Meaningful Play 2012 Presentation

Below you will find the slides for my presentation, 'Narrative Assemblage in Historical Board Games', that I gave at Meaningful Play 2012.  I plan on recording my talk, so as soon as I upload the audio that, too, will be available for download.

Narrative Assemblage in Historical Boardgames from Jeremy Antley

Update 22 Oct: I have recorded an audio track to accompany the slides above, so feel free to listen to/download that track below.

Dark Definition

Photo by Whitney Erin Boesel

Alexis Madrigal has a very interesting article over at The Atlantic on a topic he calls dark social, or web traffic driven by non-referred sources outside of those generated on traditional social platforms.  Even though the dominant narrative places the innovative crown of web-connection on sites like Wikipedia, MySpace, Facebook, and so on, the article provides undeniable proof that so-called 'dark social' forces- links shared over gchat, email or personal connection- actually drive the majority of web traffic.

Madrigal interlaces his data-backed revelations with anecdotal tales on his use of 90's era communicative platforms like ICQ and USENET to share links with his friends, the contrasting effect meant to convey a sense of experiential validation on the larger thesis of the piece.  If almost 70% of traffic occurs through means outside of those facilitated by, say, 'liking' and 'sharing' something on Facebook or retweeting an interesting link shared on Twitter, then what does that say about the narratives telling us how we use the web?  On a larger level, what does inclusion of this 'dark social' data say about our levels of perception and the limits circumscribed therein?  

Photo by Sparkieg

I think it says that we are just beginning to understand how our constant activity of being social in existence- not just on a platform- shapes and drives our measurable presence on the web.  I also think Madrigal is correct in his stylistic choice and logical juxtaposition of narratives driven by data and experience because it is easy to conflate the two in our digital world, even though the first is limited by our perception of what counts as web traffic and the second is a more authentic description of the lived reality behind the web traffic.  One has to describe their anecdotal experience of link sharing precisely because this 'through a social, darkly' behavior is not actively measured by our current generation of analytic tools.

What this suggests to me is that we need to engage in far more ethnography of the link.  The bits of data, the shared cultural units, are not ends unto themselves.  The rituals behind those acts of sharing- the reading of email, the dialogue of gchat- all require a larger presence in our analyses if we are to understand this 'dark' behavior.  But that's not all. 

Photo by Kit

What occurred to me while reading this piece is how the core issue exposed, that our sweeping range of quantifiable social perception is limited to such a degree so as to render entire behaviors 'dark', has much in common with the ongoing debate surrounding the role and purpose of the Digital Humanities.  There is a lot of talk about what the digital humanities are and what defines their use, but I think these are misleading questions that are both unproductive and illusionary in their symphonic promise of clarity.  Much like Madrigal's discovery of 'dark social', the key thing we need to keep in mind when discussing the digital humanities is that our understanding of what the field means and sources for its definition are chiefly limited by perceptional capacity or measured results.  Knowing this, we should take a cue from Madrigal's piece above and instead devote a portion of our analytic inquiry towards pursuing ethnography of the digital humanities act itself.

I want to take a moment and explain what I mean by briefly examining the relationship between game studies and the digital humanities.

Stephen Ramsay famously stated that building and making were the hallmarks of digital humanities work, and while he included a place of respect for the field of game studies in the pursuit of humanistic inquiry, he regarded it more as an inquiry on reading and less than an inquiry on making.  Some might find this a convincing narrative.  Regardless of that fact, it is nonetheless an incorrect narrative that ignores a fundamental quality of game studies- studying the act of play.

Earlier, on Twitter, I was included on a discussion about the idea of perma-death (permanent death) in game design and how the mud-dev forums contained an epic thread on the issue.

@ybika @jsantley I have been wanting to put together some research that re-publishes a lot of the "lost" early/mid 90s game studies.
— Nick LaLone (@Nick_Lalone) October 15, 2012

Nick LaLone replied that he wanted to put together research "that re-publishes a lot of the 'lost' early/mid 90's game studies', the implication being that our current critiques are lacking in recognition of earlier efforts, the 'dark' 90's being the example displayed here.  Our vision, our perception of the game studies field, is necessarily lacking until we at least uncover these lost sources.  But there is something deeper here- the idea that these sources might speak to the act of play and in doing so become far more valuable in this role than they could as just simple, dated observations.  Game studies inherently understands the need for good ethnography, because good ethnography is at the heart of understanding play.

