Self and Self Representation Online
Self and Self Representation Online
Self and Self Representation Online
1 may 2015|1129
Self and
Self-Representation
Online and Off
paul john eakin
abstract
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Writing the Self, the title of this special issue of Frame, has a grand
ring to it, but the phrase risks suggesting that selfespecially when
preceded by the definite articleis something thing-like, whereas I
prefer to think of self as an awareness of an unfolding process, a name
we give to a special dimension of consciousness. Used in this way,
self functions as a shorthand for the complicated sense we have of our
self-experience. The writing part of the phraseif we take it
to denote broadly the act of representation in any modeis more
promising. When we write self, however we do itand we do it all
the timewe track the elusive and shifting traces of the person who
bears our name. The self part and the writing part are inextricably
bound together, for when it comes to self, we cannot help but make
what we say we find. This is because, neurologically speaking, memory
constructs anew our past experiencewhether from a moment ago or
years agoin each and every act of recollection.
Pursuing the link between self and self-representation,
Philippe Lejeune asserts that new developments in technologies of
communication have promoted new forms of self-expression: diary in the
case of paper; autobiography in the case of printing. Moreover, he gives
technology the upper hand in this dialogic cultural process: There is
no set I that remains identical throughout the history of humankind
and simply expresses itself differently depending on the tools at hand.
In this case, it is the tool that shapes the craftsman (248). If Lejeune is
right, it is timely to ask whether the advent of the Internet and the social
media enabled by it have in fact produced new forms of self-expression
and even new kinds of selves.1 This is my focus in the first part of this
essay. My hunch, however, is that while the Internet has brought ease
and speed to the way we talk about ourselves, and some new forms in
which to do it, performing identity work online is really not radically
different from doing so offline. For this reason, self-representation on
the Internet cannot be properly understood in isolation from the offline
world, and the key to that understanding is narrative. Because more
and more of us inhabit online and offline worlds at the same time, the
1. For some, includingI intuitthe editors of this special issue, the question has already been
answered and serves as the point of departure for further inquiry.
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second part of this essay features the role of narrative in organizing both
of them. In order to highlight the contrast between the characteristic
brevity of daily online self-narration and the expansiveness of offline
autobiography and memoir, I will consider some end-of-life narratives
that probe the larger, existential meaning of a life.
Communication technologies have changed hugely during my
lifetime. I date from the days of snail mail and the telephone; television
was just coming in when I was in grade school. To compensate for this
generational gap, I open this consideration of self in the digital age
by looking briefly at the lives of two young men who grew up with the
Internet. They used it a lot, and it is also true that it used them.
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final message on his Facebook app: Jumping off the gw bridge sorry
(Parker 49). As for Ravi, in March of 2012 he was tried and convicted
of invasion of privacy and bias intimidation for his role in the webcam
spying incidents. This, in capsule form, is Clementis and Ravis story.
Why had these two young lives taken such a disastrous turn when
the formative period of discovery and consolidation of adult identity
in college was just beginning? In an article that he wrote for the
New Yorker in February, 2012, a month before Ravis trial, Ian Parker
investigates this painful story of miscommunication online and off. In
the three weeks they lived together, they barely had a conversation
(43). Parker concludes: In person, [Clementi] and Ravi had
maintained a wary coexistence, and it was built on not discussing what
they knew and said of each other online (47). And they were online a
lotthis is what fascinated me in Parkers reconstruction of their story.
Both men used the Internet and all its resources constantly, logging in
to social media and various forums at any hour of the day or night. Each
of them had checked out the other online before they met at Rutgers:
Ravi had Googled Clementis username to see what he could turn
up, and Clementi, for his part, knew that Ravi had seen his postings
on Justusboys, a gay-pornography site. When they started college in
the fall, online and offline activity were intimately entwined in their
awkward encounters. Parker gives this account of their first moments
alone together in their Rutgers dorm room once their respective parents
had left them to settle in:
As Ravi unpacked, Clementi was chatting [on instant messenger]
with Yang [a female friend]. Im reading his twitter page and
umm hes sitting right next to me, he wrote. I still dont kno
how to say his name. [] You should just start a conversation,
Yang wrote. Like hey, how the heck do I pronounce your
name? [Clementi replies], Thats too funny/your giving me
scripted conversations. (4243)
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response to the needs of the digital life narrator. I call these forms
auto/tweetographies, she writes, short installments of life narrative,
which share moments, experiences, and lives in miniature, and which
will be updated or replaced regularly [] with new material (149).
In this view, digital life writing is likely to be brief, collective, and
ephemeral.
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Julie Rak and Anna Poletti, the editors of Identity Technologies, launch
their collection with the claim that the idea of narrative may not fit
what identity formation looks like in digital media (11). To support
this view they subscribe to a narrow understanding of narrative as
product, specifically a text of some kind. To the contrary, narrative is
much more than text; it functions as an identity practice, about which I
will say more presently. Moreover, recent work in neurobiology suggests
that narrative may be in fact a mode of perception with the result that
self may be said to exist inside the narrative matrix of consciousness.4
Happily, the editors limited view of narrative is countered by many
of their contributors. Smith and Watson, for example, conceive of
their toolbox for online self-presentation as a series of approaches
to online personal narrative formats (72). Again, Aime Morrison
asserts that there is no questionparticularly since the introduction
of the Timeline interfacethat Facebook and its users are producing
life narratives (127). And for Alessandra Micalizzi, the Internet is both
an identity technology (219) and a narrative technology (220).
