Eds. Richard Colby, Matthew S. S. Johnson, and Rebekah Shultz Colby

Notable Works Mentioned:

Jonathan Alexander. “Gaming, student literacies, and the composition classroom: Some possibilities for transformation”

Ian Bogost, Persuasive Games: The Expressive Power of Videogames

James Paul Gee, What Video Games Have to Teach Us about Learning and Literacy

Johan Huizinga, Homo Ludens

Jesper Juul, Half real: Video Games between Real Rules and Fictional Worlds

Richard Lanham, The Electronic Word

Cynthia Selfe and Gail Hawisher, Gaming Lives in the Twenty-First Century

Core Investigative Questions:

1. How can playing a video game encourage students to (re)consider how they write, read, and research?
2. How do gaming spaces function rhetorically and in what ways can/do gamers conduct rhetorical readings of them?
3. How do video games represent identity and community and how are these representations interpreted by gamers?
4. How do video games and gaming serve as metaphors for written discourse and writing?
5. How do video games’ rhetorical techniques differ from comparatively traditional texts?
6. In what ways do video game designers take into account audience (beyond its commercial function of consumption)?
7. In what ways do electronic games help us to reconceptualize classroom spaces?

Important Quotes to Consider:

Introduction

“We not only accept that video games are transmedial, but we also argue that they have certain unique qualities. For one, video games respond to player interaction regardless of whether the player is playing alone or with others” (3).

Play

“[T]heorizes the nature of play and game itself to better elucidate the intersections between playing, writing, and the teaching of writing” (5).

Composition

“[E]xplores how games can shape specific teaching practices and how they influence student (and teacher) learning” (5).

Rhetoric

“[A]nalyzes games through a rhetorical lens, considering specifically what we can learn about rhetoric from looking at games, and about games from looking at them rhetorically” (5).

Afterward

“[T]here is no going back over the old (and presumably defunct) arguments about whether violent games promote violence in players or whether games are or are not narratives, or even whether games are productive or just a waste of time. These questions appear settled—at least from the perspective of the authors of this book” (205).

“For many of the contributors, games are not just another way to teach academic writing; they are a legitimate form of academic writing. The book thus has particular theoretical and practical advantages for anyone considering teaching a game-oriented class” (206).

Day 1: Read through the quotes provided on your handout. Working with your partner, discuss the chapters and find ways that the two overlap either explicitly or implicitly.

Then create a shared Google Doc where you begin brainstorming an in-class activity or assignment for a first year course (it does not have to be FYC) that demonstrates the overlaps/values/interests/approaches you discussed. Set small goals for today, but try to leave with a solid activity/assignment. The activity will continue on Thursday with work time and discussion of your plans.

Share the link to your Google Doc in the comments section of this post.

Several things immediately excited me about this text: the definition of game introduced up front, and the discussion of Facebook as a learning tool, and these ideas of avatars and representation. These are all things I’m into lately, and to see them all in a single chapter was really exciting.

I wanted to speak to Alberti’s notions of Facebook as learning tool just on the face, because I talk about this kind of thing a lot with my students from semester to semester, particularly in addressing the common idea that “people don’t read these days,” which of course means they don’t write. We’re reading and writing all the time, and even if it’s Yik Yak or text messages or reddit or whatever, we’re still participating in these discourse communities, and they all require some construction of identity as well as approach to a rhetorical situation. What I hadn’t thought about, though, was social media as play, and I’m fascinated by the way Alberti fits that in here. While I don’t think I’d use Facebook, I have been thinking more and more about addressing social media through exercises in the 106 classroom (I’ve done it in 420), and this really cements my desire to do so.

John and Amelia’s digital handout.

1. Bogost describes rhetoric as a “general field of inquiry” concerned with persuasion and inscription of persuasive arguments. He distinguishes between many types of rhetoric (oral, written, visual, digital, procedural) based on the mode of inscription or inquiry they privilege. How does this position rhetoric in Bogost’s writing? Is it important as a standalone concept or must it be linked to something else always? How does his choice of classical philosophers as representatives of rhetoric affect its presentation and the role it plays in his writing? What are the importance and capabilities of rhetoric, according to Ian Bogost?
2. The key to procedural expression, according to Bogost, is that procedures are inflexible when they are performed by machines and programs. Bogost attributes a lot of expressive power to processes and machines themselves. How does this reshape or reconfigure the relationship between computers and writing? Is there evidence of this inflexibility controlling or influencing work and production in our previous readings on computers and composition in classroom settings up to this point?
3. Bogost compares procedures to bureaucracy, laws, and indicates “they are… crafted from the top down.” When defining play, Bogost relies on Salen and Zimmerman’s definition of play as a space of possibility within a rigid system (see attachment). For Salen and Zimmerman, that rigid system is largely constituted by what they call “rules,” similar to Huizinga’s conception of rules. What distinguishes rules from procedures and how do procedures and rules differ in practice? What makes procedures instructive or expressive in a way rules aren’t?

