A few days ago I delivered a Works in Progress presentation to the people paying my way this year, the Center for Science, Policy and Outcomes at Arizona State University. It was the first time I’d done anything that comprehensive, and my first time before an audience completely unfamiliar with, and not necessarily inclined to appreciate, my subject matter and research methods (yes, you can draw inferences from the quality of the website to my general relations with the Center!).

It was a terrific exercise (which I’ve taken to calling “Virtual Bondage for Policy Wonks”), and it went a lot better than I’d expected. Here’s the presentation, my first ever Prezi:

I’ve got two key hypotheses, I think. While they’re definitely hypotheses – starting-off wild-ass guesses supported by the barest bits of early observation – I think they’re solid enough to start field-testing:

  1. The differences in how canon is deployed in argument and training depend on the platform, not the content. In other words, it doesn’t matter whether the document engaged with as the supreme authority is (picking from the communities I’m looking at) the UN Declaration of Human Rights, the Qur’an, the Gor novels or Batman Comics: they’ll be used similarly in similar sociotechnical environments and differently in different ones. This is not to say the content isn’t different in all sorts of ways, just that training and argument are platform-dependent more than content-dependent.
  2. Preferring managerial communities to self-governed democratic ones is in some significant way similar to choosing to participate in BDSM practices. This isn’t as wild as it seems, but I’m not entirely sure of it right now. It seems to me that there are important similarities in the choice and pleasure of relinquishing/taking control in both the managerial and the Dominant/submissive contexts, and that those pleasures are more popular online than those of coequally sovereign, responsible citizenship.

I think people are voting with their time and dollars to choose hierarchy – and usually a very clearly subordinate role in hierarchy – over any and all forms of egalitarianism. I also think this phenomenon, what I’m calling “Communities of Constraint,” (TM) is insufficiently studied and critically important for understanding emergent political behavior offline.

However, I’m not sure how close the relationship really is between managerialism and BDSM. I’m comfortable asserting that they’ve got a common ancestor in a culture with no meaningful experience of active citizenship and a lot of training in being a consumer. I’m not sure how close these two branches off the same trunk really are, however, and that’s an empirical question for my fieldwork.

That’s where the second hypothesis fits with the first. I’m going to look at training, socialization and conflict in communities with a close relationship to a canon text (and some that don’t, for contrast), to see if groups with profoundly different ontologies use tools in similar ways in similar environments. If, for example, a secular managerial community uses canon in similar ways to a fundamentalist religious community or strict RP group, then it might be possible to argue that either (a) they’re fulfilling similar needs or (b) platform architecture shapes the kinds of groups that thrive on that platform, or likely (c) both.

There are a lot of dots to connect, no question, and much of the interpretation will be the product of the specific theoretical lenses I’ll be using: someone else might well interpret the same elephant in a radically different way.

All in all, I think I’ve got a coherent set of questions and strategies for answering them. It’s telling that the strongest critical comment I got on my presentation from perhaps my biggest skeptic was on one thing: the connection between online observations and offline behavior. After a year immersed in the business and education literatures of online behavior, I considered that something to toss off as a given.

I’ll certainly ensure I nail that point in future work, but if that’s the stickiest issue in “Virtual Bondage For Policy Wonks,” I should have pretty clear sailing!

At GLS 6.0 last week, in presenting “Legal Anthropologist of Gor! a methodological conundrum,” I argued that online researchers have largely been ducking a serious issue of ethics and methodology. It was definitely an “out on a limb” move for a noob – I was betting that (a) I hadn’t missed something everybody else knew about and (b) I wasn’t going to get crushed like a bug for my temerity.

Immediately after the panel, Constance Steinkuehler, who I fangirl like whoa, came over and very intensely talked with me for a good while, a pep talk that’s the highlight of my academic apprenticeship. Among other things, she recommended Sudhir Venkatesh’s Gang Leader For A Day, as an example of someone working in the territory in RL that I want to explore online.

