Jan-Hendrik Bakker in conversation with Michael Joyce Jan-Hendrik
Bakker: How
did you work on afternoon? Did you have a complete story in advance, which
you later cut up in pieces, the procedure, more of less, followed by Julio
Cortazar in Rayuela? I guess this was not the way you wrote afternoon,
because of the enormous amount of sublines. If you compare the work you
did for The War Outside Ireland with that of afternoon, what were
the main differences? Michael
Joyce:
I wrote afternoon
entirely within the system of Storyspace, with very little on paper (a
few notes of the Boolean logic for 'guard fields'). The process was thus
also quite different from Cortazar's (or, as recent criticism suggest,
his girlfriend's work) in Rayuela. Afternoon was in fact
much more similar to The War Outside Ireland in that its connections
were discovered in the unfoldings, unfolding which exposed no 'center',
but rather only other unfoldings, a surface of possibilities and events.
I have a vivid sense of having to imagine the readership of this work,
and how to explain the process of reading in terms of its compositional
process. If you are looking for predecessor texts, you should look elsewhere,
really, to the intricate unfoldings of Gertude Stein's prose or the projective
verse and field composition of the American poet, Charles Olson. The method
for me was most similar to that of painting or making a large drawing,
where the composition is found in the whole but through the exploration
of successive surfaces. Jazz is also a good comparison (it is the one
Umberto Eco makes in characterizing
my work as "the third possibility, the one outlined by Michael Joyce.
We may conceive of hypertexts which are unlimited and infinite. Every
user can add something, and you can implement a sort of jazzlike unending
story".)
The scroll
and its successor, the codex, force their users to read their content
linearly: the order of contents is fixed and precludes successive, contextual
readings of individual passages. Hypertext documents are far more flexible.
They can be read in a variety of orders, allowing users of widely divergent
backgrounds to choose their own paths. Although various writers (notably
Julio Cortazar in his novel, Hopscotch) have tried to apply this
flexibility to the conventional text format, their success has been limited
by the constraints of the medium.
The narrative techniques used by Julio Cortazar, Vladimir Nabokov, Raymond Federman, Italo Calvino, etc., which for many readers were mere tricks and annoying distractions, now elicit totally different responses because of their adaptation to the electronic environment. Whereas jumping from page to page when reading Hopscotch might have been annoying, it is much more enjoyable to explore the possibilities of hyperfiction interfaces. The aspect of mastering a computer environment is an essential part of the hyperfiction reading experience, an aspect common with playing computer games.
In its tendency
toward self-referentiality and self-ironicization, hypertext participates
in the stylistic, linguistic, and formal games played out in what is variously
categorized as the literature of chaos, meta-fiction, or postmodernity:
Julio Cortazar's and Ana Castillo's chapter orderings in Hopscotch
and The Mixquiahuala Letters, respectively; Donald Barthelme's
interruption of Snow White with a questionnaire for reader-response;
the novelistic fragments in Calvino's
If on a winter's night a traveler; the problem of closure in Jessica
Hagedorn's Dogeaters, and others; linguistic hybridity and fragmentation
in Joyce's Ulysses
and Finnegans Wake; the self-referentiality and attention to the
mechanical process of narrative transmission in Art Spiegelman's Maus
I and II; and the often-cited meta-criticism of Borges's
fiction. Because hypertext emerges out of postmodern fiction and uses
a similar set of symbols, it is unlikely that its allegorizing structure
and systems of reference would be materially different. It is not simply
that hypertext is inherently about itself in a postmodern or metafictional
mode, however, but that it has constituted itself around the problem of
its difference; self-referentiality is not just another or exchangeable
move in the game, but a necessary move.
It is informative to consider how Hopscotch might differ if it was implemented as an electronic text. On a computer, each chapter would be a node, linked to the following chapter. At the beginning of the novel, the reader would choose between the two paths; subsequently, each reading would appear linear. No further choices would be required; no indication of the intertwining of chapters would be apparent. There would be no anchors, no internal links. In short, there would be little indication that Hopscotch was a hypertext at all. The novel, then, must be a paper hypertext. Much of its structural power is derived from the tension between Cortázar's devices and our expectations of a novel. The actual experience of reading this book depends on having to physically search through the pages for the next chapter in sequence. Along the way, one flips through text one has never seen, text to be read later, text that perhaps will never be reached. On a computer, this process is rendered instantaneous, and is hence insignificant.
The theme of the danger of immersion has not awaited the advent of the electronic age to be thematized in Western literature. Its most celebrated victim is probably Don Quixote. As Cervantes writes: "In short, he so immersed himself in those romances that he spent whole days and nights over his books; and thus with little sleeping and much reading, his brains dried up to such a degree that he lost the use of his reason". More recently, in Julio Cortázar's short story "Continuity of Parks," a reader immersed in a thriller becomes the victim of the narrated murder, thus paying with his life the disappearance of the boundary between fiction and reality.
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Julio
Cortázar :
Bo
Helgesson:
"Julio Cortázar: Den lekande häxmästaren"
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