.
> The second factor was the changing nature of sf and fantasy. What I enjoy best about sf and fantasy is, as described in the Moylan chapter (pp 50-53), the chance to enlist in the fictive culture and by stages figure out the absent paradigm. But after the mid-1980s when cyberpunk ruled, it seemed that sf became mocking and ironic with too much in-your-face philosophizing. And fantasy works seemed more and more derivative of Tolkien, except they competed for the most unpronounceable names of characters and lands.
2000s: Reflections
Yet I have always believed that my formative years spent in reading sf and fantasy were a wonderful boon for me. Not only did I spend many leisurely hours in the adventure of exploring imagined worlds, and not only did I read many great stories and much writing of high quality.
But I've always believed my immersion in sf and fantasy truly enlarged my ability to imagine and conceptualize and see a larger vision, an ability that has suffused and enriched every aspect of my life. And this passion for imaginative thinking I was able to share with my children and build into their lives, so that I'm now seeing its fruits in a new generation.
RCID 813 Topias is may very well be the last seminar that I take for credit in my academic career. So perhaps, in closing the circle, it's fitting that worlds of imagination should be our topic.
PART II: HOPES
Now that you've indulged my trip down memory lane, the question arises: How might a study of utopias/dystopias fit into my current research interests? Four thoughts comes to mind:
> Though I was an English major in the 1970s as an undergrad, later in life I got my MA in communication studies. So I find myself less drawn to literary criticism of utopian works and more attracted to the project suggested by Jameson of digging into the underlying culture which produced the utopian/dystopian vision.
It strikes me that the analyst could discern much about a culture by what it regards as idyllic or hellish. I find myself initially persuaded by the argument, encountered in our readings this week (see Fitting, pp 9-10), that utopian writers necessarily construct their imagined worlds out of materials provided by their extant cultures. And if one believes that readers co-construct the meaning of a text, then audiences are likewise working from their cultural assumptions.
Twenty-five years ago in my hometown of Washington DC, I attended a Smithsonian exhibit entitled Yesterday's Tomorrows and also bought the accompanying book. The exhibit depicted how the futures imagined by people in the past tell us most of all about the great concerns of their own times. What a fascinating read! (In a similar vein, I recommend Larsen's The Devil in the White City and Gelernter's The Lost World of the Fair about, respectively, and 1893 and 1939 world's fairs.)
For example, in 1895 Wells's The Time Machine offered a commentary on industrialization and class division in his dystopian future world of Eloi and Morlocks. The 1960 film version was a riff on nuclear holocaust, not class struggle. And the 2002 film version was merely a shallow showcase for big-budget special effects with a few obligatory nods to feminist and environmentalist sensibilities.
Anyway, I can see some possible applications for my own researches. Right now I'm doing a lot of reading for my dissertation on organizational communication, discourse, and culture. Perhaps the utopias forecast by the organizations I'm studying might help me unlock their underlying cultures.
> Utopias are a mainspring that drives much of modern history. Consider the French Revolution (1789) . . . or the classical positivism of Auguste Comte (1830) that has deeply influenced science . . . or the Soviet workers paradise . . . or the Nazi vision of a racial New Order.
My dissertation is on the technical and organizational communication of the Holocaust. One recent framework for interpreting Nazism (as well as other revolutionary movements) is the concept of the political religion. (See Burleigh's recent books, Earthly Powers and Sacred Causes.) In that vein, perhaps this course in Topias may give me a new interpretive tools to analyze utopian political movements.
> I also have a research interest in religious rhetorics, and in particular that of Christian fundamentalism. Last semester I presented a couple of conference papers on the subject and now have one journal article at the revise-and-resubmit stage and another under review. Again, I can see possibilities for analyzing fundamentalist cultures by studying their utopias.
> Finally, I still enjoy sf even if I read less of the genre than earlier in my life. And who knows? Maybe after graduation I will have more time, and perhaps more of a need, for pleasure reading outside my main research interests. So perhaps this course will give me new tools for revisiting favorite old stories, encountering new stories, and deriving insightful new meanings from both.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Takeaways
And what will I take away from my immersion into game studies this semester? Let me count the ways . . .
1. I was introduced to the emerging field of game studies and to the basic conversation between ludologists and narratologists.
2. My interest was thus sparked to conduct additional research for my own paper, through which I explored an emering literature on games from sociocultural and media studies perspectives.
3. These explorations convinced me that, while I may not be drawn to ludology or narratology, game studies offer a fertile new field into which I can apply my existing interests in communication studies.
For example, my paper was entitled "Avatars and Immigrants" and applied theories of cross-cultural adaptation (a subfield of intercultural communication studies) to the problem of new player adaptation to MMOG worlds. The topic also allowed me to apply theories of computer-mediated communication (CMC) and uses-and-gratifications theory (a key perspective in media studies) to the phenomenon of gameworlds.
4. Along these lines, I believe my introduction to game studies may have opened for me a new avenue for publication. At an NCA panel I attended last month I was encouraged to keep exploring the intersection between comm studies and game studies.
Not much has been done in this area but, because of the growing MMOG phenomenon, comm scholars seem interested and ready for articles on the subject. Meanwhile, game studies scholars may be ready to consider what comm-related sociocultural perspectives can bring to their table.
5. This is just the sort of interdisciplinary/transdisciplinary approach that interests me and through which I have found some success in getting articles published.
6. Perhaps you may be waiting to hear the word "rhetoric"? Last semester I enjoyed digging deeper on my own into the literature on visual rhetorics for RCID 804. So many topics I want to explore, and so little time! Yet I'd like in the future to do some writing and publishing on visual rhetorics.
Thus our readings on Bogost's proposal regarding "procedural rhetoric" gave me a thought. As I've blogged, before declaring the discovery of an entirely new rhetorical domain, I would prefer to see how theories developed in the established fields of visual (and digital) rhetorics might be applied to the problem of videogames.
But I also agree with Bogost that visual rhetorics tend to privilege static and filmic images, and digital rhetorics tend to privilege digitized texts.
So the introduction to videogames which I've gotten this semester may have given me the tools to write articles about games for journals in the field of visual rhetoric/visual communication/visual studies. In other words, I would be "partnering" in a sense with Bogost. But while he is arguing that games constitute a new domain, I would be arguing that games should receive more attention in visual studies scholarship.
7. Further, through our Video Games course I have been introduced to the gameworlds themselves by playing World of Warcraft and building a project in Second Life. Though I cannot say that I am minded to continue WoW or SL as personal hobbies, I readily affirm that:
a. For the writing I have done in our class, and the writing I hope to do on game studies in the future, it is vital that I be familiarized firsthand with the dynamics of MMOG gameplay and culture.
b. I can better understand the literature on games, and participate in scholarly conversations about games, by having gained firsthand experience.
c. I am interested in the possibilities for using MMOGs in my pedagogy, namely as a way to teach principles about culture and communication to my future students, or (via Second Life) as a means for virtual interaction with my students.