I ordered it while I sat there :)   I regularly read a lot of great stuff, but this one’s the highlight of my year. Even if I weren’t doing participant-observer fieldwork myself, Venkatesh’s story of his graduate work with a Chicago street gang is more gripping than any movie. It’s a great read, and it gave me one huge insight, along with a lot of smaller ones.

Fourteen years ago I came across a question that I took on as my own, and in fits and starts came to recognize as what I want to devote my life’s work to. Science fiction novelist Kim Stanley Robinson, in his Mars trilogy, and later in Antarctica, asked, what kind of a society do bright, capable people create when you take them out of the establishment world of nation states and finance capitalism? He argues that what you get looks like the academy writ large: apprenticeships, a gift economy, management and administration as a burden rather than a (healthy) goal, meritocracy.

I was drawn to similar people, similar environments: my mentors at NASA founded a polar research station to ask very similar questions, and I got my start kibitzing on their work. I started writing about the political economy and cultural dynamics of the space community, speculating on what might evolve on space stations or planetary research outposts. I argued that Robinson’s socialist-utopian answer wouldn’t always be true, that other concurrent forces would shape different ends. But that was the idiom I kept writing in during my space phase, from 1996 to 2004.

In 2007, I ventured into Second Life, after hearing of how my old NASA colleagues had thrown a Yuri’s Night party there. I saw right away that the forces and people I was interested in were right there, doing every day the work I speculated about for some future Mars mission or distant polar station. But, I never clicked with the environment, largely for a bunch of personal reasons, but in part, I think now, because what was actually happening there didn’t mesh with my theories and expectations at all.

Not only were people not building Polanyi’s Republic of  Science, they were providing a texbook-perfect proof of the failure of anarcho-capitalism (an ideology I’d strongly adhered to until then), as the Linden-owned mainland quickly turned into a pit of griefing, bad architecture and incessant petty annoyances. But they were building and doing amazing things, in unexpected directions.

What surprised me about Venkatesh’s book was how similar the society of Chicago’s housing projects was. I’d been asking, “what do smart, privileged people build in highly technological spaces away from (some of) the constraints of the status quo?” Venkatesh came to ask, “what do people who have next to nothing, who’ve gotten the short end for generations, build where the status quo has largely abandoned them?”

Turns out, there are an awful lot of similarities. The institutions arising from the projects – gangs-as-police, gangs-as-corporations, fixers, grifters, hustlers, communities of support and cooperation – none of these things are alien to the social history of Second Life, or of World of Warcraft, or of any significantly large and complex grouping of people who, out of freedom or necessity, improvise their own institutions.

The structures of power in the projects look very much like those of the “adhocracies” or “dictatorships” of SL communities, gaming guilds, LiveJournal roleplay communities – and nothing like those of the bureaucratic modern nation-state.

I’m going to be building an argument that that’s no coincidence, that what we learn in “bowling with others,” so to speak, is that the social dynamics of human groups is really fairly constant, and that it will adapt itself around, route itself around, institutions that seek to make us other than what we are. The attempts to create the Christian city on the hill, the New Soviet Man, all the projects of the right, left and otherwise that sought to remake us, simply fail.

Only by understanding who we are – and recognizing that while advanced technology or malign neglect may create freer spaces for expressing our nature, it is always there, constant, and at work – can we build tools for solving social problems that have some hope of actually working.

My class of law and graduate students struggled in frustration with the free rider problem, coming to recognize it as a variant of low voter turnout, economic incentives to pollute, and a host of other issues. Advocates of the state order in the Confederation of Democratic Simulators cannot account for the immense unpopularity of their model, and turn to vicious personal attacks to cover their political failures. The Goreans argue that both submission and mastery are deeply ingrained, each joyous in their way, and roleplay accordingly.

These responses may be frustrating, ugly, horrifying  – but they are real. Venkatesh struggled with the chasm between his faith in the status quo and his admiration for people working to fill in where it had failed.

