Virilio's *Open Sky*

Paul Virilio, in his book, Open Sky, begins to map out the ways in which our social cities are changing, the way out accidents and our needs and wants are changing due to the new technologies that constantly crop up into place.  He begins by speaking about speed in this new age, speed that is perpetuated by the technologies of the internet, the cellular telephones.  We are “telepresent, here and elsewhere, at the same time, in this so-called ‘real time’ which is, however, nothing but a kind of real space-time” (10).  We are alone, but together, and the speed of the new present has all but removed the here of the localized accident, the local city. 

Virilio’s comments about speed and the new telecity seem to be a forerunner to Turkle’s ideas in Alone Together.  The new speed of this world allows us to “see, to hear, to perceive and thus conceive the present world more intensely” (12), however, at the same time, we are present to everyone, we are “live” but we are alone.  As Virilio says, “reality seems to apologize for having a relief, any kind of thickness” (26).  He goes on to speak about cyberparks and cyber romances, activities which happen apart and separate from the world, in this telecity that allows us to be alone, even if we are together.  But, this idea of the relief, in art, is one that does indeed present depth.  It allows for a 3D atmosphere in a piece of art, an outcropping which is messy, thick.  In this new telecity we want to see things flatly, it seems, to absorb them, to go through them—to have them as nothing more than doors.

Perhaps one of the most important aspects of Virilio’s book is of the accident.  He first claims that the “substance cannot exist without any accident” (17), a concept which implies that the technologies create the accidents.  So, for instance, you cannot have a car crash without the car.  In the case of the new general accident, this general accident that removes things from the local, would not exist without the technology of the internet (to name one source).  In cyberspace, the “accident is no longer a local accident….but a general accident which globally undermines all ‘presence’ and promotes a ‘telepresence’ without consistency, and more particularly, without a true spatial position, since the remote interaction of a being at once absent and acting redefines the very notion of being there” (131).  The internet becomes a sort of way for us to witness the accident collectively, but it also, it seems, allows for us to mourn solitarily as well.  We are together in this metacity, experiencing the world in low relief, or, even, no relief.  This cyberspace allows for us an “illusory and artificial space, an easy way out of people’s inability to deal with each other responsibly” (118).  

But what, Virilio wonders, if we do not want this constant on state of the metacity?  What if we want a “freedom of perception” (96), the ability to lower the “intensity of the transmission of appearances” (96)?  We see it constantly—the never ending bombardment of images, sounds, intensity.  It reminded me of an article I read that was shocked over a bride and groom’s request that no one has their camera phones with them at the wedding ceremony.  The same way Virilio says that we have a freedom to noise (ie music cannot be above a certain level in public, etc), we deserve a right to freedom from perception.  We can see, accept, but it is what we choose to question that marks us as conscientious observers.  Our skyline of sight has broadened because of these new technologies and we can now see beyond our horizon, see into a general city, the metacity, cyberspace (90),

The technologies which allow all of these clearer perceptions, these alone but together moments also suffer the accident of inactivity.  Virilio posits this as the “law of least action” (55).  We, if given the choice, would choose the option that warranted the least amount of movement or action.  So, for instance, if we had the choice between the stairs or the elevator—we would choose the elevator.  In the cybernetic aspect of this, when given the choice between texting somebody or making a phone call, the text message allows for us to complete the task with less effort.

The final item I want to touch upon, the final thing that interested me with Virilio, is his rumination on the freeze frame.  We no longer have photography, where we can capture a moment in time.  Instead, we have freeze frames (89).  These freeze frames are snippets of our lives, as if we had pressed pause on a video, and we are forced to see everything.  Nothing can be taken as a photograph and held up as itself for examination.  Instead, it is always part of what comes before and what follows.  In order for us to see, today, we have to accept that there is nothing that can be not seen.

Questions:

Virilio speaks aout the “scale of space and the lengths of time of the life-size” (59) in such as way that it makes it seem as though we forget that we live in a “life size” world.  Do we only see things in miniature?  Is life presented to us on a smaller scale?

In a telecity is geography truly dead?  Once we move away from the “real” local city and find ourselves in a telecity, do we move away from the idea of geography?

Does this book by Virilio create more questions regarding the MEmorial or does it answer your questions?

Final Thoughts on Ulmer: Part 4

In this first chapter of the final section of Ulmer’s book seeks to take Turing’s imitation test and move it to be utilized in the process of a MEmorial, while paying attention to the idea of justice and injustice.  Turing’s imitation test takes a man and a woman and places them behind a curtain.  They have to speak to a judge via text speak and the judge has to decide which is the woman and which is the man while the man tries to convince the judge that he is the woman.  Ulmer proposes a version of this test, this game, for the electrate society using a computer.  The computer has to convince the judge that it is a man being a woman.  To illustrate this concept, Ulmer proposes using Carman Miranda and Wittgenstein, two people who are different from each other both by sex and by aesthetics. 

                Miranda poses a new set of concepts to interact.  Carmen Miranda is a famous dancer of the Samba in Brazil, a dance which is about freedom.  Her name is also the same as the Venezuelan general who attempted to gain freedom for his state.  It is also the name given to the Miranda rights, which allow those who are arrested to the freedom of silence, among other rights.  Miranda is also used in other ways, such as the root word “to look with wonder” (197).  This one name interlocks three types of freedom, a freedom that a MEmorial has.  Ulmer asserts that a MEmorial can be similar to a dance, the freedom of the Samba—emotion felt.  As Ulmer says, “it is not about the dance but what is felt” (203).  The MEmorial selections “certain ‘gems’ from the flood of materials available in each of the popcycle discourses” (197).  When deciding on one’s MEmorial, one must look through the news stories and popular culture, discovering the gems that help them experience the MEmorial.

                The second  chapter in the third section of Ulmer’s book deals more exclusively with Ulmer’s initial project—the 9/11 MEmorial.  In this chapter he details Will Pappenheimer’s, Y Tour.  The Y, which Ulmer speaks of earlier in his book, deals with the wishes and questions people have surrounding the tragedy.  It is also the shape of a wishbone (which requires a collaborative effort).  It seems as though the questions which the MEmorial seeks not to question, are the very ones which help to create the MEmorial.

                Pappenheimer’s MEmorial came from a mystory of his own.  Music featured prominently in his mystory, as well as the Y figure.  From the tuning instrument to the art he created as a child, the Y figure constantly found its way into his life.  Taking this mystory of his own, combined with the desire to create art from pompoms and the 9/11 tragedy, Pappenheimer creating a Wishing Tour around the streets of NYC in the proximity of Ground Zero.  This project, entailed a peripheral of Pappenheimer walking in a Y pattern down the streets of NYC while he placed pompoms in bright colors on the ground.  Each pompom stood in direct correlation with an algorithm created from the wishes and questions individuals inputted.  Ulmer’s own 9/11 proposal takes Pappenheimer’s idea and alters it, fitting it more to his idea of a MEmorial.

                Perhaps the most important ideas taken from these last two chapters, at least for me, are the further solidification of what the MEmorial is.  Ulmer’s explanations are as nebulous as they were from the start, but he brings in the idea of divination here at the end of the book, tying in Chinese divination with the tarot tradition.  All divination begins with a question, as the MEmorial is meant to do, and when the asker gets a question answered from a Tarot, they engage in a type of flash reasoning (reasoneon), much like the reasoning that should come with a MEmorial.

