Author: Hannah Borenstein

Hannah B

I think Jordan’s main point – that I Hate the Internet doesn’t take the fullest step to the efficacy it signals, but does avoid a heartwarming liberal fantasy – is a good one from which to build from.

Kobek’s disdain for traditional narrative – as invoked by the non-chapter chapter also reminded me of the beginning paragraph of Bellamy and Killian’s supplemental piece: “one the New Narrative did was tell and tell and tell without the cheap obscurantism of ‘showing’” (i). Indeed, the narrator of I Hate the Internet is hardly shy to tell. I think about 60% of the novel is the narrator telling recent historical events, often on tangents (which is later acknowledged). This, along with the formatting of the novel, short-snappy paragraphs widely spaced apart, can invoke a sort of twitter scroll. Kobek seems to be trying to not be read as a novel. The text can be skimmed, quite effectively at times (I tried). Much like the collaborative efforts of the New Narrative pointed out in the Bellamy and Kilian article, I do think some of this formatting has value.

What becomes abundantly clear, however, through some the form of the text is how impossible of a task this has become. Jordan notes that Kobek’s focus on language, his sights as “both ‘good novels’ and internet discourse’ is undoubtedly true, but two of his other objects are San Francisco and capitalism (which of course are not autonomous from the previous two). According to this guardian article (https://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/nov/20/jarett-kobek-internet-enormously-detrimental-i-hate-the-internet-interview_) Kobek was forced out of San Francisco due to the forces of Silicon Valley-driven gentrification. He moved to Los Angeles, set up his own small press, wrote a book, which, to no one’s surprise, can be bought on Amazon. I guess the question is somewhat open for debate is Kobek actually does or can escape the Age of Amazon by being “servant, server, and service provider, and the reader as consumer, yes, bot more precisely as customer” (453). My instinct, and I think Kobek would agree, at least for now, is that while this delineation of roles is not entirely inaccurate, Amazon does not get subsumed by this process. In fact, the reverse may be true, just as San Francisco itself has become subsumed by Silicon Valley.

 

Herein lies the merits of Kobek’s novel, which while not earth-shattering, reveal and painful and lasting truth of irreparable damage. Some of this may be compounded with the fact that Kobek seems to be nostalgic for an old San Francisco, one during which the New Narrative movement took place.

The fact that iPhones and iPads “changed everything” is thus far more than a question of the change in language. There are material effects, in which the body becomes so integrated with the technology (I actually found myself thinking through the discussions we had about wearable technologies while reading Snow Crash) and online technologies and personas can quite literally destroy a person’s life, furthering their lack of control. Of Ellen, the narrator writes:

“A person’s identity wasn’t just about what they wanted or how they lived or the choices they made. Life wasn’t made of self-determination. Life was the Chinese wage slave manacled to a factory line building iPhones…And thanks to the corporations headquartered in, around and near San Francisco, the capacity for that damage was infinite” (244-245).

This is all to say that now, the notion of identity is bound up in the Internet, whether people choose to be or not. And the Internet cannot be talked about without talking about Silicon Valley, and Silicon Valley cannot be talked about without talking about capitalism. Thus, comments like “the iPhone changed everything!” among countless others in the novel, which at times seem overly facetious, Kobek may just want to hammer into a felt reality.

I didn’t have quite the confidence to write something in as experimental a form as Jordan has and others have in the past, but this response is a bit fragmentary and half-baked. But I think in the context of this week’s readings, it’s ok.

 

Hannah Borenstein

Like Maggie, I also found myself a bit surprised both at the size of the task that Brock, Kvasny, and Kayla Hales set to take on in their paper. The permutations of their analyses – using cultural capital, technical capital, and Black feminist theory discourses – alongside three different forms – seemed limiting in such a small space. Deep readings and extrapolations to other instances, not just in response to the discourse following the Helena Andrew’s article, felt like there was much left to be desired. I do think they opened up an important door to thinking about the emergent spaces in which the deficit models of minority information are upset is an important intervention. However, what I would have liked to have seen them grapple with more, is what happens when stock characters are created, and when capitalist forms of ICT cloud subaltern struggles.

Americannah is the perfect text to explore these questions because, firstly, it engages the question of opening up online spaces for shared experiences through Ifemelu, but also, because Chimamnda Ngozi Adichie, has become such an essential in both literary and popular discourse.

 

To the first point, I think the importance of online spaces that support Brock, et al’s claim, that “articulation of cultural touchpoints promoting a more diverse set of beliefs will raise ICT participation rates” (1057) is extremely well-exemplified when Ifemelu tries to fix her hair falling out. Curt doesn’t understand or take her sadness seriously, and so she texts Wambui. “Wambui’s reply came minutes later: Go online. HappilyKinkyNappy.com It’s this natural hair community. You’ll find inspiration” (259). What’s telling about this passage is not just what we learn a few pages later – that Wambui is right, and that this website has, for Ifemelu conversations, ideas, recommendations, etc., on how to think about and cope with her hair – but the swiftness of Wambui’s response. Not only does this online world of conversational productivity exist for women unrepresented in mainstream beauty magazines, but Wambui’s ready knowledge and sharing of it indicates that this is a space in which these conversations are already established. Of course Curt, and pretty much all white people, would have no idea that conversations related to black women’s hair would exist, undercutting the notion that various underserved populations are accessing the virtues of the open web (Brock, et al 1041).

 

However, as Maggie points out, Ifemelu, who we know participates in this online world, passes up an opportunity to make money from her blogging. Because this online world has become so embedded in the spirit of capitalism – when bloggers get a certain amount of visits, or action on their websites, they can turn a profit – we also have to consider how capital can be diverted.

 

Perhaps I think this through Adichie as a figure because of an article that popped up, of course, on my twitter account just a few days ago. In April Sisonke Msimang’s post on Africa is a Country entitled “All your faves are problematic: A brief history of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, stanning and the trap of #blackgirlmagic” (http://africasacountry.com/2017/04/all-your-faves-are-problematic-a-brief-history-of-chimamanda-ngozi-adichie-stanning-and-the-trap-of-blackgirlmagic/)

 

The post is basically about Adichie’s rise to extreme fame and the implications of when one person gains such a high level of (cultural and technical) capital that they stand in to be overly representative. Adichie has become, many argue, something of a spokesperson on issues regarding race, feminism, and conceptions of Africa, throughout the years, despite having what many agree are some problematic views (particularly surrounding an issue of an insensitive statement she made about trans-women. While of course alternative online spaces proliferate around such a figure, question of subaltern status must emerge here. This may be a bit controversial and I’ll just leave this here but I do think Adichie is a very particular figure, undoubtedly the most famous we’ve read this semester, but we should be thinking about what gaining a certain level of cultural, technical and economical capital means in the context of this week’s readings.