I think there may be two sets of responses to a failure of modernity, a failure of the institutions we forced ourselves into in the 18th through 20th centuries. One looks backward from the chaos, and seeks to impose clarity and order. These are the fundamentalisms of the book, be that book scripture or roleplay canon. These argue that order must be imposed, boundaries policed, categories reified, a place for every one and every one in their place.

The other, one I openly advocate, not despite but because of my presence as a researcher in fundamentalist communities – looks forward from the chaos into a new synthesis, a perpetually dynamic equilibrium, and celebrates the blurring of types, the intermixing, intermingling, the miscegenation of peoples, genders, politics and forms. It looks to the cyborg, but to the Dionysian, the embodied, the radical politics of the intermingled mind and flesh, rejecting the sanitized and compartmentalized world of the fundamentalism.

Technosage said the other day that embodied politics is vigilante politics  – and I’d add Venkatesh’s “guerrilla sociology” as well: it holds that passing off responsibility to institutions, from persons to mechanisms, is simply wrong. We need tools to use to solve our problems – but we must not let the tools use us. In the world of modernity, we have. Systems – of politics, of finance, of sexuality – have run and shaped us, rather than us using those tools to shape our world towards useful and agreed ends.

In this, I agree with technoskeptics like Langdon Winner, but I find these people look backward in an unconstructive way. I think the solution is to do as the people in the Robert Taylor Projects did, as people in Al Andalus in SL have done, as radicals in education are doing, and act as if the system doesn’t matter.

The solution is to be ourselves, know ourselves, and build what works for us. Some of us will get crushed: Al Andalus may not survive the months-long assault of conservatives, vicious old men and hand-wringing incompetents. Promising educational projects may not survive the pressure of fixed curricula and standardized testing.

But some of us will thrive, and succeed by simply out-competing the tottering old institutions. There’s no guarantee at all that what survives will be the most progressive, rather than the most ruthless. Forced simplicity may beat out embraced complexity. That’s the struggle for our time, though.

I chose the Confederation of Democratic Simulators as a research site, as a community to live and work in, and to be a legislator in, because I don’t understand it.

The government of the CDS isn’t exactly a community management organization, and it isn’t exactly a roleplay site – though to me it’s historically been much more of the latter than the former. It’s a utopian experiment without the experimental spirit, or much of the utopian impulse. It’s been a closed, isolated, stagnant community – yet it voted to merge with one of Second Life’s most dynamic, experimental, utopian regions. It’s home to some of the nicest people I’ve met, and to some truly epic douchebags.

It’s a study in contradictions.

It’s not the only one. You can’t examine politics, culture and law online without becoming enmeshed in baffling antinomies which are both mirror and bellwether for the wider world.

Part One: Observer

One question in particular has risen to the top for me, not only, or even primarily, in studying the CDS, but in online political behavior more broadly: why are people who are clearly terrified of change here? I don’t understand wanting to turn back the historical clock, but I especially don’t understand using the most advanced technology to try to do so.

I don’t understand a group of people who defined themselves as engaged in “an experiment in democratic governance online,” and recreated some of the most undemocratic institutions of a bureaucratic nation-state, and slapped them onto the structures of a particular virtual world, with particular needs and affordances, without seriously engaging with the fit between goals and tools.

I don’t understand the naked viciousness when faced by the prospect of actually doing something beyond playing at factional politics in a church-like meeting room, the existential horror in the face of an agenda of concrete actions proposed by a strong professional woman  – and I believe both those factors, actual work and a strong woman, to have provoked yesterday’s vileness in equal measure.

I’m studying Gorean communities for a similar set of reasons, and the behavior I saw yesterday from the minority faction in the new Representative Assembly is what I would have expected and understood more in a Gorean meeting hall. Though, Gorean roleplayers seem to be a practical bunch, with a firm eye on where roleplay ends and management begins, a notion lost to more than a few in the CDS.

