Digital literature—not to be confused with digital literacy nor with traditional literature that has been uploaded online—sits in a realm of its own: the world of digital-born text. It’s the text that will never see a layout page spread, a printing press, or a bookstore shelf. It will never be marred by a coffee mug stain, get its jacket torn, acquire that musty old book smell, or be rudely discarded from a library’s collection. It was born, it breathes, and it lives entirely online in a myriad of formats, each more dizzying than the last. As long as the technology exists and electricity abounds, it will never get old. It will never disappear. Or will it?
I had never given much thought to a digital-born form of literature. My mind was more focused on the literature which, like me, immigrated to the digital world. But this concept of literature written solely for an online audience breaks all the publishing and marketing rules. So I asked myself the same old questions about “how can you make a living if you give everything away?” (see my October post “
To share or not to share”). I guess notoriety must be accompanied by some sort of financial reward if people keep writing online (contributing to a textbook on digital tools comes to mind…). Or is it simply enough, as expressed in Thom Swiss’ poem
Self Portrait as Drums and Crowd Noise, to ascend to “the hallowed realm of collective experience and memory?”
From the lurker’s standpoint, it was fascinating to see how this form of literature is completely freed to be truly interactive and multimodal. Thom Swiss’ digital compositions left me wondering at times “how the heck do I make this work?” I can just see him smirking as he created his poems, thinking “we’ll see who is smart enough to figure this out…” After the first few confusing seconds of “how am I supposed to see this?” his
Narrative You Anticipate was a complete riot! The text doesn’t fully appear unless you mouse over it and the pages arrange themselves at random each time you “draw” it. I re-did it three times: it felt familiar yet fresh and novel each time.
I also really enjoyed the multimodalities of sound, pictures, voice, video.
Forgetfulness by Billy Collins rang so true to my ever more frequent “senior moments” (see video below). The calm voice of the author added a reassuring yet inescapable element that drew me in all the way to the inevitable conclusion. It reminded me of listening to my writing group partners read their pieces: Voice comes through so much better when the author reads aloud. This poem was full of humor and bittersweet irony. Every time I try to help my 8th grader with his math homework I am indeed reminded that I too “have watched the quadratic equation pack its bag.” This is brain research in action: information devoid of meaning will not be retained. Alas, for many of us the downward spiral of forgetfulness will expand into a vortex of doom…
Digital literature… Using it as a teaching tool would open up the world of writing to students who may not think of themselves as writer. They would be drawn in by the multimodalities they have already embraced outside of class. But how do we--poor digital immigrants fresh off the boat--find school-appropriate digital literature without feeling overwhelmed by the sheer number of sites? Where do we begin? Are there any e-Caldecott or Newbery 2.0 e-awards to separate the great works from the so-so efforts?