8. My design project for RCID 813 (Video Games), taken together with a similar assignment for RCID 811 (Perspectives on Information Design), challenged me to consider how 3D spaces should be designed to facilitate user experience and interaction.
At the same time, our design document assignment challenged me to think of UX design in terms of mechanics (what users can do), artificial intelligence (how the space reacts), elements (items and objects in the space), story (what the experience says), and progression (how users move through the space).
These impress me as good principles not only for designing games but also for designing the layout of websites, classrooms, and even 2D documents. And in my future teaching career I expect to design lots of course websites, classrooms, and documents!
9. Finally, from a very practical standpoint, I am hopeful that our coursework--and in particular, the paper I wrote--will have given me another conference presentation and another published article which can been added to my CV.
In conclusion: I remember last spring when Jason Helms excitedly emailed everyone about the possibility of an RCID course emerging from the Serious Games Colloquium. He was polling students to find out who would attend such a class. I replied that a course on Video Games would not be my first choice for a cognate seminar.
Later, of course, the Video Games class was approved and, as it turned out, was my only choice for a third cognate seminar this fall. But I've always believed that, oftentimes, the most pleasing and interesting results come from serendipity and simply playing the hand you're dealt.
So I remember last May and our final S3S gathering for the 2007-08 academic year. It was at Randy's house and I chanced to sit on the comfy sofa near Jan Holmevik. So I asked Jan about his thoughts for our upcoming Video Games class. At the time he was thinking that students would actually construct a game with levels and all the bells and whistles.
Then I told Jan that I was interested in the idea that MMOGs constitute cultures of their own and, in microcosm, could be seen as laboratories for studying the dynamics of culture. Jan replied that if such was my interest then, certainly, the class could accommodate it.
Looking back now, after having taken the course, I'm glad this proved to be the case. Because it has broadened my horizons and, serendipitously, given me a new field of interest with which to combine my existing academic interests, thus opening up new transdisciplinary possibilities for research and writing.
1. I was introduced to the emerging field of game studies and to the basic conversation between ludologists and narratologists.
2. My interest was thus sparked to conduct additional research for my own paper, through which I explored an emering literature on games from sociocultural and media studies perspectives.
3. These explorations convinced me that, while I may not be drawn to ludology or narratology, game studies offer a fertile new field into which I can apply my existing interests in communication studies.
For example, my paper was entitled "Avatars and Immigrants" and applied theories of cross-cultural adaptation (a subfield of intercultural communication studies) to the problem of new player adaptation to MMOG worlds. The topic also allowed me to apply theories of computer-mediated communication (CMC) and uses-and-gratifications theory (a key perspective in media studies) to the phenomenon of gameworlds.
4. Along these lines, I believe my introduction to game studies may have opened for me a new avenue for publication. At an NCA panel I attended last month I was encouraged to keep exploring the intersection between comm studies and game studies.
Not much has been done in this area but, because of the growing MMOG phenomenon, comm scholars seem interested and ready for articles on the subject. Meanwhile, game studies scholars may be ready to consider what comm-related sociocultural perspectives can bring to their table.
5. This is just the sort of interdisciplinary/transdisciplinary approach that interests me and through which I have found some success in getting articles published.
6. Perhaps you may be waiting to hear the word "rhetoric"? Last semester I enjoyed digging deeper on my own into the literature on visual rhetorics for RCID 804. So many topics I want to explore, and so little time! Yet I'd like in the future to do some writing and publishing on visual rhetorics.
Thus our readings on Bogost's proposal regarding "procedural rhetoric" gave me a thought. As I've blogged, before declaring the discovery of an entirely new rhetorical domain, I would prefer to see how theories developed in the established fields of visual (and digital) rhetorics might be applied to the problem of videogames.
But I also agree with Bogost that visual rhetorics tend to privilege static and filmic images, and digital rhetorics tend to privilege digitized texts.
So the introduction to videogames which I've gotten this semester may have given me the tools to write articles about games for journals in the field of visual rhetoric/visual communication/visual studies. In other words, I would be "partnering" in a sense with Bogost. But while he is arguing that games constitute a new domain, I would be arguing that games should receive more attention in visual studies scholarship.
7. Further, through our Video Games course I have been introduced to the gameworlds themselves by playing World of Warcraft and building a project in Second Life. Though I cannot say that I am minded to continue WoW or SL as personal hobbies, I readily affirm that:
a. For the writing I have done in our class, and the writing I hope to do on game studies in the future, it is vital that I be familiarized firsthand with the dynamics of MMOG gameplay and culture.
b. I can better understand the literature on games, and participate in scholarly conversations about games, by having gained firsthand experience.
c. I am interested in the possibilities for using MMOGs in my pedagogy, namely as a way to teach principles about culture and communication to my future students, or (via Second Life) as a means for virtual interaction with my students.
8. My design project for RCID 813 (Video Games), taken together with a similar assignment for RCID 811 (Perspectives on Information Design), challenged me to consider how 3D spaces should be designed to facilitate user experience and interaction.
At the same time, our design document assignment challenged me to think of UX design in terms of mechanics (what users can do), artificial intelligence (how the space reacts), elements (items and objects in the space), story (what the experience says), and progression (how users move through the space).
These impress me as good principles not only for designing games but also for designing the layout of websites, classrooms, and even 2D documents. And in my future teaching career I expect to design lots of course websites, classrooms, and documents!
9. Finally, from a very practical standpoint, I am hopeful that our coursework--and in particular, the paper I wrote--will have given me another conference presentation and another published article which can been added to my CV.
In conclusion: I remember last spring when Jason Helms excitedly emailed everyone about the possibility of an RCID course emerging from the Serious Games Colloquium. He was polling students to find out who would attend such a class. I replied that a course on Video Games would not be my first choice for a cognate seminar.
Later, of course, the Video Games class was approved and, as it turned out, was my only choice for a third cognate seminar this fall. But I've always believed that, oftentimes, the most pleasing and interesting results come from serendipity and simply playing the hand you're dealt.
So I remember last May and our final S3S gathering for the 2007-08 academic year. It was at Randy's house and I chanced to sit on the comfy sofa near Jan Holmevik. So I asked Jan about his thoughts for our upcoming Video Games class. At the time he was thinking that students would actually construct a game with levels and all the bells and whistles.
