How can/why should video games be taken seriously? Many of us tend to have the idea that video games are just something that children play in order to keep themselves entertained (or adults play and waste their precious time!). They are often looked down upon as they are not considered to be productive entertainment by any means. Video game designer and public intellectual Ian Bogost, however, disagrees.

Bogost coins the term “procedural rhetoric” in order to analyze the role that video games can play to educate people. In his words: “I suggest the name procedural rhetoric for the practice of using processes persuasively, just as verbal rhetoric is the practice of using oratory persuasively and visual rhetoric is the practice of using images persuasively” (2662). Therefore, through the procedures involved in the designing and playing of video games, messages can be imparted to people; this can make it possible for them to learn and unlearn things about the world. In video games, there are procedures that help create a world with its own rules that players must follow. Rhetoric is the art that is used to make a case to people. Through the combination of procedure and rhetoric, therefore, video games can be used to effectively educate people.

Bogost uses quite a few examples in order to highlight his point. Animal Crossings critiques unregulated capitalism; The McDonald’s Game shows the harmful impacts of the fast-food industry. While people can play these games expecting entertainment, the messages imparted through these games help raise awareness and understanding of many of the issues impacting us in today’s world. We tend to overlook the educational role that video games can play through procedural rhetoric, enlightening not just children but also adults.

Bogost raises an important question: given we have identified the productive roles that video games can play, why should we not include them in institutional education? Bogost acknowledges that video games are often used in schools to make difficult subjects like Chemistry easier for children, but he advocates the use of more complex video games in education. He writes: “Educators should consider adopting video games as artifacts to be discussed alongside traditional media like literature, language, arts, history and art, teaching game playing as an argumentative and expressive practice alongside reading, writing and debating” (2673). Video games like Animal Crossings and The McDonald’s Game can help learners think critically and make cases persuasively by being exposed to the procedural rhetoric we find in them.

Simple video games are often used in schools to make learning fun. More complicated video games, however, are not really considered seriously as an art form. However, Bogost’s idea of procedural rhetoric helps us understand not just the artistic but also the educational value of video games. Instead of looking down upon video games, we should recognize the importance of games and incorporate them in education. Promoting games with strong procedural rhetoric is also something we should consider doing.

In Roland Barthes’ essay “The Eiffel Tower,” he examines the iconic Parisian landmark as a symbol of modernity, cultural significance, and the interplay between myth and reality. Barthes explores the Tower’s multifaceted meanings, dissecting its symbolic resonance and its role in shaping perceptions of Paris and French identity. Barthes begins by acknowledging the Tower’s undeniable presence as a physical structure, yet he swiftly moves beyond its materiality to delve into the myriad interpretations it evokes. He states “At first, it was sought -so paradoxical is the notion of an empty monument- to make it into a “temple of science”; but this is only a metaphor; as a matter of fact, the Tower is nothing, it achieves a kind of zero degree of the monument; it participates in no rite, in no cult, not even in art; you cannot visit the Tower as a museum: there is nothing to see inside the Tower. This empty monument nevertheless receives each year twice as many visitors as the Louvre and considerably more than the largest movie house in Paris” (Pg. 7). He argues that the Eiffel Tower functions as a cultural signifier, carrying layers of meaning that extend far beyond its actual purpose. Throughout the essay, Barthes draws on semiotics and structuralism to deconstruct the Tower’s symbolism. He highlights the ways in which the Tower has been mythologized, both as a representation of progress and as a site of cultural tension and ambivalence. Barthes states “Whereas the Tower overlooks not nature but the city; and yet, by its very position of a visited outlook, the Tower makes the city into a kind of nature; it constitutes the swarming of men into a landscape, it adds to the frequently grim urban myth a romantic dimension, a harmony, a mitigation; by it, starting from it, the city joins up with the great natural themes which are offered to the curiosity of men: the ocean, the storm, the mountains, the snow, the rivers. (Pg. 8). Barthes suggests that the Tower’s significance lies not only in its architectural design but also in the collective imagination it inspires. Furthermore, Barthes explores the role of photography in shaping our perceptions of the Tower. He contends that photographs of the Eiffel Tower serve to reinforce its mythic status, perpetuating certain narratives while obscuring others. By analyzing various representations of the Tower, Barthes reveals how photography can both illuminate and distort our understanding of cultural symbols. Overall, “The Eiffel Tower” offers a rich and nuanced exploration of one of Paris’s most iconic landmarks, probing the intersections of history, culture, and perception. Barthes invites readers to consider the Tower not merely as a static object but as a dynamic symbol that reflects and refracts the complexities of modern life.