 But, even more so, Ulmer attempts to recall the MEmorial to a personal tragedy, a tragedy that happens within the general community that can affect everyone, a tragedy that is both private and public.  A MEmorial should call “attention to the disaster ongoing in the private sphere that is equally worthy of collective recognition as a sacrifice” (217).  The MEmorial wants to highlight a value but not question it.  By highlighting the value, Ulmer posits that a MEmorial allows us to consider and think about the policies which create that value.  Is the value good?  Bad?  Do we need to change it?
                In the 9/11 MEmorial, Ulmer suggests that the abject loss was one of “livelihood” (245).  The deaths and loss of jobs are one way in which the 9/11 MEmorial can resonate with its viewers.  It examines the personal tragedies of those who lost their livelihoods in the 9/11 attacks. 

As Ulmer’s book closes, the idea of a MEmorial is more fleshed out, but it is not fully defined.  We are still left to question, to examine what a MEmorial is supposed to be, even though Ulmer provides several examples that allow us to navigate the mood of a MEmorial.

Questions:

1) Now that Ulmer’s book has come to an end, do you feel as though the MEmorial is clearer?  Or is it still a confusing topic?

2) Can there be more than one policy that is being examined?  More than one value being examined?  Is this fixed or can we see a theme arise that may different than another viewer (much like the obtuse third meaning)?

3) Has your process throughout the MEmorial you are preparing (in groups) helped you develop a stronger idea of what a MEmorial is?  Have you sufficiently gone “outside the box” so to speak?

MEmorializing the sacrifice of abused children--Ulmer Part 3

In perhaps Ulmer’s best example from the third section of Electronic Monuments, Ulmer’s idea seems to be completely realized, at least in theory.  Continuing his ideas from the previous chapters and sections of the book, Ulmer delves deeper into the MEmorial project in the chapter entitled “Formless Emblems.”  I choose to focus mostly on this chapter because it was the chapter that produced a strong feeling in me while reading, a sense of disgust and attraction.

                The example presented is that of child abuse, in particular child abuse that has happened in relation to potty training, child abuse that results in death.  Ulmer presents first the case of Bobby McGee, a young boy who was violently killed by his mother’s boyfriend because he had soiled his pants.  Ulmer writes that “the process of Memorializing begins with a sting (punctum) received from a news item, a story from the dailydose of information circulated by journalism” (118).  In this case, something in the story accounts of this boy’s death and others sparked something that Ulmer could relate to, could see the “I” in the incident. 

                The example throughout the chapter builds, presenting other cases of child abuse and death due to potty training mishaps.  While he does go into theory relating to the process of excrement and the inner you and the outer you, Ulmer relates the entire thing to the shame of America.  The abject, in this case the sacrificed children, is shameful, like excrement coming from inside, and America does not acknowledge the sacrifices implicit with these shameful acts, the values underlying them.  The act was created when the freedom was created.

                Ulmer goes on to speak about the idea of the emblem, which is, according to Peter Daly, “a mixed form compromising a motto, a picture, and an epigram” (121).  This emblem has meaning because of the event, the words.  It is through the use of this emblem (that is created as the MEmorial forms) that an enigma exists.

                The “purpose of a MEmorial is to witness and testify regarding the event of a public problem, to shift it from the private, individual status of one at a time, each case in isolation, to a cumulative public status of sacrifice on behalf of an unrepresented national value” (136).  Again, Ulmer develops the idea of the MEmorial, pointing out to the reader, the creator of a MEmorial that it is meant to honor the sacrifice of the abject, to bring to light a problem, to affect policies, to mourn the loss so that a freedom or a value can be maintained.  As stated previously throughout his book, the MEmorial is composed of two parts—the peripheral and the testimonial.  The peripheral’s purpose “is to make a case for losses of life whose public, collective relevance as sacrifice are not recognized” (131).  It is to make their loss known and acknowledged, to make it known that they were a sacrifice and that their death (or otherwise) was important in maintaining that hold.  The testimonial dramatizes the public’s inability to see the sacrifice or why the sacrifice was necessary.

                Within the second chapter, Ulmer transitions to more of the peripheral of the MEmorial, continuing with the Bobby McGee example. Stating that a MEmorial “shows us not our fate, but our situation” (176), Ulmer describes in further detail what a MEmorial is, the fact that it does not ask the “why”/Y questions.  Instead, it feels, investigates without judgment.  In the case of Bobby McGee, Ulmer proposes a peripheral that would go side by side with the Space Mirror at the Kennedy Space Center in Florida.  The name of abused children would show up during a solar eclipse when the names of fallen astronauts could not be seen.  The MEmorial does not call for a judgment or a question of Y.  Instead, it calls for an acknowledgment of the sacrifice loss and perhaps an eventual change in policy.

                Ulmer speaks about the MEmorial as not a text, but a felt.  He uses felt in two ways—one in that MEmorial is to produce a response, a feeling.  A MEmorial is “felt” instead of read or analyzed.  And, in the second way he uses the word, Ulmer draws parallels between a felted object and the MEmorial.  Like a felted object, the MEmorial has many layers and textures, composed of various aspects to create a completed thing.

                Perhaps the one quote that stood out within the course of these two chapters was from Paul Compos when he says, “The next morning we read the newspaper’s account of this almost unimaginable atrocity in our midst—this act that in some sense connects and implicates us all—and then we turn the page” (174.).  We witness these events, these sacrifices that strike us and render us shocked, but we easily forget them.  Ulmer is calling for us to remember and bare witness.

Questions

1) Ulmer gives the example of the Marlboro icon as an emblem.  Can all brand logos/slogans be considered emblems then?

2) If part of the MEmorial is to find a way in which it relates to you, to find a way in which you can relate to the event, how do we go about doing that?  Especially in the case of child abuse?  Or, will some of these MEmorials not really sync with some of their viewers?

3) Do you find it easy or difficult to not ask “why” when faced with headlines from the news that show something particularly horrible?

Art and Trauma- Ulmer Part 2

        A MEmorial intersects art and popular culture.  Due to its nature of being an abject monument, the MEmorial relies on popular culture for it’s inspiration, for the images and stories which cause the egent to see meaning and importance in the abject, the everyday.  The art is created around the event, the monument to the abject within culture.  The art springs forth from the emotion and personal memories and associations with the trauma.  The art stands as a testimonial to the trauma.

A MEmorial, composed of both the peripheral (the electronic device to be placed near the monument, reminding everyone of the abject sacrifice) and the testimonial (a website which mediates on the sacrifice), helps to stand as testament to the notion that Walter Benjamin puts forth, that “history was most accessible through an image” (58).  This idea of history seen through the image is not new, and we can see by our desire to erect monuments and photographs throughout the ages to commemorate different events.  If history is most accessible via images, than the images we put forth for everyone to see are the pieces of history we want to be remembered—the sensational, the “important.”  The idea of a MEmorial repositions the sensational.  Instead of accessing history through the images of the sensation, a MEmorial seeks to view history through the local accidents, the supposed “unimportant.”