In my own research with board games, I've found user created forums to be invaluable portals into the motivations behind creation of game modifications or debates on the alignment of design mechanics and theme.  What gives these sometimes-odd assortments of messages and debates credibility are their linkages to the active process of play.  Players create from their ludic experiences narratives that, in turn, inspire the creation or analysis on game-effects generated through play.  This is far more active process than that required of simply reading the rules and inferring the intent of design mechanics, or 'surveying the data' if you will.  It is also a process filled with potential ethnographic insights into cultural perspective and the larger workings behind integrating symbols and meanings into a coherent experience.

Photo by Gregory Duff

By performing ethnographic analysis of the play act itself, this 'dark' ludic experience can increasingly become revealed.  Analyzing player written After Action Reports (AAR's), or reviews of game sessions, can yield fascinating insight into how play connects embedded cultural narratives to historical interpretations.  Player created modifications, such as translating game materials into another language or introducing new materials or rules, and their dependency on digital networks of today is yet another avenue where one can analyze the bulding/sharing/deforming process tied to games as cultural artifacts.  Where Ramsay saw reading, I see more.  But, again, we return to questions centered on levels of perception and the limits circumscribed within.

Now Ramsay equated game studies as directed more towards humanistic reading and less towards humanistic building at his 'own peril'.  I suspect he included the caveat because he understood that by endorsing building over reading there was an implicit acknowledgment that something new always lay over the horizon.  Mark Sample goes so far as to say that digital humanities isn't about making or building at all; it's about sharing- maybe even breaking or deforming- what we study.  "When something breaks, it makes a beautiful sound," read the lyrics of 'Blue Arrangements' by the Silver Jews, and I can't help but think Sample would agree.

This optimistic note sounded by Ramsay and Sample in the pursuit of a productive digital humanities definition finds resonance in the tone of Madrigal's piece, especially when he includes personal details associated with his nerdish delight upon discovering the degree of influence 'dark social' wields.  It's the same feeling I get when studying how the active process of play shapes someone's conception and reflection of the past.  It is never a question of how good your data is, although good data is essential to good analysis.  It is always a question of how good your questions are, and whether those questions will probe and ply your data to not only reveal new insights, but perhaps also demonstrate the limit of what insights your data can provide

Underlying each of these positions is the discovery that our process- in creating social acts or building/breaking/sharing digital humanities projects- is more important and more informative when we take into account the experience and not just the data.  Defining and measuring data might sound active, but it's really static.  Doing is active.  Sharing is active.  Building and breaking are active.  And to understand both the digital humanities and social behavior better, we need a wider perspective that includes an ethnographic approach at its core.

Meanwhile, on the Boardwalk

(JA: Goes without saying, but this post contains spoilers.  You've been warned.)

I'm going to cut to the chase- last night's episode of Boardwalk Empire was, in my estimation, the greatest of the entire series so far.  Not so much because the acting was superb (even thought these were incredible performances by the trio of Buscemi, Cox and one-off character Robinson), but rather because the entire episode crystalized a long developing character arc of anti-hero Nucky Thompson.  This is because, despite the name, Boardwalk Empire isn't about building an empire at all.  Prohibition isn't the driver of action; it actually is little more than period framing for the timeless drama contained within.  It's about the transition of one man from the first circle of hell to its innermost layers.  There is no doubt at the end of this episode that Nucky has made a place for himself in the lake of fire, his own internal guilt no longer a sufficient check for his slow metamorphosis into the gangster he has now become.

To understand this transformation, you have to recall the feeling and drive of the first two seasons of Boardwalk Empire.  Consider the opening of the first season; Nucky, addressing the Women's Temperance League of Atlantic City, spins a masterful yarn of his own childhood marred by the consummation of rat flesh because his oft-soaked father could not provide.  The ladies gasp, but are fully immersed in his apocryphal tale.  When questioned by James Darmody though the comment, "In the trenches, once we ate dogmeat- but rats?" Nucky responds cooly while opening a hidden flask, "First rule of politics, kiddo: never let the truth get in the way of a good story."

Hiding and shuffling the truth is the mainstay of Nucky's current occupation of running Atlantic City.  He's the county treasurer, yet this is nothing more than a convenient cover for his more duplicitous means of gainful employment.  His control of the Republican machine in Atlantic City thrives on this political juxtaposition between the truth and a good story, as graft and corruption are the watchwords of the day in an era built, supposedly, on the moral certitudes of prohibition.  "In less than two hours, liquor will be declared illegal by decree of those distinguished gentlemen of our nation's congress.  To those ignorant, beautiful bastards!' Nucky proclaims with a toast in his meeting of the city's gathered political puppets just prior to the introduction of the Volstead Act.  Yet the line has a double ring of truth to it.  Members of Congress might just be ignorant of what forces they have unleashed with their 'prohibition', but one cannot help but feel that Nucky and Co. are also ignorant in their assumption that the event can only turn to their favor.  These are the words of a confident, and supremely competent, graft politician.  They most certainly aren't the words of a gangster who, although sure of the rising tide of black market liquor becoming an even higher tide of incoming cash, nonetheless also knows that greater opportunity means greater risk.  The fact that Nucky is presiding over a party and not a war-room only underscores his ignorance in the face of these turbulent new waves.