1. Bogost chides digital rhetoric scholars, saying “for scholars of digital rhetoric, to “function in digital spaces” often means mistaking subordinate properties of the computer for primary ones,” meaning they often misinterpret the communication functions computers facilitate is a misguided attempt to map oral rhetoric onto machines, when their true rhetorical potential lies in their computational abilities. Based on our other readings thus far on digital rhetoric, is it fair for Bogost to critique digital rhetoric scholars this way? How does taking a more machine-centric look at rhetoric change the parameters of digital rhetoric?
2. One of Bogost’s stated goals at the beginning of Persuasive Games is to argue for video games as a respected art form, and that the quality of life the art of video games reflect is procedurality. Procedurality, according to Bogost, is “the logic by which something works,” which he extends to social and cultural phenomena. Is this the key relationship of video games to real life, and is this what elevates video games to a higher art form?
3. What is the role of humans and human elements (or interference) in Bogost’s system of rhetoric?

Salen and Zimmerman_Rules of Play_Game Design Fundamentals_2004_ch10

I’m really drawn in by Bogost’s section on rebuttal or raising objections to the arguments made in the design of a game. He responds to players’ seeming lack of ability to raise procedural objections in two parts: 1.) user alteration of a game’s procedures is usually not allowed but one can try to poke at inconsistencies in the design to play it how you will, and 2) since most texts are not dialectic, one can simply create their own game in response (easier said than done, Ian). Response 2 is a bit disingenuous, considering the considerable obstacles that stop the average player from creating and distributing a game that responds in a meaningful way. But I wish Bogost would have expanded a bit more on subversive forms of play; the ability to resist the procedural arguments that a game designer makes is one of the more rewarding aspects of playing and responding to games.

In Mario Maker, there is a sadistic, evil level creator that likes to make levels that are tediously difficult and tricky, but one level in particular stood out as being truly sadistic: a level with a series of puzzles that each necessitated killing Yoshi to proceed. One player was so offended by the design of this level that he found a way to exploit each puzzle so that Yoshi would survive every encounter, while still allowing the player to advance to the next puzzle. The player was able to subvert the will of the designer and completed the level in a way that ran completely contrary to its intended experience.

Bogost’s examples make me think even more about the blurry line between games and life. simulations of work environments or political situations or prison infrastructure? simplified and gamified, sure, but like Sherri says in her post, it isn’t hard to see the “serious messages about corporations and politics” in these kinds of activities. I wonder if that should help us feel more able to do anything about the real procedures and issues that we face in this world, or what. recognizing procedural rhetoric in a game is cool. do we recognize it everywhere else, too? maybe the simplification gets in the way.

I’m about to teach my 420 students to write proposals and argue for small changes in the imaginary business contexts they’ve chosen to work in this semester. written proposals are one thing… boring, maybe, but conventional. if I had more time and were a more gamer-y type of person, it might be cool to ask my students to re-mediate their proposals into a game. maybe it would be a fun thought-experiment, at least.

I think Bogost’s article just summed up, in an academic nutshell, my issue with “serious” games. Serious games like Depression Quest, The Day the Laughter Stopped, or September Twelvth are the social justice equivalent of the cereal box game Bogost describes; they mimic procedures and procedural behavior, but the available choices are so limited that the player quickly “gets the point,” and no longer feels driven to play. This is because there really is only one point…the players were never meant to have any other possible interpretations.

It’s an interesting way of exploring concepts, but they are more like interactive articles than games. While it’s immensely difficult to really offer multiple endings to any game, when a game developer focuses so intensely on sending players a message, they eliminate the opportunity for the player to learn or create anything for themselves.

I think that’s why I love Simulators (Sims) so much. Games like Prison Architect are fascinating in that they explore the procedures of building and expanding prisons. Certain rooms or staff must be obtained before you can move on to more advanced levels (such as needing to get a Warden before you can modify the prison schedule or offer prisoners parole, since paroles only happen when the prisoner sits with the Warden for an exit interview). There are limits to your resources, and goals that you are urged (if not required) to obtain. But, unlike other more brute-force games, there are multiple ways to succeed. Hence why you can find any number of YouTube videos of various types of prisons…everything from minimal guards, to beautiful grounds, to most-likely-to-cause-massive-riots.

