REEL POLITIK

Contrary Commentary

by James Reel

Interactive Fiction: It Still Doesn't Compute

I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT interactive fiction. Not interacting with it, mind you. Just thinking.

It's supposed to be the Next Big Thing in literature, you know. In the 1960s, writers like Donald Barthelme started claiming that the traditional novel entailed paperwork better suited to a coroner than to an author. Rumors of the novel's death have, of course, been greatly exaggerated. But stylistic experimentation has been part of the literary mainstream for more than 30 years, and with the computer now recognized as a legitimate storytelling medium, fiction does seem ready for something new.

What's new may well be interactive fiction. But first, we're in for a Miltonic battle over who gets to play God.

Until now, the author has unquestionably stood as the omnipotent, omniscient deity who creates a pageant of characters and guides events that are heralded with verbal flourishes. All this is witnessed but never altered by the reading multitudes. The reader's imagination has always been an important part of every novel, but only as an enhancement, not as something that can change the course of the story.

(Of course, Jacques Derrida and his ditzy deconstructionists have declared the author-god to be dead. But their claim is taken seriously only in the academy, where people who lack the talent to produce anything original go into literary criticism and feed off the creativity of others. Like many other small parasites, critical theorists may be safely ignored, except in the highly unlikely event that the disease they carry begins to infect the general population.)

Early efforts to make readers think they had some control over a novel amounted to little more than games. Julio Cortázar's Hopscotch, for example, is a novel in 155 chapters that aren't meant to be read in succession, or even in their entirety. The tome begins with a "Table of Instructions":

"In its own way, this book consists of many books, but two books above all.

"The first can be read in a normal fashion and it ends with Chapter 56, at the close of which there are three garish little stars which stand for the words The End. Consequently, the reader may ignore what follows with a clean conscience.

"The second should be read by beginning with Chapter 73 and then following the sequence indicated at the end of each chapter. In case of confusion or forgetfulness, one need only consult the following list:

"73 - 1 - 2 - 116 - 3 - 84 - 4 - 71 - 5 - 81 - 74..."

Some of those "expendable" chapters are epigraphs, footnotes, quotes from album notes, letters, all matter of miscellanea. And even in the main sequence, when one chapter closes with the chorus of a song followed by the notation "(Repeat)," you can't help wondering if you're expected to repeat the chorus, or re-read the whole chapter.

Although the reader must initially choose the sequence of chapters, Cortázar remains in control throughout. The book is enriched, complicated, even muddled by those "expendable" chapters, but we're still reading according to one of the author's approved patterns, and nothing we do can alter the story.

Sophistication of a sort arrived in the 1970s with the Choose Your Own Adventure series, originated by Edward Packard. In these children's books, each section of the story ends with a branching menu: If you decide to explore the cave opening to the right, turn to page 33. If you decide to swim across the river, turn to page 84. If you choose to build a campfire and wait until a rescue team arrives, turn to page 91.

I've never seen these books, but I found their description in Writing for New Media by Andrew Bonime and Ken C. Pohlmann. These authors advance Packard as a pioneer of interactive fiction. Yes, the reader is now making real choices that will change the nature of the story -- but still, Packard is the one offering the choices. He has narrowed down the selection, and he has created the various threads. Whether the reader decides that the hero should explore the cave or cross the river, it's the writer who has devised what happens next, and all the possible nexts until all the possible endings.

Today, interactive fiction works much the same way on CD-ROM. And it's still not the profound innovation in storytelling its proponents claim.

Bonime and Pohlmann are optimistic: "Choices represent a fundamental aspect of our humanity because they are the expression of our free will. Because traditional literature does not offer an effective way of expressing our free will, interactive media may be the best way to explore this very human property." But the user of interactive fiction has only the illusion of free will. The choices are few and clearly defined. The options have been kept narrow, so the author may still maintain ultimate control of the story (or, actually, the evolving stories).

In the early 1970s, some of my fellow high school students were playing a text-based Star Trek game on this great innovation called a computer. As they described the game to me, the starship Enterprise was under attack by villainous Klingons, and the game player could direct the action by typing in certain commands: "Enterprise fires on Klingon battle cruiser." The computer, with its grand 8K of memory, would process the order and come back with a logical response. But when the player issued an illogical command, such as "Spock phasers Kirk," the game would crash. The creators had made no provision for the loyal first officer shooting his heroic captain.

Now there's a new interactive Star Trek production. Times have changed: It's an adventure story, not so much a game; the thing spreads over half a dozen CD-ROMs; actors portray the characters in moving, talking images that boldly go across the computer screen; and the Klingons are the heroes. With a click of the mouse, you can make the story branch in a number of directions -- but only in the directions marked with signposts erected by the story's creators. "Spock phasers Kirk" still does not compute.

What we need is fiction in which the reader becomes God. How about an interactive version of Anna Karenina? Make Levin sell the farm early on, and spare yourself those long passages devoted to Tolstoy's theories of agrarian reform. Or, near the end, ponder this choice: "1) Anna throws herself under the train; 2) Anna moves to a German spa." Have Anna get on a train rather than go under it, and the story could continue as long as War and Peace.

But Anna Karenina would surely fail as the ultimate interactive novel. In life, we sometimes make the wrong choices, but we seldom do so intentionally. How many of us could bring ourselves to click on the options that would set Anna along the path Tolstoy laid out for her? Wouldn't we be more likely to save her than to steer her toward ostracism, jealousy and the wheels of the train? But then, how interesting would such a story be?

Perhaps art and technology will never fully mirror life. Free will makes impossible demands on system resources; to accommodate all the choices we should enjoy, we'd need a computer as big as the universe. In our heads, we can click on any number of options, with consequences no one can foresee. We tell lies every day: "You can count on me." "I just want to be friends." With interactive fictions like these, who needs computers?

Reel's Archive

Reel Politik 1: On The Future Of Reading

Reel Politik 2: How Not To Read A Book

Reel Politik 3: Plagiarists Of Experience

Reel Politik 4: Logolingus: A Private Pleasure

Reel Politik 5: A Community of Dreamers

Reel Politik 6: The Sensuous Bibliophile

Reel Politik 7: A Divine Madness

Reel Politik 8: Show Me The Books!

Reel Politik 9: The Argument

Reel Politik 10: Literacy & Community

Reel Politik 11: Real Writers Need Real Editors

Reel Politik 12: How To Read For Yourself

Reel Politik 13: Lies, Damn Lies & The MFA Novel

Reel Politik 14: The Merchant-Ivory Connection (ML 100, Round 1)

Reel Politik 15: Who's Stuffing The Ballot Box? (ML 100, Round 2)

Reel Politik 16: Interactive Fiction: It Still Doesn't Compute



James Reel's new book, Tucson: A CitySmart Guidebook, has just been published by John Muir Publications. Reel is the arts and entertainment editor of The Arizona Daily Star, a contributor to Fanfare, and the author of The Timid Soul's Guide to Classical Music.

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