In The Eiffel Tower and Other Mythologies, Roland Barthes focuses on the Eiffel Tower as a multifaceted symbol due to the status it holds in modernity and culture in France. He analyzes the tower through its construction and the view in the Parisian landscape, becoming a focal point in various interpretations. 

Barthes states on page 6,”Even before the Tower’s birth, the nineteenth century (especially in America and in England) had often dreamed of structures whose height would be as-tonishing, for the century was given to technological feats, and the conquest of the sky once again preyed upon human-ity.” Not only does this tower represent France’s historical parts, cultural aspects as well. Its structural attributes weren’t unique when it first came out, until years later the height and technological features were influenced and marked by significant advancements in innovation and science. The idea of conquering the sky was challenging for us to construct but in order to show progress and expansion that height symbolized. Barthes states “Whereas the Tower overlooks not nature but the city; and yet, by its very position of a visited outlook, the Tower makes the city into a kind of nature; it constitutes the swarming of men into a landscape, it adds to the frequently grim urban myth a romantic dimension, a harmony, a mitigation; by it, starting from it, the city joins up with the great natural themes which are offered to the curiosity of men: the ocean, the storm, the mountains, the snow, the rivers.” ,(page 8). Barthes is examining the transformative effects the figure has on the perception of the cityscape. He notes that the tower stands above the city, showing human ingenuity instead of reality. When we hear of France or anything French related , the Eiffel Tower is one of the first things that comes to mind, this landmark is used to represent France. Same way in New York , the Statue of Liberty or Empire State Building can be seen as this fantasy symbol that represents the state as a whole. This tower can also symbolize beauty , due to the way it elevates the cityscape into something more than just a collection of buildings and streets. Becoming a landscape in its own rights, which can invite people to explore and appreciate its architectural and cultural significance. Barthes suggests that the Eiffel Tower symbolizes progress and innovation in France due to its history and how we make this figure the face of Paris.

After Gabbi’s timely mention of The Sopranos today, I had to dig up the clip. I’d forgotten how detailed the discussion was. It’s a fascinating scene, in which mother Carmela defends traditional heteronormative values (though she would never call it that!) against the eggheads like us English profs who want to “queer” everything (click through to watch on YouTube):

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Herman Melville’s Billy Budd is discussed over dinner at Meadow’s new apartment. Episode Title: Eloise Air Date: 1 December 2002 IMDb: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0705242/?ref_=ttep_ep12 #HBO #TheSopranos

What surprised me, however, is that the effete Columbia kids who are Meadow Soprano’s new peer group don’t cite the new scholarship of the 2000s but the OG gender critique of Leslie Fiedler from his pathbreaking Love and Death in the American Novel (1966). Here’s Fiedler reflecting on the whole thing in an interview.

And of course Tony, who is surprising mellow about the whole thing, gets the last word.

In “The Eiffel Tower” by author Roland Barthes, Barthes focuses on the significance of the Eiffel Tower and brings into question how that significance affects our perception of society. The Eiffel Tower stands over the Paris skyline as it plays as both a symbol of the past and the future, as Barthes states, “… in turn and according to the appeals of our imagination, the symbol of Paris, of modernity, of communication, of science of the nineteenth century…”(4). The lack of detail of the tower serves as a panoramic view of Paris, since it lacks what would be considered an outside structure. The Eiffel Tower’s lack of outside structure reveals what we can consider its internal structure, as its overall structure. According to Barthes, while looking out of The Eiffel Tower people can get an idealistic view of daily Parisian life as everything appears orderly and almost routine. This is extremely similar to the example that New Yorkers view New York as a boring or overcrowded city, while those who want to visit New York or those who have been to New York for a short amount of time view New York as a fun city that opens many opportunities. This means as a society we use specific set structures to express our perception, or point of view, of that area. 