The idea of history accessed through an image relates, according to Ulmer, to Roland Barthes idea of the third meaning of an image.  The third meaning is “obtuse, indirect, based on an involuntary memory or association triggered by a scene” (62). The viewer is wounded by what they see in the image, pricked by some memory or association that only they could feel in the image.  For instance, if the artist paints a landscape of a beach, two different people will have different memories pricked.  One person might recall a beach day that stood as the last time they were together as a family and the other might think of a nice day they had on the other side of the country at a beach there. 

Now, if we extend this image association to popular culture and events, the same thing happens.  Ulmer gives the examples of someone experiencing the collapse of the Twin Towers.  While they might recognize it and be shocked for the event being what it was, they might also see it as their own life falling apart.  Maybe they had lost their job and found themselves sliding into debt.  The fall of a cultural symbol could remind them of their own fall. 

A disaster should “stimulate creativity” (64).  It does stimulate creativity. And it begins as fragments, as small images from the news and culture.  Those fragments are turned into art—be it sculpture, book, or painting—and the MEmorial allows the viewer to gaze upon everything, finding recognition, resonating with the viewer.  These arts allow for consulting to begin to take place.

It seems to be that the MEmorial begins with a response.  For the abject to become a monument, the egent needs to have a response to the news.  For the monument, for the MEmorial to take form, there needs to be a “connection between the incidents reported in the news and personal experience” (65).  MEmorials are intensely personal.

Perhaps one of the main things that these monuments must be is “by the people” (80).  MEmorials are created by the personal experiences and the reported news.  They focus in on the third meaning, speaking in third voice.  They are the personal experiences of the egents and the viewers.

Ulmer writes that “The MEmorial, performing the EmerAgency motto (Problems B Us), treats the disaster as a source for understanding contemporary values, specifically as a mode of self-knowledge, rather than attempting to impose on the disaster a predetermined meaning” (109).  Perhaps the central idea of the MEmorial, the meaning of a disaster should not be imposed.  The MEmorial gives viewers the chance to see the disaster how they need to see it, through the emotion and images of the disaster.  The combination of the peripheral and the testimonial allows for both the viewer to be reminded of the sacrifice and the emotions to be called up, emotions which may link the viewer with other associations and memories involved with the disaster.

Art and trauma are inexplicably interlinked.  It does not seem as if one can exist without the other, and yet, trauma seems to constantly come before art.  Art can be seen as a testimonial.  Art, combined with the news of popular culture create the testimonial of the MEmorial.  It is the emotional aspect, the search for self knowledge within the disaster.

Questions:

1) Could all emotional art be considered a MEmorial if it is created in response to a disaster?

2)     If a MEmorial is, in many ways, a reconstruction of a personal story, how do we know what we are putting out there?  For instance, we might put up a MEmorial to call attention to a specific event, but does it matter if the meaning we want is missed? 

3)  How do you know the right emotion to put into the MEmorial?  Is there a “right” emotion?  Or does it all rest on the third meaning?

Electronic Monuments, Part 1

In Electronic Monuments, Gregory Ulmer presents the idea of a MEmorial, a type of commemorative practice that allows for the creation of a monument that is of value to both the individual and collective consciousness.  The internet becomes the “civic sphere” (xvii) and a local accident can, in essence, become global.  Ulmer phrases it as, “A MEmorial visualizes at least a part of this formation of coherence, in which electrate society is held together not by a master narractive but by collections of meaningless signifiers” (28).  It is a combination of various medias, incorporating both word and image, a monument that reaches to people in various ways.

Ulmer traces, briefly, how we, as a culture, have moved from a culture of orality to electracy, as well as how we tend to live within the public sphere—especially due to the internet.  Electracy, Ulmer states, is “to do for the community as a whole what literacy did for the individual within the community” (xxvi).  We are moving or perhaps have already moved, according to Ulmer, from a singular existence to a social one.

                The idea of a memorial that is cohesive and created by an act of collaboration is an interesting one, but one that seems, especially according to Ulmer, to be very proper in this age of electracy.  Ulmer begins his book by speaking about the 9/11 tragedy, using it as a catalyst for many of his other points, but also as a way to define a “general accident” (xii).  A general accident is one which everyone seems to experience in the world at the same time.  Before the internet this phenomena was not really possible, but now, because of the internet, we are able to experience what might have been a local accident together.  We see these large general accidents together, experiencing the loss that takes place in their wake, but at the same time, popping up in their presence are the unremarkable disasters, the vernacular disasters, as Ulmer refers to them.  And, these vernacular disasters lead to monuments which allow for personal memorials alongside cultural ones.

                While speaking of the MEmorial, Ulmer begins to speak about the task of building a virtual Rushmore in Gainesville, FL.  This monument was supposed to adopt the ideas of the actual Rushmore, a monument which stands to express the American ideal.  This memorial adopted the general ideas of the original Rushmore and adapted it for a more collective society. Ulmer and the Florida Research Ensemble (FRE) team developed this monument in FL which allows for a virtual Rushmore, one which required the viewers, or tourists, to provide mystories with pieces of information, stories, family anecdotes.  According to Ulmer, a mystory “condenses/displaces into one account information from the four core discourses used by Americans: family anecdotes, school history textbooks, popular media, and disciplinary expertise” (22). These mystories, provided by individuals who went to visit this monument, were then composited and a new face was made utilizing the important faces from the stories and the tourist was provided with both a print out of the composite and the chance to see their composite on this virtual Rushmore.  This cultural monument was created through individual stories, giving viewers a chance to collaborate and be a part of a cultural monument. 

And, along with that gained collaboration, visitors are able to be theoria.  This type of tourism one allowed for tourists to become “self-conscious, reflexive, and hence potentially intelligent” (13).  Theoria would travel, see, takes chances and get lost, all while intervening on another culture.  It was an active sort of experience, and while it has been much pushed aside, the prevalence of the internet and the possibility of MEmorials might help to facilitate this type of travel.

                Perhaps the most important item, at least to me, within this first section of the book was the idea of bearing witness, of being one to testify.  Ulmer states that a “MEmorial witnesses a disaster in progress” (xxvii).  It is important to bear witness, but it is, notoriously difficult, and discussion on witnessing and testimonial is often focused on Holocaust survivors.  While Ulmer is not clear what the MEmorial witnesses, the MEmorial allows collaboration and input from individuals, allowing testimony via text and image.  An example of this would be the crosses and signs and stuff toys that go up after a school shooting or that went up after 9/11.  Individuals were able to bear witness to the tragedy on a more vernacular level.  They helped to shape the memorials of the individual and collective identities for disasters.

               

                Questions:

1) Is there any such thing as a local accident/tragedy anymore with the prevelance of the internet?

              

2) Can a MEmorial be an honoring of the daily?  Or does it have to be an accident?  Would you

                classify the Gainesville project as honoring the daily or a general accident?

 3) Can the displacement of a real city by a telecity harm a city?  How does the loss of a “lived public space” (xviii) alter the community of humans?

"We are the Forsaken"- Part Three

Kilystia landed hard on the ground, surprised by the way her feet hitting the packed earth jarred her.  It had felt free flying above the Silverpine Forest, above the creatures who wanted to kill her just for being what she was, and so leanding on the ground at the Command in the forest was surprising, forcing her back into herself.  Agatha, the Val’kyr that the Banshee Queen had provided her for the task of spying on the Humans and Worgens in Fenris Isle, led the way to the Dark Lady, ignoring Kilystia.  For most of the trip she had ignored Kilystia, speaking only a few times to talk about raising Scourge to fight for the Forsaken.  Otherwise, Kilystia was left with her thoughts.