I know Bogost isn’t limiting his discussion to sims, and procedural rhetoric definitely exists in games of all complexities, but for classroom examples or useful learning tools (not to mention a personal addiction to playing them), my mind tends to go towards simulators. It’s also one of the only types of games I’ve tried to come up with scripts and ideas for….and one of the most impossible genres to work on, alone. The sheer volume of options needed to give players the freedom to explore is exhausting.

I can dream, though.

Bianca, I was thinking about that same article, because as with so many moments of Ian Bogost and his beard, I find myself nodding in agreement until a moment when I’m suddenly not. It always happens the same way, and I’m not sure why. I love how he talks about visualizing the simulating in that Atlantic article when talking about Sim City; we are seeing exactly what’s happening, but it’s rendered in a different visual mode, not only in terms of the computing simulation, but all the weird baggage that comes with it, that Bogost tags as uniquely American. But then he begins to veer off, into problems with games — that I agree with; games are wonderful, games are terrible — and comes to the conclusion that games are at their best when there are only systems and not characters. Too many issues, he says. Makes games like books. Give us just the systems. Break away from identity.

Except there’s plenty of research that shows we crave story. We want narrative and understanding, yes, even of those systems — and those systems include people. People who aren’t always predictable. Who don’t follow rules, who are often more interesting when they don’t. Why remove character from all games, Bogost? What do we lose as people when we think only in if-then statements?

One thing that I find myself continuing to think about is Bogost’s discussion of procedurality and the manner in which the idea of procedure is often negatively constructed:

The word procedure does not usually give rise to positive sentiments. We typically understand procedures as established, entrenched ways of doing things. In common parlance, procedure invokes notions of officialdom, even bureaucracy: a procedure is a static course of action, perhaps an old, tired one in need of revision. We often talk about procedures only when they go wrong: after several complaints, we decided to review our procedures for creating new accounts. But in fact, procedures in this sense of the word structure behavior; we tend to ‘see’ a process only when we challenge it. (3)

This discussion brings to mind Huizinga’s discussion of seriousness in play, and it also makes me think about how our understanding of play might be impacted by Bogost’s discussion of procedural rhetoric and “using processes persuasively” (3).

But I’m also wondering about what Bogost says about procedural representation and the argument that it “takes a different form than written or spoken representation. Procedural representation explains processes with other processes. Procedural representation is a form of symbolic expression that uses process rather than language” (9). I’m struggling with this demarcation between process and language and the fact that Bogost seems to be separating the two when he says that procedural representation uses process rather than language. So, I guess I’m wondering—are process and language really necessarily mutually exclusive? Or don’t they often intersect and inform each other, especially within the context of the process of writing?

And finally, I’ve been thinking about the types of games that Bogost explores and the fact that he states, “I am interested in videogames that make arguments about the way systems work in the material world. These games strive to alter or affect player opinion outside of the game, not merely to cause him to continue playing. In fact, many of the examples I will discuss strive to do just the opposite from arcade games: move the player from the game world into the material world” (47). I’ve been thinking about this in the context of an article Bogost wrote earlier this year that I read a while ago in which he seems to argue that, as the title itself pretty explicitly reveals, “video games are better without characters” based on the argument that games are better at constructing complex systems instead of individual stories about people. And I’m not sure that I agree with the types of games that Bogost seems to often privilege because perhaps such stories can also “make arguments about the way systems work in the material world” and perhaps larger systems can tell stories themselves.

I’m not quite sure what to say about the reading for today. It’s familiar territory, having read Bogost for every remotely game-related course I’ve taken, and for a few projects as well. That said, I did wonder about some seemingly loose points in Bogost’s argument from the perspective of digital fabrication (i.e. using digitally programmable machines to create physical things from digital files). In particular, thinking along the lines of electromechanical games (precursors to early video games that ran on complex electronic circuits and mechanical parts), they were programmable in a sense, and thus procedural, but pre-digital. Granted, digital systems facilitate certain things much better than systems that are electronic but not digital (displaying video, for example). And I think that’s ultimately Bogost’s argument, that video games perform procedurality differently than other procedural systems. But I’m inclined to believe that discussions toward the uncomfortable (for Bogost) blending of digital and material systems are becoming increasingly important, and I do find it a little surprising that he doesn’t address such issues in his work more frequently given the type of work that happens at Georgia Tech re: digital fabrication and electronics broadly. That said, I also wonder how prepared/interested RhetComp as a field is in pursuing such questions.