Imagine someone who lives in a world that does not exist. Imagine the pain and trauma it took to isolate himself from the rest of society. John Darnielle’s Wolf in White Van introduces us to a dark story about Sean Phillips and his experience directly relates to trauma.
This is my essay on how Sean’s tendency to internalize his emotions and thoughts helped him cope with the life-changing incident he suffered at such a young age. I also utilized the Critical Thinking and Reading Resulting in Writing learning outcome because it was critical to dissect the literature and formulate my own interpretations to develop a well rounded piece.
Fiasco was one of the most creative exploits I have been a part of. I had no idea what to expect especially because I did not know what exactly was a table-top role playing game. In terms of preparation, my group and I were at most skeptical, with the exception of Jake, who seemed like he had a broader sense of how this game worked. I thought I was more overwhelmed than worried about how this process was going to play out because of the enormity of rules we had to know. Everyone had some idea of how to play, but some had different interpretations than others. In fact, this variance of perspectives is exactly what drew our interest and got the ball rolling. Perhaps this was the essence of the game, we just had to find out for ourselves.
After setting criteria which we all agreed on, the game slowly began to take shape. Emphasis on the word “slowly”. Because no one was completely sure of what was going to happen, there was a tendency to “play safe”. Some of us wanted to keep our actual names for the game but others argued that creating a narrative from scratch might be the point of the game and yield more creative results. With this is mind, my group gradually became more comfortable through discussing the relationships, albeit random, we would be involved in.
I really enjoyed the set up of Fiasco even though it was technically the most time consuming aspect for us. The intricate web of characters and their relationships was exciting to create especially with a group of five students collectively giving their input. With the intention of creating the best story possible, our group dove into a flurry of narrative options while we each played out a scene. I found myself giving and taking advice about everything, which basically helped weed out some options that did not fit into our plot. Sometimes I would listen to the general consensus that I should not kill my client (I was a drug dealer) and other times I would stick to my gut and acquire multiple dangerous weapons to cause chaos and to protect myself.
This freedom of choice could not be more prevalent in Fiasco as the entire objective was to use our choices to impact the overall plot. The availability of choice reminds me of other games we have played that did not necessarily provide it. For example, Dear Esther was a very straight forward, linear type game that did not contain room for creativity and collaboration that Fiasco offers. Another important aspect of the freedom of choice in Fiasco is that it allows multiple scenarios to intertwine without completely complicating the plot line. Of course there is a possibility that a plot revolving around eight or so relationships can get extremely convoluted and confusing, but my group did a great job of walking that fine line between creating an intriguing story while keeping things relatively simple and clear.
During discussions, our professor really emphasized how Fiasco can be seen as an actual form of writing. In other words, playing Fiasco is equivalent to writing an essay. I agree with this to a point. The idea of forming a well thought out structure that helps guide a story fits perfectly with the objective of Fiasco, but the involvement of several other minds and opinions distinguish the type of writing Fiasco employs. I seem to relate Fiasco more so to our podcast project. The notion of collaboration shines through both the podcast project and Fiasco. Without the collective thoughts of my group, we would not have been able to mold this dramatic and intense story that we are proud of today. Playing Fiasco not only exposed me to an entirely different mode of creative thinking, but it also shed light on how writing is not just a straight forward process.
Sean Phillips vicariously lives in a world that does not exist. As concerning as that might sound, those who have read John Darnielle’s novel, Wolf in White Van, may understand that there is no other way for Sean to deal with his life-changing accident. The only thing that keeps Sean’s head above water is his first play-by-mail roleplaying game, Trace Italian. Sean’s life provides a glimpse into how coping with traumatic experiences comes in far ranging forms and that is exactly what Darnielle tries to portray in this dark convoluted story.
As this chronologically confusing but impactful novel unfolds, one can immediately sense that Sean is unlike most teenage boys. Besides the fact that he purposely shot himself in the face with a rifle, Sean also emits characteristics of an introvert. This may explain Sean’s incredible knack for creativity, which eventually leads to his own interpretation of recovery. But at times for Sean, being an introvert leads to a tendency to internalize everything. For instance, during a session with a therapist, Sean revealed that he had to lie to his only living grandmother about his incident. To the therapist, this wasn’t much of a concern because she was looking for other troubles while Sean was not. He goes on to say “It gets to the point where you almost want to make something up just to keep them happy, to keep from being the person who makes them feel like they’re wasting their time” (116). Sean seems to be deeply rooted in pleasing others but this in turn hurts him as well.
Another example of this internalizing habit occurs when Sean is introduced to his father’s friend, the owner of a gun store. Instead of speaking up and explaining that he understands the power of guns and the potential consequences of misusing them, Sean merely stands there and nods his head. “Ray carried on for a minute about the power of guns, and the costs of not revering that power; after a while I stopped listening” (120). Even though Sean has good intentions of listening to, albeit obvious advice from an older man, the fact that he does not speak up and defend himself reveals an insecurity Sean chooses to ignore.
