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Elmo Lum | Once More into the Cess
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Once More into the Cess

May 4, 2014

Is hypertext possible?

Consider: the meanings and shadings of a text — of its language — derive inevitably from its context — i.e., other, previous language. I.e.: words take on their meanings based on earlier words, sentences their meanings based on earlier sentences, texts from earlier texts. By its nature, language is a temporal thing, an object based in time on both the micro- and macroscopic level. Language is always one word before another. First comes this, then comes that. Before precedes after. Whether or not a narrative is included, a textual sequence is unavoidable.

Or maybe we are simply victims.

So how can non-linear text be possible? Of course, language being the strange, organic, frustrating thing it is, maybe when we call hypertext “non-linear” what we really mean is something else. After all, no matter how it is ordered, a given text still has a sequence, remains a linear thing, something experienced in time, even if that specific sequence varies from subsequent sequences. Maybe when we refer to a text as non-linear, we are simply lying to ourselves, others, and the universe at large.

Or maybe we are simply victims. Victims of platonic, Big-L Language, subject to the disease of its non-specificity, its slippery morphing, its head-slapping sprawl. Maybe calling hypertext “non-linear” is simply the best we can do. After all, we are frequently so awash in Language’s seawreck that the most we can manage is to squirm for a breath before we are towed under its toppling crest. (I.e.: what we mean to say often eludes.) So it’s possible our lies are simply a symptom of our chronic condition, our disease of Language, and that our saying “non-linear” is a wheezing consequence of the linguistic influenza with which we’ve been born.

But all this is more philosophical than the issue at hand. Again: is hypertext possible? To answer (or at least address) this question, we first need to define what hypertext is.

Much gets said about how hypertext is non-linear, but (reference above) I venture to say no text of any kind can be honestly called that. Which opens the more fundamental question: what then is hypertext? If it is necessarily linear, is it simply variable, possibly both in “line” and in “text?” Or is it not a single text, but instead a defined series of texts? Or is hypertext not a text at all, but simply a set of (defined) potentialities? Does the “text” only arrive at its “textness” upon its reading, which is then immediately lost in its specificity (not counting the possibility said text can be read identically again)? And can it ever truly be repeated? When rereading any text, is not the experience different from one’s initial, given one is now reading it in the context of having read the same text at least once before? To what degree does any text exist when it is not being read? Is any text before it is read simply a defined set of at least one potentiality?

Again, philosophy intrudes. Since said concerns of such philosophy lie essentially outside the scope and scale of this (immediate) discussion, let us for the moment assume (for the sake of argument) that hypertext is a text whose sequence of experience lies largely outside the reader’s control. Which I believe is a worthwhile point (after all, a reader can read a traditional text contrary to an author’s intent, e.g., by reading the finish of a book before its opening sentence).

Is a reader of hypertext actually given true control?

Is it this then? Is hypertext nothing more than an author’s control over the (variable) sequence a given text is experienced by a reader? Which inevitably leads to this nota bene: authorial control. Hypertext is frequently characterized by the textual choices granted to the reader. But is this characterization accurate? Is a reader of hypertext actually given true control? Or is the reader instead channeled through a number of options, which options and number are inevitably presented by the hypertext’s author? Even if these options and numbers are at least partly the reader’s choice, is not the variable sequence of a given hypertext simply a set of variations granted to the reader by authorial fiat?

It is strange to think hypertext (or, more accurately, the experience of reading it) is more constrained (or, at the very least, as constrained) as the experience of reading a more traditional, “linear” text. But this does seem true — when reading hypertext, the reader is more “trapped” — they can no longer jump ahead, nor may they be allowed to page back. And yet: the text (as experienced by the reader) is unfixed. The text (or at least its sequence) can vary between readings — and vary according to a reader’s input — but largely according to an author’s decisions defining those variances and inputs.

This then seems the difference: hypertext is a text whose sequence of words is empirically, ostensibly, and intentionally variable from reading to reading. And now we can finally begin — now we can ask the question: is hypertext possible?

The answer now seems obviously yes, given that hypertext (or the experience of reading it) is linguistically linear, differing from traditional texts only in that its specific “line” varies from reading to reading. And, as subtle as this difference is, this difference should be distinct enough to identify hypertext as its own, separate species.

And yet. As it has been parenthetically expressed above, this distinction lies primarily in the experience of reading the (hyper)text, which necessarily implies this distinction is not inherent in the (hyper)text itself. I.e., the difference lies with only one aspect of the triumvirate of language (listening/reading, the other two being speaking/writing and expression/text).

In fact, in many ways the distinction of hypertext lies primarily in the technological. The presentational. This hypertextual distinction of readerly experience is governed only by the practical means of conveying said (hyper)text to the reader. Is this distinction in effect any different than any other technological means of conveying language, e.g., radio, moveable type, the modern use of punctuation, or the written word?

In this light, hypertext seems only to be medium and means, much the same as a physical book. And also in this light, now of course hypertext must be possible in the same way any technological conveyance of language is possible. In fact, now the question itself seems moot — seems idiotic — like questioning the possibility of blenders, sandals, GPS, and induction cooktops.

But is this all hypertext is then? Clockwork for presenting language? Is hypertext fundamentally different than any other invention for delivering written language that has come (and maybe gone)? Is hypertext simply one more link in the chain of inventions (of varying consequence) for the conveyance of language, for now a gimmick but with the possibility of becoming something more?

Or does hypertext rather constitute its own form, in the same fashion of a story, a sonnet, an essay, a polemic, a novel, a haiku? Is hypertext in fact something separate from the screen and machine that makes the experience of reading and writing hypertext possibile? Is modern technology simply hypertext’s opportunity, an always-potential that has only recently become manifest?

Now I’ve lost track of what hypertext is again.

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I.e., its denotations, its connotations.

And organic it is. Language is not an invention but a biological imperative, a genetic mutation or a genetic trait; bring two language-deprived children together when they can still “naturally” learn a language, and they will almost inevitably begin roughing one out, grammar and structure and all. This has been documented in the study of some sign languages as well as studies exploring the transition from pidgins to creoles.

An intent, a meaning, a word; e.g., “non-linear”.

And deliberately variable, which I think is necessary.

Or, possibly and purposely, never read again. Agrippa (a book of the dead), a collaboration created by William Gibson and Dennis Ashbaugh, erased itself after being read, thereafter only existing in human memory.

Although they retain the ability to skim or gloss over whatever words they are presented with.

This is perhaps a bit too neat, declining to address any concerns over fiat and freedom, but then my thinking on this (as all thinking in general) remains a work-in-progress.

Or perhaps I should say linguistic Trinity, given the (philosophical) necessity of these three joined aspects for platonic Language to exist at all.

And such presentational methods are not necessarily new. Books of sonnets have been written where every line has been cut into its own individual page, allowing the reader to assemble a specific sonnet by assembling different lines. And then there's the novel Hopscotch by Julio Cortázar, who specifically says a reader can read the chapters in the order of their choice.

Although don’t get me wrong; clockwork can be — in and of itself — its own beautiful, made thing.

E.g., clay tablets, papyri, scrolls, books, etc.