What unites these genuinely disparate cases, I believe, is a rejection of one fundamental notion: we can do better. The Gorean would say, human nature is what it is, slavery is an essential part of the human condition, as is the inferiority and subjugation of women. The Enlightenment and modernity was largely a mistake, unnatural and irrelevant. Some in the CDS old guard would recoil in horror, standing fast by the UN Declaration of Human Rights, which is incorporated into the CDS constitution – and then in the next breath say that the structures of the 18th or 19th century European nation-state are the last word in management and governance, and apply everywhere without adaptation or exception, just as the Goreans do about their canon of novels.

There are a number of other issues to be explored here. A big one is my hypothesis that essentially no one is interested in democracy, if taken to mean active participation in community management by essentially all members of the community. The CDS bills itself as “SL’s only democratic self governing community” – while inaccurate in a number of ways, the statement is largely true. Why, in a space of millions of people over half a dozen years, who have created everything the mind can conceive? Why only one community?

“Democracy” and “Government” are not fun games. Virtually no one chooses to play them. A tiny handful do – a very tiny handful. Most people in most circumstances will, and do, gladly pay to not play that game, and hire other people – corporate managers, elected officials, community liaisons – to play it for them.

What people seem to want online is to be left the hell alone to play the game they want to play, while knowing that there are fair rules in place to deal with problems and conflicts, and while happily paying a team of people to provide, or enhance, their fun. This is not so different in the external world, at least in America.

Another issue is the powerful, visceral appeal of reaction, of rejection of modernity, equality. For more than a generation, commenters have looked worriedly at the popularity first of Tolkieneque fantasy, then of games based on Tolkien’s medieval tropes. We spend our entertainment dollars on and in worlds of masters and servants, castes and kings, the building and destruction of empires – and not on games of “Democracy,” “Government,” “Human Rights.” Some of the most popular products in Second Life enable restraint, subjugation, submission. We seem to want simple worlds where our place is clear, with simple lines of strong authority over us. The Goreans are right in saying that the urge to bend the knee is wide, and deep. It’s an unknown, illicit craving deep inside many, that finds expression in the worlds of our imagination. That’s a territory I want to map, where the deepest parts of our psyche become utterly politicized.

Taken together, if what we build in the spaces where we are most free is prisons of the past, chains of our deepest urges, then perhaps the Enlightenment experiment is a niche product, destined to gather dust on the gaming shelves. I don’t like this answer. I firmly believe, We can do better. But we cannot if we delude ourselves into thinking our games are more popular than they are. We have to examine, define and acknowledge our natures, then make those games of freedom that appeal. That’s the challenge of the progressive activist in the current age.

My grim hypotheses may or may not be supported by further evidence and study. But it’s a damn important question to be asking.

Part Two: Participant

I said above that what people seem to want online is to be left the hell alone to play the game they want to play, while knowing that there are fair rules in place to deal with problems and conflicts, and while happily paying a team of people to provide, or enhance, their fun.

Whether that’s understood or accepted is one of the fracture lines between the two voting blocs in the new Representative Assembly. One faction doesn’t really care how many people play “Politics,” but charges a subscription fee to non-players to subsidize their play. The other doesn’t really care to play “Politics,” but wants to use those subscription fees to provide a really first-rate space for the fun of the people paying.

And by “fun,” I don’t mean just the social mixers and dance parties that drive the old guard into apoplectic fits. Fun in Al Andalus, and for some in the CDS, is putting on an academic conference. Or hosting a book club, or contests for writers. Or experimenting with consensus decisionmaking. Or participating in a discussion series on religion and philosophy. Or designing and building new towns. Fun takes a lot of forms – but that “Politics” game isn’t one of them for most people.

We differ in opinions, values and goals. The group wanting to enable fun has a one-vote majority in the RA. “Experiments in democratic self governance” include losing elections, right? Then why the rabid, vicious assault by reactionary forces?

Why?

We can do better is more powerful a force than any explosive. It shames the contented, horrifies the backward-looking, terrifies the lazy. We can do better invalidates the very existence of the mediocre, the incompetent, the reactionary. It goes beyond the give and take of votes and elections, the disagreements of the politically active. It is a slap to the face, and it is being taken as such.

