Our Conclusions

Melissa Dahn
Leanne Butler
Deborah Carrington

We found several positive aspects of Ivanhoe. Firstly, you get to interact with other people, but in the form a different self. This allows to you take on the traits of a character that you might otherwise treat more superficially. So instead of writing, “This was their motivation…” you can write, “This was my motivation…” in the context of a character. This means that you can apply the Zizek approach (as we discussed in class) and become someone you may not feel comfortable being in another circumstance. Thus, the writing takes on a somewhat therapeutic role; you can write without the thought that you are being judged as strictly as you would in a literary criticism paper. This is due to experiencing the characterization in real time. Consequently, the idea of risk (in the sense of evaluating the text) may be of secondary importance.
Also, instead of a text like the one we used where the story is single sided, this kind of approach allows you to interact directly with other characters and their point of view. But, just like in a story, you do not always know what they will do before they do it. Along with this, it makes you think on a turn basis; what this means is that you have to react accordingly to the other players’ moves and in the persona of your specific character. At times other players’ moves can cause you to change your initial ideas and plans, which can emulate real life in some ways. So thinking of it in that respect, this approach also helps to build interpersonal skills; it teaches you how to deal with constantly changing situations. This is in keeping with the origination of the game. As the Ivanhoe site says, “IVANHOE emerged in the spring of 2000 from a conversation between Jerome McGann and Johanna Drucker on the subject of literary-critical method” (umd.edu).
In short, we believe that this approach allows an intertextual approach to the literature since more “voices” come alive through the experience of “real time” game playing. Additionally, there could be opportunities for a closer examination of the text, e.g., one could also assume the persona of a “word examiner” – somewhat like a CSI role. This would allow an approach similar to an explication paper but also allows the writer to explore more options, and as mentioned above, perhaps to take risks. As the Ivanhoe site states, “[it] is designed to foster critical awareness of the methods and perspectives through which we understand and study humanities documents . . . IVANHOE exposes the indeterminacy of humanities texts to role-play and intervention by students at all levels” (Patacriticism). Along the same lines, as other players react to player interpretation, the meaning of the text becomes malleable and can actually assume a different contextual significance. This is in keeping with what the Ivanhoe site asserts, “all interpretation pursues transformations of meaning within a dynamic space of ongoing acts of interpretation; [thus interpretation] is a dialogical exchange and, ultimately, a continuous set of collaborative activities” (umd.edu).

The Police Report

Early this evening a man, later identified as a Mr. Faulkner, collapsed in the police station. Faulkner was reported to be seen running down the street towards the police station in a frenzy, stumbling as if intoxicated or wounded. By the time he entered the station there was blood running from his lips and it is said that he was mumbling the words "soldier", "artist", and "money". He held a broken portrait in one hand and in the other clasped a bag containing a very large sum of money. It has been brought to the police's attention that Mr. Faulkner is the same man who earlier this year had sent an ex-solider and his band of thieves to jail for murder and that the soldier at present is at large. It is still not evident how the portrait is connected to the death of Mr. Faulkner, but police have deemed his death to have been an act of murder, possibly by poison.

The Inn

I decided to go into the bar of the inn that I was staying in. I sat melancholy at a table in the corner thinking about my plan to kill both the Artist and Faulkner. As I scanned my surroundings I noticed Faulkner sitting at the table of the bar! Was he really that foolish to follow me here after he nearly lost his life at my hands? I had some rat poison in my pocket that I was saving for just the right occasion. I gave the bartender $2500 to slip the poison in his drink. This time I made sure that I used more than enough poison to kill him with only a few sips. I just had to remain unseen until Faulkner drank his beer…

What to do, What to do.

I followed the man inside of a nearby inn and situated myself in such a was as to not be spotted, but that I could also watch his movements and maybe catch a more full look of his face. It was when he ordered a drink at the bar that I was able to finally get a good look at him and to my shock and horror it was in fact my almost murderer! My blood froze just looking at him and the memories of that night in that horrid bed. I have yet to be able to sleep on anything but a cot since that scarring event. I caught another glimpse of his face and suddenly all of the terror left me and was replaced with a need for revenge. As I am a gentleman I could not kill him myself, but I determined to go immediately to the police and notify them of my sighting of the soldier criminal and tell them the location of the inn that he was staying in. And as I passed out the door of the inn I bumped right into the painter that I had just gotten my portrait from! How odd to see him there. The man headed straight for the bar with a determined look in his eye and made quite a ruckus as he sat down, yelling about money and demanding alcohol. It was at this point that I made my final exit of the inn, hopefully unnoticed by the soldier.

about the directions

I already emailed prof Jones and he said for the purpose of getting this project done that we can go out of order. :O)

The Run In and My Plan

The next day I passed down the same street. Sure enough the artist was at work again. He glanced over and saw me looking at the boy. I saw the artist turn to him with a look of terror. He must have seen the revenge that was in my eyes. I couldn’t do anything there on the street in the middle of broad daylight. I had to wait until I devised a better plan. This time I couldn’t afford to fail at what I set out to do. After I glanced at Faulkner the way I did, it was apparent that he knew who I was. Faulkner also knew who I was. He had a look on his face that displayed pure terror. I saw him disappear down a dark alley. I had to make myself scarce as soon as possible to avoid being spotted by the police. I had to go somewhere fast. I retreated back to an old inn I knew of in town.

As I sat in my room I tried to think of a way to kill Faulkner. The more I thought, the more I realized that I would have to kill the Artist too. The Artist saw the way I looked at Faulkner. He knew that I despised him and he also knew that Faulkner was horrified by me. That’s it both Faulkner and the Artist need to be killed!

This Starving Artist Thing is Getting Old

I must control my emotions; the brush strokes are getting ragged. Ragged as my nerves. I am owing on the rent for my studio; nay, I have obligations everywhere I turn. Faulkner will not be still about this money. He describes wrapping it up in the scarf in such minute detail I can see the scratches on the coins and creases in the bills. Ahhh, what I wouldn't do for the money.

I must get hold of myself -- I think back to the time when I was a younger man -- full of hope at the possibilities that lay before me. I was going to travel the continent and paint famous venues and people. However, the people and the places turned out to be my undoing. I tried to be seen in all the "right" places so all the "right" people would think it advantageous for me to paint them. Alas, the I became the instrument of my own undoing. Hosting wine parties, the occasional card party, lavish dinners . . . Before I knew what I was about, my "break of day" was noon or later -- I missed critical hours of natural light -- calling hours began to fall away as I feverishly tried to make up for lost time.

Hence, when Faulkner looked at the indifferently painted sketches, I cringed and was willing to give him what he fancied. Looking at those canvases reminded me of lost opportunities -- now I was staring at my largest lost opportunity. Had I only known about Faulkner's windfall I would have requested a far larger sum.

Hark -- I see an older gentleman staring at me. Something about his demeanor tells me that he has been looking this way for quite some time. Does he know me?? Do I owe him a sketch of his wife or daughter?? Is he observing to report to someone as to my whereabouts?? God, what I wouldn't give for a glass of wine to steady my hand. Wait -- I begin to think he is looking at Faulkner!! There is a certain emnity in his gaze. Providence!! This could be the chance I have been waiting for . . .