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≡ Hypertextopia Manifesto ≡

 
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Just what is it that a Literary Systems Researcher Does?

One of the basic acts of scholarship for this concentration requires the discovery of parallel forms in two works of literature from separate systems. The scholar then interrogates the origins and purposes of the forms and tries to tease out the commonalities. Then, if the form seems to be prevalent in several systems, the scholar can attempt to introduce it into systems where it has never before existed. An example is the notion of variables, as used in mathematics and computer science. Both of those disciplines employ variables of a certain kind to stand for a whole host of possible instances. In algebra, the “x” often represents a single number from the set of all possible real numbers. In object-oriented computer science, the variable “current_child” can represent a single child out of the set of all possible children. Similar forms can be found in set theory and philosophy. A literary systems researcher investigates the “variable” forms from these systems, attempts to understand them comparatively, plays with pollinating their characteristics from one discipline to another, and experiments with introducing them in literary systems where they are not usually used. For instance, what does it mean to employ a “variable” in a novel? Is it as simple as a pronoun that floats from subject to subject? Or is it more like "the murderer" in a whodunnit drama, where, until the killer is revealed at the end, "the murderer" can be any of the caracters?

However, scholarship in Literary Systems also operates at a higher level. Abstracting a meta-form from the relationship between several interesting, existing forms can help to generate useful variants and evolutions of literary forms. These meta-forms are tricky to define, being a sort of recipe for the discovery of new forms, and are often related to qualitative concepts such as abstraction, reduction, and algebraization. In this sense, one algebraicizes arithmetic to find algebra, and one algebraicizes algebra to find set theory. These concepts unify literary forms under the banner of a common purpose, and help us to discover related forms that might still be hiding in the dust.

My research methods also include experimentation with rule-based literary systems, as my final project involves an web application for writing and publishing hypertext stories, using forms that do not usually exist in web literature. I can experiment with translating old stories into this new media, and learn from what sorts of techniques and styles hypertext authors adopt for this new writing space. Promising future avenues for research include:

Developing a better sense of the relationships among literary forms. Does a construct as simple as a “noun” count as a form? If so, how does it relate to the higher-lever “analogy?”

Exploring the relationship between system design and authorial use. How does the accessibility and ease-of-use of a particular literary form affect the frequency and style with which it is employed by authors?

Looking for the boundaries of literary systems theory across textual space. In what disciplines do these concepts fail to work, or prove misleading?

Case studies of experiments with particular forms. Why does the “metaphor,” which seems to hold so much promise in programming languages, fail to function adequately in mathematics?

A general revision of the theoretical framework for literary systems. As I continue to read books, attend lectures, have conversations, and work with these systems, I’d like to continue revising the framework that I use to approach them, as new developments or flaws are uncovered.


 
This idea haunts Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose. In one of the first philosophical moments of the book, William (the master) and Adso (the pupil), have a conversation about just how it came to be that William was able to deduce the identity of a missing horse:


That day I could not refrain from questioning him further about the matter of the horse.

"All the same," I said, "when you read the prints in the snow and the evidence of the branches, you did not yet know Brunellus. In a certain sense those prints spoke of all horses, or at least all the horses of that breed. Mustn't we say, then, that the book of nature speaks of us only of essences, as many distinguished theologians teach?"

"Not entirely, dear Adso," my master replied. "True, that kind of print expressed to me, if you like, the idea of 'horse,' the verbum mentis, and would have expressed the same to me wherever I might have found it. But the print in that place and at that hour of the day told me that at least one of all possible horses had passed that way. So I found myself halfway between the perception of the concept 'horse' and the knowledge of an individual horse. And in any case, what I knew of the universal horse had been given me by those traces, which were singular. I could say that I was caught at that moment between the singularity of the traces and my ignorance, which assumed the quite diaphanous form of a universal idea. If you see something from a distance, and you do not understand what it is, you will be content with defining it as a body of some dimension. When you come closer, you will then define it as an animal, even if you do not yet know if it is a horse or an ass. And finally, when it is still closer, you will be able to say it is a horse even if you do not yet know whether it is Brunellus or Niger. And only when you are at the proper distance will you see that it is Brunellus (or rather, that horse and not another, however you decide to call it). And that will be full knowlege, the learning of the singular. So an hour ago I could expect all horses, but not because of the vastness of my intellect, but because of the paucity of my deduction. And my intellect's hunger was sated only when I saw the single horse that the monks were leading by the halter. Only then did I truly know that my previous reasoning had brought me to the truth. And so the ideas, which I was using earlier to imagine a horse I had not yet seen, were pure signs, as the hoofprints in the snow were signs of the idea of 'horse'; and signs and the signs of signs are used only when we are lacking things."