Unfortunately, We can do better implies a question at least as uncomfortable for the progressives as the reactionaries. As the old joke had it, “Whaddaya mean ‘we,’ white boy?” The naysayers have acted as if there is no “we,” while talking from both sides of their mouths on the matter. They have opposed the merger with the progressive elements of Al Andalus, they have viciously attacked our leaders, pointedly failed to publicize or support our events. They act as if there is no “we.” We have claimed there is a “we,” that the CDS and Al Andalus can be one progressive community.

Yet as we announce, We can do better, we look around, and have to ask ourselves, “with these clowns tied around our necks?” The six reactionary votes in the current RA are not the CDS. The handful of nasty old men, on and off the RA, are not the community. And yet, what if we took a good sharp knife to the rope tying the liars, fools and nutcases to our necks?

We’re spending hours every week, every day, countering Big Lie allegations, pushing back against stall tactics, losing energy, momentum and faith to the sharp-toothed ankle-biters.

We can do better, indeed….

In ENG 654: Social Media, Alice Robison has assigned us the task of creating a hybrid annotated bibliography/literature review of approximately 10 works as a midterm project in our study of an online community. Here’s the introduction and list of works I’ve chosen. I’m not sure the analysis of the works themselves will be of any particular interest, but the list of references may be. So, here’s the skeleton of the thing.

This review will focus on sources providing a theoretical construct for studying the use of “canon,” or original authorial texts, for political ends in Gorean roleplay (RP) in Second Life (SL)(referred to as SL-Gor). The resulting construct is composed of two primary elements, methodological and analytical tools. With Law, J. (2004) I hold that, as research methods create the realities being studied, methodology and analysis cannot be neatly separated. The works chosen largely reflect this perspective, preventing a clear delineation between process and product.

SL is a persistent social virtual world, essentially an infrastructural tablua rasa enabling individual and collective creation of objects and communities. (Boellstorff 2008) While far from the most common use of the world, SL enables the creation of roleplay communities through the building of three-dimensional virtual environments recreating the settings of fictional works.  One of the largest such communities is built around the novels of John Norman, set on a “Counter-Earth,” called Gor, of city-states modeled after various cultures of the classical world, and marked by a uniform caste system, chattel slavery and the complete subjugation of women to men. (Norman 1966)

As with the city-states of Gor, SL Gorean RP communities are autonomous, tending to regard outsiders and members of other communities as potentially hostile.  One of the primary issues, if not the primary issue, separating these communities appears to be the interpretation of canon with respect to the treatment of women. “By the book” Gor holds that subjugation is absolute and unconditional, within the cultural institutions described in Norman’s novels. What they refer to as “Disney” Gor adapts the novels to allow for a broader range and interpretation of roles for women.

This dispute involves: literary interpretation, through the selective use of quotes from the novels to bolster positions; ideology, both with respect to the value of textual orthodoxy and to the proper role and nature of women in general; notions of citizenship, in who can and cannot be a legitimate member of a particular community; positional goods, in claims of higher status by the most rigidly orthodox communities and of members within those communities; and economic questions, as the RP communities are also businesses responsible for collecting funds to pay for the rental of their regions from the corporate owners of SL.

The study of SL-Gor presents a number of obstacles, which may account for its under-representation in the academic literature examining SL. The values of Gor are arguably diametrically opposed to those of Western academia: separatism versus openness; caste system versus egalitarianism; sexism versus feminism.  The author has been advised that some Goreans perceive researchers as hostile and biased.  Additionally, reflexivity seems an essential prerequisite for the study of SL-Gor: it seems inescapable that one’s own perspectives will be strongly determinant of what one sees, and what meaning one attaches to it, within SL-Gor. Reflexivity is a problematic and contested concept in ethnography (Law 2004): the sort of personal disclosure called for by Kendall (2009), which would seem essential to an honest and scientific ethnography of SL-Gor, is still far from the norm within academia.