Then I told Jan that I was interested in the idea that MMOGs constitute cultures of their own and, in microcosm, could be seen as laboratories for studying the dynamics of culture. Jan replied that if such was my interest then, certainly, the class could accommodate it.
Looking back now, after having taken the course, I'm glad this proved to be the case. Because it has broadened my horizons and, serendipitously, given me a new field of interest with which to combine my existing academic interests, thus opening up new transdisciplinary possibilities for research and writing.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
SL Project and Final Thoughts
As we wrap up our course on Video Games it seems appropriate to share some final thoughts by framing them in terms of my Second Life construction project.
Rhetorical Perspective
For our class I built an RCID Welcome Center (RWC), and for another RCID class I built an Information Design Hall of Fame & Interpretive Center (IDHOF). Though the two projects each standalone, I put them on a shared campus since they seem to share some synergies.
Yet the architecture of the two structures reflect, deliberately, two very different rhetorical choices . . .
> RWC is built on the seacoast and designed as a beach resort. So, why not construct a Classical building (say, something that resembles the Pantheon) to represent a program grounded in rhetoric?
The reasons I chose a seacoast location and beach resort architecture is because RCID is not a formal disciplinary program but, rather, invites open exploration of many perspectives. Thus the RWC setting and architecture are intended, rhetorically, to reflect this ethos.
Even the information for prospective RCID students is presented as a 3D boardwalk that takes visitors out over the ocean--indeed, at the very edge of the SL world--and allows them stroll and explore, in the open, at their own pace.
> IDHOF, by contrast, was designed with a decidedly Modernist architecture. Why? The discipline of informaiton design is strongly rooted in modernist sensibilities of efficiency, effectiveness, and clarity.
Thus the interior space is designed according to the conventions of a traditional museum where the visitor's path is prescribed, the experience is controlled, the information is presented with directness and clarity, and text is used to mediate and interpret the information.
Nevertheless, toward the second half of the tour I incorporate a "crack" in the modernist perspective by inviting visitors to reflect on the social and ethical implications of information design and the potential problems of a purely instrumental view of its practice.
Symbolically, the tour ends with an invitation for the visitor to teleport to the roof observation deck of IDHOF, which affords a stunning panoramic 360-degree view of the ocean and the Clemson Development Island.
But is it "Procedural" Rhetoric?
By instantiating these rhetorics in the designs of RWC and IDHOF, have I practiced "procedural rhetoric"? I must confess that I'm having trouble seeing how my rhetorical choices are "procedural."
Granted, Second Life is not a "game" and so I did not design an experience circumscribed by rule-based procedures. On the other hand, users must experience RWC and IDHOF in the settings I designed. Still, as a Second Life designer I feel the programming assisted rather than constituted my rhetoric.
Ludology, Narratology, Sociology
In our class readings we became acquainted with the conversation (or more accurately, debate) within game studies between ludologists and narratologists. At the same time (and as I blogged a couple weeks ago) my own research led to me into the emerging literature on the sociological aspects of MMOGs.
Ludology and narratology have at least this much in common: both perspectives view games are cultural artifacts. However, I found myself drawn to the sociological literature because it treats MMOGs not as artifacts but as constituting cultures of their own. (A fourth area of game research is in the media effects tradition and studies how gameplay may stimulate aggressive behaviors.)
A ludologist might explain my RWC and IDHOF in terms of their play value. For example, recall Bogost's (pp. 52-54) discussion of Sutton-Smith and his seven rhetorics of play: progress, fate, power, identity, the imaginary, the self, and frivolity. Perhaps from this perspective, RWC instantiates identity and self, while IDHOF instantiates progress and power.
Meanwhile, a narratologist would read RWC and IDHOF as "texts" to discern the stories they tell. Perhaps this narratologist would agree with my description above about the rhetorics instantiated by my respective architectural design choices.
Finally, a sociologist would be interested in how a virtual gathering place for RCIDers and friends might impact the culture of RCID. If students and faculty start using RWC for virtual meetings of our avatars, how would that impact our social relations? The same questions could be asked if IDHOF became a meeting place for information designers. Or in the same vein, how would a virtual encounter with IDHOF impact the culture of a future Perspectives in Information Designs class?
Hearts, Clubs, Diamonds, Spades
Earlier in the semester we read Bartle's proposal that online gamers can be typed as either Achievers, Socializers, Explorers, or Killers. Since then I have done other readings on my own which put a new twist on Bartle.
One researcher noted that Bartle relied simply on his own anecdotal experience to propose his four categories. This researcher instead did a scientific sampling of gamers, cranked the results through parametric statistics and factorial analyses, and came up with three first-order categories and seven second-order categories (or ten overall).
Another researcher used an alternate approach to Bartle, one that comes from the long tradition of uses and gratifications theory within media studies. Researchers from this perspective have studied why people use radio, television, music players, the Internet, etc. Now some attention is being paid to the uses and gratifications that draw people to MMOGs.
In designing RWC and IDHOF, I did consider these perspectives; namely, (a) how, according to a Bartlesque taxonomy, different types of Second Lifers might experience my constructions, and (b) what uses and gratifications might draw visitors to RWC and IDHOF.
RWC perhaps is most welcoming for Socializers (who have an indoor lounge and outdoor lanai at their disposal) and Explorers (who can stroll the boardwalk and access its information). And perhaps IDHOF is most welcoming to Achievers (who want to experience the whole museum) and Explorers (who want to see the various displays).
The Third Dimension
Finally, building RWC and IDHOF forced me to think about how best to design an experience that would (a) exist in three dimensions and (b) be governed by the mechanics of Second Life. For example:
> Should I have stairs when visitors can fly or teleport? In the end, I provided both stairs and teleportals.
> How much text is appropriate for information displays when visitors can click a prim and get a notecard? I decided the text on the prim itself could often be minimized, but also felt that notecard texts also had to be kept reasonably brief and with minimal scrolling needed.
> How true-to-life should the structures be when they don't really need foundations or support columns or roof trusses? I decided my constructions should resemble RL buildings, at least enough for people to suspend their disbelief and comprehend the rhetoric of my design. But in some cases--such as the RWC boardwalk invisibly cantilevered over the ocean, or my IDHOF stairway ramps that have no treads--I dispensed with "engineering" considerations.
> How would avatars not only eexperienc RWC and IDHOF in solo visits, but how would multiple avatars interact with each other in these spaces? When I was done with my projects, I was somewhat surprised at the amount of space and facilities given over for interaction.
RWC has a front porch with chairs, an indoor lounge with sofas, and a very large outdoor lanai with deck chairs, conversation benches, and a hot tub. IDHOF has two first-floor lounges, seating areas (beside panoramic windows) on the second and third floors, and an expansive roof garden/observation deck with bench seating and deck chairs. Further, I linked the RWC lanai and the IDHOF roof deck with teleportals so that partygoers could utilize both spaces in real time.
