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 . . .

Directions??

According to the directions we received from our instructor, the intention is to make moves in sequential order. This would mean that Melissa is number 1, Deborah is number 2, and Leanne is number 3. Thanks for your understanding.

Just Around the Street Corner

As I was rounding the street corner with my newly acquired portrait I thought I glimpsed the soldier that I had put in jail about ten months ago for trying to kill me. I panicked and ducked into a darkened doorway to watch the scraggly suspect pass. He looked my way for a moment and I froze. But then he moved on. How can he be out of jail soon I wondered. And I began to follow the fellow down the street to see if I could find out where he was staying and if it was in fact the man that tried to kill me and steal my money those many months ago.

The Aftermath of the Old Soldier

Jail...let me tell you I'm not cut out for this. It's been 10 long months. I had been working with my cell mate to plan an escape from this rat infested jail cell. During recreation time outside I was able to survey the area and plan an escape. My motivating force the whole time I was locked up was the pleasure I would get out of strangling this boy with my bare hands. I will get the boy back who got away with his life and took my money. He ruined and wiped out everything I had worked so hard to get. He will pay. As soon as I get out of here my mission is to find him and seek revenge. However, I had to be careful with this one because he turned out to be more intelligent than I had previously thought.

The day finally came when it was time for me to escape from this hell hole. Recreation time came along and the tunnel had already been dug and concealed. I discretely passed through the tunnel underneath the heavy duty wired gate. My cell mate followed. When we reached the other side of the gate and saw the sunlight beaming through the tunnel we realized we had made it! Sweet success! Now the next thing I had to do was locate this young fool that escaped my scam. Back to the streets I went to find this young man. This time I will make sure that he will not be so lucky to escape.

I began my journey near my old gambling house. For days I walked up and down the streets trying to find this miscreant. I came across a painter in the road who seemed to be quite aggravated. I could tell by his brush strokes. They were short and abrupt. I had an inkling that I was getting close to finding what I was looking for. I knew that I was not far off from locating the boy...

Ahhh Good 'Ol Money

I was king of the town, I had just helped the police stop some very villainous folks and as a consequence I had just gained so much money, it was quite astounding. And to celebrate I was walking down the street of the little dive where I had gotten so rich when I noticed a street artist. He looked very frustrated and was beating on his cheap canvas as though it owed him something. As I moved closer I realized he was attempting a very interesting representation of myself. I felt bad for the artist and decided that I would help him out by posing so that he may capture my countenance just perfect, I figured it could be a memento of my adventures here in Paris, besides all that money I had just earned of course. As a way of passing the time I also regaled him in the story of why I was wandering the street and how I came across so excellent a fortune. As I finished the story and he his painting, which came out quite excellent, once it was complete, I noticed an odd look in his eye and demeanor. His strokes became more short and his speech towards me more curt and aggravated. And as I left carrying my portrait in my hand I had a suspicion that this man was plotting something against me and my money.

Doesn't It Just Figure

I have been agonizing for days now, trying to get this gentleman's likeness to resemble his habitual mien. How frustrating -- little to no success initially -- Faulkner seemed to willfully evade the prowess of my brush strokes.

It was a nondescript, inconsequential painting that I had forgotten about which seemed to turn the tides of fortune back my way. Once Faulkner saw the small sketch, he seemed transfixed; ironically his fixation on the painting restored what I knew to be his customary animation.

I hastily set to work -- impatient was I to make up lost time when my subject unwittingly refused to cooperate by assuming a demeanor he fancied would reflect his physiognomical characteristics to best advantage. At first Faulkner set me quite at my ease by combining his current unselfconscious air with what seemed to be a charming travel tale.

Time flew; I was now racing the sun as Faulkner's likeness finally began to assume its own personality on my canvas. All seemed well until -- I found out what Faulkner had been doing on that tawdry little street depicted on my canvas. Gambling!! And winning!! The room began to swim; I heard the details of his story imperfectly now that he revealed that he had broken the bank. Broken!! How like this I felt; at once I realized that I could have charged so much more for this commission that I had. Had I only played MY hand at bit more steadily, I could have been painting my last portrait of a nondescript "gentleman"; I could have been . . . well, at least far richer than I would be once I finished this painting.

All at once I hated the canvas; nay, more than that, I hated Faulkner . . .

The Old Soldier's Perspective

As I looked upon my next victim walking into the gambling house I thought that I had this one in the bag just like all the others. This young boy was about to walk through the doors of my gambling house and never walk back out. My plan was to make him feel like he was on top of the world by rigging the game,Rouge et Noir and making him believe that he was on a winning streak. I had everything well planned out. Everything that I set up seemed to be flawless. Nothing could stop me in my scheme to kill off this young man and take his winnings. Money is my only joy. Money is the one thing that can make an Old Soldier truly happy. Murder was just something that had to be done in order to follow through with my plan to become rich. Oh how I loved to see my victims so overjoyed when they thought they were winning tons of money, ahahaha little did they know that I would soon have their money and their life. Murder was my sick pleasure!

Have story, will . . .

Well, we do have a story . . .

"A Terribly Strange Bed" Wins!

This afternoon, we decided via quorum to proceed with the above mentioned story. Email is a beautiful thing. More to follow.

Interesting Shorter Texts

Here a couple of sites where you can find De Quincey's work:

http://essays.quotidiana.org/dequincey/dream_fugue/

http://www.authorama.com/miscellaneous-essays-5.html



Here is a link to Wilkie Collins's "A Terribly Strange Bed":

http://www.lang.nagoya-u.ac.jp/~matsuoka/Collins-Bed.html



Read and enjoy!!

Welcome!

This will be the site for our modified Ivanhoe project.