The Hypertext Fiction Ride: Using structural metaphor to enhance fiction
We learn categorization of information and objects as early as preschool, so it is reasonable that we would compile information into categories on the Internet. Traditional Web site structure is hierarchical. The Web address takes the visitor to the top or opening page through which the other site pages can be accessed through navigational categories. Business information is often grouped under common category headings, such as “about us”, “services”, “contacts” and “rates”. Personal information is often categorized under personal, family and career topic headings. These headings are available to the Web site visitor in the form of navigational links, which when clicked, take the visitor to the page or lexia of information. This sorting of information into categories makes the data accessible as the site visitor intuitively understands the structure. It also allows the visitor to make quick decisions about which information is important and to act by moving directly to the lexia hosting that information. Interface and browser design has evolved with this accessibility or “user friendly” goal in mind (Sanford). JavaScript, Cascading Style Sheets and HyperText Markup Language offer all manner of layout, communication and navigational options. Browser windows feature forward and backward directional navigation buttons and the windows are square, fitting neatly into square monitor screens. But with all boxes, there are those who would move outside and challenge the visitor to understand information through a new form of organization. Authors of hypertext fiction are utilizing code and browser options to enhance their narratives with movement. The options for visitor interaction provide the reader with unique, interactive experiences that compliment the story, but these interactions are not always navigationally intuitive. By using navigational options of interface design to control the movement of their readers, hypertext authors enhance the reading experience, emphasize their themes and create structural metaphors of their texts.
Though navigational options offer all manner of movement, some authors of hypertext fiction present their writing in a linear structure by forcing the reader into a controlled trajectory. Just as we intuitively navigate categorized information, we understand that Western, print-based narrative fictions are meant to be read in a linear fashion, from the first page to the last. The introduction of setting, characters and the design of plot are all part of this linear organization. “Hyperlinked fiction, unlike the larger network of the web, draws its narrative inspiration from the print-based novel …” (Guertin 8). The traditional linear structure of the print-based novel is evident in “this is Not A Book” hypertext by Jennifer Lay and Thomas Swiss’s “City of Bits”. Both hypertexts pop-up in a size restricted window and offer only one form of navigation—forward. Lay uses hyperlinks or navigational words imbedded in the text, and Swiss uses a graphic link of a man walking. When reading a print-based book or a poem, a reader can turn back through the pages or reread the stanzas, but not so in Lay and Swiss’s hypertexts. The pop-up windows are modified so that there are no back button options, though the web address is visible. The reader can see each page’s URL change from book3 to book4 or, as in Swiss’s case, page1 to page2, which is a clear indication of the linear structure of the texts. This linear structure is recognizable to the reader, but discomforting to the web site navigator who may become frustrated with the lack of autonomy. Like tunnels, there is only one way in and one way out of these hypertexts. Choice of information access has been taken away through the removal of hierarchal navigation menus and browser buttons, and the reader moves along in a site-propelled straight line. It is only through the reading that the reader realizes the purpose of the straight-line navigation.
This straight-line navigation in “City of Bits’ is symbolic of the poem’s theme that we cannot turn back time, cannot go back and change the past. “In electronic narratives … the interface is designed anew for each text with the metaphor being specific to the content of that particular work” (Guertin 28). Swiss’s poem is a walk along memory lane–a reminiscing about a relationship that took an unexpected turn. The narrator has to move on in life, no matter how much he wants to return to his ex-girlfriend. “I admit it: I missed her. Ah to be drinking again at that downtown river-front hotel… “ (Swiss). Just as the narrator must move forward with time, with no control over the ending of the relationship, so too must the reader plod ever-forward, with no hope of controlling the journey through the hypertext. Swiss successfully uses this tunnel-like navigation to create a sense of helplessness in the reader, which supports empathy in the narrator’s situation.
Jennifer Lay uses the restricted tunnel movement to build drama in “this is Not A Book”. Each lexia in Lay’s text features one line, which argues the difference between traditional print novels and hypertext. The first point is that the reader “cannot turn” the pages in Lay’s “Not a Book”. In another lexia, the narrator tells the reader that the text is not “interested in becoming a book“. This reference to the text’s lack of interest could imply artificial intelligence, or perhaps it is just simple personification, but either way the image of the text changes in the reader’s mind from a programmed reading to a thinking entity. The personification effect is continued when the narrator explains that the hypertext “has no intention of superseding the book”. The hypertext is not interested in competing with the printed book. It is interested in the reader. The text refers to itself as a piece of artwork that will imbed itself within the reader’s subconscious—a design that may “glimmer” under the reader’s lids long after the reading. The tension rises as the text states that the hypertext may call the reader back, like a “phantom” limb tempting a revisit. It threatens to evolve as if it can work its own advancement within its technological environment. With these words the spark of fear, the underlying paranoia created by Hollywood films of technological takeover bubbles beneath the surface and mixes with curiosity. The writer continues climbing the rising action with the allusion that the reader is not reading a book, but is being observed by a text. “… it knows you are here, now”. This is the climax, the moment of change and the reader pivots on the peak before clicking the hyperlink that leads to an invitation to communicate with the “Not a Book”. Lay’s control over the reader’s progress through the text ensures the rising sense of drama and suspense. Without this linear trajectory, the emotional effects of the “revelations” would not be as powerful. Each disclosure invites the reader forward to see what the next shocking claim may be. The experience is not about believing the text, it is about the “ride”. The suspense-building narrative draws the reader ever-forward, just as a rollercoaster pulls the cars up a linear track to the top of a hill. At the crest of the hypertext, there is the option to communicate, which leaves the reader suspended in a world of possibilities—overlooking the “park” of tomorrow’s hyper-entertainment.
