There’s not much introduction to do. Anatomy of Criticism, being a book, continues. Here’s part one of my reading of the first essay, “Historical Criticism: Theory of Modes.” I’ve broken this up into two parts partly because I’m really tired and I’m not sure if I’m processing very well today, and partly because the essay is broken into sections on tragedy and comedy, making my tired-decision easier to make.
With a new season of Maria-Sama ga Miteru (alternately marimite and The Virgin Mary Watches Over Us), it’s on everyone’s minds again. I might have already entered the fracas once, but here we go again, this time not on the new season, or even the OP, but the show as a whole and why we love it so (if we do).
At least she has clothes in this one...
As you’re probably already aware, I’m blogging my way through Northrop Frye’s Anatomy of Criticism. I already had an idea for an actual anime post, and I’ve only read the introduction. Even though this was inspired by Frye, I probably won’t reference him too much. Really, this is just my obligatory Kannagi post. Everyone’s doing one, and who am I to argue with the crowd? Well, I do it all the time, but never mind that now.
I will swiftly run out of images of girls reading, but for now...
Part one of my grand adventure was a little strange. After sleeping on it, I think it’s because I wussed out and posted before finishing the entire first section of the book. I left you, the reader, with a partial view, much as Lenny Bruce was convicted of obscenity through a police officer’s report on his act; he protested vigorously that, to be fairly tried, the judge and jury needed to see his act directly, but his appeals were denied. Frye, were he alive and Googling himself every few minutes, would likely protest in much the same way to my butchering of his “Polemical Introduction.” Here’s part two of the introduction, wherein I finish it, find more that’s useful, get the seeds (already) of an anime post based on same, and find Frye apologizing for much of what seems strange.
We’ve gotten increasingly critical here at Super Fanicom, which I think is no problem at all. Though I do want to do an actual, you know, anime post pretty soon, to help cleanse the pallet a bit. I’m afraid I can’t do that yet, though, and am even proposing starting a series of posts on theory. In defense of this little project of mine, I think these will be relatively short. Here’s the skinny: I’m finally getting around to reading the whole of Northrop Frye’s Anatomy of Criticism. I’ve read parts before now, but never the whole thing, or in anything approaching linear order. I thought as I read I would post along with thoughts for each section. This is the “Polemical Introduction,” pt. 1.
I have to admit, this one’s a little ridiculous, even for us. Ghostlightning, lelangir, Cuchlann, and I all somehow ended up in a chat a scant few hours ago. Initially, the topic was Kannagi, but, when matters of disparate theory arose, things got a little crazy. The title is apt; in fact, what you’ll see after the break is no less than 11,001 words of our discourse and debate. Is it worth reading? Absolutely.
It’s a good thing the concept of tl;dr doesn’t exist on Super Fanicom.
You may recall Cuchlann’s cryptic teaser from earlier in the month. Surely you’ve been puzzling over it since then, losing sleep, your sanity slowly seeping away — but tonight you can rest easily, for all is revealed: I present to you the Super Fanicom Voice Module, our epic foray into the world of podcasting!
In this inaugural episode, OGT joins Cuchlann and me for some commentary on the thirteenth episode of Toradora. If you’re watching the show, get the episode ready to run before you start the podcast, as we comment on the whole thing, and it’s meant to be watched as we talk (which will probably be a common theme in these podcasts). If not, there’s still a solid half-hour of content before and after the commentary, so listen anyway. And if you like it, or don’t, leave a comment on this post.
Super Fanicom Voice Module: Toradora 13 (46.23MB)
In our next podcast…well, I can’t just tell you. But rest assured that it does not end here. Oh, no indeed.
I woke up today thinking about the use of external aids in completing video games, and I wonder if we can fit that into our ongoing discourse about games, so allow me to throw a few random ideas at you.
My feelings toward player’s guides and the like are mixed. While I feel that they “ruin” the experience of a game’s central plot for me, I have no problem using them to find and obtain nonessential extras. The game I have in mind is Fallout 3; I completed the ten or so hours of my 60-hour file devoted to advancing the main plot without any external guidance, but I’ve made extensive use of The Vault in finding unique weapons and bobbleheads and such. Now, insofar as player agency results in the forward movement of the story, all 60 hours constitute the game’s plot, or at least the game experience’s plot; why do I approach one-sixth of that plot with a different attitude toward external aid than I do the remaining five-sixths? I don’t really know, but I doubt it’s indicative of some core difference between “main plot” and “side plot” in games.
Let me ask this: how might we best characterize external aid, anyway?
Is it a kind of criticism? After all, it details one possible playthrough of a game — ostensibly, one possible reading of a text. And I think that, like criticism, it’s certainly entertainment in itself. When I was younger, I used to read those Prima player’s guides for fun. I bought guides for games I didn’t own. I remember devoting hours to reading through The Mynock’s Guide to Final Fantasy III (back when FF6 was still called Final Fantasy III here…God I’m old) despite my near-encyclopedic knowledge of that game, and for no reason other than that I wanted to see how someone else experienced the game. It’s not that I felt I had something to gain, intellectually, from diverse readings, as I do now; I simply enjoyed it.
Can we say that my use of external aid to complete optional content in Fallout 3, the pausing and minimizing of the game and the perusal of websites throughout, helped define my gameplay? That it’s part of the human narrative of my playing, which the game narrative itself may well simply be a part of as well? I don’t hear such a thing often said of literature and the criticism thereof — that is, I’m not sure how many people would tell you that my reading experience of Ulysses continues to this very moment because I keep reading criticism of it and tying it into other narratives. But that’s not really what we’re talking about here; a more analogous situation would be reading Ulysses for the first time with a copy of Ulysses Annotated on hand. To what extent is Joyce (not Joyce the man, but Joyce the author-consciousness) responsible for that reading experience? To what extent are Don Gifford and Robert Seidman responsible? How much responsibility rests upon the sources they consulted when writing Ulysses Annotated? And can we answer these questions by way of addressing analogous questions in the largely unstudied realm of video games?
I’ve been seeing some meta-narrative stuff concerning blogging, anime, blah blah blah. As my father is currently watching a basketball game on our only tv — mine is in Memphis — I am stuck in my room, so here I am, doing some of this meta-criticism as well. Don’t expect anything amazing. My only real contribution, when I get around to it, is in bringing Stanley Fish to the party.
A Comment That Grew Too Much; After an Absence That Grew Too Much
By Kaiserpingvin on 1 January 2009 | Art and Culture | 21 CommentsSo, after blazin’ through a fair share over <memetic number> words on Kannagi, plot, art and discourse – I condemn timezones and odd sleeping habits for not allowing me to participate – I thought a proper response is due. I’m aware I’ve been absent for quite some while, and while my excuses are legion (depression, writer’s block, nonstimulating schoolwork soaking up time like a sponge and constant travelling) they matter little. What matter is gettin’ it on, and now.
I’ll respond on three seperate points I thought I had something at least semi-worthwhile to utter comments about. Being steeped deep in analytical philosophy is interesting in an environment veering more towards continental theory. It is quite giving, since it’s long been a desire of mine to join the two once again, finding the divide unnecessary, harmful even. This’ll also mean that my viewpoints will be at times quite… incongruous to the discourse the others are in (as opposed to disagreeing), but nothing is more beautiful than the harmony of dissonance. Oh and at times (read: most of the time) I won’t respond at all, but only go on about my view on things without really addressing theirs.