At the End of the Day . . .
Let me say that I enjoyed our class, particularly because it introduced me to a new conversation (game studies) that also provides an fascinating new context for exploring concepts (e.g., communication and rhetorical theory) which have always interested me.
For example, my paper "Avatars and Immigrants" for this class employs intercultural communication theories of cross-cultural adaptation as a framework to study the acculturation of new players into established MMOG cultures.
Since not a whole lot has been done in game studies from a sociocultural and communication point of view, I can take away from our class a lot of possibilities for publishable research and writing. This was confirmed last week when, at an NCA panel, I brought up the intersection of game studies and communication studies. Others attested this intersection hasn't been much explored and encouraged me to press on.
Rhetorical Perspective
For our class I built an RCID Welcome Center (RWC), and for another RCID class I built an Information Design Hall of Fame & Interpretive Center (IDHOF). Though the two projects each standalone, I put them on a shared campus since they seem to share some synergies.
Yet the architecture of the two structures reflect, deliberately, two very different rhetorical choices . . .
> RWC is built on the seacoast and designed as a beach resort. So, why not construct a Classical building (say, something that resembles the Pantheon) to represent a program grounded in rhetoric?
The reasons I chose a seacoast location and beach resort architecture is because RCID is not a formal disciplinary program but, rather, invites open exploration of many perspectives. Thus the RWC setting and architecture are intended, rhetorically, to reflect this ethos.
Even the information for prospective RCID students is presented as a 3D boardwalk that takes visitors out over the ocean--indeed, at the very edge of the SL world--and allows them stroll and explore, in the open, at their own pace.
> IDHOF, by contrast, was designed with a decidedly Modernist architecture. Why? The discipline of informaiton design is strongly rooted in modernist sensibilities of efficiency, effectiveness, and clarity.
Thus the interior space is designed according to the conventions of a traditional museum where the visitor's path is prescribed, the experience is controlled, the information is presented with directness and clarity, and text is used to mediate and interpret the information.
Nevertheless, toward the second half of the tour I incorporate a "crack" in the modernist perspective by inviting visitors to reflect on the social and ethical implications of information design and the potential problems of a purely instrumental view of its practice.
Symbolically, the tour ends with an invitation for the visitor to teleport to the roof observation deck of IDHOF, which affords a stunning panoramic 360-degree view of the ocean and the Clemson Development Island.
But is it "Procedural" Rhetoric?
By instantiating these rhetorics in the designs of RWC and IDHOF, have I practiced "procedural rhetoric"? I must confess that I'm having trouble seeing how my rhetorical choices are "procedural."
Granted, Second Life is not a "game" and so I did not design an experience circumscribed by rule-based procedures. On the other hand, users must experience RWC and IDHOF in the settings I designed. Still, as a Second Life designer I feel the programming assisted rather than constituted my rhetoric.
Ludology, Narratology, Sociology
In our class readings we became acquainted with the conversation (or more accurately, debate) within game studies between ludologists and narratologists. At the same time (and as I blogged a couple weeks ago) my own research led to me into the emerging literature on the sociological aspects of MMOGs.
Ludology and narratology have at least this much in common: both perspectives view games are cultural artifacts. However, I found myself drawn to the sociological literature because it treats MMOGs not as artifacts but as constituting cultures of their own. (A fourth area of game research is in the media effects tradition and studies how gameplay may stimulate aggressive behaviors.)
A ludologist might explain my RWC and IDHOF in terms of their play value. For example, recall Bogost's (pp. 52-54) discussion of Sutton-Smith and his seven rhetorics of play: progress, fate, power, identity, the imaginary, the self, and frivolity. Perhaps from this perspective, RWC instantiates identity and self, while IDHOF instantiates progress and power.
Meanwhile, a narratologist would read RWC and IDHOF as "texts" to discern the stories they tell. Perhaps this narratologist would agree with my description above about the rhetorics instantiated by my respective architectural design choices.
Finally, a sociologist would be interested in how a virtual gathering place for RCIDers and friends might impact the culture of RCID. If students and faculty start using RWC for virtual meetings of our avatars, how would that impact our social relations? The same questions could be asked if IDHOF became a meeting place for information designers. Or in the same vein, how would a virtual encounter with IDHOF impact the culture of a future Perspectives in Information Designs class?
Hearts, Clubs, Diamonds, Spades
Earlier in the semester we read Bartle's proposal that online gamers can be typed as either Achievers, Socializers, Explorers, or Killers. Since then I have done other readings on my own which put a new twist on Bartle.
One researcher noted that Bartle relied simply on his own anecdotal experience to propose his four categories. This researcher instead did a scientific sampling of gamers, cranked the results through parametric statistics and factorial analyses, and came up with three first-order categories and seven second-order categories (or ten overall).
Another researcher used an alternate approach to Bartle, one that comes from the long tradition of uses and gratifications theory within media studies. Researchers from this perspective have studied why people use radio, television, music players, the Internet, etc. Now some attention is being paid to the uses and gratifications that draw people to MMOGs.
In designing RWC and IDHOF, I did consider these perspectives; namely, (a) how, according to a Bartlesque taxonomy, different types of Second Lifers might experience my constructions, and (b) what uses and gratifications might draw visitors to RWC and IDHOF.
RWC perhaps is most welcoming for Socializers (who have an indoor lounge and outdoor lanai at their disposal) and Explorers (who can stroll the boardwalk and access its information). And perhaps IDHOF is most welcoming to Achievers (who want to experience the whole museum) and Explorers (who want to see the various displays).
The Third Dimension
Finally, building RWC and IDHOF forced me to think about how best to design an experience that would (a) exist in three dimensions and (b) be governed by the mechanics of Second Life. For example:
> Should I have stairs when visitors can fly or teleport? In the end, I provided both stairs and teleportals.
> How much text is appropriate for information displays when visitors can click a prim and get a notecard? I decided the text on the prim itself could often be minimized, but also felt that notecard texts also had to be kept reasonably brief and with minimal scrolling needed.
> How true-to-life should the structures be when they don't really need foundations or support columns or roof trusses? I decided my constructions should resemble RL buildings, at least enough for people to suspend their disbelief and comprehend the rhetoric of my design. But in some cases--such as the RWC boardwalk invisibly cantilevered over the ocean, or my IDHOF stairway ramps that have no treads--I dispensed with "engineering" considerations.
> How would avatars not only eexperienc RWC and IDHOF in solo visits, but how would multiple avatars interact with each other in these spaces? When I was done with my projects, I was somewhat surprised at the amount of space and facilities given over for interaction.