Just like any entertainment complex, which features rides of multiple movements, hypertexts can be created using multiple structures. Not all hypertexts force readers along a straight path, because not all hypertext fictions are restricted by linear plots. Like print-based autobiographies or domestic stories, hypertext can be presented in an episodic format. “’my body’: A Wunderkammer” by Shelley Jackson uses the episodic structure of the domestic story combined with data archived under body-part categories to present her autobiography. One element of autobiography that is not evident is a chronological structure. “This is a messy text. It shifts back and forth through time, following the associational trails of recollection” (Guertin 25). The reader is in charge, selecting which hyperlinks to explore and so the text is delivered based on the navigation of the reader and the writer‘s placement of hyperlinks. The main navigation page consists of a drawing of the author’s body, which is blocked into graphic links to pages file-named “armpits” and “tattoos”. Once into the pages, movement is achieved through clicking hypertext links imbedded within the text. The reader is tempted by the hyperlinks to leap out of each page before finishing and may often land on a previously visited page. The navigational movement begins to feel like a journey impeded by attention deficit. Unlike the well directed reader of Swiss’s “City of Bits”, the reader of Jackson’s hypertext is allowed the freedom of travel with few boundaries or guidance. This does not mean that the writer has not left crumbs to follow. Clicking a blue hyperlink that leads to the “toes” page, does change the colour of “toe” links to a “visited” purple on all of the other pages. The aware reader could take control of the access of information through this and through reading the task bar Web address when hovering the mouse over a link. Through the categorizing of the hypertext information, the reader, with the right knowledge of data archiving and interface design, could navigate intuitively in avoiding visited pages. Either way, without a main navigation listing of categories or pages, the reader explores the texts randomly, without knowing how many pages have been viewed or how many are left.
This lost exploratory may be the effect that Jackson is looking for. “I will hide secret buttons, levers and locks in my carved folds and crevices. You will have to feel your way in” (Jackson). The reader explores stories of Jackson’s body like moving through a funhouse. Thrilled and sometimes horrified by the text, and moving from reading to reading through random clicking of links—the reader never knows what will be beyond the next click and often gets turned around. “Once I have entered her network, by means of an orifice, I am contained and I am captured” (Wodtke). The author’s relationship with her physical self and the changes she goes through is enhanced by the reader’s exploratory movements, creating a sense of a shared experience. The lack of control in navigation is symbolic of the lack of control over pubescent changes, which is a topic in Jackson’s text. There is a certain horror to not being able to control growth as well as movement and the reader, through the random navigational journey, can relate to the author’s feelings of being out of control.
Hypertext is a medium by which authors can elicit connections in their reader’s through navigational movement. By utilizing interface and database code and browser features, authors can metaphorically represent their themes, providing readers with richer experiences and connections. Through linear movement, Lay builds suspense and Swiss makes it clear that there is no turning back in life. Through random movement, Jackson creates an exploratory space that symbolizes the discovery of body and curious changes of pubescence. As hypertext structures continue to be creatively paired with theme, plot, and literary structure, readers will learn to experience the movement based on the reading and not on an efficient categorizing of information. Through hypertext, the writer has become the ringleader who will create an entertaining interaction for the reader to experience and enjoy.
by Cheryl R Cowtan
English 475
Professor Joe Pivato
June 22, 2008
Works Cited
Guertin, Carolyn, Tschofen Monique and Totosy de Zepetnek, Steven. English 475: Literature and Hypertext Study Guide. Athabasca University, 2002.
Jackson, Shelley. “my body”’: A Wunderkammer.” Online hypertext. <http://www.altx.com/thebody/>
Ley, Jennifer. “This is Not a Book.” Online hypertext. 2000. <http://www.heelstone.com/notabook/>
Swiss, Thomas. “City of Bits.” Online hypertext. <http://www.differenceofone.com/cob/>
Wodtke, Francesca. “Erythrocytes: Flowing through the Body. A metaphor for Hypertext: The Body—Within.” Cyberspace, Hypertext and Critical Theory. Brown University. Online. <http://landow.stg.brown.edu/cspace/pg/wodtke.html>