Lady Sylvanas

Finally standing before the Dark Queen, Kilystia felt nervous.  She had done her job, performed well, and was ready for the next task, but she felt nervous.  She had always felt such when dealing with a commander, but the Queen was more than a commander.  She was Queen.

“You have performed well, Kilystia,”  Lady Slyvanas offered, extending her hand to Kilystia.  “Come with me.  We will ride to Sepulcher and I will tell you a story.” 

Kilystia reached up and mounted behind the Dark Lady, sliding her arms around the Queen’s waist as the horse picked up a trot, taking them from the Command to the road.  “The Forsaken were created by Arthas, who was to become the Lich King…” Lady Sylvanas told Kilystia of her history, of the Forsaken’s history and their relation to the Horde, and for the first time since she had become Undead, she felt sympathy for the Forsaken.  They were victims of circumstance and the cycle perpetuated—a cycle which had to continue.

As the Lady Sylvanas spoke, Kilystia ignored the passing surroundings, falling into the history of the Queen—once a High Elf and now a Banshee Queen fighting against the Scourge.  She felt her alliance to the Queen grow as she listened.  She couldn’t go back to the Alliance.  She couldn’t—not necessarily because she didn’t want too, but rather, because she was now what she was.  That she could not change.  Why not embrace it?  Accept being Undead, accept the contract with the Dark Lady.  Accept she heard in her thoughts, unsure if it came from her or the Banshee Queen.  Accept.

“We’re here,” the Queen interrupted her thoughts, drawing to a halt.  “You are proving to be very valuable, Kilystia.  We shall meet again.”  She promised as she rode off, leaving me standing in the graveyard, looking around aimlessly. 

Kilystia looked around, spotting a commander who might be able to point her in the direction of her next quest.  She had the feeling that she would no longer be focusing on merely Worgen and Human alliances, but rather on tasks which involved the Horde as a whole. 

“You!  Report to Brill.  There are people there whom you need to speak with.  They know who you are, so they should be easy to find, but make haste!” 

Kilystia nodded, sighing.  One thing that did not change between Alliance and Horde?—the  run around.  She had barely been here more than a few minutes and she was already being confronted with a task and a letter to deliver.

Arriving in Brill reminded her of Deathknell, just as it had when she had arrived there at the beginning of her journey, but this time, aside from orders to fulfill, she was finally allowed, by order of the Warchief, to obtain a horse.  No longer merely at foot-solider status, Kilysia needed to move faster.  She needed to be able to serve the Lady Sylvanas much easier. 

Kilystia and her horse

While handing over the gold for her red skeleton horse and riding training, Kilystia smiled.  She was moving up in the ranks, becoming important again.  Even though she still felt angry at the Forsaken for resurrecting her, she was coming to terms, starting to accept what she was.  She couldn’t change it, anymore than the Banshee Queen had been able to change it, anymore than Lilian was able to change it.  She could do some good though perhaps, at least some good for someone. 

Reaching out to stroke her steed’s muzzle, she shook her head.  “We’re in this together, my boy.  Let’s go find where we’re heading next.”

"We are the Forsaken"- Part Two

After two days of travelling, Kilystia trudged through the forest, almost not caring if Worgens or rabid bears got to her.  Before she had left the general vicinity of Deathknell and Brill, she had managed to find the Mage trainer—a task which she did with some disdain.  As a human she had been a Warlock and through some glitch in something she had been forced to begin training as a Mage.  Not that, granted, she had anything against Mages.  Her mother had been a trained Mage, but that fact that this choice, along with her choice to remain dead, had been forced from her, riled her.  She didn’t want to do what they told her.  She was a grown woman, a woman who had been very skilled in her class, a woman who would have rather remained dead.  But, being as they did not give her such as option, she settled on the fact that they were allowing her some space instead of keeping her chained up with glorified babysitters. 

                And now, after a few days of travel and more than enough time to test out her new skills involving fire balls and arcane missiles, Kilystia wanted to arrive at the Forsaken High Command.  She wanted to arrive, meet this Banshee Queen, get on with whatever task was require of her, and maybe find a weakness in the Horde. If, by any chance, she could convince a member of the Alliance to take her back, she would have valuable information for them.  Maybe. 

                She was getting close, could hear the sounds of Worgens and Forsaken guards fighting—the howls of the wolfmen and the grunts of the Forsaken clashing as steel clashed with steel.  The Worgens engaged the guards, pushing back with brutality, drawing the guards closer and closer to their limits of strength, before dancing back a step and letting the guards make a move.  War was definitely at hand, hedging close and closer to its inevitable end, but for once Kilystia wasn’t sure what way it would go.

Silverpine Forest

                Another thing Kilystia was not too sure about was her desire to go about killing.  She was enjoying the scenery around this part of Silverpine Forest—the stately trees, the lush green carpets.  She had never thought that the Horde could live in places of beauty, in places that radiated life.  They were vile, uncouth.  They were monsters.  But so was she now.  She was a monster and yet, here she was, walking through this forest that was, for the most part, serene.  She wanted to focus on the beauty of the forest and stop killing rapid bears and zombies for a bit, as she had done plenty of that the past few days.

                “Where might I find the Lady Sylvanas?”  she asked as she approached a guard near the front of the Command.  Maybe she could reason with the Banshee Queen, as it was rumored that she had been part of the Alliance at one point.

                “Thataway,” the guard responded without giving her so much as a look.  She was rough, covered in a thin layer of dirt, her purplish hair a bit tangled.  She looked like a pauper.

Lady Sylvanas and the Warchief

                “Lady Sylvanas?”  It was definitely the Banshee Queen, the Dark Lady, the Queen of the Forsaken, there was no doubt about that.  The High Elf sat regal on her steed, a black heavily armored stallion who chomped at the bit and pawed at the ground in anticipation.  Her dusky skin contrasted sharply with her dark bound tresses and she looked like a Queen.  Not a warrior.  Still, she was, technically, Kilystia’s new Mistress.

                “I don’t have all day.”  Huskiness edged her voice and she looked down at Kilystia.  “What is it you require?”

                “Deathguard Darnell sent me here to assist you.” 

                “Ah, yes, I heard mention of you.  The Humans, as I am sure you are aware, are constantly in battle with us, but now they are trying to engage the Worgen against us.  We are the Forsaken and this is our territory.”

                “Yes, Lady.”

                “We will not allow such a thing.  The Warchief and I disagree on what should be done, he calls me nothing but another Lich King. I have been raising the Scourge with the help of the Val’kyr in order to have them serve as the Forsaken.  We need the armies, we need the force—for the Forsaken and for the Horde. The Humans and Worgen  have a tenuous bond as of now, and we need to keep on them—watch what they are doing, kill them.”  She paused, looking out over the Command for a moment.  “You will help.”

                Kilystia waited, unsure of the correct response, unsure of what to say.

                “We need help fighting the Worgens that attempt to breech this city, the ones fighting the Forsaken troopers.  Help them Kilystia.  But be wary.  They plot something with the humans.  See if you can find out what it is.  We need to stay strong and be prepared.”