The works chosen thus grapple with questions of reflexivity, ethical engagement with research subjects in online communities, the social construction of gender in technological domains, fan appropriation and interpretation of canon texts, and theories of gender-driven transmedia adaptation of texts. Works excluded, while useful, are those specifically focusing on methodological tools, such as discourse analysis, ethnographies in which there is not a sharp ideological or gendered distinction between researcher and subject, and studies of transmedia production in which relations to canon do not bear significant political ramifications.

  1. Bardzell, S. and Odom, W. (2008) “The experience of embodied space in virtual worlds: an ethnography of a Second Life community.” Space and Culture, 11; 239-259. doi: 10.1177/1206331208319148
  2. Boellstorff, T. (2008). Coming of Age in Second Life: An Anthropologist Explores the Virtually Human. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
  3. Butler, J. (1990). Gender Trouble. New York: Routledge.
  4. Haraway, D. (1991). ”A cyborg manifesto.” In Haraway, D. (1991), Cyborgs, Simians and WOmen: The Reinvention of Nature (pp. 149-181). New York: Routledge.
  5. Hutcheon, L. (2006). A Theory of Adaptation. New York: Routledge.
  6. Jenkins, H. (2006). “Star Trek rerun, reread, rewritten: fan writing as textual poaching.” In Jenkins, H. (2006), Fans, Bloggers and Gamers: Exploring Participatory Culture. New York: New York University Press.
  7. Kendall, L. (2009). “How do issues of gender and sexuality influence the structures and processes of qualitative internet research?” In Markham, A. and Baym, N. (Eds.), Internet Inquiry: Conversations About Method (pp. 99-118).Thousand Oaks: SAGE.
  8. Kendall, L. (2002). Hanging Out in the Virtual Pub: Masculinities and Relationships Online. Berkeley: University of California Press.
  9. Law, J. (2004). After Method: Mess In Social Science Research. New York: Routledge.
  10. Norman, J. (1966-7). Tarnsman of Gor. New York: E-Reads.
  11. Springer, C. (1999). “The pleasure of the interface.” In Wolmark, J. (1999), Cybersexualities: A Reader on Feminist Theory, Cyborgs and Cyberspace (pp. 34-54). Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.
  12. Stone, A. (1996). The War of Desire and Technology at the Close of the Mechanical Age. Cambridge, The MIT Press.

“Canon” is one of the fundamental concepts of media fandom – the original work or works that one is a fan of. But canon isn’t just that stuff, that body of work, but as the term suggests, it’s in some way sacred, privileged. There are personal pleasures in a good new addition to a favorite body of work, but what’s the deal with the sacred dimension of canon?

That sacred status can be used to turn the personal pleasures of canon into a politics of legitimacy. For the individual engaging with a text, canon is literary, but in the context of a fan community of co-producers of new works, canon is political: contesting within a fan community the status of a work or performance is the stuff of power and status . Canon in fandom lies, then, at the intersection of play and politics, of literature and law.

I’ve found Linda Hutcheon’s A Theory of Adaptation a tremendously useful framework for evaluating the politics of canon, though her own focus is on the literary appreciation of adaptations to canon (and the concomitant academic politics, but that’s a different beast entirely).

But let’s start with the literary pleasures of canon. Over dinner the other night, a colleague enthusiastically described his experience playing Star Trek Online. He didn’t evaluate the game mechanics – which have gotten largely unfavorable reviews in the gaming blogs, but instead talked about the joy of immersion in the world of Star Trek, of visiting places familiar from stories he’s returned to his whole life, but this time as a participant rather than a spectator. Commanding a Federation starship, being spoken to by the famous voice of Starfleet computers – that was fun, regardless of the affordances and limitations of the game engine.

As Hutcheon observes, “what is often most significant for videogames is the adapted heterocosm, the spectacular world of digital animation that a player enters.” (p. 51) I think she’s wrong, deeply wrong, with respect to gamers approaching a transmedia game, but right insofar as she’s referring to fans of the original property who pick up the game seeking a transmedia experience.

