Workshop of Filthy Creation, Cyberspace Division
Hypertext is the
nineties' critical buzzword of choice, but many of its promises remain only
promises. Dozens of recent articles and even several books exploring the
intersection between hypertext and literary theory have raised all the right
questions, but few bother to descend to the practical decisions on which any
actual hypertext project must rest. Landow, for all
his insights, cannot pretend to have the experience that comes from manually
assembling tens of thousands of files. This is, by contrast, a report from the
front on some of the practical -- even mundane -- decisions behind one of the
most elaborate literary hypertext projects yet attempted, the Pennsylvania
Electronic Edition of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, due in 1997 as a
CD-ROM from the University of Pennsylvania Press.
Stuart
Curran is the editor for the project; two graduate students in English, Sam Choi and I, have worked as assistants, along with a number
of undergraduate students. We settled on Shelley's Frankenstein because
it was included in the Penn Reading Program: all of 1993's incoming freshmen
were required to read the novel. Many of the reasons that guided the novel's
inclusion in the Reading Program made it a good choice for an electronic
edition: its appeal to readers from high school students through the academy,
for instance, a range not to be found in, say, Catcher in the Rye on the
one hand or Eikonoklastes on the other. The
idea of multiple readerships has been a guiding principle from the
beginning.
More
important, the message is exceptionally well suited suited
to the medium: as Curran writes, Frankenstein "manifests a series
of problems, all of them needing to be worked through by a serious student of
the novel, yet at the same time being in the aggregate beyond the capacity of
print technology."1 The novel's pop-culture representations make it well
suited to multimedia. It is situated in an elaborate web of themes and
contemporary contexts. Shelley stood at the center of one of the greatest
literary circles in English history, and the relations between the members of a
literary circle are an almost perfect analogue for the hypertextual
links between fragments of text. Even the words themselves present problems
that lend themselves to hypertext solutions: the text exists in two
substantially different versions, the first edition of 1818 and the thoroughly
revised third edition of 1831. All of this makes for just the sort of rich
hypertext we hoped for: an intertextual web
integrating the texts and its contexts, including science, literature,
philosophy, feminist thought, naval exploration, mythology, geography.
Frankenstein comments upon, even incorporates into itself, an entire
library, from Aeschylus's Prometheus Bound through Percy Bysshe Shelley's Prometheus Unbound, with stops
along the way at Milton's Paradise Lost, the works of Rousseau and
Goethe, the political philosophy of Godwin, the feminist thought of
Wollstonecraft, the Gothic, and so on, almost without end.
Having
settled on a work, we turned our attention to making the edition as widely
available as possible. The choice of reader software was our first
consideration, for with limited resources we could hardly develop one from
scratch. The SGML standard is well suited to the presentation of texts, but there
is no widely available and inexpensive reader. Several commercial packages have
been used to produce very professional products, but they seem better suited to
the multimedia aspect of the project than to the textual and hypertextual. We settled finally on HTML, the language of
the World Wide Web. Its status as an emerging standard caught our attention,
since it promises to become a more prominent player in the hypertext and
multimedia world. We plan to distribute our CD-ROM containing the HTML-encoded
files along with PC- and Macintosh-compatible diskettes containing a freeware
browser, but to allow the user to use any browser he or she finds convenient.
When it at last becomes convenient to provide licensed access over the
Internet, we look forward to making the project even more widely available.
HTML is not,
however, a perfect choice. Although the language is always developing, and
features whose absence we lamented two years ago are now part of the ad-hoc
standard, HTML does not readily allow for split screens, which would simplify
collations of textual variants. It was not designed with verse in mind, making
the lengthy extracts of poetry difficult to manage. Some foreign characters are
supported but by no means all -- and those that are included
aren't easy -- making editing and proofreading foreign criticism painstaking; the want of a code for the British pound sign, for
instance, reveals both the shortsightedness of the developers and the problems
we had to work around.
With the
book itself, the reader software, and the markup
language settled, we began work in earnest by establishing a text. Traditional
editorial practice would have us choose one edition or the other as a copytext and then relegate the substantive variants to a
textual appendix. But while critical print editions make the variants are
available to researchers, they do not allow them to reproduce the experience of
reading the text that is available only in the apparatus. Hypertext has no such
limitation. We resolved therefore to include both texts entire, giving the
reader the choice of which edition to use. Each text is fully annotated, with a
link from each passage of 1818 to the corresponding passage of 1831 and vice
versa, giving the reader the choice of reading either text through, or of
jumping back and forth between the texts at any time. To point up the
differences between the two texts -- some of the revisions are themselves
significant in showing how the novel changed -- we provided a link from either
1818 or 1831 to an intermediate screen showing a collation of the two versions.