Despite his lack of self-confidence, which undoubtedly stems from his facial disfiguration and apparent social disparity, Sean finds an avenue through which he can finally find peace: Trace Italian. To his parents, Sean’s “old school” creation seems like just a hobby and perhaps a way to distract himself from the world around him, but there are deeper implications of his gaming pursuit. To some degree, the Trace provides a space for Sean to re-immerse himself back into society. Although he does not physically interact with his players, Sean feels as if he becomes a part of their lives and to Sean, any social interaction without hearing gasps about his face is better than none at all. Another crucial interpretation of the Trace is that it serves as an ideal escape from reality. Sean doesn’t realize this until he is unable to tell the difference between reality and the Trace because he enjoys being immersed in a world where he is fully in control for once. Who wouldn’t like that?
Roger Luckhurst, in his book The Trauma Question, states that “if trauma is a crisis in representation, then this generates narrative possibility just as much as impossibility, a compulsive outpouring of attempts to formulate narrative knowledge.” This “compulsive outpouring” essentially defines what Sean does when he goes on extremely creative rants about things he labels as ordinary. For example, when Sean revisited the cabinet that held all of his medication and sniffed one of the bottles, he remembered “stories I’d told myself to make taking it less numbing, to give not just meaning but intrigue to my dull condition” (98). It is really fascinating how in depth Sean goes when describing the stories tied to not one, but all of his medication.
In the same fashion, when describing how Kimmy dug through her purse to find a Rush music tape, Sean immediately started to create a narrative of it:
“To me it sounded like somebody shaking up dry bones. I closed my eyes and thought about those old bones in some girl’s purse and then I let my mind go…” (188). To some extent, creating these narratives provided comfort for Sean but that was not enough to cope. Sean recalls making a promise to himself “I didn’t promise myself future success or total recovery. Just escape” (100). In the end, Sean’s creative mind could only be embodied by the Trace Italian where only he would find solace and hopefully provide that same peace for others.
In a world where society shuns those who do not “look” the same as others because of physical disfiguration, Sean Phillips desperately searches for something to ease his physical and emotional pain. What he does not realize is that the creation of Trace Italian becomes more meaningful to him than he expected. Through immersing himself in the Trace, not only does Sean gradually stop internalizing his thoughts, but also sees the world through a more creative lens. No one can truly understand how various coping methods affect individuals and in that sense Darnielle provides significant insight on Sean’s unique ability to find a solution through games.
Works Cited:
Darnielle, John. Wolf in White Van, New York: Farrar Straus Giroux, 2014. Print.
Luckhurst, Roger. The Trauma Question, London: Routledge, 2008. Print.
I found that our second podcast did not trouble us as much as the first episode. This is most likely due to the knowledge we gained from our first experience. This time around, Ross and I knew what to expect and we readily prepared ourselves for the challenge. In this episode, we talk about how Mario Kart 8 can be a game for all ages, not just kids. We explored the various aspects of this game that not only appealed to the younger generation, but those of older generations as well. The chapter we decided to relate this game to was kitsch.
After reviewing the chapter in a similar fashion to the first podcast, Ross and I realized that this game was the definition of a kitsch game. All the traits of a kitsch game fit most aspects of the exciting, easy-to-play Mario Kart perfectly. What we did differently this time was that we dove right into creating a script. Compared to the procedure of our first podcast, we were way ahead in terms of preparation. Not to mention, we started prepping for this podcast a week before it was due. This extra time gave us room to think more creatively and critically about what exactly we wanted to get across to listeners. I think the fact that we had to relate a chapter of Ian Bogost’s book to this game made us appreciate the learning outcome, critical thinking and reading resulting in writing. Through analyzing information across multiple modes of learning, I came away with insights about which mode is more effective in explaining certain topics and how everything can be related.
One major change we integrated into this process was making an appointment with Professor Morgen. This helped immensely and we both regretted not scheduling a meeting with the professor for the first podcast. During this meeting, we fleshed out significant points that we needed to make sure to touch upon in our podcast. This initially gave us our overall conception of how this podcast was going to be structured.
This entire experience left a solid impression on me in terms of the variety of ways one can use to explore literary works. To be honest, I might prefer making podcasts to writing essays now..
For our first podcast, Ross and I decided to go with Madden Ultimate Team 17 as our game of choice and tried relating the themes in Ian Bogost’s chapter on Habituation to those in Madden. We believed that this game was more than a typical sports game void of any meaning and that is exactly what we aimed to disprove.
Before we even began planning the structure of our podcast, we thought it was prudent to read the chapter thoroughly on our own so that we were comfortable with what we were working with. I created a Google document and shared my notes on the chapter with Ross. By cross-examining our notes and seeing which points we both highlighted or did not highlight, Ross and I were able to separate the main ideas from the specific points each of us thought were significant. This initial step was probably the most crucial one in terms of gaining confidence about the material at hand and moving forward to integrate them.
