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The mysterious self is examined for its narrative effect, which also is just like a cause for being who we are and who we believe we should be. All of it linked to culture, the inescapable force that keeps us from starving to death in a bus in Alaska like Christopher McCandless did. We tell our stories in various ways to reiterate why we individually are. Scary that there is also dysnarrativia scooping out our souls.

The more I read about historical pragmatism, the easier it is for me to understand how much of it I have been doing for most of the last decade and a half: from the Record of Movie Ticket Stubs to my present digital literacy studies have all had a touch of pragmatic inquiry into languages in different arena. Glad to hear this is a field of research that is opening up and I will have lots to discuss for my oral comps.

The examples of narrative making law and its counterpart in literature, going back to the bland facts or whirling ahead into a fictional realm of possibilities, connects two seemingly disparate areas of study. Both represent the truth like Perseus' shield mirrored the Gorgon's head. Bruner may have however brought criticism upon himself from the social-cultural bunch with his use of "simple" to describe some culture.

The Jarndyces' court case will be the beginning and end of this foggy tale, still unresolved in the Court of Chancery, and while its continual process before the law hopes to clear up an uncertain injury, the drawn-out length only seems to assure more misery. The sudden shift to first-person narrative reminds me of A Tale for the Time Being while Mrs. Jellaby's African interest is equal to familiar scholars.

Finally got to the end of this excellent resource for digital literacy, saving the best chapter for the end - how the placeholder "cyberdrama" had already began to emerge with the openness of YouTube, but there is still a long way to go before virtual stages like the one she describes in this chapter become the go-to storytelling platforms, such as her Jerusalem 6 extended universe or the ice habitat "Hath."

Who knew that I would stumble upon another hot button issue in research, in the unlikeliest place within the university (sorry, English Department, but that's how it is): historical pragmatics! Not only am I already primed to understand the discoursive differences between ye, thou and you, thanks to my eternal interest in Shakespeare's plays, but also already well-placed within the field of digital literacy to do it.

The second part of this novel reveals what the coyly voluptuous book cover had indicated all along: the book has less to do with clouds as a metaphor, and more the tangible qualities of sex. Even the prudish scientists and theorists whose higher thoughts would have placed them above the stratosphere of carnal desire, unlike their present-day book-collectors, they are as likely to dip their quills into exotic inkpots.

It is hard to believe my good luck, or merely the incredible set of coincidences that have occurred throughout my studies, that Jerome Bruner is one of the narrative inquiry voices that I will soon become familiar with in my last set of PhD courses. Not only has he got everything from the Bible and Ancient Greece (much like my Environmental Thought course) but can also connect Murray's "narrative" as legal retelling.

It is hard to believe my good luck, or merely the incredible set of coincidences that have occurred throughout my studies, that Jerome Bruner is one of the narrative inquiry voices that I will soon become familiar with in my last set of PhD courses. Not only has he got everything from the Bible and Ancient Greece (much like my Environmental Thought course) but can also connect Murray's "narrative" as legal retelling.

The early use of chatterbots and computerized conversational partners seem like clunky attempts to out-Turing the test. Where life-like human characters failed to advance AI's take over the world agenda, it was the cognitive-science based pets: cats, dogs, dogz and catz that showed the most potential for digital life. The best possible solution to get out of the uncanny story valley is to make commedia dell'artebots.

I have reached a point in my studies where I must press on with my Dickens readings, and Bleak House seems to be the book that would fit in with what I have proposed to present on quantumeracy, the novel being a mystery and a romance. From all the front material, and my recently completed course on the development of environmental thought, this novel could reveal the inner workings of the 19th century world.

Eventually I will finish reading this amazing discussion of virtual storytelling (or the cyberbard, as Murray coins the term) but each time I read a chapter, some significant moment has just happened. Last night, I finally saw Interstellar and now makes complete sense how oral traditions had perfected an excellent model for narrative algorithm that is going to be revived by Wavesine's virtual reality helmet.

The strange Scheherazade continues to fill Virginie's working day with amorphous tales of painters and skywatchers; the bibliomaniac Kumo, whose name means 'spider', seems to have an acute awareness of all elements in he air, while the stories he collects start to resemble those whaddyacallems that float around in the sky. Not sure what to really invest my interest in, as it is clearly not about Hiroshima's mushroom.

One has to wonder how many novelist were on the inside edge when cloud computing was becoming a thing in the second half of the first 21st century's decade: Cloud Atlas being one example and this Theory being another. Turns out it is the organic, quasi-chaotic system that appealed to 19th century Quakers, German Romantics, French librarians and prostitute-loving Japanese billionaire couteriers.

Strange happenings in the last section of the novel, which promises the Lighthouse and gets the few remaining character close enough - To the Island the Lighthouse Is On could be a better title. Yet it is a Zenoian paradoxical race for Mr. Ramsay and his tyranny-fighting offspring and the past, represented by the painter Lily and her otherworldly connection to Mrs. Ramsay, perhaps as she becomes the next Mrs. Ramsay?