                “Of course, Lady Sylvanas,” Kilystia stepped back, ready to walk away, when the Banshee Queen’s voice drew her back.

                “Feel free to see what other tasks need to be done.  The more you accomplish, the higher you can get in the ranks.  You have great potential, Kilystia.”  She offered a curt nod before turning her horse away towards the Warchief once again.

                Kilystia sighed and headed towards a worried looking official, speaking animatedly with an Undead Deathguard.  “Lady Sylvanas sent me.  Is there anything you need assistance with?”  She interrupted the conversation.  There was no need to be polite.  These were uncivilized people, people who did not deserve kindness the way those in the Alliance did.

                “The giant spiders have captured the Orc Sea Dogs.  We need to rescue the survivors from their webs.  They are located in the Skittering Dark.  If you can rescue them, you will get a reward.”  It seemed like a silly task, but rewards were good, and Lady Sylvanas did promise a faster ascension through the ranks if she helped.

Helping to Kill the Worgen

                Kilystia set out, jogging out of the Command Post and into the forest, heading first towards the warring Worgens and Troopers.  She approached the first pair, standing several yards back, pinning her focus on the Worgen.  He was weakening, of that she was sure, and as she loosed the fireball at him, she prepared for the imminent attack.  It came, pouncing, with claws drawn, raking through her upper arm.  She screamed in pain, stumbling back while attempting to ready her next spell.  She manages and brings the Worgen down, giving her body only a short time before running to the next Worgen. 

                Again and again she helped the Troopers kill the Worgens, and each death brought more pain to her body.  They were attacking her and she was still weak.  Kilystia had to force herself to cannibalize a Worgen, gaining some of her strength back.  It disgusted her, causing shivers up her spine, but she did it—eating the raw meat from the bonds, forcing herself to swallow.  When they Worgens were finally all down, she took a deep breath, looking around at the carnage.  Baby steps, Kilystia.  Baby steps.  You can do it.

Worgens

                Picking her way among the dead bodies, she found her way to the old house stead, following the directions on a small map that Lady Sylvanas gave her, navigating the rundown floor plan to the uppermost bedroom.  It was a rough house, a place meant for short stays—a rough place with no furnishings other than a bed, a table, a wardrobe.  Kilystia hid in the wardrobe, weaseling in between some neglected clothing.  It doesn’t take long for Packleader Ivar Bloodfang and Deathstalker Rane Yorick to enter, plotting to overthrow Lady Sylvanas and the Forsaken.  They argue (it seems everyone argues around here), their alliance uneasy, and Kilystia listens carefully.  Holding her breathe, her body taut, Kilystia presses back against the wardrobe, waiting for them to leave.  Please, please go away.  I’d rather not die again.  And she wouldn’t, not really. 

                It seemed like a lifetime before they left, having arrived at some uneasy truce, a truce which was not at all a good sign for the Forsaken.  When they finally left to rally their own troops, Kilystia tentatively opened the wardrobe door, moving slowly and carefully.  She needed to keep moving, even though she debated going to the Packleader and Deathstalker to try to argue her stance.  She might not be able to go home, but she could also fight for the Alliance in another way.  She might be able to fight against those who took her freedom in death away.  But instead, she exited the house, heading up towards the Skittering Dark, dodging behind trees and rocks, keeping out of sight from those who sought to attack her. 

                As she crested the largest hill she noticed the oddly shaped bundles of spider silk.  They struggled against their trappings as the large spiders skittered around.  Kilystia hovered behind a tree, carefully considering her options.  The spiders were everywhere, guarding their prey, but she had the advantage.  She could stand near the trees and cast onto the spiders and then get the trapped Orc Sea Dogs, or she could kill one spider and save one Orc Sea Dog at a time. As a spider moved dangerously close to her she made her decision, aiming a fireball at the large arachnid, bringing it down in a few spells.  Once down, she dashed from her hiding place and wrested the Orc Sea Dog from his trappings.  From there on out he helped her, and each time she faced a spider and conquered another one, another Orc Dog was saved until she had six thanking her for her help.  They helped bring down the spiders and she found herself thanking them, glad for their help, glad to have completed another task. 

                Kilystia sat near the tree, chipping n some of the crunch spider legs she looted from the corpses, letting her body recover from the onslaught of Worgens and spiders.  When she had been alive, she had hated spiders.  Small ones would crawl through the family home and big ones, similar to these, were often seen when riding a tour through the forests—and each time she’d find herself screaming.  Kilystia could face mithril and steel weapons, but when faced with eight eyes and bristly legs, she succumbed.  But she couldn’t allow the spiders to scare her today, not when she had things to do.  “They are bugs.  And you have stuff to do.”

                She wrestled to her feet, consulting her map again before heading toward Fenris Isle where Lady Sylvanas hinted at Human vs. Worgen alliance.  It was despicable; to think of humans aligning themselves with humanoids, but it was better than becoming a walking skeleton.  Right?

"We are the Forsaken!"- Part One

Time Played: 24 hours
Words: 4000

“We are the Forsaken!” reverberated on the air, growling across the expanse of the graveyard.  She stood, looking around nervously, unsure of what had happened.  The Forsaken?!  She couldn’t be, would not be, a Forsaken.  She had fought against the Horde in the previous wars and when the Lich King ascended to power, she fought even harder, harnessing her skills as a Warlock.  But now, now she was hearing this blasphemy, hearing it at an alarmingly close distance to her ears.  “We are the Forsaken!” 

                Around her others where rising, looking around, attempting to figure out where they were, what they were.  Every so often a sob wretched through the growling voices, slamming her back into the present.  She was dead.  That was the only option, the only possibility, and for the first time since her younger brother had been killed by a Blood Elf, she wanted to cry.  But warriors did not cry.  Ever.  And so she bite into her bottom lip, surprised she could still feel pain, and started to focus on what was happening around her.

                Loitering near her was a Val’kyr, a beautiful apparition with expansive wings no longer supported by feathers.  Instead, the Val’kyr hovered, ghostly wings vibrating the air, watching over the newly born Undeads—watching their anguish, their distress.  The Val’kyr didn’t speak, didn’t say anything, but Kilystia approached her, weaving past a man on his knees, head down.  “What did you do to me?”  She demanded the apparition, hands on hips, anger whispering through each word.  Keeping her voice low and level was something she had learned when dealing with trainers for her class when alive.  The never suspected her anger, her burning hatred for authority, and she applied it here, looking up at the winged woman.  “What did you do to me?”

                “You have been resurrected to serve Lady Slyvanas and the Forsaken.”  Lilting, soothing, the Val’kyr finally turned her attention on Kilystia, abandoning her position as sentinel for a moment.  “We need you for the Horde and you should be honored to serve.”  The Val’kyr nodded once before, pausing.

                “I am part of the All-“

                “You will report to Deathguard Darnell.  He will instruct you.”  She began to turn away, to take up her post once again.  “We expect great things of you, Kilystia.”

                Kilystia fumed, broiled, and she turned around, loath to face the guard.  I am a member of the Alliance.  I am a human.  I am not part of the Horde, and I am definitely not part of the Forsaken.  The mantra ran though her head on repeat while she picked her way along the bodies beginning to awaken to a new life, and she wanted more than anything to kill them all again so they could be spared this existence.

