Category: Group B

Combinatory poetics is an intriguing genre due to its chance and randomness. In Electronic Literature, Scott Rettberg explains that “poetry and story generators and other combinatory writing systems are characterized by structured complexity and procedurality” (37). The theme of chance and randomness is on display in Jason Nelson’s this is how you will die and Nick Montfort’s Taroko Gorge. Nelson’s work functions like a slot machine in that each spin results in a different death. Each death scenario is composed of multiple poems and short videos that appear on the side. Each spin costs a certain number of credits and if you’re lucky, the machine will give you more credits. After several spins, I began to see the same poems in different death scenarios. Taroko Gorge is an endless poem with many possible combinations. Nature is a common theme throughout the poem, giving Montfort’s work a certain peacefulness. Rettberg explains that Taroko Gorge’s “code is open and accessible” (47). This allows anyone interested in combinatory poetics to create their own version of Montfort’s work, with many having done so already. I found this particularly interesting because, as Rettberg explains, it serves as an opportunity for people to become authors of electronic literature (48).

I think it’s interesting to compare combinatory poetics with standard poetry. While standard poetry is more cohesive and contains more meaning, the chance and randomness present in combinatory poetics does not allow for as much cohesiveness but does give the reader an element of surprise, something that is evident in both Nelson’s and Montfort’s works.

Of all the tracery narratives we looked at in class, I felt most drawn to the Missed Encounters generator. I think this narrative outline stuck with me in particular because of both its comedic potential and its meta-like qualities. The interactions and observations described in the randomly generated encounters seem to mimic the random-ness of the generated narrative system itself. One missed encounter may seem so important and singularly impactful, but on tomorrow’s walk a new story may present itself—the generator goes to work again.

In contrast, I did not find either “This is How You Will Die” or “Taroko Gorge” as engaging. In the case of “This is How You Will Die,” I think I became distracted with the seemingly dated interface that did not appeal aesthetically. “Taroko Gorge” also presented a challenge in that I found the scrolling text made it difficult to focus on any narrative structure or flow. In Electronic Literature, Rettberg points out that electronic literature now focuses on the “creation of more consciously aesthetic poetic works that explore different modes of procedural and aleatory structure” (38). In consideration of this manifesto, and my above case-study of sorts, I would determine that when in search of a Tracery narrative, I value an actual narrative of sorts–as displayed in Missed Encounters—and a visual display that does not distract from the text itself. 

I am also reminded of Peter Rabinowitz’s “Rules of Reading” that we discussed in class. The Rules of Signification and Coherence seem particularly relevant here. For example, with “Taroko Gorge,” the Rule of Signification prompts us to interpret what we notice, such as the moving text and the patterns in the generated words. The Rule of Coherence reminds us to be generous readers, assuming that the text is supposed to make sense and that deviations are intentional. Keeping these Rules of Reading in our back pockets, we can explore new imaginings of literature, that often at first appear only loosely related to literature we’re used to. However, we can also put these Rules to the side to allow for variables such as the creator’s intent. A conscious decision to either play by these rules or to suspend them empowers readers to bring their reading skills to the table, while also allowing for a new mode of reading and exploring a text. 

As I read through Scott Rettburg’s description of procedural and syntactic poetry in Electronic Literature, I found myself comparing a lot of similarities between this genre and CYOA books. 

Rettburg points out that with procedure and syntactic poetry, “they typically involve elements of chance and surprise, constraint and variability, and explore the poetic and narrative potentialities of text machines” (38). The chance and surprise that Rettburg notes here is evident in the two pieces we looked at today – Jason Nelson’s This is how you will die and Nick Montfrot’s Taroko Gorge. In Nelson’s piece, each spin produces a new narrative of various death scenarios. The randomness of the stories one reads based off of the slot machine and the surprise of various videos, and short poems that Nelson implements in his game showcases the elements of chance and surprise. Not only that in Montfort’s piece, there is an endlessly scrolling poem and when I refreshed it each time, it started out with a different line. There are many different possibilities and surprises embedded within Montfort’s work, especially because there are so many different combinations. The surprise and chance that is shown in Nelson’s and Montfrot’s piece reminds me of the CYOA maps and books we explored. Depending on which choice a reader made, the storyline could also alter. Rettburg also mentions that “running the program multiple times and analyzing output from the same generator allows us to consider and decipher the program’s structure” (42). This is exactly what we did when we mapped out our CYOA books – we saw which choices were “prioritized” and how the choices of the reader dictated the endings. Both of these genres show that language and storytelling does not have to be stagnant and restrictive, rather it can be used as a tool to generate different possibilities. 

