Part 3 – the vagaries of story space.
It works out that our notions of space and how to navigate it are heavily biased by our culture. I live in the States. Within cities, we tend to name and number streets as we do blocks and buildings. So locations are usually given as 123 Sesame Street. While this rule is not universal, it is nearly so.
By way of contrast, it is my understanding that in Japan streets are not named nor numbered. It is blocks which are identified. The number a building has on the block depends on the order it was built. That makes number 1 on the block the first building built. Number 5 is the fifth. So number 1 on a block can have number 15 on one side and number 3 on the other. All the while, number 2 hides on the opposite side of the block.
The problem gets more interesting when we start talking about how people remember real space. Very few people know the map of an entire city by heart. Most of us only know those parts we routinely travel. Few of us know what lies even two blocks from our routine route to and from work.
Likewise, we tend to ignore street names and numbers. Rather we use landmarks. We tell our friends the location of a new restaurant not by its street address but by being in a particular shopping plaza. Unless you live in the country, you also tend to ignore compass direction. Like the song says … New York, New York what a wonderful town the east side’s up and the battery’s down ….
On the other hand, the starting point for story space is the mental model of a board game. So story space corresponds to the game board. The game board is divided into a bunch of places we usually call squares. It is handy that the squares cover all of the game space and don’t over lap. (You’re right, they don’t have to be squares. Any regular tessellation will do. Oh heck, any irregular tessellation will work too.)
We don’t have to stay in two dimensions, we could jump to three or more. Now we expect the “square” packs without leaving gaps or over lapping. Not to go completely crazy, we tend to stick to squares and cubes. They are simple and obey our needs.
Game squares carry the idea of adjacency. A square touches (is touched by) other squares which are thought of as adjacent to the first square. Here story space takes its first step away from real space. If we wanted to map real space, we would overlay a grid of squares. We would then fill in the details for each square. Eventually each square in the grid will be described. In story space we only create accessible squares. These are the ones needed to tell the story. There are no unmapped squares.
Thus story space can represent the set of all possible routes or all possible places. For example, the story space for a cave ignores the parts of the underground rock in which there are no passages. Thereby it represents routes or paths. By contrast a large open field might be represented through a three by three grid. Here there is no constraint on path, but there is a constraint on possible place.
Story space takes a further departure from real space because it is rubbery. One might think that story space should map to a fixed amount of real space. Thus all squares are the same size. We know that is not true. We can have a location – the open sea. It can be represented by a single square. We can have a location – the garden. It can be represented by three squares.
To a story teller the notion of rubbery space is perfectly natural. If we need the open sea as part of the story, we include it. If nothing important to the plot occurs on the open sea, it is given passing mention. On the other hand the story may call for three scenes in different places within the garden. Here we need three squares to tell the story. Thus story space is driven by plot and not geometry.
I am sitting in a room writing my reply. I can look through an arch into the next room. I can see some of the next room and its contents. I can also see through a doorway in the other room to the room beyond it. I am next to a window which lets me see onto a stone patio and beyond to the garden. Right now, story space only lets me see what it is in the square I occupy.
We have learned to overcome the visibility limitations of story space by following some conventions. For example a room description might read – You are standing in a neatly manicured lawn ringed by tidy flower beds. You are bathed in the lazy drone of bees tending to their work. The garden path pushes to the east through a pergola drowning in scarlet clematis. The path beckons from the garden beyond.
The point is story space doesn’t behave much like real space at all. I don’t have any serious problems with I7 rooms and associated things like scenery. The room metaphor has been with IF since the beginning. I think it faces challenges as story tellers move to using plot to drive things.
To me the game board metaphor is in taters. The room metaphor may not be much better off. It feels like things have been added piecemeal to address weaknesses in the room metaphor. Perhaps it is time to pull all of the story space ideas together to develop a coherent mental model. Whichever story space metaphor you embrace, it is like one of those baseball batting records with an asterisk after it.