The era of the graft politician is waning, even as it receives its pyrrhic victory, shown later in the second season, with the election of Warren Harding to the presidency.  The era of the gangster is in the ascendant, and it's all-corrupting influence and reach in the soul of Nucky Thompson is the main focus of Boardwalk Empire.  For although the show makes little of the moral choices this path necessitates, it imbues Nucky with a sort of Dolstevesky-esque aura of psychological transformation.  This is the main story arc now told over two complete seasons and the first quarter of the third.  With last night's episode, the transformation is complete.  Nucky has now become the full embodiment of this new gangster ideal, the methods and means of his former graft-politician ways discarded like so many Roland Smiths left dead on the floor.

Of course, the murder of Roland Smith isn't Nucky's first.  He did, in fact, shoot James Darmody in the face at the conclusion of the second season, putting an end to the ongoing attempt by the Commodore and his wealthy coterie to remove Nucky from the hallowed halls of power in Atlantic City.  But this was not the act of a gangster incarnate, and the second season still largely had to deal with the presence of a reluctant Nucky who sees in his tried and true methods of graft rule a way to control the situation and neuter his opponents without the use of overwhelming violent force.  The death of the Commodore, at the hands of his own son, signals the end of this graft era and the rise of the new.  Trotsky once wrote to Lenin, during the brutal Russian Civil War, that, "discipline cannot possibly be maintained without revolvers."  Nucky, having tried to utilize his graft connections and running of the political machine of Atlantic City to solve his problems, comes to realize the full extent of Trotsky's words as he takes aim at James with his own revolver and says, "You don't know me James. You never did. I am not seeking forgiveness."  The shot rings out, its target true.  And still Nucky is not a changed man- not yet.  The unsteady look to Eli for affirmation belies the intent of the act just committed.  Did Nucky do the right thing?  Yes, nods Eli, as a now rain-soaked Nucky walks away, still unsure.

The first few episodes of the third season show a man lost at sea, with Nucky having disturbing dreams related to his murder of Darmody and uncharacteristic weakness in seeking the attention of the young and vivacious Lillian Kent.  He is restless, literally and figuratively, spending the entire third episode of the current season desperately trying to reach Kent on the phone in her New York apartment, ultimately heading to her abode and falling asleep on her couch awaiting her return.  When he awakes, and she is there, his real need for comfort hides the real changes underneath his cooing demeanor.  This is because, just before his maddening flight to New York, Nucky had his true fate revealed by the 'blind' prophet Tiresias, represented in this case by the masked Richard Harrow.  When asked if Richard ever sees the faces of those he's killed, the response is as chilling as it is resolute in its prophetic augury- "You already know the answer to that, don't you?"  The truth is set, the path declared- Nucky's transformation is almost complete, akin to the moments just before Oedipus puts out his eyes at the consequential revelation of his own terrible hubris.  Nucky knows he is a true killer.  But it will take a descent into hell to burn away any remaining doubt.

This is why the most recent episode delivers on so many levels.  There is a crisis in the liquor empire Nucky has painstakingly built, prompted by the arrival of Gyp Rossetti who, after taking offense to Nucky's consolidation of business in New York under Arnold Rothstein, decides to set-up shop in the quiet halfway point between Atlantic City and the Big Apple- Tabor Heights- with the purpose of intercepting Nucky's liquor shipments.  Others, too, have been taking slices from Nucky's pie.  A certain and unknown Roland Smith has also stolen from Nucky, and it is this issue upon which the majority of the new episode hangs.  Everything takes on even more pressing terms when Mickey Doyle presumes to ask Owen Slater, Nucky's right-hand man, "Are you sure this is a good idea?" just after Nucky announces that future liquor shipments are to use the back roads to New York and avoid Tabor Heights altogether.  The slight becomes a flashpoint on the questions of authority and loyalty.  Nucky is quick to reprimand Doyle, then turns to Owen and inquires about what is being done to rectify the Roland Smith problem.  Nucky wants the problem solved, quickly, and it is this issue that will resolve the uncertainty of both authority and loyalty in the Boardwalk Empire.