RWC has a front porch with chairs, an indoor lounge with sofas, and a very large outdoor lanai with deck chairs, conversation benches, and a hot tub. IDHOF has two first-floor lounges, seating areas (beside panoramic windows) on the second and third floors, and an expansive roof garden/observation deck with bench seating and deck chairs. Further, I linked the RWC lanai and the IDHOF roof deck with teleportals so that partygoers could utilize both spaces in real time.
At the End of the Day . . .
Let me say that I enjoyed our class, particularly because it introduced me to a new conversation (game studies) that also provides an fascinating new context for exploring concepts (e.g., communication and rhetorical theory) which have always interested me.
For example, my paper "Avatars and Immigrants" for this class employs intercultural communication theories of cross-cultural adaptation as a framework to study the acculturation of new players into established MMOG cultures.
Since not a whole lot has been done in game studies from a sociocultural and communication point of view, I can take away from our class a lot of possibilities for publishable research and writing. This was confirmed last week when, at an NCA panel, I brought up the intersection of game studies and communication studies. Others attested this intersection hasn't been much explored and encouraged me to press on.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Comments on "Videogames and Art"
Two weeks to cover a book as varied in its viewpoints and topics as Videogames and Art has been quite a ride, especially since videogame aesthetics are a completely new field to me. The volume was an eye-opener and thought-provoker. But as a newcomer I feel more inclined to digest the introduction I've received rather than venture any aesthetic criticisms of my own.
Yet sometimes the thoughts of a newcomer, who brings new eyes and a clean slate, can be useful or at least interesting. Thus let me offer a few impressions from my readings.
First, I detected a tension about what should be labeled videogame art. One view is expressed by Brody Condon who states:
It's difficult to define [videogame art] as the line between interesting cultural artifacts and intentional artistic production is completely blurry at ths point, and projects influenced by or using contemporary gaming have taken on so many forms. Just within the artworld we have seen machinima, online performances, pervasive gaming, console hacks, mods, etc, as well as traditional media like painting and sculpture incorporating elements from games and game culture (p. 85).
In this view, the term "videogame art" can encompass not only the creation of original games but also riffs on existing games and game artifacts, as well as traditional artworks inspired by games and game culture.
Another view is argued by Martin who contends:
Several online artists use the element of videogames in their work, but this is not videogame art. This is art based on games and presented in separate mediums such as computer art (pp. 207-208).
In this contrasting view, the term "videogame art" should only be applied videogames themselves and not on artistic expressions that merely appropriate elements from games and game culture.
Second, if forced to choose between these two perspectives I would, at this point, opt for the latter, that "videogame art" must reside in videogames. In part, this preliminary conclusion is because I found two chapters in Videogames and Art to be the most helpful and persuasive: namely "Should Videogames be Viewed as Art?" (Martin) and "Will Computer Games Ever Be a Legitimate Art Form?" (Adams).
The Martin chapter helpfully provides background about the antecedent cases of photography and cinema, and the struggles of these media for acceptance as art forms. The Adams chapter just as helpfully offers some background about the philosophy of art. Both chapters make concrete suggestions about what videogame artists must do for their work to be regarded as art.
Third, both Martin and Adams point to interactivity as the defining difference for videogames as compared to existing art forms. In particular, Martin castigates the industry for trying to produce what amount to "interactive movies" and exhorts videogame artists to explore the unique properties of their medium.
This rings true since, in the two books I've published on broadcasting history, I made the point that both radio and television, in their turns, were not successful until they learned to tell stories and convey ideas according to the unique properties of each. Radio was invented as a wireless telegraph but had to move past its original narrowcasting paradigm into true broadcasting. TV shows were originally radio with pictures but eventually learned to exploit visuality.
The Martin and Adams chapters helped me envision a day when I might play a videogame to experience its artistry, just as I now watch a favorite movie such as High Noon. When I watch that movie, it gets me involved in the characters and the plot and the emotions and the ideas. Someday I might play a videogame that gets me involved in the same things. But the experience will be different because the game will use its interactivity to involve me in a different way.
Fourth, though, Adams asks a fundamental question that, I believe, he glosses over and does not really answer:
So why aren't most games art? One possibility is that interactivity precludes art; that art is a form of communication from the artist to viewer, and if the viewer starts to interfere, the message is lost. It is certainly true that interactivity operates in a tension with narrative: marrative lies in the control of the author, while interactivity is about the freedom of the player (p. 257).
After this statement Adams goes on with a paragraph about a San Francisco science museum whose exhibits are considered (by the museum) to also be aesthetically pleasing. I'm not sure what this has to do with the question above. But at least I didn't find this illustration to be a satisfying answer.
We ran into the same conundrum with Bogost and his thesis about "procedural rhetoric." Namely, how persuasive can a videogame be when audience involvement is proportional to the amount of gameplay freedom and control ceded to that audience? The most "persuasive" games cited by Bogost seemed to be the most heavy-handed, with little game value to involve users.
Fifth, while Bogost was about rhetoric, Martin and Adams are about art. And when it comes to art, I begin to see the glimmer of an answer about the interactivity issue: A rhetorician is trying to mount an argument, but an artist is creating an expression.
This impresses me as an important distinction. When I hear a campaign speech on television or read an opinion piece in the newspaper, I must hear out the argument before deliberating on and deciding about its proposition. But when I listen to great music or watch a great film, I can participate in the expression while it is occurring.
In the same way, I could imagine that interacting with a videogame might not preclude my participation in the artist's expression. But perhaps that may mean giving up the idea, described (but not endorsed) by Adams, that art is a "communication" with a "message."
Sixth, while Bogost suggests persuasive videogames are "communications" with "messages," Adams sees these elements as being too narrow for videogames to succeed as art. Are these two views in tension?
So to summarize the three questions that arise from my class readings these past two weeks:
> What should be considered "videogame art"? Either art in any medium that appropriates elements of games and game culture? Or only games themselves?
> Does interactivity preclude art since narrative control and interactive freedom are necessarily in tension? According to one view, art is a communication from the artist to the viewer. Does "interference" by the viewer cause the message to be lost?
> Is there a tension between "persuasive games" (and Bogost's view of games as vehicles of argumentation) and "videogame art" (and Adams' view of artworks as vehicles of expression)? Does one preclude the other?
Yet sometimes the thoughts of a newcomer, who brings new eyes and a clean slate, can be useful or at least interesting. Thus let me offer a few impressions from my readings.
