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Apples and Oranges
Wednesday, February 25th, 2009 10:57 amThe latest report that the Internet is making us stupid and evil is from Lady Greenfield. Now Greenfield is not a Lady because she talks posh and doesn't dunk her biscuits in her tea; it's because she was made a Baroness, at least partly because of her research on brain physiology, so I ought to take her seriously. This is not some disgruntled humanities professor complaining that kids don't read books any more; this is someone who knows about brains.
Unfortunately, it looks like we have people who know about narrative talking about brains, and people who know about brains talking about narrative. Greenfield says that our experiences on social networking sites "are devoid of cohesive narrative." This is true, and the reason is simple: social networking is not narrative, except to weirdo pomo Theory types who think everything is narrative. Even if we allow the promotion of "narrative" from an adjective to a noun, it just means telling stories. A novel is a narrative; so is a fairy story, a film or even a news story. But Facebook, Twitter, Bebo and the like do not tell stories. They're not meant to tell stories, not even the story of someone's life (we have Livejournal for that). They are not narrative; they are chatter, not radically different from what you do while waiting for a bus. "Nice weather, isn't it?" "Not bad for the time of year. Not seen you for a while." "Been in Ibiza." "Oooh, Ibiza, lovely. Our Pam was there last year." See, no coherent narrative.
Greenfield's real worry, though, is still about her bete noir, computer games:
But what of our concern for the princess? Well, even our stereotypical (though not actually typical) asocial pimply thirteen-year-old gamer has some interest in the princess. At the very least, if you've found your way through labyrinths, avoided traps and battled through hordes of orcs to rescue a princess, she'd better be the kind of hot princess you see in Girls of Gaming. You probably want a nice mini-movie with some dialogue, too. In practice, gamers often aren't just concerned about game characters, they obsess about them. Consider, for example, Lara Croft fanfic.
All this, though, misses the point that a game should not be compared to a novel, which is what Greenfield does: "Unlike the game to rescue the princess, where the goal is to feel rewarded, the aim of reading a book is, after all, to find out more about the princess herself." Modern adventure and role-playing games have some novelistic attributes, but criticising them for lacking some defining features of novels is, as philosophers like to say, comparing apples and oranges. If you want to criticise computer games, then compare them either to non-electronic games like poker or hopscotch, or to electronic non-games like films or TV programmes. Comparing an electronic game to a non-electronic non-game will not yield useful results. It's like complaining that someone plays darts instead of swimming the English Channel; it would only be a valid comparison if we had good reason to believe that if they weren't playing darts, there is at least a chance that they'd be swimming the Channel. Similarly, even if we assume that literature provides a more worthwhile use of our spare time than games (and Jeremy Bentham had his doubts), it is silly to worry about kids chatting on-line or playing computer games instead of reading novels unless we have evidence that these same kids have actually abandoned novels for the net. My guess is that if they weren't playing with their computers, they'd just be watching TV, the bugbear of a previous generation of social critics.
Unfortunately, it looks like we have people who know about narrative talking about brains, and people who know about brains talking about narrative. Greenfield says that our experiences on social networking sites "are devoid of cohesive narrative." This is true, and the reason is simple: social networking is not narrative, except to weirdo pomo Theory types who think everything is narrative. Even if we allow the promotion of "narrative" from an adjective to a noun, it just means telling stories. A novel is a narrative; so is a fairy story, a film or even a news story. But Facebook, Twitter, Bebo and the like do not tell stories. They're not meant to tell stories, not even the story of someone's life (we have Livejournal for that). They are not narrative; they are chatter, not radically different from what you do while waiting for a bus. "Nice weather, isn't it?" "Not bad for the time of year. Not seen you for a while." "Been in Ibiza." "Oooh, Ibiza, lovely. Our Pam was there last year." See, no coherent narrative.
Greenfield's real worry, though, is still about her bete noir, computer games:
After all, whenever you play a computer game, you can always just play it again; everything you do is reversible. The emphasis is on the thrill of the moment, the buzz of rescuing the princess in the game. No care is given for the princess herself, for the content or for any long-term significance, because there is none. This type of activity, a disregard for consequence, can be compared with the thrill of compulsive gambling or compulsive eating.My first problem here is that virtually none of the critics of computer games seem to have played a modern (i.e. post-Pacman) computer game for more than a few minutes. If they did, they'd realise that there is very little in the way of "reliable and almost immediate reward." These games are hard. Sure, there is the thrill of rescuing the princess, but how many games let you do that immediately? As someone who grew up with the instant gratification provided by haiku, I don't have the patience to get to the end of adventure games. I very nearly finished Max Payne, but got myself into a position where I got shot whatever I did, and, contrary to what Greenfield says, it is not true that "everything you do is reversible." Not when you've used up all your save game slots, it ain't.
The sheer compulsion of reliable and almost immediate reward is being linked to similar chemical systems in the brain that may also play a part in drug addiction. So we should not underestimate the 'pleasure' of interacting with a screen when we puzzle over why it seems so appealing to young people.
But what of our concern for the princess? Well, even our stereotypical (though not actually typical) asocial pimply thirteen-year-old gamer has some interest in the princess. At the very least, if you've found your way through labyrinths, avoided traps and battled through hordes of orcs to rescue a princess, she'd better be the kind of hot princess you see in Girls of Gaming. You probably want a nice mini-movie with some dialogue, too. In practice, gamers often aren't just concerned about game characters, they obsess about them. Consider, for example, Lara Croft fanfic.
All this, though, misses the point that a game should not be compared to a novel, which is what Greenfield does: "Unlike the game to rescue the princess, where the goal is to feel rewarded, the aim of reading a book is, after all, to find out more about the princess herself." Modern adventure and role-playing games have some novelistic attributes, but criticising them for lacking some defining features of novels is, as philosophers like to say, comparing apples and oranges. If you want to criticise computer games, then compare them either to non-electronic games like poker or hopscotch, or to electronic non-games like films or TV programmes. Comparing an electronic game to a non-electronic non-game will not yield useful results. It's like complaining that someone plays darts instead of swimming the English Channel; it would only be a valid comparison if we had good reason to believe that if they weren't playing darts, there is at least a chance that they'd be swimming the Channel. Similarly, even if we assume that literature provides a more worthwhile use of our spare time than games (and Jeremy Bentham had his doubts), it is silly to worry about kids chatting on-line or playing computer games instead of reading novels unless we have evidence that these same kids have actually abandoned novels for the net. My guess is that if they weren't playing with their computers, they'd just be watching TV, the bugbear of a previous generation of social critics.