Also, Barthes also plays with the idea that we, as a society, tend to flock to build these huge structures as a source of understanding the world from a literal higher point of view. Barthes does this by posing the idea that people tend to be excited to express the fact that they have been to Paris and seen the Eiffel Tower but it doesn’t happen to have any significance. Looking from the top of the Eiffel Tower, just gives you just a bird’s eye view of Paris, but that doesn’t mean you actually “saw” Paris. Barthes also expresses an idea by writing about the paradox the tower creates because to Parisians the tower represents their hopes and dreams, while to tourists the tower represents art that shows the “nature” within France (13). This points out that to understand the world around us we bring ourselves to construct objects that can provide us with some sort of idea over a set area. However, those same objects take on a different meaning to those who lack the knowledge of that set area. In my opinion, Barthes’ commentary in this piece does not only apply to the Eiffel Tower, it could also be applied to many other facets of life since we’re allowed for a more critical analysis of our cultural symbols as being more than just symbols, but serve as their importance to change as time passes.

Ian Bogost’s 2008 essay, “The Rhetoric of Video Games,” attempts to redefine and place the concept of “play” in the 21st century. While play has been long associated with innocent, child-like fun, Bogost finds that play in the context of video games is much more complex than it appears. Through procedurality, video games can interact with concepts, systems, and ideas in a simulation-type setting where the player is in control. Bogost presents Animal Crossing as a game that demonstrates consumer capitalism and the “corporate bourgeoisie” (119) in a simplified system that a child can understand. Returning to the concept of “play,” Bogost’s essay disagrees with the traditional association of “play” with idleness, leisure, and childlike behavior. Rather, “play,” especially in the world of video games, is to test the limits of the box you are placed in — and even break out of it. “Play” is understood as learning — almost scientific — by hypothesizing and becoming aware of one’s surroundings and the very limits that one is given. Take poetry, like Bogost does, and consider the haiku and all its limitations. Twelve syllables in a five-seven-five pattern appears awfully cramped to allow for much creative expression, yet “[t]o write haiku means exploring configurations of language that intersect with these rules of composition” (121). Just as writing a haiku is to seek the very limits of poetic possibility, so too video games attempt to coax the mind of the player via play. 

Animal Crossing, Bully, Spore, and all other video games that Bogost mentions while discussing procedurality are limited in what they can convey. While Animal Crossing must simplify capitalism, mortgages, and debt for the sake of entertainment as well as conveyance, it makes up for it by being a simulation. Just like hide-and-seek or tag or any childhood playground game, a video game stands for something bigger. Just as tag can be understood as a simulation of survival of the fittest (where the tagger is likely to deliberately chase the slowest runner) a video game like Animal Crossing simulates social Darwinism via a robber baronesque raccoon banker-businessman-mayor. Video games will always be primarily for entertainment, yet that is hardly ever their sole intent. The most explicit example of this is Bogost’s mention of the military-sponsored first-person shooter. As Bogost  compares the game to reality in the military, their similarities are striking. Points, medals, commendations, punishment, and progression are not unique to either the real-world military or the game version. This poignant example of the representative power of video games demonstrates how “play” is hardly different from our day-to-day lives. Unique presentations of oftentimes difficult-to-convey realities help one understand the abstract concepts that society is built upon. Through video games, representations of society and play are helping us to understand the modern day world through a “childlike” medium.

As the truly awful song by Falling In Reverse goes: “My life is like a video game…”

Johnson’s work Melville’s Fist is expansive She starts her reading of Melville off with a review of the literature that currently exists today on the meanings and current readings on Melville’s Billy Budd and uses it to define Melville as a deconstructionist whose work posies itself the most popular readings of it created thus far. Popular readings of Billy Budd consist of it being a crucifix retelling, an allegory that one that leans into the strict definitions of good and evil, as W.Y Tindall writes, “each is more important for what he is than what he does.. Good and bad, they occupy the region of good and evil.” (2321)

The problem for Johnson, in regards to reading the text allegorically, is that it fails to properly acknowledge the “importance of the plot,” (2321). What Johnson feels is left unacknowledged is that if one were to go with the existing reading, that good and bad behaviors and people will always occupy distinct separate realms- goodness is what someone is and not what they do- then we are failing to see how the plot of the novel works against this concept. Johnson claims that Melville, “invites an allegorical reading and subverts the very terms of consistency when he writes of the murder,” (2321). She describes the plot’s form as a a ‘chiasmus’, in which the roles of who is innocent and who is guilty are reversed. Instead of supporting the claims that other authors have made of his work building up and on the stability of rigid concepts like good and bad Johnson argues that Melville is actually deconstructing these terms. She argues that Melville is instead concerned with the “ dynamic opposition” between what it means to be a human “being” versus a “human doing”. (2322) The concept is interesting, and presents the difference between a man’s actions and his declared ‘character’, the difference between one’s appearance and action that Melville questions. 