First, I detected a tension about what should be labeled videogame art. One view is expressed by Brody Condon who states:
It's difficult to define [videogame art] as the line between interesting cultural artifacts and intentional artistic production is completely blurry at ths point, and projects influenced by or using contemporary gaming have taken on so many forms. Just within the artworld we have seen machinima, online performances, pervasive gaming, console hacks, mods, etc, as well as traditional media like painting and sculpture incorporating elements from games and game culture (p. 85).
In this view, the term "videogame art" can encompass not only the creation of original games but also riffs on existing games and game artifacts, as well as traditional artworks inspired by games and game culture.
Another view is argued by Martin who contends:
Several online artists use the element of videogames in their work, but this is not videogame art. This is art based on games and presented in separate mediums such as computer art (pp. 207-208).
In this contrasting view, the term "videogame art" should only be applied videogames themselves and not on artistic expressions that merely appropriate elements from games and game culture.
Second, if forced to choose between these two perspectives I would, at this point, opt for the latter, that "videogame art" must reside in videogames. In part, this preliminary conclusion is because I found two chapters in Videogames and Art to be the most helpful and persuasive: namely "Should Videogames be Viewed as Art?" (Martin) and "Will Computer Games Ever Be a Legitimate Art Form?" (Adams).
The Martin chapter helpfully provides background about the antecedent cases of photography and cinema, and the struggles of these media for acceptance as art forms. The Adams chapter just as helpfully offers some background about the philosophy of art. Both chapters make concrete suggestions about what videogame artists must do for their work to be regarded as art.
Third, both Martin and Adams point to interactivity as the defining difference for videogames as compared to existing art forms. In particular, Martin castigates the industry for trying to produce what amount to "interactive movies" and exhorts videogame artists to explore the unique properties of their medium.
This rings true since, in the two books I've published on broadcasting history, I made the point that both radio and television, in their turns, were not successful until they learned to tell stories and convey ideas according to the unique properties of each. Radio was invented as a wireless telegraph but had to move past its original narrowcasting paradigm into true broadcasting. TV shows were originally radio with pictures but eventually learned to exploit visuality.
The Martin and Adams chapters helped me envision a day when I might play a videogame to experience its artistry, just as I now watch a favorite movie such as High Noon. When I watch that movie, it gets me involved in the characters and the plot and the emotions and the ideas. Someday I might play a videogame that gets me involved in the same things. But the experience will be different because the game will use its interactivity to involve me in a different way.
Fourth, though, Adams asks a fundamental question that, I believe, he glosses over and does not really answer:
So why aren't most games art? One possibility is that interactivity precludes art; that art is a form of communication from the artist to viewer, and if the viewer starts to interfere, the message is lost. It is certainly true that interactivity operates in a tension with narrative: marrative lies in the control of the author, while interactivity is about the freedom of the player (p. 257).
After this statement Adams goes on with a paragraph about a San Francisco science museum whose exhibits are considered (by the museum) to also be aesthetically pleasing. I'm not sure what this has to do with the question above. But at least I didn't find this illustration to be a satisfying answer.
We ran into the same conundrum with Bogost and his thesis about "procedural rhetoric." Namely, how persuasive can a videogame be when audience involvement is proportional to the amount of gameplay freedom and control ceded to that audience? The most "persuasive" games cited by Bogost seemed to be the most heavy-handed, with little game value to involve users.
Fifth, while Bogost was about rhetoric, Martin and Adams are about art. And when it comes to art, I begin to see the glimmer of an answer about the interactivity issue: A rhetorician is trying to mount an argument, but an artist is creating an expression.
This impresses me as an important distinction. When I hear a campaign speech on television or read an opinion piece in the newspaper, I must hear out the argument before deliberating on and deciding about its proposition. But when I listen to great music or watch a great film, I can participate in the expression while it is occurring.
In the same way, I could imagine that interacting with a videogame might not preclude my participation in the artist's expression. But perhaps that may mean giving up the idea, described (but not endorsed) by Adams, that art is a "communication" with a "message."
Sixth, while Bogost suggests persuasive videogames are "communications" with "messages," Adams sees these elements as being too narrow for videogames to succeed as art. Are these two views in tension?
So to summarize the three questions that arise from my class readings these past two weeks:
> What should be considered "videogame art"? Either art in any medium that appropriates elements of games and game culture? Or only games themselves?
> Does interactivity preclude art since narrative control and interactive freedom are necessarily in tension? According to one view, art is a communication from the artist to the viewer. Does "interference" by the viewer cause the message to be lost?
> Is there a tension between "persuasive games" (and Bogost's view of games as vehicles of argumentation) and "videogame art" (and Adams' view of artworks as vehicles of expression)? Does one preclude the other?
Sunday, November 9, 2008
New Directions
In recent weeks as we've been wrapping up Bogost's Persuasive Games, I've also been doing a literature review of my own in anticipation of turning my energies toward completion of our final paper for the course.
Since our assigned reading has now turned to Clarke and Mitchell's Video Games and Art, we now shift from rhetoric to aesthetics. The latter is a field of which I know little but look forward to learning more (and have already learned more in this week's readings). So perhaps as I get my feet wet then, in upcoming posts, I may venture some thoughts about art and aesthetics.
But our blogs are, I presume, intended not only for reflections on assigned readings but also on our own explorations into game studies. Therefore I will be borrowing a page from last spring's RCID 804 and be sharing some scholarly resources I have found beneficial in my own lit review.
Some Background
First, though, let me give you the setup: Since I first heard that our second-year RCID cohort would be taking a class on Video Games, I was immediately drawn to the possibility of seeing MMOGs are cultures in microcosm (or maybe not even in microcosm, since World of Warcraft and Second Life have so many millions of registrants), providing virtual laboratories for seeing cultures at work.
Since my MA in Comm Studies, I've had an interest in how communication is used to cultural work such as negotiating and managing identities. But I had to actually participate in World of Warcraft and Second Life before I could fully appreciate how much, as a "newbie," I was stepping into new cultures.
In essence, my avatar is an "immigrant" in World of Warcraft and Second Life. And this thought put me in mind of how, only in recent years, have formal theories of immigrant adaptation and acculturation been developed within the corpus of intercultural communication studies. Nishida's (1999) schema theory, and Kim's (2005) integrative theory, of cross-cultural adaptation come to mind.
Both of these theories (and others) posit that immigrant acculturation is inherently a social process and therefore can only be worked out through communication. So with this in mind I set out to find whether the literature on game studies provides any indication whether this is so for newcomers to MMOGs cultures.
Four Schools of Thought
This forced me to look at the schools of thoughts within game studies. I was able to discern four such schools:
> Ludology, which focuses on the dynamics of play
> Narratology, which sees games as texts whose stories can be read and critiqued
> Media effects, which looks at the psychological and physiological effects of games
> Social science/sociology, which looks at the dynamics of gaming communities
Though ludology can (as Huizinga pointed out) plumb the connection between play and culture, I'm more interested not in games as cultural artifacts but as constituting cultures of their own.