The system can be seen here in schematic form:
To make the novel
manageable, we broke the text into segments shorter than a chapter but usually
longer than a paragraph -- a unit of no more than around thirty lines, never
splitting a paragraph in the middle. Nomenclature was a constant problem at
this stage of the project: "page" misleadingly suggests the paper
equivalent; "file" sounds too technical. We settled on "frame,"
which seemed neither too complicated nor too imprecise.2
Then came the commentary. Stuart Curran was primarily responsible
for the glosses on the text. The Pennsylvania Electronic Edition, even without
the extensive critical and contextual material, is by far the most extensively
glossed edition of the novel, or perhaps any novel ever: the
"first-level" footnotes alone already stretch to over 150,000 words,
thrice the length of the novel itself, a mass of commentary that could not be
practically accommodated in any paper edition. And these textual glosses are
accompanied by supplementary factual material on science, philosophy, history.
Several dozen short essays on the history of research on electricity, polar
expeditions, spontaneous generation, and the like serve to situate the reader
in the early nineteenth century, while two hundred capsule biographies
introduce him or her to the most important figures surrounding the novel. By
our best estimate the complete edition, were it reproduced in a standard paper
volume (of course without the multimedia materials), would run to nearly 20,000
pages.
Frankenstein
is exceptionally rich in pointers to things beyond what was once called
"the text itself." Several contextual materials suggested themselves
immediately. Shelley's use of Paradise Lost, from the title page through
the Creature's closing speech, made it an obvious candidate; we include it
entire. Whereas even extensively annotated editions might provide ten apropos
lines and refer the reader to another volume, our edition takes the reader to
those lines in the context of the complete text. We include some of the works
of Shelley's parents, such as Wollstonecraft's Vindication of the Rights of
Woman and Godwin's Political Justice. The allusions to Wordsworth,
Coleridge, Byron, and Percy Shelley led to our including the complete text of
all relevant materials (such as "Tintern
Abbey," The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Childe Harold's
Pilgrimage, and Prometheus Unbound).
All these
texts, though, in spite of being too long to include in a paper edition of the
novel, are readily available -- with the possible exception of Godwin, they
should appear in every high school and public library -- while our conception
goes beyond the easily available. Mary Shelley's scientific knowledge, for
instance, was drawn largely from the works of Erasmus Darwin and Humphry Davy, now available only in the rare book rooms of
research libraries. Volney's Ruins of Empire,
from which the Creature draws his knowledge of much of the world, has not appeared
in English in nearly a century. Much of our excitement about the project grew
out of providing not merely an edition of a single text but a library of
materials unavailable outside major universities, a library containing the
equivalent of dozens of rare volumes available for not much more than the cost
of a trade paperback.
In addition
to original annotations and contemporary contextual materials, we have included
about one hundred fifty scholarly essays, both on the text itself and on such
related phenomena as the contexts and pop-culture reinterpretations. Here the
only pratical distinction from the other parts is the
need to secure reprint permissions: they are otherwise seamlessly integrated
into the textual web. Annotations on each frame refer readers to relevant
paragraphs in every article that comments on the passage, while the critical
essays refer both to the text and to one another. Readers are offered a
plurality of critical voices in a more complete variorum than has ever been
attempted.
There are
other contextual materials of a different sort that we could not afford to
exclude from the edition. As early as 1823 Shelley's novel
had been adapted for the stage, inaugurating the long tradition of pop-culture
representation. Early in the age of film the story moved from the stage
to the screen, most famously in Universal's 1931 Frankenstein with Boris
Karloff, but also in many dozens of reinterpretations, spinoffs, and parodies.
By one count, there have been over four hundred film interpretations of Frankenstein
between Thomas Edison's 1910 silent short through Kenneth Branagh's
recent large-budget adaptation.3 The Pennsylvania Electronic Edition includes
histories and commentaries on these dramatic and cinematic adaptations, with
material devoted to the creation of a complete popular-culture mythology
surrounding the novel.
And context
is more than text. HTML can incorporate graphics, which encouraged us to search
for early nineteenth-century pictorial materials: maps on which one can trace Frankenstein's
journeys across Europe and to the Pole, contemporary illustrations of
eighteenth-century scientific equipment, illuminated alchemical treatises,
portraits of the people mentioned or alluded to in the novel or the commentary,
and facsimiles of the title pages of nearly every work from which we draw. The
reference to Petersburg in the first sentence of the novel leads to
contemporary maps of Petersburg, engravings of views of the city, and so on.
And Frankenstein's long and rich heritage in popular culture suggests
another sort of non-textual material, the film clip, which the multimedia
capabilities of the Web and Netscape make practical. Wherever reproduction
rights can be secured, we hope to include video clips from Frankenstein
movies from Edison through Branagh, all integrated
into the vast contextual library.