                “Kilystia?”  A voice growled in her ear, hovering to her left.  “Are you Kilystia?”

                “How do you know my name?” she pivoted, facing the undead man, legs planted in a stance which would allow her to hold her ground.  He was Undead, looked as though he had been Undead for awhile.  Darnell.  “You’re the one who is supposed to help me.”  No questions, no kindness.  She was a traitor to her people, her family, and she had no choice.  She doubted that she could kill herself because they would just resurrect her again, and she doubted the Alliance would even let her get close enough to talk with them.  She was not resigned though—not even close.

                “Yes.  You should follow me.  We have tasks for you before you meet with the Dark Lady.”  He hobbled forward, kicking at a risen corpse writhing on the ground.  “You need to speak with Lilian and convince her to accept her fate.  She cannot fight it.”  He grumbled under his breath constantly as she followed behind.  “She was last seen hiding in Deathknell’s village somewhere.  She shouldn’t be difficult to find.”

                “Why not just kill her like some of the others have been killed?”  Kilystia kept her gaze forward, afraid to look at others, afraid to see the pain in her fellow dead human’s eyes or the disgusting bodies of what they had become.

                “We need her.  She is strong, like you.”

                “What happens if she does not comply?”

                “It will be out of your hands,” he harrumphed.  “Just find her and then return back to me.”  He stopped, turned to face her, and ran his eyes down her body once.  “You’ll make a good Mage.  You have some skills and you will learn more.”

                “I am a War—“

                “We do not care what you were. You are what you are.  Now, go!  The Banshee Queen does not like to be kept waiting.”

                Kaliystia fumed.  A Mage, at least it isn’t that different than a Warlock.  At least I still have magic.  That should count for something.  She looked out toward the village and began walking, dragging her feet as she mother used to call it before her family had been slaughtered by Blood Elfs.  Dragging her feet.  Why did they think she would be the best candidate to convince this Lilian woman to embrace her new life?  They shouldn’t, not really, but it could be a test, and if nothing else, Kilystia loved tests.  She thrived on them.  Spotting a mindless Zombie running about without an apparent goal, she targeted him, bracing herself for the backlash of the spell and let go on her fireball, watching as it lit up the Undead, lighting him aflame.  For a moment pride washed through her before he started at her, shambling along. She braced herself again and released the spell, finishing him off quickly, a smug smile on her face.  At least she could still kill people—and that was what she wanted, was it not?  To kill people?  To release that anger of those deaths?

                After looting his corpse and finding only a measly 10 coppers, she picked up a jog, moving in and out of buildings, looking for her current target.  Lilian was nowhere—or at least seemed to be nowhere.  There were others, others like her doing mindless tasks, others like Darnell who helped point her in the right direction—even if it was a direction with which she did not agree. 

                As she entered the Inn at Deathknell, she heard the prolonged sobbing of someone deeply distraught, a sound she knew, a sound she had felt.  When her brother died at the hands of a Horde member before the last war, she had knelt at his body and keened, sobbing, body retching.  Yes, she knew this sound and she followed it up the rickety staircase to the woman kneeling before a mirror. “Lilian?”  Tentative, cautious.  She didn’t want anything sudden to happen. 

                “Look at me!”  The woman wailed, burying her face in her hands, turning away from Kilystia.  “Look what they did to me!  I’m a monster.”

                “You are what you are.  The Dark Lady needs you,” Kilystia responded, surprised at the strength and conviction in her voice.  She hated the Horde, hated it!  But she was loyal when she had to be, and if she wanted to even entertain the thought of deserting, she had to at least be loyal—pretend to be loyal.  Kilystia grabbed Lilian’s shoulder, turning the woman around roughly and forcing her to look into the cracked mirror.  “You cannot change this and even if you did manage to get away, you would just be killed instantly.  Do you really think that your family would want you back?” 

                Lilian did not answer, did nothing but stare into the mirror as Kilystia held her head forward.  “I guess not.”  Softly, whispered.

                “You will come with me back to Darnell.” No room for disagreement.  Kilystia did not want to fail at her first task, but as Lilian ripped from her grip, she knew she would be returning to Darnell by herself.

                “No!  I will not accept this.  I will not be one of them.”  Lilian ran, flying down the stairs and out of the Inn, leaving Kilystia staring into the mirror.  Kilystia sighed, running her chocolate eyes up and down her new body.  A skeleton—that’s all she really was.  A skeleton with clothing on.  Shaking her head roughly, Kilystia turned and left the mirror, dreading what would happen when she returned to Darnell. 

                Kilystia dragged her feet all the way back to the graveyard, resisting the urge to kill Zombies and fellow Undead.  And, once she saw Darnell waiting for her, however, she drew her shoulders back and approached him with purpose.  “Sir, she would not come.  She ran off.”

                “Ah well, some people just have trouble with this life.  Unfortunately, she has no choice.  We’ll deal with it later.”  He flicked his hand, dismissing the problem as if it were nothing, as if Lilian meant little to the Horde as a whole.  It didn’t surprise her, however.  The Alliance was the same.  They made people sound important, but they weren’t.  Not really.

                “Oh.  Okay.”  Kilystia looked around, waiting patiently, even though she was not sure what she was waiting for.  “Um, what’s next?”

                “Go to the Forsaken High Command in Silverpine Forest.  There you will meet the Dark Lady.  She will give you your next command.  Your assistance is and will continue to be expected.”

                “Yes, Sir,”  Kilystia grumbled under her breathe as she turned around. She had no idea where to go, no idea at all, but it would give her time to figure out what needed to be done if she decided to try to return to the Alliance.

World of Warcraft: Nardi, Part 3

                Throughout the beginning sections of her book, Nardi focused on what World of Warcraft was—what made it a popular game, who played it, and how it worked as an aesthetic experience, but in the last part of her book, labeled “Cultural Logics of World of Warcraft,” Nardie delves into the people—not just who plays, but how they play, what matters to them, and how the WoW culture differs in America and China.

                In the first chapter of this section, Nardi deals with addiction—a term associated with WoW that most people, whether they play or not, are associated with.  We know WoW through the stories of friends, though random blogs on the internet, through popular websites such as FML.  We know the addiction stories.  Nardi, however, seeks to wrest it from it’s bad name.  She adopts the terminology of researchers Seay and Kraut, calling addiction “problematic use” instead of addiction—a term which acknowledges the complications involved with addiction.  But, addiction is used two ways, according to Nardi.  Players will often utilize the term addiction to be positive.  Nardi writes that “a gamer could claim to be an addict, deliberately choosing a strong term to connote enjoyment of the game and its separation from ordinary activities (126).”  Players will use it in slang when speaking about how dedicated they are to the game.  But, others outside of the game see this addiction as a bad thing.  Players need to self-regulate in order to break the cycle of problematic use.  For instance, players who see that their grades are falling will suspend their accounts.  This self regulation often far outreaches the individual.  Players will reach out to other members of their guilds who help support the need to step away from the game awhile before problematic use becomes an issue.