As I was going through the two pieces assigned for class today, I was also thinking about the question that was posed in class: What is critical to understanding these pieces? I discussed with my classmates that the source material was vital, especially because it dictates the narrative that is told. The user, whether they know it or not, is limited by the choices of the author. This was seen in the game Travesty which is described by Rettburg as “a text generator in the form of procedural operation by the program on any given text” (38). The user is able to select the source material and Travesty generates text using the source vocabulary and substituting elements of the text (38). In the example that is given, this generator preserves the style of the original text and that not only speaks to the sourcing material, but also the programming itself. Because the text generator uses the original source to create its new piece and the way this piece is programmed, it makes sense that the new text is similar to the source. When we looked at 100 Billion Poems and created sonnets from the base poems, the “new” poems could differ vastly from the base poems, but we were still limited to those poems.

Incorporating chance and randomness into poetry creates an entirely separate genre named “combinatory poetics.” This medium, as articulated in Electronic Literature, poses several challenges that are foreign to regular poetry. Cohesion between the various words as they shift is the key feature that authors must learn to navigate. Within the trillions of combination, each one must result in a coherent line. 

The lack of a rigid direction in which the reader must go allows a much greater reader involvement than print poetry. The randomness opens the work up to the apophenia humans so greatly covet. By filling in the interpretive space with her own ideas, the reader is able to find her own different meaning every time the work reloads. 

The two games assigned for today pressed against the limits of that covetousness. “This Is How You Die” was engaging for the first few spins. After only about four turns, I started to see repetitions.  Despite the game’s lack of intriguing aesthetics and much interesting content, the topic of death was enough to keep spinning until the end. The second game, “Taroko Gorge”, in contrast, had no concrete them as interesting as death to incentivize user engagement. Thus I found myself quickly losing focus. 

Where the textbook reading and the two games interact, I believe, appears in the capacity of the reader/player to engage in the game. Some topics, such as mortality, strike a nerve so central to the human identity that the reader is unable to resist reloading the game. While the nature aspect in “Taroko Gorge ” initially piques the reader’s curiosity, it fails to maintain it throughout the various editions. Neither of the two games have any plot, per se, but the subject matter of the first separates it from the second. Does user involvement require a certain level of substantive plot? Or, do topics alone separate the games we do engage with from those we do not. Does mankind find comfort in structure or ambiguity? What happens when a game enlists both?

I’ve enjoyed learning about combinatory writing more than previous topics in class because I have a better understanding of the code that produces them and because they are somewhat familiar to me. In a previous class I learned about artificial intelligence and natural language processing which are intertwined in combinatory poetics and have had major influences on them. As we dove into discussion in class this week and viewed Don’t Drink the Water by Dr. Sample, I was immediately reminded of a possible combinatory writing example that one of my friends showed me last year. The piece my friend showed me is called Automatic Donald Trump created by Filip Hráček. Famous for his twitter presence among other things, this site allows you to generate a realistically fake tweet by Donald Trump with just the click of a button. As I read further into the code and explanation, I found that this generator was created using a Markov chain. The author explained a Markov chain in simple terms. He comparing it to how an autosuggesting keyboard works on an iPhone when you’re texting. After you text one word, the keyboard supplies you with options based on common sentence structure and based on what you’ve texted before. This specific Donald Trump tweet generator used all of Donald Trump’s previous tweets as the information bank. Therefore every word you generate has already been tweeted by Donald Trump, just most likely not in the same combination.

I compared the Markov chain style to the random “slotting” technique that we are using for our tracery projects. Both of them have random aspects but the tracery project is more random since the next generated word does not depend on the previous one. It would be interesting to see if there was code that allowed us create a dependence for some slots on our projects.

