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In his afterword to The Future of the Book, Umberto Eco reminds us that hypertexts, despite the hopes of utopia-minded theorists, are still limited systems. A hypertext that delves into the works of Percy Shelly, for example, cannot provide the reader with evidence for the existence of dark matter. Eco writes that that who tell us we can do anything with a text or hypertext are “irresponsible deconstructionists†(303). Deconstruction, Eco and many other critics believe, ruins the possibility for a meaningful text by dispersing any potential readings in the wind. How, they wonder, can any reading or interpretation stand if it is constantly torn apart by theory? Even worse, deconstruction is natively self-destructive. It is an anti-theory, in a way. Critics working under the auspices of deconstruction are not as interested in defining a deconstructionist method of reading as they are in showing how constructed every other theory is. To scholars whose minds are built on carefully delineated spaces and hierarchical thinking—a more scientific approach than a human approach—deconstruction does not compute.
In his afterword to The Future of the Book, Umberto Eco reminds us that hypertexts, despite the hopes of utopia-minded theorists, are still limited systems. A hypertext that delves into the works of Percy Shelly, for example, cannot provide the reader with evidence for the existence of dark matter. Eco writes that that who tell us we can do anything with a text or hypertext are “irresponsible deconstructionists†(303). Deconstruction, Eco and many other critics believe, ruins the possibility for a meaningful text by dispersing any potential readings in the wind. How, they wonder, can any reading or interpretation stand if it is constantly torn apart by theory? Even worse, deconstruction is natively self-destructive. It is an anti-theory, in a way. Critics working under the auspices of deconstruction are not as interested in defining a deconstructionist method of reading as they are in showing how constructed every other theory is. To scholars whose minds are built on carefully delineated spaces and hierarchical thinking—a more scientific approach than a human approach—deconstruction does not compute.2
But deconstruction, as I’ve loosely defined it here, makes perfect sense in the context of a hypertext network. The connections between documents and words, lexias and ideas are fleeting. They are all consciously constructed pathways designed by an author or even, thanks to Web 2.0, a wreader; but there is also an element of the unknown. Just as a deconstructionist reading of any text has the potential to produce an unforeseeable outcome, following a link on the Web can produce an unpredictable reading experience, especially if the hypertext is vague about where that link will lead the reader. It may lead to a dead end or to a random page. Two of the highest profile uses of the random link is on the search engine Google’s home page with its “I’m Feeling Lucky†button and on the home page of the Wikipedia, where a single click takes users to a random page from the gigantic encyclopedia.
But deconstruction, as I’ve loosely defined it here, makes perfect sense in the context of a hypertext network. The connections between documents and words, lexias and ideas are fleeting. They are all consciously constructed pathways designed by an author or even, thanks to Web 2.0, a wreader; but there is also an element of the unknown. Just as a deconstructionist reading of any text has the potential to produce an unforeseeable outcome, following a link on the Web can produce an unpredictable reading experience, especially if the hypertext is vague about where that link will lead the reader. It may lead to a dead end or to a random page. Two of the highest profile uses of the random link is on the search engine Google’s home page with its “I’m Feeling Lucky†button and on the home page of the Wikipedia, where a single click takes users to a random page from the gigantic encyclopedia. 3
In fact, one of the most interesting features of hyperlink creation has been around since the early days of the Web: the random hyperlink. It used to be seen when such things as “Web rings†were popular. The creators of these groups of thematically-similar sites would put a navigation menu on their pages offering to take the user to the “next†site in the ring or to a random one. The increase in database-driven Web sites has only fueled the potential for random linking and for context-dependent links, even though the Web ring has gone out of fashion. A reader’s position in the hypertextual environment, her context, can now determine what choices she has for continuing her reading path.
In fact, one of the most interesting features of hyperlink creation has been around since the early days of the Web: the random hyperlink. It used to be seen when such things as “Web rings†were popular. The creators of these groups of thematically-similar sites would put a navigation menu on their pages offering to take the user to the “next†site in the ring or to a random one. The increase in database-driven Web sites has only fueled the potential for random linking and for context-dependent links, even though the Web ring has gone out of fashion. A reader’s position in the hypertextual environment, her context, can now determine what choices she has for continuing her reading path. 4
Loss Pequeño Glazier writes, “Links bring to the text the riddle of discovery experienced by the anthropologist stepping onto the soil of a previously undiscovered culture … Once a link has been taken, it is no longer a link but a constituted part of the already traveled narrative; the link loses its potentiality but, in doing so, opens up the possibility of other links. And what if some of those links fail? What we have is not a failure of the internal system but a triumph of internal workings over any possibility of external order†(3). Links, he writes, are “faults in the monolinear imagination,†and it is this failure that truly distances hypertext from print (Glazier 3). Links can be as limited as the page designer’s imagination or as infinite as a computer’s uncanny ability to generate a random number.
Loss Pequeño Glazier writes, “Links bring to the text the riddle of discovery experienced by the anthropologist stepping onto the soil of a previously undiscovered culture … Once a link has been taken, it is no longer a link but a constituted part of the already traveled narrative; the link loses its potentiality but, in doing so, opens up the possibility of other links. And what if some of those links fail? What we have is not a failure of the internal system but a triumph of internal workings over any possibility of external order†(3). Links, he writes, are “faults in the monolinear imagination,†and it is this failure that truly distances hypertext from print (Glazier 3). Links can be as limited as the page designer’s imagination or as infinite as a computer’s uncanny ability to generate a random number.