Owen does indeed find the mysterious Roland Smith, who turns out to be a glib-tonged youth with a house full of stolen liquor just outside of Philadelphia.  Nucky is summoned to the dilapidated structure, and during the interrogation of Smith a gang of Prohis (Prohibition Officers) arrives.  After killing the two men who traveled with Nucky outside, the Prohis storm into Smith's house to begin their search of the premises.  At this point the camera cuts to the cellar, panning up to reveal Nucky, Slater and Smith in a flooded basement, looking above with bated breath as beams of light, streaming from floorboards pounded by the numerous agent's shoes, falls upon them intermittently.  Soon the Prohis are in the cellar itself, and here is revealed one of the most powerful metaphoric images produced in the episode; having made the descent into a hellish cellar, Nucky is made to hide behind the old boiler to escape being caught.  He has figuratively placed himself in the lake of fire and next to its hottest source, with a gun jammed into the chin of Smith- the outcome of this thief all but assured with the cameras framing shot.  Thus begins the waiting game, with Nucky, Slater, and Smith holed up in the cellar, awaiting departure of the murderous Prohis above.

Daylight breaks, and the trio is still hiding in the basement with the few remaining Prohis taking guard outside.  Slater recalls how he would endure the waiting involved in his IRA missions back in Ulster, mentally walking the streets of Corrine in his head.  When prompted by Nucky if that's what he did last night, Slater responds that he hasn't thought of the place in months.  "Sounds like you're feeling at home," replies Nucky, and once again the issue of loyalty comes up.  "What have I done to earn your loyalty?" asks Nucky, to which Slater ultimately responds, "You pay me."  It's not exactly the answer one wants to hear, and it is here that Nucky decides what must be done.  He intently gazes at Smith, now sleeping on a pile of ropes in the corner, the allusion of a soul in purgatory easily summoned.  It's here that Nucky makes his decision on what he has to do, the fate of Smith cast before the pair of Slater and Nucky as they sit on the bench next to the wall opposite.

After brief interludes in which the other characters of Boardwalk Empire advance their plot lines (also noteworthy, but outside the scope of this review), we return to the cellar and the long-awaited departure of the Prohis stationed outside.  After climbing out of hell, Smith makes his case for joining Nucky as an employee in his illegal dealings.  But he makes fatal errors, first in addressing Slater with his (boastful) skill set that could be made available were he to join up, then in revealing that he actually smokes, despite his claims otherwise when Nucky first arrived to the Philadelphia hideout.  Here is the defining moment, the time when Nucky could turn away from his gangster transition and return to his grafting politician ways.  How easy would it be to cut Smith in on the action?  Exceedingly easy, especially considering the position in which Smith finds himself.  But would he be loyal?  As Smith turns his back, hearing the approach of an automobile, Nucky calmly walks back, pulls out his gun, and shoots Smith in the head.

Slater is visibly stunned, looking at the body of Smith lying next to the still smoking cigarette.  "I thought you were letting him go," Slater stammers.  "Why would you think that?" Nucky retorts, to which Smith can only answer, "I misunderstood."  "As long as you understand now," Nucky replies.  The message is very clear- betray Nucky and the consequences will be severe.  His transformation is complete.  Having descended into hell, Nucky finds himself assured and confident in his new skin.  There is no turning back now.  The politician is dead.  Long live the gangster.

Thus ends the greatest episode, so far, of Boardwalk Empire.

What Live-Tweeting Means To Me

via Sue Waters

I know the very last thing the interwebs needs is another post discussing what some have dubbed #Twittergate (how the mind reels at such creative nomenclature), yet that is exactly what I find myself writing this morning.  The reason?  I think it's important someone steps forward and explains, in a non-patronizing tone, just why live-tweeting conference presentations, or really any live event where ideas are exchanged, is so vital to people like me.  You see, I'm a former graduate student who now finds himself working as an 'independent researcher' (again, a rose by any other name).  Live-tweeting was the lifeline that kept me connected to current ideas being exchanged in conferences I couldn't afford to attend, in addition to giving me the ability to build a professional network that, quite honestly, my department never really never could help me cultivate.  That's not a knock on my former department- it's just the reality for many graduate students that networking comes easiest to those who can travel and stay on top of current trends, a process that is often self-fulfilling as only those who can afford to pursue these things have increased access to their sustained returns.  If you're shut out of the loop, you can grow quite lonely on the outside looking in.

Not located next to a major metropolitan center?  Good luck finding cheap airfares or affording increasing hotel prices.  Are your department's coffers running low?  Good luck receiving help to pay for conference visits.  Since we all know how competitive the academic job market can be, graduate students need every bit of help they can muster as every line on the CV is scrutinized by hiring committees.  If you can't attend conferences and build your experience in giving presentations and asking questions, well, good luck getting a job.