The way that Johnson uses Sassure’s idea of the signifier and the signified to describe how Melville does this is also very interesting, “The story thus takes place between the postulate of continuity between signifier and signified (“handsome is as handsome does” and the postulate of their discontinuity (“a mantrap may be under the ruddy tipped daisies)” (2324) Both Johnson and Melville are concerned greatly with the “deadly space between” both the story and the plot, the characters and their actions- it’s clear that through Johnson’s reading the point Melville is concerned with here is not the structuralist definitions of good and bad, but the flaws in such a reading and how there exists an uncrossable space between such labels.  This space, I’d argue, is where we, like Vere, see the usefulness of concepts like Law and Morality- to give us the tools to make sense of ourselves and our actions. Melville’s deadly space between calls to Neitzche’s applause of human beings creating society and meaning out of nothing, out of space. We create timeless and strong concepts, things that do not exist, and give them power, something that I think Melville would very much agree with. These concepts are not inherent nor permanent- but to struggle with them as well as need them seems to be a point many literary critics deem a part of the human condition. 

 She goes on to discuss the kinds of language that are born of this kind of reading, the language of performance and one of cognition, which reminded me of the construction of Sassure’s study on lange as well. There seems to be a kind of language that people engage in, one Saussure would define as Speech, that is formless and it aligns itself with Johnson’s “performative” language as well. The act of speaking in and of itself is an act here and I’m interested in this kind of meaning given to language without action. There is an argument that words do not mean anything without action to back it up, but it seems Johnson and Saussure would argue against such a point. 

In Ian Bogost’s The Rhetoric of Video Games, he mentions the word “play”. Bogost believes that “play”, although almost always used in the context of a leisurely break or, “playtime”, is actually an opportunity to learn and is misunderstood as a word and concept. Rather than just being a term to describe a child’s leisurely frolicking or an adult’s unproductive gaming with which they spend their free time, “play” gives “possibility space”. In a sense, it allows for an individual to expand their knowledge by creating something new.

He starts off by stating that most parents think that playing video games is a waste of time and that they’d rather their children do their homework or do something that falls under the “learning” category, whether that be developing social skills or doing something that has been stereotypically labeled as “productive”.  He states, “Video game play is considered an unproductive expenditure of time, time that fills the breaks between work. This goes for children playing games at home after school as well as adults playing games after work. Parents might worry about their children playing video games after school instead of doing their homework or playing outside. Video games are perceived to interrupt learning and social life, acting as a leech on normal childhood development (2656).” Bogost then turns to the idea that “play”, is simply misunderstood. Specifically, the “nature of play is misunderstood (2656).”

He quotes Katie Salen and Eric Zimmerman’s definition of that term, “play is the free space of movement within a more rigid structure.” The “rigid structure” is society’s standard practice(s) that everyone partakes in. The free space of movement is an opportunity for one to stray from those standard practices and create something new. It’s about using your environment to shape the constraints of your created practice. Bogost uses children’s play at a playground as an example, “On a playground, the possibility space refers to the physical properties of the play space, as well as the equipment, time allotted, and number and type of children. Kids are particularly adept at inventing new games based on the constraints of their environment; if one listens closely to children at play, one of the most common things to overhear is the establishment of new rules (“Now you be the monster.” “This square is safe!”). When children play, they constantly renegotiate their relationship with a possibility space (2657).” Play is so much more than just “leisurely breaks”, it serves as a learning opportunity, whether it be playing a video game or playing outside with friends.