Though narratology can tell us much about the culture that produces a game, once again I'm more interested in games as self-contained cultures rather than artifacts of real-world culture.
Though media effects research suggests that games can instantiate an effect called cultural consonance (the idea that people who are well adapted to a culture will experience a heightened sence of wellbeing), effects research is conducted from a behaviorist perspective and I'm more interested in gameworlds as social constructions.
So in writing my paper I'm focusing my lit review more on the sociological school. But as it turns out, the literature on games from the perspective is still fairly new. Only with the emergence of massively multiplayer games (and with increasing interest, generally, in computer-mediated communication) has this perspective begun to gain some ground.
New School on the Block
Let me offer some quotes. For example, Eastin (2007) points out:
Media theory has focused on individual reactions to mediated content; however, the expansion to multiuser environments suggests that researchers should consider group processes (p. 453).
Similarly, Pena and Hancock (2006) relate:
Although our understanding of mediated communication processes in instrumental and organizational contexts is substantial, we know much less about these processes in social and recreational contexts. . . . such as playing video games. A number of research communities have highlighted the need for more research examining communication in recreational and playful contexts. Some research has begun to examine recreational social interaction on the Internet. . . . Although these studies have begun the investigation of recreational CMC [computer-mediated communication] contexts, they have not yet addressed the nature of the communication processes that take place in these settings (p. 93).
An Interesting Study
The latter study by Pena and Hancock, entitled "An Analysis of Socioemotional and Task Communication in Online Multiplayer Video Games," is an article I recommend. Interestingly, they started out with two perspectives:
> The cues-filtered-out (CFO) theory which, in analyzing computer-mediated communication (CMC), focuses on the absence or diminution of nonverbal cues
> The Social Information Processing (SIP) theory which holds that interlocutors in CMC can test each other's reactions, develop cues and, given enough time, learn to conduct true interpersonal communication
Pena and Hancock hypothesized that CFO theory would predict that MMOG players (with their nonverbal cues filtered out) would conduct more task-oriented communication than socioemotional communication, and that any socioemotional communication would tend to be more negative than positive.
On the other hand, they hypothesized that SIP theory would predict that MMOG players (being able to develop new cues over time) would conduct more socioemotional communication than task-oriented communication, and their socioemotional communication would be more positive than negative.
After coding and analyzing more than 4,400 text chat messages from 59 players in the game Asheron's Call 2, Pena and Hancock confirmed the SIP predictions: Communications among players were more often, to a significant degree, more socioemotional than task-oriented. And socioemotional messages were much more often positive than negative.
Interestingly (for my proposal that newbies are "immigrants" in a new culture), the study found differences in the communications of experienced and inexperienced players. Experienced players used communicative conventions (e.g., game jargon, emoticons, abbreviations) about half of the time, while inexperienced players used them very little.
And while experienced players easily conveyed mostly positive messages, a large majority of negative messages came from inexperienced players. These negative messages were mostly about breaking social rules, impolite behavior, and frustrations about losing the game or getting lost in its geography.
This sounds a lot like intercultural communication theories of immigrant adaptation, which Kim (2005) describes as a dialectical trial-and-error process of stress-adaptation-growth.
----------
REFERENCES
Eastin, M. S. (2007). The influence of competitive and cooperative group game play on state
hostility. Human Communication Research, 33, 450-466.
Kim, Y. Y. (2005). Adapting to a new culture: An integrative communication theory. In W. B.
Gudykunst (Ed.), Theorizing about intercultural communication. Thousand Oaks, CA:
Sage.
Nishida, H. (1999). A cognitive approach to intercultural communication based on schema
theory. International Journal of Intercultural Relations, 23, 753-777.
Peña, J., & Hancock , J. T. (2006). An analysis of socioemotional and task communication in
online multiplayer video games. Communication Research, 33(1), 92-109.
Since our assigned reading has now turned to Clarke and Mitchell's Video Games and Art, we now shift from rhetoric to aesthetics. The latter is a field of which I know little but look forward to learning more (and have already learned more in this week's readings). So perhaps as I get my feet wet then, in upcoming posts, I may venture some thoughts about art and aesthetics.
But our blogs are, I presume, intended not only for reflections on assigned readings but also on our own explorations into game studies. Therefore I will be borrowing a page from last spring's RCID 804 and be sharing some scholarly resources I have found beneficial in my own lit review.
Some Background
First, though, let me give you the setup: Since I first heard that our second-year RCID cohort would be taking a class on Video Games, I was immediately drawn to the possibility of seeing MMOGs are cultures in microcosm (or maybe not even in microcosm, since World of Warcraft and Second Life have so many millions of registrants), providing virtual laboratories for seeing cultures at work.
Since my MA in Comm Studies, I've had an interest in how communication is used to cultural work such as negotiating and managing identities. But I had to actually participate in World of Warcraft and Second Life before I could fully appreciate how much, as a "newbie," I was stepping into new cultures.
In essence, my avatar is an "immigrant" in World of Warcraft and Second Life. And this thought put me in mind of how, only in recent years, have formal theories of immigrant adaptation and acculturation been developed within the corpus of intercultural communication studies. Nishida's (1999) schema theory, and Kim's (2005) integrative theory, of cross-cultural adaptation come to mind.
Both of these theories (and others) posit that immigrant acculturation is inherently a social process and therefore can only be worked out through communication. So with this in mind I set out to find whether the literature on game studies provides any indication whether this is so for newcomers to MMOGs cultures.
Four Schools of Thought
This forced me to look at the schools of thoughts within game studies. I was able to discern four such schools:
> Ludology, which focuses on the dynamics of play
> Narratology, which sees games as texts whose stories can be read and critiqued
> Media effects, which looks at the psychological and physiological effects of games
> Social science/sociology, which looks at the dynamics of gaming communities
Though ludology can (as Huizinga pointed out) plumb the connection between play and culture, I'm more interested not in games as cultural artifacts but as constituting cultures of their own.
Though narratology can tell us much about the culture that produces a game, once again I'm more interested in games as self-contained cultures rather than artifacts of real-world culture.
Though media effects research suggests that games can instantiate an effect called cultural consonance (the idea that people who are well adapted to a culture will experience a heightened sence of wellbeing), effects research is conducted from a behaviorist perspective and I'm more interested in gameworlds as social constructions.
So in writing my paper I'm focusing my lit review more on the sociological school. But as it turns out, the literature on games from the perspective is still fairly new. Only with the emergence of massively multiplayer games (and with increasing interest, generally, in computer-mediated communication) has this perspective begun to gain some ground.
