Reflection: The Difference of Playing and Reading

As a reader, my involvement (with plot, characters and authorial intent) is initially always from the position of an observer.  With this type of separation, it is almost as if the reader is observing the daily events of an ant colony while reading the text.  The reader’s perspective is so far detached that it is sometimes difficult to relate, or even empathize, with the characters.  With the knowledge I possess, as a reader, playing the role of Julius felt like I was infusing him with superhuman abilities.  A textual character, who is portrayed as illiterate, becomes privy to information not only from the paratextual space, but also from the future.  By submerging myself in the role, I became capable of directly empathizing with the character.  In the process, I was removed from the safe distance of the observer and became closer to the textual environment in both time and space.  From this new, unexplored, vantage point my knowledge as a reader becomes very useful to me while navigating through the plot.

The pleasure of playing a book, in opposed to reading it, is found in the act of willingly exploring the unknown.  Reading, superficially, imposes a sense of remoteness in the reader; far away from the realities of the characters in the text.  This makes it convenient for a reader to close the book when he/she/they feel[s] uncomfortable.  By playing the role, discomfort in the reader is raised, in turn, bringing them closer to the realistic content of the author’s intentions.  A frustration of mine, while playing the book, was identifying a familiar framework to work within while exploring the world of Chesnutt’s tales.  I annotated motifs from Chesnutt’s tales and discovered that it can be read, somewhat, as a chivalric romance.  In this hypothetical framework, Chesnutt’s use of magic, spells and enchantments afforded me the opportunity to make moves in the textual environment that would help, Julius, breach into the paratextual space.  With access to the paratextual space, a textual character can directly interact with observers, or readers; even if for a moment’s time.  In the dimensional realm of stage work, this act would be similar to beaching the fourth wall of the audience: a metanominal action that creates a direct interaction between textual character and reader.  In an abstract mode of thought, the textual character is always subject to the emotions of the reader.  Playing a book, bridges the gap between the roles of reader and character.  This helps the character break the restrictions of the author’s intentions, in turn, helping character develop a consciousness independent from the author’s.

Playing the role of a textual character in Chesnutt’s tales, for me, involved drafting actions that were limited to the characterization of the character.  For example, the character I played was the embodiment of an antiquated relic.  Julius was a living object of experience.  Recorded into his mind were the experiences of chattel slavey in the antebellum south.  As an elderly man, he is still, somewhat, cognizant of the subjugator/subjugated dynamic found in most social interactions and attempts to manuver through a new, unknown form of this relationship.  From his perspective, the effects of chattel slavery remain as a part of his being, even though its practice is no longer in use.  If playing again, I would change my role to a paratextual character, just to imagine what it was like from the position of a literary authority.  In doing so, I would possess the ability to weigh Chesnutt’s work with limitless capacity; drawing from cogent empirical evidence to support the stances in my moves.  One drawback of playing a textual character is that there are finite resources which can be employed: resources that are only found in the author’s frames (structuring).

To properly analyze my moves (in game 3), I took a snapshot of the text-fields and cropped them together and a collage of total content for each move.  This aesthetic arrangement made it easier for me to indicate plot points introduced by my fellow players. From these, hand-picked, plot points I was able to make moves that, somewhat, coalesced in historical accuracy, authorial intent and political climate.  As a suggestion, for future users of the platform, would it be possible to incorporate a snapshot feature of each move?  For instance, when all players have completed move#1, a snapshot is formed of all player moves, then merged into a single image for visual analysis.  This removes the need to click back and forth between player responses while gathering information.  This would also make the points of entry (for moves 2, 3 and 4) easier for all users.  As with the original rules, the first player to post gains the priority of the move#.  Overall, I had a great time playing the book and would like to thank admin for making this possible.  Keep up the great work!