Now Twitter can't replace actual conference attendance and actual presentations given in front of an audience of one's peers.  But it can make you a meaningful participant in such presentations, and it can give you access to people's work that otherwise would be denied.  From my own experience, this can be a valuable proxy in lieu of physical presence.  It can even lead to you having a physical presence in said conferences.

Last April, I attended the Theorizing the Web 2012 conference where I presented on 'textual dualism' in Russian history.  It was an incredible forum where diverse disciplines gathered to debate ideas that were fresh while tackling new issues digital culture brings to our daily lives.  How did I know about this conference?  Twitter.  Specifically, I was able to connect with one of the organizers, Nathan Jurgenson, through my engagement with his ideas discussed on Twitter.  Chances are, on my own, I would never have encountered Nathan's ideas.  I wouldn't have met his co-organizer, PJ Rey, and I certainly would not have been exposed to the sociological debate they both pursue (among many other talented contributors) on their Cyborgology blog.  I can't say the cross-pollination of ideas between us has been equal- I can only say that I, personally, have benefitted greatly from engaging with debates and ideas both Jurgenson and Rey and so many others contribute to their Twitter accounts and academic blog posts.

This past summer one of my blog posts, 'Going Beyond the Textual in History', was selected for publication in the Journal of Digital Humanities (JDH).  This was my first article published in a peer-reviewed journal, a minor, yet important, stepping stone in building my larger academic career.  How did my work come to the attention of the JDH?  Twitter.  Specifically, other followers in my Twitter network saw my tweet about my post and retweeted it to others, a process that eventually put my work in front of the editors of the JDH and netted me a spot in their summer volume.  The thing is, I'm not a well known voice on topics of gaming and history.  Without my Twitter network, the ideas I wrote about in my post would most likely have been seen by a few friends and maybe even a few professionals who shared my interests- but that would have probably been the extent of it.  To be honest, without Twitter I wouldn't have come across the original journal article which inspired my blog post in the first place.

I realize that some people have reservations with their conference presentations being tweeted to the larger world.  I don't understand their fear, the idea that they might have their thoughts stolen and used by others in a more advanced position to publish work in a peer-reviewed journal, or that the ideas presented represented a work-in-progress and not one's final analysis worthy of announcement.  As a Humanities practitioner, I believe the process of one's work is as valuable as the work itself.  Still, I can understand why someone would demur on such publicity.

However, what I want those who rally against live-tweeting to understand is just how important having access to ideas can be for someone in my position.  I may not have Ivy league credentials, or be a member of good standing in the PhD club- but I can hold my own and even give something back to discussions that tread on what I've researched or read about.  Many others can too- but only if they are let in on the process.  Are there questions regarding proper citation and attribution when using Twitter?  Of course.  But just because the format is nascent in 'serious & credible discussion' (a point which I'm not sure applies anymore to tweets in general) doesn't mean we should ban or obstruct their use in furthering discourse.  Because of Twitter, I can participate in conferences hundreds of miles away, learn about new articles or books that fit my area of research, find new ways to combine ideas into something greater than the sum of its parts, feel like my efforts are worth a damn, meet new and interesting people- all while making connections to other scholars and fields that just isn't possible when you live in one town and research in one library.

That's what live-tweeting means to me.

Help Wanted

via The Year of Mud

Seems like anything goes these days.  In light of the recent brew-ha-ha regarding live-tweeting at conferences, look at what I found in a 'Help Wanted' ad this afternoon (details removed to protect the innocent):

Heading to (REDACTED) conference and need help in keeping my ideas in the room.  I mean it- not one word uttered from my lips should leave the room, be it in note, electronic, or thought form.  As such, I'm looking for an intellectual property enforcer.  Candidate must be familiar with Twitter, but in no way use it in the service of stealing ideas.  Retweets are stolen ideas, and candidates must be willing to find every person who tweets or retweets what I say at (REDACTED) conference in order to threaten them with legal action and/or name calling if they surreptitiously steal one of my ideas, which they most certainly did if they tweet at my presentation.  Please don't tweet this add, as someone might steal my idea and hire you before I can do so.  I take my position as an enlightener of minds very seriously, and thus cannot abide by the fact that so many of my very helpful ideas could be stolen and given to people for free on an odious platform like Twitter.  Feel free to follow me on Twitter at (REDACTED) or email me at (REDACTED), but please don't tell anyone about this ad- I'm growing steadily more convinced that my ideas could be stolen through 'loose lips' as well.