                Another large point Nardi brings us deals with the science and theory of WoW.  Stretching out past the preconceived notions of video games, WoW allows for modding and theorycrafting, two activities which require players to delve into the game and work through it to reach new outcomes—very similar to James Paul Gee’s theories on critical learning via video games.  Blizzard Entertainment provided players with very little documentation, allowing players to play through the game largely unaided.  And, as they played, they began to develop—creating add-ons and theories.  Players used science and mathematics to help figure out the best armor states for specific classes and pet damage dealt.  Players also used coding skills to develop better maps and other modifications which allow for easier game play and a healthy advantage.  These games allow for the players to engaged critically with the game.

                The other interesting thing Nardi focuses on the boys club of WoW, positing the game somewhere between a boys club and a girl’s club.  The game is not a feminist space, as it could be argued, but rather it is still masculine with a separate space for a female population.  The game’s environment is almost decidedly feminine with rich color palettes and pets and music and tasks.  Traditionally female tasks such as mending, tailoring, and cooking are rampant throughout the game, and often women are seen accomplishing  tasks which are often traditionally masculine. And, aside from the environment being predominantly feminine, the language is often mostly masculine. When not surrounded by women, the men of the game will often engage in homophobic and crude language.  However, when women are present, they will often tone down their word choices and women will often not participate in it at all.  The idea of masculine and feminine spaces within WoW is definitely interesting, even though Nardi does not spend a long time on it other than to say that it is still a boy’s world, which could have something to do with the fact that women make up less than half of the players on WoW.

                Nardi also focuses on players in China who play very communally as compared to players in the United States.  They play with others in Internet cafés, or Wang ba, sitting next to each other, meeting with their guilds, and making friends—a true communal activity.  This, however, may have a lot to do with limited space and poor hardware in their own homes or dorms and by going to an Internet café, players are able to player in more room with better equipment.  It also has something to do with the social aspects of the game.  Here, players are able to connect with one another in a way they cannot when playing in their homes.

Questions:

1) Couldn’t it be said that Nardi, while putting together this book, was working, and thus her play experience was not the same as someone who picked up the game for fun.

2) Do you think online gaming and console gaming should be separated into separate categories when speaking of gaming in general—especially in a scholarly sense?

3) Why China?  How come Nardi did not focus on Korea or any other local?  Would that have made it better?  Or, was focusing on China in this book extraneous? 

Magic Circles vs. the aggros

In the second portion of Nadri’s book, she couches World of Warcraft as a “magic circle.”  This circle encases the players of WoW, drawing them in and holding them captive and occupies a place removed from work.  The polar opposites of work and play, opposites we are all familiar with, are blurred, however, in the game.  We cannot fully separate WoW from work, nor should we necessarily want to, according to Nardi.  Instead, she argues that WoW is interconnected to work in many ways.

                But first, Nardi explores the idea of WoW as a game, or rather, as an active aesthetic experience.  Unlike watching a movie, where viewers are passively accepting a story, passively appreciating the work of art, active aesthetic experience (a combination term developed by Dewey) in WoW allows the player to appreciate but also engage with the item which they are appreciating.  In WoW players can walk around the world they are in, taking in the scenery (which in many areas is quite stunning), admiring the constructions of the game, but they are also playing.  They have goals within this elaborate world—quests, raids, and farming.         

                Not at all dissimilar to James Paul Gee’s principles on video games and learning, Dewey’s theory of active aesthetic experience mandates that players become a part of the experience.  They are active and by becoming active they then can delve into a deeper sort of experience, a more critical learning sphere.  To fully understand the game, to understand the experience, we must do it.

                With that in mind—that WoW is a learning, doing, active experience, we can turn to Nardi’s arguments about work and play within WoW.  Games take us away from work, they allow us to escape into a world where we can be release from our routines of work (housework, homework, workwork).  She makes an important distinction about play, saying that it is a choice, unlike work, and so the acquisition of any work like actions within the play space are okay; they are freely taken.

                But, work and play can cross paths, as Nardi mentions.  There are those in Korea who play the game to become professional gamers and there are those in China who do gold farming (an activity Nardi says is not play even though it takes place in the play world).  People have taken the idea of the Talent Trees and turned them into workplace strategies, mining (so to speak) the game for tidbits which may strengthen the workplace or make it more enjoyable.  Teachers have done the same thing with classes, having students “level up” instead of using the typical A,B,C,D scale.

                Another tidbit Nardi touches upon in the work and play theory is farming within WoW.  Farming happens for those who seek a profession—be it mining, fishing, herbalism, or others.  Players spend countless hours farming these items in order to make better equipment for raids or to make in game gold.  These tasks are very similar to work in “real-life” according to Nardi, but players never seem to complain about such tiresome tasks.  Instead, they continue this work without complaint.  Nardi suggests nebulously that this “work” allows players some heightened reward such as armor that will protect against a certain mob or some extra gold to purchase more items whereas in the “real-world” work often rewards enough to play bills and maybe, if lucky, a promotion.  “Leveling up” in the out of game world is difficult.

                The magic circle of WoW “entails a feeling of being ‘apart together’; it creates its own collective social order—one from which nonplayers are excluded” (116).  Players are often “alone together” because they seem, to outsiders, to be staring into a computer screen and clicking buttons frantically.  Outsiders cannot understand their commitment to the game and players end up dealing with aggros in their real lives—significant others, parents, friends.  But, their world in-game allows them to be connected and working towards some goal with others.  They are together, definitely, but they are situated outside of their out of game settings.

                But, Nardi attempts to break down the barrier between work and play.  She does not try to eradicate it, but rather she attempts to show that they are related and that they cannot be fully separated.  The magic circle is there separating players from nonplayers, but it can cross into their out-of-game lives and out-of-game lives can cross into their in-game lives.   As Nardi puts it, “We enter a smaller, more perfect universe in which satisfaction is not guaranteed, but we gain a pretty good chance of achieving moments of limited perfection” (120).

Questions:

1. Nardi speaks in the chapter entitled “A New Medium” about the change in raids drastically altered the communities.  The idea of the community seems then, very tenuous, especially as we consider some guilds such as Scarlet Raven which had very strong communities.  Does the need for mastery outweigh the need for community?  In your playing, would you be willing to help others if that means your scores and stats would be a bit lower?

2. Do you, as a player, find leveling rewarding?  We are not in guilds, so we might not have the chorus of “Great job!” when we level, so as a personal, almost private experience, do you find it motivating/exciting/rewarding?

3. Nardi talks about the in-game lives and out-of-game lives and when she does so she talks about the players vs. nonplayers.  The players often express their aggro spouses, girlfriends, etc.  What should the balance between in-game and out-of-game lives be?  You make a commitment to your guild members, but you also make a commitment to friends, family, spouses.  

Animated Fairytale- WoW as a storybook

Bonnie A. Nardi opens her book, My Life as a Night Elf Priest: An Anthropological Account of World of Warcraft, with a general overview of the makeup of the game and her investigative procedure with which to guide the reader through her book.  She makes a claim for her argument, asserting that WoW is “a new visual-performance medium” (7) (a claim which she will unfold throughout the book no doubt).