Likewise, another colleague and guildmate of mine in World of Warcraft is reading Christie Golden’s novel, Arthas: Wrath of the Lich King. The joy for him was in recognizing familiar places in a new medium, and having those places enriched by canon lore, and learning more about iconic figures from the game.

These pleasures of new, transmedia, works slotting into canon are personal, matters of one’s own opinions and engagement with stories and characters across platforms. Of course, the transmedia experience is not always pleasant: adaptations or additions can feel like violations of canon. Everyone has a favorite book badly adapted into a movie or a movie into a game, or has seen a sequel that fails to capture the spirit of the original. But this appreciation of canon is personal, aesthetic, the stuff of humanities scholarship.

Right now I’m more interested in the other sort, the social use of canon as a tool of politics. Hutcheon describes a “morally loaded discourse” of discussion about adaptations of canon (p.7), quoting another researcher who found terms like “infidelity,” “betrayal,” “deformation,” “violation,” “desecration” used in evaluating new adaptations.

She states that such thinking is “based on the implied assumption that adapters aim simply to reproduce the adapted text,” arguing that, rather, “’to adapt’ means to adjust, to alter, to make suitable,” especially in a transmedia context, as “[w]ith each mode, different things get adapted in different ways.” (p.12). “Suitable,” of course, is in the eye of the beholder.

Hutcheon quotes Susan Stanford Friedman, who has applied the anthropological/political concept of “indigenization” to adaption, stating that the concept “implies agency: people pick and choose what they want to transplant to their own soil. Adapters of traveling stories exert power over what they adapt.” (p. 150). That power is utterly, fundamentally political. Indigenization is often applied in a religious context, of the creation of a “nativized church.” The immediate question in that context, as in the fannish one, is – is indigenization a revitalizing adaptation to local circumstances, or is it heresy?

In fanfiction, “canon” takes on some interesting nuances. Not that much fic strictly is close to canon, the sort of stories called “gen,” for general, that are typically “continuing adventures,” stories that could be an episode of the TV series, a sequel to the books or movies. Much fic explores non-canon romantic and sexual relationships – but there, attitudes towards canon still play a critical political role. A community will judge if a pairing is credible within the bounds of canon, and a fandom will typically split along “shipper” lines – Harry Potter fans into Harry/Hermione vs. Harry/Ginny, for example.

Slash – romantic/sexual fiction about gay relationships between characters that aren’t canon gay – is a staple of fic, yet even there, issues of canon split shipper communities into those who find the pairing canon-plausible and those who reject it. If you’re wearing “slash goggles,” interpreting emotional displays between male characters in a sexual context, well, certain pairings are “practically canon,” while others are too implausible to count.

In roleplay communities, canon is used to judge not a static work, like fanfiction, but an ongoing performance. There’s a shamefully un-studied world of virtual-world roleplay on LiveJournal, text-based worlds like the old MUDS and MOOs, but persistent, with roleplay permanently visible in public or semi-public threaded logs. There, it’s expected that each roleplayer will bring their own interpretation (often slashy) to the character – but within the bounds of canon plausibility, and “playing OOC,” or out of character, is a primary ground for social criticism, and to some degree, ostracizing, as people prefer to play with more plausibly canon versions of the characters.

In SL-Gor, canon takes on a more explicitly political dimension. What separates Gor from medieval roleplay on the one hand and BDSM roleplay on the other is the explicitly ideological dimension, the unforgiving male dominance, the abject nature of female slavery. “Canon vs. ‘Disney’” seems to be the fundamental political issue dividing Gorean communities, with one side arguing for the orthodoxy of “by the book,” and the other for a “nativized church” of a Gor closer to mainstream liberal culture.

Why is canon so important that it’s used as a justification even for clearly transgressive fic and roleplay? How can canon fidelity even exist as a meaningful concept when a novel or TV show is translated to text or 3D roleplay, or heteronormative narrative is slashed?

We must love our orthodoxies, even the implausible ones…

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