Digital Literature is Cool!

The first time I ever heard about digital literature was when I received an email from the College of Arts and Letters, calling for art submissions. In my head, digital literature didn’t make sense because I had only ever thought of literature on a physical page in a book. I thought: How can literature be digital (besides me typing a story or poem on my computer)? It confused me as to how anyone could go beyond that, even though I had already seen versions of digital literature without knowing. 

Unfortunately, I cannot remember the exact museum I went to, but I do remember the art piece. I was in a dark room with a video playing on one screen. In the video, a woman sat in a kitchen and picked items up one at a time, naming them. You couldn’t really predict what she would show you next and, quite frankly, it was hard to discern any true rhyme or reason to which objects she would choose. That was so until she had listed perhaps 16 items and I had realized she was listing them all in alphabetical order. There was something quite eerie about the recording considering there was no ‘typical’ story besides the one you imagined. Not only did this story of sorts force me to listen in a very specific way but it also encouraged me to view these words with a specific emotion attached to them. Where “apron” might just be any other word, it was the beginning of her story.

The electronic literature displayed in Professor Pressman’s lecture reminded me a lot of this experience. I found that by watching and reading these pieces, I was experiencing something far more profound than a book. While both literature in books and digital literature are art, they convey different messages because of the medium they are attached to. I recognize that there are limitations to art based on what message should be presented to the audiences. The digital literature artists could not have performed these stories without the technology they used. It’s quite simple when you think about it, as a painter can’t make a painting with paints and a canvas. Otherwise, it would be an entirely new art medium. These digital writers are using digital technologies to play with audiences’ reception of the art, to change the way readers consume, to redefine what it means to read words in a specific order and speed.

With the alphabet story, I believe I felt uncomfortable listening to it, not only because of her listing objects without explaining a motive, but because of the pace she chose to read them at. It was a slow process, getting through the alphabet in roughly five minutes. It demanded my attention yet also forced me to listen and think. In the silence, she gave me time to consider the story between the lines. Similar to “Pry” that engages readers by having them actively pry out more information from between the lines, this video encouraged me to make my own story from the omission of filler words.

E-Lit: Making a Text Sing

In the final chapter of The Book, Borsuk gives examples of, “contemporary approaches to digital reading that, rather than offering up a crystal goblet, invite us to trace our finger along text’s rim and make it sing” (203). This quote encapsulates how I feel about electronic literature. All books are a collaboration between creators and readers, but not all creators and readers are necessarily conscious of this when they’re creating and/or reading books. Electronic literature is necessarily an interactive experience, which makes the collaborative nature of the book impossible to avoid.

One example that Borsuk mentions is Pry, by Samantha Gorman and Danny Cannizzaro. Borsuk says that, “Pry explicitly requires the reader’s interaction to make meaning” (247). The text remains flat, literally and figuratively, if it is read like a normal e-book. The text must be pried apart for the reader to literally see what would otherwise be subtext. The reader gains a greater understanding of the text not just by close reading, but by active participation.

This is not our first encounter with E-Lit in this class. We read Marginalia in the Library of Babel by Marino at the beginning of the semester. To find meaning in Marino’s annotations, we had to interact with hyperlinks, follow rabbit holes, and make connections. While we all might have interpreted Borges’ Library of Babel differently, may have read with different levels of attention or awareness of context, may have skimmed it at different paces, but we probably interacted with the text similarly, based on how we’ve been trained to read these kind of text in school. Marino’s text, however, is not something most of us are trained to read. Many of us would have tried to read it in a linear form, chronologically or in table-of-contents order, but some probably tried to read it like they might explore Wikipedia, clicking on whatever seems most interesting at the time. Some probably skipped most of the hyperlinks and missed all of the story. Each of us truly read a separate text.

This is why I love E-Lit. It encourages close reading, exploration, and collaboration. It doesn’t just enable readers to make the text their own, it forces them to do so. The authors/designers/coders who create electronic literature must also understand our medium. We need to be able to, as Borsuk puts it, “[draw] attention to the interface to explore and exploit the affordances of the digital” (203). We must know what a reader expects to see and the different ways a reader might interact with the form so that we might subvert those expectations. We must be okay with the idea that most people won’t read every bit of text. The average reader won’t even find every page. However, the culture of electronic literature practically demands that someone will, if you leave it out there long enough to float around in cyberspace.