New School on the Block
Let me offer some quotes. For example, Eastin (2007) points out:
Media theory has focused on individual reactions to mediated content; however, the expansion to multiuser environments suggests that researchers should consider group processes (p. 453).
Similarly, Pena and Hancock (2006) relate:
Although our understanding of mediated communication processes in instrumental and organizational contexts is substantial, we know much less about these processes in social and recreational contexts. . . . such as playing video games. A number of research communities have highlighted the need for more research examining communication in recreational and playful contexts. Some research has begun to examine recreational social interaction on the Internet. . . . Although these studies have begun the investigation of recreational CMC [computer-mediated communication] contexts, they have not yet addressed the nature of the communication processes that take place in these settings (p. 93).
An Interesting Study
The latter study by Pena and Hancock, entitled "An Analysis of Socioemotional and Task Communication in Online Multiplayer Video Games," is an article I recommend. Interestingly, they started out with two perspectives:
> The cues-filtered-out (CFO) theory which, in analyzing computer-mediated communication (CMC), focuses on the absence or diminution of nonverbal cues
> The Social Information Processing (SIP) theory which holds that interlocutors in CMC can test each other's reactions, develop cues and, given enough time, learn to conduct true interpersonal communication
Pena and Hancock hypothesized that CFO theory would predict that MMOG players (with their nonverbal cues filtered out) would conduct more task-oriented communication than socioemotional communication, and that any socioemotional communication would tend to be more negative than positive.
On the other hand, they hypothesized that SIP theory would predict that MMOG players (being able to develop new cues over time) would conduct more socioemotional communication than task-oriented communication, and their socioemotional communication would be more positive than negative.
After coding and analyzing more than 4,400 text chat messages from 59 players in the game Asheron's Call 2, Pena and Hancock confirmed the SIP predictions: Communications among players were more often, to a significant degree, more socioemotional than task-oriented. And socioemotional messages were much more often positive than negative.
Interestingly (for my proposal that newbies are "immigrants" in a new culture), the study found differences in the communications of experienced and inexperienced players. Experienced players used communicative conventions (e.g., game jargon, emoticons, abbreviations) about half of the time, while inexperienced players used them very little.
And while experienced players easily conveyed mostly positive messages, a large majority of negative messages came from inexperienced players. These negative messages were mostly about breaking social rules, impolite behavior, and frustrations about losing the game or getting lost in its geography.
This sounds a lot like intercultural communication theories of immigrant adaptation, which Kim (2005) describes as a dialectical trial-and-error process of stress-adaptation-growth.
----------
REFERENCES
Eastin, M. S. (2007). The influence of competitive and cooperative group game play on state
hostility. Human Communication Research, 33, 450-466.
Kim, Y. Y. (2005). Adapting to a new culture: An integrative communication theory. In W. B.
Gudykunst (Ed.), Theorizing about intercultural communication. Thousand Oaks, CA:
Sage.
Nishida, H. (1999). A cognitive approach to intercultural communication based on schema
theory. International Journal of Intercultural Relations, 23, 753-777.
Peña, J., & Hancock , J. T. (2006). An analysis of socioemotional and task communication in
online multiplayer video games. Communication Research, 33(1), 92-109.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Comments on "Purposes of Persuasion"
With this blog we wrap up Bogost's Persuasive Game. Did his conclusion "save the best for last"? Happily (to my way of thinking) Bogost used his conclusion to pick up the thread of theory development that started with the first chapter.
I appreciated Bogost's "connect the dots" approach of using an existing body of literature in new applications. Specifically, I have a research interest in religious rhetoric and thought Bogost's link to this literature was interesting and useful.
How so? Religious homilies do not necessarily have a telos of inducing decision but, rather, of opening a space for reflection and eventual appropriation by listeners. This is an interesting dynamic to consider when pondering the rhetorical effects of videogames.
Perhaps I may engage the rhetoerical theory within Bogost's final chapter in more detail with a later post. But for now, having concluded Persuasive Games, let me arrive at my own general conclusions:
> Bogost's willingness to put his claims in public is admirable.
> I do not believe his claim that "procedural rhetoric" constitutes an entirely new domain is proven, but do believe this claim moves the conversation forward.
> Why forward? I agree with Bogost's contention that the literature on visual rhetoric privileges static and filmic images, and that on digital rhetoric privileges texts, so that neither adequately deals with videogames.
> However, I would rather see first whether the framework of (especially) visual rhetoric can be extended to account for videogames, before "throwing out the baby with the bath water" and claiming a new rhetorical domain of "procedurality" must be recognized.
> Nevertheless, Bogost has convinced me that videogames can mount rhetorical arguments (though admittedly, I did not doubt this) and that visual rhetoricians must address what games bring to the table (a topic of which I was less aware before reading Bogost).
> So while I continue to ask whether "procedural rhetoric" is a new domain or, instead, is "computer-aided rhetoric," I readily say that . . .
> I am glad to have read Persuasive Games for its describes phenomena which merit analysis, whether one endorses Bogost's solution or prefers another approach.
I appreciated Bogost's "connect the dots" approach of using an existing body of literature in new applications. Specifically, I have a research interest in religious rhetoric and thought Bogost's link to this literature was interesting and useful.
How so? Religious homilies do not necessarily have a telos of inducing decision but, rather, of opening a space for reflection and eventual appropriation by listeners. This is an interesting dynamic to consider when pondering the rhetorical effects of videogames.
Perhaps I may engage the rhetoerical theory within Bogost's final chapter in more detail with a later post. But for now, having concluded Persuasive Games, let me arrive at my own general conclusions:
> Bogost's willingness to put his claims in public is admirable.
> I do not believe his claim that "procedural rhetoric" constitutes an entirely new domain is proven, but do believe this claim moves the conversation forward.
> Why forward? I agree with Bogost's contention that the literature on visual rhetoric privileges static and filmic images, and that on digital rhetoric privileges texts, so that neither adequately deals with videogames.
> However, I would rather see first whether the framework of (especially) visual rhetoric can be extended to account for videogames, before "throwing out the baby with the bath water" and claiming a new rhetorical domain of "procedurality" must be recognized.
> Nevertheless, Bogost has convinced me that videogames can mount rhetorical arguments (though admittedly, I did not doubt this) and that visual rhetoricians must address what games bring to the table (a topic of which I was less aware before reading Bogost).
> So while I continue to ask whether "procedural rhetoric" is a new domain or, instead, is "computer-aided rhetoric," I readily say that . . .
> I am glad to have read Persuasive Games for its describes phenomena which merit analysis, whether one endorses Bogost's solution or prefers another approach.
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