I volunteered to take charge of this podcast and Ross agreed to switch roles with me for the next one. I suggested that we go straight into recording just by looking off our notes in order to try and create a less scripted sounding atmosphere, something we originally wanted to execute. This quickly became a problem. Although this plan seemed great in theory, we realized it was in fact harder than we thought and we deemed this method unrealistic. So, we agreed on writing a script together to follow as a guideline and to keep the podcast going in the right direction.
Unfortunately, our script once again sounded very scripted and Ross and I had to figure out a solution to overcome this obstacle. What we ended up doing was revising the script in a more colloquial manner, something we would not have done for a formal essay. We hoped that writing like we speak would solve this issue but as a result, our podcast still sounded scripted to a certain point. In light of these events, I came to a conclusion that writing is a process. This learning outcome could not have related any better to our project because we tried a number of different ways to structure this podcast with each effort improving the overall quality of our work.
I think our willingness to attempt multiple modes of structuring this podcast really speaks to the learning outcome of collaboration. Ross and I worked tirelessly to ensure both our ideas were included and collaborated when it came to make decisions that would have altered this podcast entirely.
This was a great first experience in creating something I have never done before. I hope that our second attempt at making a podcast will be much smoother compared to this rocky journey.
Hybridity seems to be an element of magical realism within Kentucky Route Zero that stands out the most to me. I would say one of the most aesthetically appealing aspects of this game is the concept of the Zero and how it transcends reality as well as provides a mysterious yet majestic means of transportation. The combination between what is real and what seems to be “fake” keeps the player in a state of curiousness and confusion. Flying around on a giant bird is not a realistic concept but in this game, it feels normal in a way. Also, the fact that Conway is gradually being crippled by his leg injury shows in the actual gameplay. Things become slowed down to a point where I felt as if I was making a trip back to the Island in “Dear Esther.”
At first, my vision for this article seemed clear and simple. I only had to research what this picture was depicting and why it was on a wall in Manuel’s Tavern. Once I commenced researching, I immediately realized that my assignment was not straightforward whatsoever. After hours of digging through websites and sources, I only solidified the easier part of my assignment, the facts. But at a certain point when I was rough drafting, my piece sounded more like a summary with historical facts and clean cut statements. I needed something more. Even after hours and hours of research, I still could not pinpoint the exact reason why someone had put up this photograph in the Tavern.
Going into the one-on-one session with my professor, I was anxious that what I had written was not sufficient. But he calmly reassured me that I was not in a bad spot at all. In fact, now that I had really understood the context of the photograph from looking through its history, I had the opportunity to invent and speculate some of my own interpretations. That is when I decided to step back and look at both Manuel’s Tavern and the picture as two parts of a whole. Although there was not any outstanding evidence, I pushed myself to connect them in some meaningful way.
Another crucial aspect of this whole process was the peer editing. My classmate Ben provided me with points he thought I should look more into and gave me an overall assessment of my work. I have learned that just having someone else read through your work and reading their genuine impressions of it really do help. Another thing that I felt gave me a little trouble was revising the entire piece itself. Choosing which paragraphs to keep or change made me nervous but things like adding images or videos to my article inspired me to make the most of my resources. Of course, learning to properly cite my sources and give acknowledgement to the owner of the material was also a challenging but rewarding process.
If you would like to see my final product, click here.
Can you imagine the chaos and confusion when fifteen cars crash and get disqualified from a race, all in one lap? Would you like you read about one of the coolest urban legends that still haunts us today? Then look no further. This picture that is hung up on a wall in Manuel’s Tavern, Atlanta, GA, has captured one of the most disastrous accidents of the 1958 racing world. The 1958 Indianapolis 500 was interrupted by a quick and unexpected turn of events. This article goes through exactly happened that fatal day and tries to dig deeper into the history of this picture.
This day was quick and short, much to my relief.. Nothing significant has happened except for a much needed supply run. I feel that Henry has come to like the peace and quiet of nature. He is taking everything in and going about life in a carefree way. I wonder what will happen with the situation with the two missing girls..
These two days took me a lifetime of searching and navigating with my handy and super efficient items. I never want to be lost in a forest with only a compass and map, but at least I have a bunch of practice now from playing this game so much. The first day was incredibly tasking as I travelled a great distance looking for those two teenage girls. Once I encountered them, albeit from a far distance, things took a nasty turn. Being ridiculed as a “creep” and “pervert” I felt sad for Henry (or myself I guess). The second day, I found the letter from the girls addressed to me at their campsite. They wrote terrible assumptions about me and created a sort of bubbling anger inside. The intermittent conversations I have with Delilah seem to comfort me to a point but when Julia comes up my options for answers seem indifferent. How many more days are left in this beautiful but mysterious wilderness?