So why do Smith, Watson, and the other contributors bring
narrative into play in their consideration of online identity? If online
and offline worlds are as intimately connected as the Rutgers story
suggests, then this move is predictable and indeed inevitable because
of narratives primary role in constructing identity offline.5 Shortly
after the acquisition of language, children are trained by parents and
caregivers to produce brief narratives about their experiences. Through
this memory talk they are introduced to the narrative practices of
their culture; they learn that they are expected by others to be able to
talk about themselves following certain basic conventions. By the time
we reach adulthood, we know how to produce on demand a version
of our life stories that is appropriate to the context. In this way we
become players in a narrative identity system: our self-narrations
confirm to others that we possess normally functioning identities. When
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6. For a discussion of memory talk, see Eakin, How 1026; for a discussion of the narrative
identity system, see Eakin, Living 2231.
7. For an extreme reading of this change, see Rushkoff, who contends that we live today in a
postnarrative world (31).
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principles to talk about death (4). Chast admits that she had done a
pretty good job at avoiding all of this herself (22). She hated Brooklyn
and her parents apartment where she had spent an unhappy childhood.
An only child, she had felt excluded from her parents tight little unit
(7), and the caption she supplies for a photo of the three of them when
she was twelve tells it all: Just a few more years, and I am outta here
(180). Her father emerges as sweet, weak, and passive, overpowered by
her domineering mother, an assistant elementary school principal who
was proud of telling other people off with a blast from Chast (34).
Now, as her parents age into increasing dependency hastened by falls
and dementia, Chast is reluctantly drawn back in to cope with their
collapsing lives.
The book she writes chronicles step by step their repeated hospital
stays, their move into an assisted living complex (leaving behind an
apartment crammed with the hoarded accumulations of a lifetime),
and their eventual decline and death. Chast spares us nothing, nor
does she spare herself, owning up to the difference between what
she thinks a devoted daughter should feel and what she really does
feel. Her skill as a cartoonisther ability to compress, to focus, to
highlightmakes the entire memoir an unforgettable and surprisingly
funny hard conversation about contemporary death and dying. Chast
had hoped to stage last words with her mother in which they might
somehow bridge the lifelong distance between them, but her mothers
indifference is devastating. When the conversations had been reduced
to almost nothing (210), Chast recorded her mothers protracted dying
in a remarkable series of ink drawings. There is no color in these
sketches, only the date, and sometimes a brief notation. Her mothers
mouth, which Chast had feared growing up, the formidable source
of the blasts from Chast, remains the focal point of these images, a
dark portal beyond language. This is Chasts unflinching version of the
hard conversation she had never succeeded in having with her parents
while they were alive. In order to tell her story, Chast stretches the
cartoon, a very short form, to cover the span of a lifetime: the cartoons,
which offer close-ups that distil the essence of a situation or a state of
mind, are embedded in a prose matrix, passages written by hand, and
supplemented by photographs. The media blend, none of it drawing on
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the Internet, is at once familiar and startling, making this memoir one
of the most original in years.
This essay approaches the Internet and narrative as key identity
resources; we are likely to draw on both when we write self in the
digital age. I am skeptical, however, that the Internet offers the brave
new world of selfhood promised by some postmodern identity theory. To
the contrary, Rob Cover persuades me that identity work is performed
in much the same way online and off; both environments are governed
by the same cultural demand: that we display coherent identities.
Narrative, I argue, is the signature of that coherence. That this should
be the case is hardly surprising given the importance we attach to
cultivating narrative competence in early childhood. As a result, in
most cultures everyone is wired for narrative, so much so that the loss of
narrative competence due to injury or dementia is routinely interpreted
as a loss of identity.
When we go online, we bring to the keyboard this narrative
endowment and our lifelong experience as players in a narrative
identity system. Accordingly, when I speak of the Internet and narrative
as identity resources, I do not mean to suggest that they share an
equivalent function. The Internet is indeed an instrument of change,
shaping the needs of the digital life writer in ways that Laurie McNeill
describes, whereas narrative measures change. It remains the primary
motor of most self-representation because it permits us to track our lives
and selves in passing time.
The late Mark Strand captures our existential situation in a
remarkable poem, The Continuous Life:
Explain that you live between two great darks, the first
With an ending, the second without one, that the luckiest
Thing is having been born, that you live in a blur
Of hours and days, months and years, and believe
It has meaning, despite the occasional fear
You are slipping away with nothing completed, nothing
To prove you existed. (21)
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For Gawande, Flem, and Chast it is narrative that measures and honors
the space in between those two great darks. Their stories show
narratives power to give such answers as we can to Foucaults question
about what we are in our actuality. Narratives force as a meaning-making
technology shows no signs of flagging in the digital age.
works cited
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biography