The two stands of the story are finally knit together with the last, and shortest, chapter. Although the boy and his world are gone, a quantum possibility not yet realized, it explain why Gerry's father did what he had to do. Whether or not the reader gets to figure it out is no longer the issue, just that there are decisions made in creating a family become like the Gordian knot, set due to many strands all tangled,

The aftermath and the dénouement are places for minor characters to show their true colours, firstly a Lark with her wings clipped, still fighting to prove she is a queen 'b', then Dennis who might have had a hand in the bombing, lastly, friend of the family Larry Walsh Esq. is a cartoon brought to life. The boy and family go from Peace Cove and either cross over to Belcarra or trek up the Indian Arm, for a new life.

Two things that might have been aborted, plus a couple main characters being snuffed out, lead to the death and suffering of a greater community. Baby Caroline proves to be too healthy for the diseased boy's world, while the Vancouver of my childhood gets revealed as a drug and firecracker-fuelled mess: fond memories of the city's family-friendly Peace March overshadowed by the aimless anarchism of Stanley Cup goons.

Two things that might have been aborted, plus a couple main characters being snuffed out, lead to the death and suffering of a greater community. Baby Caroline proves to be too healthy for the diseased boy's world, while the Vancouver of my childhood gets revealed as a drug and firecracker-fuelled mess: fond memories of the city's family-friendly Peace March overshadowed by the aimless anarchism of Stanley Cup goons.

Everyone seems to be getting in the mood for all the wrong reasons: Ian decides to celebrate a last night of something with his ex-girlfriend, Gerry gets it on with some random party guy, and then puts the moves on broken-hearted Randy for some quick cash. And the men of Peace Cove have gone all violent and rapist on the outlying survivors. A plan for "radical peace" sounds appealing if only to preempt future misery.

The novel pauses to reflect upon the aftermath of failed fatherhood. The boy is getting ready to usher in the nightmare xenomorph into the world, while Gerry must dispatch some fathers as if extraneous crew members of the Nostromo. First to go is Clem, who may indeed be going off to a better place, howsoever it resembles a prison. Gerry's dad is tossed out like a wad of paper from Henry's regretful hand to Gerry's.

The act of radical peace seems less like a terrorist plot, more like a half-assed high school group presentation, with many of the adults taking on less than mature roles. The 'Pot of Gold' fake-out device seems even sillier if it is indeed the real thing; did it suddenly become Christmas during the middle of spring break? Two portentous births play off each other: Michelle's little hippy and the girl's doomed fetus.

Still carrying the sting of the Ian/Gerry switcheroo, Gerry goes out and seems to gunning for Megan's position, which was unfortunately on her back with a creepy security panel repairman (technically the repairman's brother) on top of her. A little bit contrived, I guess, but at least she is still in the terrorism game judging by Andri's aloof approbation. Her fall-out alter-ego boy has now become a post-nuclear man.

The narrative seems to go where Gerry accuses Randy of being: an afterschool special. Mrs. Cross' New Hairdo, Gerry makes a Grab, and Ian makes his Move are some of the very special Kids of Degrassi Street episodes, with a more mature The Lawsons are Having a Baby for how horribly wrong things went when the former residents of the Lower Mainland give a command performance of The Last of the Curlews.

Lots of relationships seem to be falling apart thanks to Gerry's doing: Ian and Lark, her mom and Randy, Megan and the rest of the not-so merry pranksters. It's hard to get a read on whether she even knows what will happen next to those closest to her when society starts to fall apart. Her nightmare, on the other hand, shows with increasing detail how much things will suck in post-apocalyptic community of Peace Cove.

It seems like Gerry's whole plan with the anti-nuclear terrorist is to do something to capture her dad's attention - she is very unconcerned with other people in her life, chooses rather to burn through these relationship in order to be part of the "real world" with her dad's new family. Her dream as a post-apocalyptic boy become more vivid, with adults planning their escape from the burned out downtown of Vancouver.

Gerry is a rough customer who may not be socially adept but certainly knows how to push people's buttons, including her one-more-divorce-away-from-a-heart-attack grandfather, the pot-headed revolutionaries planning to bomb the Peace March, and even her single mom who seems blind to the sociopath she has under her roof. With Russian warships on the move, she dreams herself into a post-apocalypse, possibly as a zombie?

Almost seems like a drunken dare from her Bloomsbury friends, Woolf writes ten chapters with hardly any characters in it. Two housekeepers come and go, and yet the summer home seems the emptier with them inside than the bits of nature (weeds, rodents and the salt air) intruding on the sanctity of home. Meanwhile, in various bracketed sentences, the Ramsay family falls apart, and only Lily awakes for Window's guests.

At last I can close The Window by reading a two-handler about a husband and wife, each reading in their own way, yet unable to read what the other Ramsay wants. As much as she thinks she knows about her husband constant worry about being out of print or his desire to be desired by her, she can barely tell what her own emotions are. As much as Mr. Ramsay gets swept up in Scott, he seems more suited for a Chekhov play.

Do not be fooled by the occasional one-sentence chapters scattered through "the Window" as they are that way to make way for the longest dinner party I've yet encountered, wandering in and out of the guests' private thoughts. With almost every adult under observation yet no one in particular the immediate focus, the reader is put in the position of an omniscient child at the table, who knows all but affect no change.