                Describing WoW as an “animated fairy tale” (8), Nardi provides us with a rundown of the game, the basic races, the fact that it is a virtual world that is still a game (unlike Second Life), and how guilds work.  Guilds are almost a necessity for players, as many monsters cannot be defeated alone and high-end loot cannot be obtained without other skills and other people, but most players do not begin to join guilds until they are at least level 20.  Guilds, according to Nardi, are controlled by officers and there are various levels of guilds—casual player guilds which are often filled with those who may have children, are busy with traveling, or have other obligations which would require them to step AFK and more hardcore guilds, where raiding is deadly serious and there is no excuse for missing it.

                Nardi then broaches an interesting topic, one which we are all probably very familiar with—the WoW stereotype.  Nardi acknowledges the stereotype of an overweight unemployed man living in his mother’s basement, but she then promptly dismisses it, speaking strongly about the varied groups of people playing WoW, the students, professionals, parents, and others.  She seems to try too hard to break this stereotype, and it’s commendable.

                Perhaps the most interesting thing Nardi does in this first section of her book is to discuss the ways in which she is conducting her research.  As the title suggests, Nardi approaches WoW from an anthropological standpoint, conducting an ethnography of the WoW world.  Her interest is in the ways in which people interact in these online worlds, and to do so she engages in “participant-observation” (30), with this particular project being more participatory than observant.  Nardi goes in undercover, so to speak, developing her character Innikka.  She participated in the culture, joining several guilds before settling on Scarlet Raven (not it’s real name), and throughout the two years in Scarlet Raven, Nardi raided with them and partied with them.  However, she never met any of them face to face.

                Aside from just participating, Nadi conducted face to face interviews, some online interviews, and attended Blizzard Entertainment’s BizzCon—their annual convention for their empire of online games.  She met with people who had met their significant others on the game, with those who play with family members and now have much better relationships with those members of their family.

                Most of Nardi’s research took place in America, within the game, on a computer that sat on her dining room table (as she mentions a few times within the book).  Drastically different from other ethnographic studies, she did not have to live in uncomfortable locations, struggle to speak a language, or stand out like a sore thumb.  She was able to completely assimilate into the culture of WoW.  However, she did do some research in China, where the players seem to be the most hardcore and they congregate in Internet Cafes together.

                Nardi’s prose is easy to read, fluid, and she peppers the chapters with the exact words of other players—offering up their experiences and their thoughts on WoW and other games.  Nardi’s ethnography is similar to Pearce’s which we read over the summer, though Pearce focused on Second Life, a supposedly very different game—more of a world.  Nardi, in this book, does not want to stand out as a research, whereas Pearce did within her world.  She grew attached to the Uru people in Second Life, but she was “researcher” which caused problems throughout her study.  Her friends/other players would get angry with her, upset that she had made them sound certain ways.  Nardi, however, does not single herself out, rather, she focuses more on the participation rather than setting herself apart as a researched.  It seems as though that this creates a much more involved ethnography than perhaps Pearce’s study.

Questions:

1) Nardi mentions on page 20, that “the presence of female players mitigated rough masculine discourse down.”  Is political correctness (especially in the cases of “profanity, homophobic discourse, and sexist comments”) more of a female thing?  Or do men feel as though women are “delicate flowers” so to speak?

2) Nardi does a very strong job of trying to fight against the stereotype of WoW players.  Is she successful?  Does she take too much of one side without acknowledging that the other side might also be true?

3) Are you excited to start playing WoW with this new information and with knowing that Nardi started with no experience either?

Confessionals: When typing doesn't quite cut it

The second half of Turkle’s book moves us out of the land of robot toys and into that of devices, the every ready cellular telephones and instant messengers.  We are constantly connected, constantly able to reach one another, be they friends or strangers.  We have become busier because we feel we need to do more.  The things which could have saved us from over expending ourselves have turned out to be the very things which keep us from one another.

                As in the previous part of her book, Turkle inundates the reader with examples, providing first hand accounts to support her claims that we wire in more and keep our walls up almost constantly.  We become “masters of the universe” (169) because we have the ability to talk to loved ones, maintain long distance relationships, answer emails, make plans with friends, and accomplish business tasks.  We have the whole world at our fingertips with our little black boxes, and we retreat further and further into ourselves.

                I was primarily interested in the section Turkle writes about confessional sites.  Confessional sites, such as PostSecret and Six Billion Secrets allow people’s ‘real life’ avatars (or themselves) to express themselves, to vent, confess, and let go of their secrets.  Confessional sites serve as a mirror, as Turkle puts it, allowing us to see the “complex times” (230) in which we live.  But, the problem with these websites is three-fold (at the least).  People dash off their secrets, either on postcards or anonymous posts, and release them into the internet for all to read, but it ends there.  Even though individuals can read the posts and sometimes respond, these are faceless people posting to another faceless person—a person who may or may not be telling the truth.  The conversation needed to take place for healing and recovery to happen stalls.  Healing cannot take place.  While Turkle admits that such an action may be cathartic, it is not healing. 

                Turkle goes on to assert that aside from the fact that these sites do not allow us to cope with our problems, they can serve to be the exact opposite of what we need.  Because we create impressions of ourselves over the internet, we are, in essence, playing a character, which can lead us to be cruel.  So, according to Turkle, when we put these confessions up online, we invite cruelty, and indeed people can be cruel.  We transfer our own feelings about ourselves to other people and lash out at them via comments on their confessions.  Turkle gives the example of Jonas, a man who lashed out at a woman confessing that she may have messed up her relationship with her son.  He said cruel things, letting her know that she is to blame if he were to die over in Iraw, but in reality, he transfers his own worries about his own estrangement to his son and places it firmly on another human, someone who is as vulnerable as he is.

                The third problem that confessional websites presents is that of responsibility.  Turkle asks us to consider our responsibility to these people online.  We will often feel responsible when we see a post dealing with suicidal thoughts, anorexia, abuse.  But should we really?  And, if we do, what can we do about it?  Not much, because, as Turkle mentions, we cannot know for sure if we are reading a performance or reality.  The internet allows us to construct ourselves the way we want to be seen and in doing so we can write out for attention, for fun, as an experiment.  But, even if those confessions are truthful, we cannot do anything other than sit and worry.  We can stay up for hours talking to someone over the internet trying to help them through whatever it is they going through, but in the end, we cannot know for sure if they threw up their food, cut their wrists, or suffered more abuse. 

                The other interesting aspect Turkle talks about in this second half of her book is human connection, an idea which permeates her entire book.  We have this desire to telephone people, to hear their voice, develop a relationship, but it is easier to do it online or over text message.  We do not want to take the time for those relationships to develop because we need more time to do the things we now need to do—a ‘to do’ list that was only created because of our new use of the internet and smart phones.  We feel our relationships deteriorating and we watch it happen, but we don’t have the time to fix it.  We don’t want to be tied down to an hour phone call.  We want to read our information in snippets, in bytes, on blogs, and on postcard size/140 character limit posts. 

                Turkle’s argument that we are alone, together, is, indeed, compelling.

Questions:

1) Do you read any confessional websites such as PostSecret?  Do you ever feel a sense of responsibility towards those people?

2) Are there ways in which confessional websites could be repurposed for a more useful use?  Can we make them work, so that people can begin to consider their problems in new lights?

3) When you construct profiles and avatars online, do you consciously attempt to make yourself someone you're not?  Or rather, do you try to bring out specific aspects of yourself that would otherwise be hidden in other situations?