In his essay, The Rhetoric of Video Games, video game designer and cultural theorist Ian Bogost challenges the typical interpretation of the idea of “play”. While play is commonly regarded as an activity of leisure and the complete opposite of a serious task, Bogost thinks of it as a more laborious concept. He quotes Eric Zimmerman and Katie Salen’s definition of play: “Play is the free space of movement within a more rigid structure” (2657). He introduces the image of children on a playground and explains how they can adapt to their environment and create new games and rules based on the limitations of that environment. The rigid structure is the playground and how the children interact with this environment is the play. In short, the children can work their way around the fixed rules of the playground. When playing, children can “renegotiate their relationship with a possibility space” (2657). In the context of a video game, the “possibility space” is the set of all possible outcomes from a fixed set of rules.

Bogost places this idea in the context of literature, where the “possibility space” can be the opportunities for expression formed by the rules of composition. Even if there is a rigid structure, such as that of a haiku, artists still explore different possible arrangements within the framework of that structure. They are simply playing within the restrictions of their form. Some artists have also changed the possibility space for literary expression by inventing or reworking concepts rather than adopting ones that were already in place (2657). This was seen in the artistic movement known as Oulipo in the mid-twentieth century, whose members are credited with the invention of new forms of literary expression such as the palindrome and the lipogram. Through their interactions with the rigid structure of literary expression, the members of this group created meaning by exercising free movement, similar to children inventing games on a playground.

This exercise of free movement can also be applied when playing video games. A player can produce a series of different arrangments within the system of a game, most likely to assign meaning. The nature of video games can be representative of real-world topics, and by utilizing the possibility space, players can discover new ways to explore these topics. This can be done for real-world issues and literary expression. By moving through the free space, or simply “playing”, we can learn to assign meaning.

The Eiffel Tower is probably my favorite of the collection of myths from Roland Barthes, since it’s a deduction of our sign system against a “resistant” object, to prove its limits as a means of communication and its paradoxical nature. 

There is a lot to unpack with the contradictory qualities of the “utterly useless monument”, which we actually learn is pretty useful (Barthes, 5). The point that stands out to me this most is that, physically, the tower is an uncontainable object that we try to domesticate. One way we do this is through “the installation of a restaurant […and other] means of leisure” (Barthes, 16). The fact that the tower is an open construction makes us uncomfortable when we are used to typical tourist hotspots (like the Louvre) being enclosed for us to feel like we entered, experienced, and “owned” some of it. The tower doesn’t do that for us. So we have to create a mini world surrounding the tower in order to make it feel normal. I never thought about that. It’s so weird for us in our conception of the order of the world (much like our syntax!) to have a monument that’s simultaneously a representation of the inside and outside. It’s too far outside of the social contract for the tower to be both sides of anything that usually presents itself as binary, and so we try to reduce the tower. But also, I think it’s interesting to see how maybe the tower makes us so uncomfortable because it’s become oddly more powerful than us. The tower can be a spectacle and an object, useless and useful, inside and outside. We cannot be those things. If we are looking at the tower, we can’t be in it. None of our relations to the tower can come together at the same time. We are perceiving it as one of its opposite meanings at a time, and we have to kind of deal with the impossibility of bringing together two things that are true and simultaneous but also cannot cooccur. I think one way we do this is by glossing over it all and pretending it can occur at the same time– a comforting thought facilitated by the constructed surrounding environment.

However, by doing this, what simultaneously happens is that the tower becomes a signifier of basically an infinite sight of projection. It is reduced to a symbol of Paris, of travel, of industrialism, of some kind of focal point in France. The tower being a signifier for everything really just makes it nothing. And when we come face-to-face with this (structural and symbolic) emptiness, we rush to find ways to create more perceived “somethingness”(we add restaurants, shops, carts of food, and other community experiences all around the tower) to fit into our schemas and orders. 

But we see that our efforts to reduce the Eiffel Tower from everything to just one thing also fail. The argument here would be similar to Nietzsche’s line of thought: the tower is immune to falling apart in this way because it is art. Much like Nietzsche’s argument that art is truth that allows you to live in a personal abstraction and intuition, the tower being art means it surpasses our rationalization, deconstruction, and assimilation of it into variations of speech/language or other binary schemas. It exists to emphasize its inability to be known by us and to serve mythical purposes–like the ones the Ancient Greeks lived by.