Distant Reading: Fine and Coarse

Distant Reading: Fine and Coarse

I was uncertain at first which terms I wanted to search and analyze using Voyant. The realms that Voyant opens up, in comparison to close reading, are sufficiently over-whelming. While close-reading seems to be a practice that is guided by the text, and the reader nothing more than the detective following obscure and hidden clues through a magnifying glass, the exercise of distant reading seems to be the exact opposite. With the use of Voyant, I’m nothing more than a scientist, throwing hypotheses at the walls to see what sticks. If we continue the detective metaphor, I’m a clueless Inspector Gadget, utterly lost despite the aid of technology, and chasing red herrings until my head spins.

I eventually decided to follow a term that intrigued me from when we read Douglass and Dubois. The term ‘coarse,’ was consistently mentioned in regards to enslaved peoples and their clothing. Was there a chance, then, that the term appeared elsewhere? What other meanings could this word have encoded within it? I decided to find out, and do a comparison of the word ‘coarse’ with its oft-used antonym, ‘fine.’ I searched the main corpus as I was more interested in the appearance of the terms in a larger context. Voyant reported that ‘coarse,’ and other derivatives of the term, appeared a total of 386 times, while ‘fine’ clocked in at a far more frequent 2602 times.

I have included the graph of trends above. Interestingly enough, it seems that whenever the term ‘fine’ was used in greater frequency, ‘coarse’ also had a bump in numbers. This could mean a variety of things, but most notably, the fact that this implies that the two terms were used in concert with one another, and perhaps placed in direct conversation. I personally found the context tool to be the most illuminating. In terms of ‘coarse,’ the word seemed to have been used more frequently in regards to an enslaved person’s clothing, food, or state.

Sometimes, however, ‘coarse’ was also used as an admonishment, as seen Peter Wheeler’s “The Life and Adventures of Peter Wheeler, a Colored Man Yet Living;
A Slave in Chains, a Sailor on the Deep, and a Sinner at the Cross” wherein he uses coarse as a description for language and speech. Thus, coarse, in the overall context, seems to not only be innately tied to enslaved peoples and their material goods, but to also carry an inherently negative implication. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the word ‘coarse’ speaks to the “ordinary, common, mean, base,” and implies that something is “of inferior quality or value [and] of little account” (coarse, adj). Interestingly enough, “coarse” can also be used to describe something “wanting in fineness,” something “too large for beauty,” and something “rough and harsh” (coarse, adj).

The term ‘fine’ on the other hand, turned up a variety of different responses as expected. ‘Fine’ was not only used in a positive way, but also often used to describe a variety of things including clothing, ships, people, landscapes, and color. There were many mentions of ‘fine women/woman,’ ‘fine words,’ ‘fine work,’ and ‘fine weather.’ It would be interesting if we could search the context tool for terms coupled together, like ‘fine’ and ‘white’ as I often spotted the latter term used in the periphery. I tried to play around with it to see what I could find, but came away with little success. The most notable of which was a letter wherein Serena M. Baldwin wrote a letter asking for “3 yards of fine white canvass” and “3 yards fine yellow.” I thus turned my search in the direction of the Oxford English Dictionary, in hopes that my findings would be illuminated somewhat. I hope this still counts as distant reading.

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the word ‘fine’ denotes the meaning “pure, perfect; of the best or very high quality” (fine, adj). However, the term ‘fine,’ interestingly enough, also seems to refer to “white cotton or linen rags, used as a material for making paper,” in other words, “free from turbidity or impurity, clear; refined, pure,” and especially interesting, is often also used to describe a “pure, bright color”(fine, adj). Could this be yet another term encoded with racial implication? To be honest, I’m not sure, but I would not be surprised if we learned that certain common words of today were inscribed upon by the peculiar institution of the time, thus changing them, altering their meanings to place them in a dialogue about racism and slavery.

The intertwining of enslaved peoples with the term ‘coarse’ in the works of Douglass and Dubois were what first drew me to searching for the term in Voyant. In the works of slave narratives, there has been an interesting play on dichotomy, from Douglass’s play on “double consciousness,” the thin “veil” between enslaved/freedom, black/white, and inscription/inscriber. Perhaps coarse/fine belongs somewhere along this “veil” as well, yet another set of coded terms that were used to play out the institutionalized racism prevalent at the time, and embody the stark differences between the way enslaved peoples and the hegemony lived.