Jackson/Hypertext Reader Interaction Response

Perhaps the most metagrobolizing aspect of electronic literature exists in the new found (at least for me) world of hypertext. Although familiar with the idea of hyperlinks, clickable texts and images which when explored navigate the interactor away from their current page, the literary form of the hypertext novel is as foreign to me as Farsi. With this being understood, it follows that just like every other area of digital literature, from e-poetry to interactive fiction, I have been forced to open my mind to what is new and forget that which I have learnt from the old. Works of hypertext are like nothing else; they jump and flip and spin around in dizzying pathways until I find myself wondering where I am, what has happened and if there will ever be an end. The perplexing pursuit of possible plot and applicable truth seem oft to be in vain, never attainable. This in turn becomes a major turn off, for even though I try to approach everything I read, watch and listen to with an inquisitive mind, I find hypertext to utterly defeat both my understanding and my patience. Unlike e-poetry, which is somewhat simple once one understands the use of non-literary objects (such as pictures, sounds and music), works of hypertext carry with them a depth of such unfathomable volume that I can hardly keep my head above the water. While the challenge of such profundity is completely welcome, its presence, combined with the aspect of hypertext’s looping and jumping navigation, ends up losing me rather than hooking me in.

In particular, we have spent a considerable amount of time in and out of class on Shelley Jackson’s hypertext novel, “Patchwork Girl.” Primarily a mixture of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and L. Frank Baum’s The Patchwork Girl of Oz, Jackson’s work exists to be both a sequel and reimagining of the classic idea of a nonliving entity’s place in society.





In her envisioning of Shelley’s tale, Jackson picks up the torch where Dr. Victor Frankenstein left off. In the 1818 novel, the doc gave up on trying to create a suitable mate for his freakish creation. This task becomes the legacy of Jackson’s fictionalized character of Mary Shelley, who creates the Patchwork Girl from a variety of human body parts (unearthed from graveyards). She has success in sewing her creation together and then (rather strangely) falls in love with what her hands have made. It is a lesbian relationship to be sure, but given the fact that the Patchwork Girl is not an actual person (although the story asserts that she is just as human as anyone else) it could be observed that the fictionalized Mary Shelley is something of a necrophiliac. Given these remarks the question one is forced to ask is one of curiosity: “Why did Shelley Jackson characterize Mary Shelley (whom she credits with the creation of the work) as a necrophiliac-lesbian?” Although not easily answerable (one would have to be Jackson in order to know her exact intentions) it is surmised that she did so to support the feministic theme prevalent throughout the work. Unlike Dr. Frankenstein, who, completely repulsed by his monster seeks to run away and even kill what he has poured life into, the fictional Shelley stands as a testament to the nurturing care innately placed into many female hearts.

The sense of feminine instinct is not the only reoccurring theme within the novel. In addition to this there runs a strong string of eroticism throughout the work, evidenced by the way in which the characters view their own feelings, sexuality and identity. The Patchwork Girl is often confronted with the issues she has with her countenance. (see below)



She identifies herself as quite unattractive, given the fact that she is covered in scars and exists as a mish-mash of other people’s reanimated body parts. Her hands are large and cumbersome, leaving her unable to even work the needle and thread needed to put herself back together again. For these reasons she is all mixed up about who or what she is and how she should live within her newfound environment. Besides the written description the readers receive about her, the Patchwork Girl’s image is depicted in the opening screen of the program. (see below) The reader has a choice to either use the outline grid as their means of navigating the work or the picture of the Patchwork Girl. Invariably the reader will choose the image over the framework, and the resulting click will bring one to the ambiguous title screen of the work. Before discussing that in any great detail however, it is important to note the significance of the picture not only as a picture but also a device by which one has full access to not only the story contained within the program, but in fact the entirety of the Patchwork Girl’s body. While this may seem somewhat perverse, it must be understood that this is a vital component of Jackson’s writing. She is not content (nor does she expect her reader to be) with merely navigating her work by means of a textual schematic but instead opts to include a more sensual experience by exposing the reader to a concept of what the Patchwork Girl looks like. By utilizing her body as the program map (pictured below), the character of Patchwork Girl becomes more notably ingrained with a physical presence, rather than a mere representation of words.





Pictured below are the various illustrations of Patchwork Girl’s navigational map image. Note how each one differs slightly but brings with it vast amounts of relevance to the written work and hypertext experience.



In the first portion, “a graveyard” the image (shown above) contains several significant markers. Firstly, it has in the lower left-hand corner the Roman numeral “I.” To the observant reader this indicates that the graveyard is where the story begins. This is justified by the fact that the Patchwork Girl does in fact have her origins in the body parts found in the graveyard. Furthermore, each patch of her being is disconnected, which point towards the idea that she has not yet been put together but is in fact, “in the making.”



The next available path is found by clicking on the “journal” section. (shown above) This brings the reader to another image of the creature’s body, this time connected in such a way that one can infer an action of movement on the part of the Patchwork Girl. This is seen in the way that the head (where her thoughts and mind reside) is attached to the leg. This denotes her travels and in fact her story as a whole, as her feet are the way in which she traverses and explores her world. In addition to this, the journal portion of the work reveals the body of the work, as is shown by the hand in the stomach, a picture of the substance of the story.



Third is the quilt portion (see above) of the work, which contains all the pieces, but not in order. This is much like a real quilt, with overlapping portions of fabric waiting to be united. Also, although a component of each picture, the thread that runs from the bottom left corner to the top right corner is somewhat more noticeable in the quilt section than in others.



Finally is the “story” portion of the work (shown above), the picture of which is almost identical to the journal, the only difference in that it seems to be a negative exposure. This serves to highlight the fact that the story brings to light that which the other parts of the work leave in darkness.

There is also the “broken accents” link which brings the viewer to an altogether different image of the Patchwork Girl’s head. (see below)

However, it is not only the head but the inner workings of her mind that are revealed to the reader in this section. Much like the magnets one finds on a refrigerator, which when placed in a certain order spell out a message, the jumbled thoughts and identities are broken up and jumbled in the Patchwork Girl’s head. A close reading of the dialogue accessed when clicking many of the brain portions (see below) reveals that it is the author of the hypertext whose head the reader is viewing in the broken accents section.



In conclusion, Shelley Jackson’s Patchwork Girl exists as exactly what its title denotes: It is a scary conglomeration of fiction, quotes and biography set to hypertext (patchwork) with a feminist undertone. Although it has broadened my horizons as to the potential of hypertext literature, the appeal of electronic literature I find is hopelessly lost on me. As hard as I have tried to accept and understand works such as e-poetry, interactive fiction and hypertext, I simply revert to the idea that the written word is supreme. Perhaps this is because of it simplistic linearity, which is much easier to follow than the twisty paths of many electronic works. In any case, Patchwork Girl stands to me as a reminder of why books will always carry with them much more prevalent enjoyment than those works of a digital nature.