An uncatalogued library, of course, is useless. With this
explosion of text into hypertext, we felt some need to rein it back in, to
allow the reader to find specific information without stumbling upon it by
accident. Though the obvious way to reach the context is from the text -- a
link from the text might lead to a note which leads to Wollstonecraft which
leads to Rousseau which leads to a critical discussion of Rousseau's theories of
education which leads back to the Creature's education in volume two -- we see
the importance of a more conventional hierarchical organization. Hypertext
allows the two to be overlaid, so in addition to the circuitous path just
described, there is also a page called "Contexts: Education," which
refers to Rousseau and Wollstonecraft and the relevant critical articles; an index
nominum includes all the people mentioned in the
text or the commentary; an index of themes points toward major discussions of
the novel; a list of critical approaches allows the reader to look at the
biographical discussions of the novel, or the feminist critiques, or the
materialist approaches, the psychological readings, and so on. And a full
concordance of not only every word but every phrase of up to eight words in the
novel will take the place of a search engine, which cannot yet reliably run on
various hardware and software platforms. It should be possible to reach any
piece of text in the edition by selecting only a few logically organized links.
As the
edition grew, the greatest practical difficulty was in this management of
something so vast and shapeless -- keeping the elaborate network of links
straight in our own minds. Even though we had ourselves created every gloss and
link, it soon grew beyond our power to keep tabs on its intricacies. Here some
rudimentary computer skills came in handy. We created a number of simple
programs (Unix shell scripts and PERL programs): one
program kept track of the geographical locations in the book and the
commentary; another looked for personal names; yet another a list of
characters. These programs ran automatically every night, and their reports
would list every frame (whether text, context, or commentary) in which the
words appeared. We therefore had at any time an up-to-date index to work from
and to monitor our own progress. Another program, also run daily, would hunt
for illegitimate links (such as those caused by typographical errors or
forgotten leads), which we realized would be nearly impossible to track down
through simple proofreading.
We have done our best to resist the technological euphoria that often
accompanies reports similar projects. While my comments show my excitement over
the edition, we know the computer is no panacea. The limitations and problems
of the technology, and our own failure to overcome some of the problems we set
for ourselves, deserve at least some brief consideration.
The greatest
difficulty for the reader of this edition is too obvious to be noticed by the
cyber-utopianists: the computer screen. Our
enthusiasm should never lose touch with the practical concerns forced on
readers by media. Even the best screens are too grainy and flickery
for comfortable prolonged use. And a book that cannot be scribbled in or read
on a train ride cannot hope to be a commercial success. This led us to the
seemingly retrograde move of including a thoroughly traditional paperback
edition of the 1818 text bundled with the computer disk. The paperback is not
annotated, although marginalia refer readers to the frames in the electronic
edition. The idea is that the student can carry about a reading copy and then
do more sophisticated research on relevant passages.
We are still
concerned that some information may be difficult to find, and that some
important connections are left unmade. There are nearly fifty thousand
hypertext links, each placed by hand, covering every
relation we were able to anticipate. But as Frankenstein discovered when his
Creature left his workshop of filthy creation, some projects achieve a degree
of complexity that puts them out of their creator's control. The most important
problem, then, is inherent in the medium itself. It may be no problem at all,
though it often feels like one: there is no end to what can be included in a
web. Despite the often impressive theorizing on hypertext's creation of a new
set of reading practices, we do not yet have any empirical data on how readers
will in fact approach such a massive text. Ten thousand files can be linked to
one another nearly a hundred million ways, and the editor's job is to determine
which of these almost limitless possibilities is likely to prove useful to
readers -- to choose fifty or sixty thousand good ones and assume the other
99.95 million are less important. We were sometimes forced to set arbitrary
limits and felt like tyrants, and at other times let connections spin almost
out of control and felt like anarchists.
In spite of
all the problems, it is this sense of charting previously unexplored waters
that makes us hopeful that the Pennsylvania Electronic Edition will suggest
some of what an electronic edition might do. The final touches will be applied
in the next few months, but we welcome feedback, for we hope to make this an
ongoing project. And though of course we hope the edition is widely used among
its most obvious audience, students of Frankenstein, the practical
experience of assembling an edition of this magnitude -- with everything we've
done right, and everything we've done wrong -- may prove useful for others
taking advantage of the new medium.
Notes
1. Stuart Curran, "Frankenstein Revealed: The Pennsylvania Electronic
Edition," Penn Printout, 11:3 (1994).
2. Since we began,
Netscape has introduced an extension to HTML called "frames" which
have little to do with our frames, but it was too late to settle on another
name.
3. Stephen Jones, The Illustrated Frankenstein Movie Guide
(London: Titan Books, 1994).
.
© Jack Lynch
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Academic year 2008/2009
© a.r.e.a./Dr.Vicente Forés López
© Lorena Levy Ballester
lolevyba@alumni.uv.es