As I interacted with Shade, I kept thinking back to the CYOA books we had discussed and mapped for our recent project. In class, we learned about four characteristics that encompassed complex interactive fiction. They were shifting perspectives, narrative enigmas, reconfiguring story time and reframing. I would argue that Shade and CYOA books could be characterized as complex interactive fiction. In  “Enlightening Interactive Fiction: Andrew Plotkin’s Shade, Douglass argues that “although the interface and description of Shade are rigorously contractured from the second point of view, from the outset there is another perspective present in the room, a kind of IF play-within a play” (135).  He mentions the foreshadowing that occurs towards the end of the game. In class, we define shifting perspectives as changing narrative points of view. I wonder if foreshadowing counts as a shifting perspective. In terms of CYOA books, the shifting perspectives can happen depending on the story that’s being told. In Marie-Laure Ryan’s “The Many Forms of Interactivity”, she describes different structures that dictate the narrative thats told during CYOA books. The Braided Plot structure allows readers to explore different character perspectives, which fits into the shifting perspective characteristic as a complex interactive fiction. 

Narrative enigmas defined as uncertainty as to whats happening or just happened is a key feature in both Shade and CYOA. Playing Shade, it is easy to get frustrated – especially because not all commands work. In many of the blog posts that talked about Shade, it was clear that many people gave up because they didn’t understand what to do. This speaks to the learning curve that IF has. Unlike CYOA books, one must understand the various commands that are offered and understand the importance of details. In CYOA books, the task is straight forward – you must follow the path that is given based on the choices you make. In both IF and CYOA books, uncertainty is key to telling the story. The thrill that you get from making a decision is similar to the thrill that you get when a command finally works. 

Reconfiguring story time is also present in Shade and CYOA. From what I understand about Shade, according to Dogulass there are “two worlds.” Death is imminent and this fits into the humbled chronologies characteristic in reconfiguring story time. I think that this is what makes Shade confusing. If I hadn’t read Dogulass piece, I wouldn’t have known that death was going to happen. In CYOA books, repetition is common. In my book, “The Magician’s House” the setting of the book was often repeated in order to get readers familiar to the odd characteristics of the setting. I know from my own experience reading CYOA books that flashbacks are also common and that different flashbacks are used in order for readers to understand the plot more. 

Lastly, reframing – forcing the reader to interpret past story events based on new information is something that is very present in Shade. For me. I found myself continuously scrolling up to the top to reread the background information in order to get a sense of what I was supposed to do. It’s also clear that after every command that works, the reader has to interpret whats given and try to continue on with the story. In terms of CYOA books, I know that mapping out each possible ending helped some of my classmates come up with the hidden lessons in their book. Some choices were more “privileged” and led to better endings. Because CYOA books fit the four characteristics of Complex IF, I would argue that CYOA books are a type of complex IF. 

When I first tried to explore Matthew Kirkpatrick’s “A Moment Ago,” I thought the website wasn’t working because of the delayed loading process. However, once I’d reopened the browser, there was the work! I think my initial impatience with the application is indicative of our expectations of games in the digital age; we expect things to be available immediately and often become frustrated when things take longer than a few moments. Once I’d given “A Moment Ago” time to collect itself, I found it very intuitive in terms of interactivity. Unlike games such as “Shade” or “The Baron,” the user does not have to guess at what is required of them and can therefore participate to their own satisfaction, instead of trying to ‘win’ or complete the game. On a metaphorical level, I also think the work functions as a demonstration of how the news today can be overwhelming to the point of incomprehension. Just as Kirkpatrick’s work jumbles snippets of content to form a conglomerate of ‘news,’ sometimes mainstream news reflects a world that could be considered unrecognizable. 

I also appreciated the opportunity to hear from Matthew Kirkpatrick in person. Sometimes the digital universe promotes anonymity in a way that de-personalizes the narrative experience. Hearing about his inspiration and construction process behind “A Moment Ago” somehow made the game seem less transient and fleeting; the game felt more significant when I knew a real person had considered topics such as the regenerative nature of news and its role in the digital age. 

Staying with the theme of face-less-ness in our digital world and wanting quick results, I am reminded of the recent technological troubles at the Iowa Caucus for the 2020 Democratic candidate. It is my understanding that this year, the DNC tried to use an app to report caucus results. However, technical difficulties caused discrepancies in the reporting. Caucusing is often characterized by its inherently physical nature–goers often must stand for hours in support of their candidate. Even with the app, caucus goers still had to show up for their candidate but I remain curious about the intersection between an event grounded in physical participation and the complications of the event’s technological use. Was this experience influenced by the introduction of (defective) technology? Do we see this clash of the physical and digital as something that is inevitable or something to be worked through and improved upon? In a recent reload of “A Moment Ago,” mention of the Iowa caucus appears; the digital and material worlds continue to collide.

