The Cape
J.
R. Carpenter (2005)
Note: J. R. Carpenter has posted a “Backstory” on the web (http://luckysoap.com/talks/thecapethebackstory.html)
in which she talks about the genesis of the project and her process,
motivations and obstacles. I have only skimmed it to get a sense of its
content, but will not read it until I have completed this blog entry, and may
or may not add a postscript based upon my reaction to it. As I type this note,
I have written all aspects of this blog entry except the part about the critical
reception to The Cape. I ran across
the “Backstory” during my research about what critics have had to say.
Genre: I am new
to this, but I guess “The Cape” is a hypertext story. By clicking “links,” the
reader unfolds the story. The technique of using the capabilities of electronic
technology not only engages the “reader” (viewer? participant?) but permits the
story teller to avoid unnecessary narrative effort by using photographs with
captions to let the story tell itself. Unlike other “E-Lit” that this course
has allowed me to experience, the reader does not have the “freedom” of choice;
the hypertext is used as an innovative way for the creator to tell her story, rather than as a “game” in
which the reader creates the story.
One critic (Leonardo Flores in “I love poetry, http://iloveepoetry.com/?p=366) calls
the piece a “hypertext poem.”
Literary analysis:
“The Cape” is a nostalgic examination of a girl’s childhood memories of winters
spent on Cape Cod with her grandparents: some joy; some regret. The story also
touches on how girls can be confined to gender roles, but also can be unrestrained.
To her grandfather, she is a genderless “child” to whom he cannot talk, except
in the language of whistling. Apparently, they communicate just fine.
Grandmother, on the other hand, cautions her not to place her fingers in her
mouth, as that is not lady-like, and not to “ask too many questions,”
presumably because asking questions—challenging what is accepted—is the purview
of boys in a pre-feminist world view. The two ancestors represent the yin and
yang of androgyny in a young woman.
The strain of gender identification is also nicely reflected
in the wordplay on “spit”—a noun referring to a narrow piece of land between
two bodies of water, and a verb meaning to eject saliva. The aerial views of
the “spit” evoke a long thin penis; “spitting” is an activity not typically
associated with women, unless they are ball players. [The sexual puns just keep
coming—I meant “ball players” in the sense of baseball as in “A League of Their
Own,” and not in the sense of women who fondle. Whether the author intended
this reaction in me, I do not know, but I do know that sexual naïveté is common
in young women who have not yet recognized their power.]
A young girl coming to terms with the world around her, is a
timeless, universal theme, which in “The Cape,” is subtly underscored by evocations
of the Romantic Period’s
appreciation of the insignificance of mankind in the face of nature: aerial
views of Cape Cod—shown by an animation of a series of stills shot over a sequence
spanning forty-three years—as well as by a photo of a glacial boulder on the
beach. The Cape is subtly changing, while remaining essentially the same. That
the gap between the aerial photos is first from 1938 to 1952, then to 1962,
then 1971 to 1974, seems to focus first on her grandparent’s youth, and then
her own. We wonder why these particular years were chosen—were they all that
was available, or do they hold significance for the three people who inhabit
this timeless environment?
Technical: Happy
that last semester I took “Digital Communication” with Professor Tung, in which
I had to make both an audio tape and a short film. The course gave me some
insight into the technicalities of how the visual and audio parts of “The Cape”
were constructed. Using the “Ken Burns” technique—panning different aspects of
a still photograph to create the illusion of movement—the creator adds mystery
to the images as different aspects and details of the photos are revealed.
Reaction: I
started reading (looking at? listening to?) “The Cape” early one morning,
before I had washed my face. I would have liked a “pause” button, because the
grimbles in the corners of my eyes were bothering me, but I couldn’t stop
watching. I shouted to my wife to wake up and bring me coffee, which she did,
but after 41 years of marriage, she refused to swab my face. What will I do
when I am old if she refuses to take care of me? And who is going to take care
of her?
Idiot. If I don’t click on the next frame the thing is
paused. Just my luck that I had the desire to fidget during the whistling
segment—it’s the longest one. But when it was over, I still did not want to
leave the computer to wash my face; instead, I re-clicked the segment and sat
alone in my room trying to follow the instructions for how to whistle. Just
then, while my fingers were in my mouth, my wife entered with the coffee, and
gave me the look that says, “You are too weird; I am not asking.”
I kept waiting for a cave, and then I noticed that the title
is "The Cape," not "The Cave."
Critical reception:
[Written after the “Note” that serves as preface to this
blog entry] J. R. Carpenter, born in 1972, is well known in the field of Electronic
Literature. A poet by inclination and an artist and art critic by training, she
writes about such nonfiction subjects as textile art and the history of the
internet. If having a Wikipedia page is evidence of fame, then she is famous.
That entry informs us that Carpenter now lives in South Devon, England. She
serves as faculty for Performance Writing and Electronic literature on the In
(ter)ventions: Literary Practice at the Edge program at The Banff Centre. She
is a PhD researcher at Falmouth University in association with University of
the Arts London.
Among the few critical examinations of her work is Leonardo
Flores in “I love poetry,” http://iloveepoetry.com/?p=366,
who writes of The Cape,
The use of maps, images, video, audio, geological and
scientific data, and the structure of memoir all gesture towards verisimilitude,
but the Carpenter’s statement above and the story itself undermine that
tendency we have towards trusting that kind of information…Can we trust the
speaker?
Another critical examination (that I was unable to find
through my own search, but was included by the author in her “Backstory”) is
Scott Coterall’s essay published in Hunter
Gatherer:
The Cape seeks to convolute fact and fiction by taking us on
a user-controlled journey of fragmented narrative…[it] gracefully
addresses the tension between the knowing of and mapping of place and memory by
bringing together the connotative powers of fact and fiction.”
Coterall’s comment resonates with me; I agree with him.
Research reveals the backstory behind “The Backstory”
adverted to in the preface: a class, not unlike our own, at Capilano University
reached out to Carpenter in anticipation of a discussion of The Cape. The professor’s blog about the
class and the interactions with the author, is posted at https://culturenet.wordpress.com/tag/jr-carpenter/.
Now I have read the backstory, and am busy slapping myself
on the back (no pun intended) that I picked up on the sexual aspects of The Cape.” Carpenter writes, in her essay
"A brief history of the Internet as I know it so far,”
The Internet was totally textual back then. It had no interface.
The joke of the day was, on the Internet no one knows you're a dog. Everyone
was talking about gender politics and how, on the Internet, you could role-play
and construct your own identity. At the same time that everyone was obsessed
with sexuality they were all claiming disembodiment, which seemed like a
contradiction, even then.
Regarding her use of black and white, Carpenter says, “I
was attracted to the black and white aesthetic of the Environmental Geologic
Guide to the Cape Cod National Seashore… Although I have since made many works
in colour, The Cape returns to the
black and white aesthetic of those early works.” Despite the ill-conceived attempt to “colorize”
old-time back and white movies, many makers of motion pictures prefer the stark
images and purity of the originals.
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