I found Shade frustrating because of how little there is to do. Some of my commands were not understood, but after some trial and error, I was finally able to explore the room a little. I found that taking what the game gives you helped you progress a little. For example, once you get up from the futon, you are able to turn on the stereo and listen to music. However, there was one aspect of the game that was particularly frustrating. The story kept telling me that I was thirsty and when I typed in the command to drink water, it wanted me to be more specific. I attempted to go to the kitchen, but the computer did not seem to understand that command. After examining the travel book, I found that the character is about to leave fora festival in Death Valley in a few hours. I was curious to know more but was unable to figure out anything else. The contrast between darkness and light also seemed to be an important aspect of Shade. The description of the apartment mentions the darkness trying to creep inside. After attempting to open the shade and turn off the lamp, you get messages saying “you have no desire to look night in the face” and “you do not want the dark.”

Instead of drawing you in with the storyline, Shade engages you by carefully describing the setting and being specific about how the character is feeling. As a result, you must use what the game gives you and use that in order to move forward.

In anticipation of Matthew Kirkpatrick’s visit to class, I completed the assigned homework of navigating his two works A Moment Ago and The Silent Numbers. I began with A Moment Ago. Ever-changing, this piece randomly collects text from various online news sources. Once the user tries to click on, or even hover the mouse over, a part of the linked text, another stream of text appears. The constant evolution of A Moment Ago at first overwhelms the user, but eventually she becomes familiar with the onslaught of information and settles into her role as a player, a reader, and an observer. Kirkpatrick’s second work is more guided; The Silent Numbers invites the player along as the game reveals various developments to the player. These reveals, however, are accompanied by audio that existed as legitimate radio transmissions. Thus, as the player goes through the piece she is reading Kirkpatrick’s words as she listens to the spoken numbers. This combination elevates the material because, similar to A Moment Ago, the authenticity of the audio components (the news content for A Moment Ago) grounds Kirkpatrick’s textual and stylistic additions.

Kirkpatrick’s visit as well as his work led me to further consider how creators incorporate real-world activity into art. I have also been thinking about the boundary between fiction and nonfiction, especially in regard to contemporary realistic literature. From there, I think of the line between personal experience and imagined situations— I predict there to be fewer differences in terms of plausibility between the two than one might initially expect. Interesting that even his novel The Ambrose J. and Vivian T. Seagrave Museum of 20th Century American Art adopts a form that blends the established line between print and electronic literature. Both A Moment Ago and The Silent Numbers reminded me of the proximity that communication allows, and seeing that proximity develop in the two pieces forced me to consider the implications of genre distinctions and other distinctions in general; it’s more similar than we’d think. 

As a kid, I always loved the Choose Your Own Adventure books because I was constantly amazed at the seemingly endless possibilities. I often wondered how long it took the authors to compile these stories and more so, how they were able to keep track of everything. Sam Ashwell’s article “Standard Patterns in Choice-Based Games” and Marie-Laure Ryan’s book Narrative as Virtual Reality 2 help uncover the behind-the-scenes intricacies of Choose Your Own Adventure books and other electronic media. 

Ryan defines interactivity as “a dimension of face-to-face interaction that was shut off by manuscript and print writing and introduced into written messages by the electronic medium” (Ryan 160). She focuses on ergodic literature and its relationship with interactivity. Throughout this chapter, Ryan explains the types of interactivity, the various interactive structures and even the levels of interactivity. Reading this chapter definitely made me more aware of the affordances that electronic media has over printed media. The way that creators choose to utilize interactivity in their electronic media impacts users in a way that print media often fails to do. For example, The Braided Plot, or the House of Many Windows, was my favorite structure because of how complex it can be. Usually, when reading a printed book, it is told from one point of view and I am often left wondering how the story would differ if it was told from another character’s point of view. This structure allows multiple perspectives in one story and to me, that is fascinating. 

After reading both Ashwell’s and Ryan’s pieces, I am in awe of the work and thought that goes behind games that I thought were “simple.” I am looking forward to learning more about the intricacies behind electronic literature.