Hyperfiction... (on this particular text)

Instructions:

The following is a series of fragments in poetic prose inspired by fairy tale characters, such as the princess, the prince and the witch. They were originally written in a linear format and later reconnected in a non-linear way, making it possible to choose the moment in which you want the story to begin. 

You can pick whatever numbered fragment you like to start reading and from there jump from one to another following the hyperlinked sentences or words. The connections between the text’s fragments are placed according to abstract notions or lines of tought, meaning that if you click on, say, “no more silky gowns”, then you will be taken to a fragment in which the concept of "silky gown" is present as well. You will finish reading a particular version of the story the moment you reach the fragment in which you started out. 

Click on the arrow at the side of the month (left hand, "April"), and the list of fragments will be shown.

Or you can start from wherever you want:

1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13

Now go on, and have fun. 

About the authors (Tristán by Ethneliane)

No prince in shining armor, but rather, the sage of the kingdom, Tristán has witnessed the moons of old pass humanity by. Born with a narcissistic, evil twin brother, the man this side of the mirror is the owner of a kind and energetic soul. Tristán is a journalist in the making, but he is also a magician of words, a weaver of fables, and an advisor for princes who know not of the ways of the world. A precious friend for those who dare dwelve into the mysteries of his mind, this man may become for many a pearly gate into a vast, new universe.

About the authors (Ethneliane by Tristán)

An old soul, Ethneliane’s passion for life is an inspiration for her peers. She is kind and fair, yet thou shall not wake her wrath if thou knows what is good for thou’s ass. Her love of music is only outmatched by her obssesion with Kurt Cobain. She is sharp and bright and always in search of truth. A good friend with which to expend the witchy hours, she studies journalism in Mexico and pays her bills as a princeses’s shrink in the Not so Far Away Madhater’s Rehab Center for Fables in Need. Colleagues argue that most of her clients tend to become the witch, no complaints from the prince, though.

What is hyperfiction?

Hyperfiction is a literary genre in which narrative is non-linear, meaning that the reader can “jump” from one point of the text to the other in different ways thus delving into different possible stories. Altough this genre predates its use in electronic format, it has become increasingly popular in the Internet via the use of hypertextual links. These add on the possibility of not only allowing non-linear jumps within the story, but also of taking advantage of other  technological devices such as music, images, and even explanatory documents.

Synthesis of our hypertext

About princesses and bad influen(z)es is our interpretation of several fairy tales, mainly that of Briar Rose, better known as Sleeping Beauty, from a freudian psychoanalitical and feminist sociological perspective (ain’t that a tongue twister?). We interpret the fairy tale princess as a passive submissive role model for women, that disencourages them from taking control and finding freedom.

The subtexts we have recurred to range from the Genesis to Lewis Carroll's Through the looking-glass, and what Alice found there, passing through Snow White and Red Riding Hood. We found certain connections between these texts, so we designed a way of mixing intertextuality and hypertextuality in order to attain the perspective mentioned above.

Architecture and Design

Altough originally written in sequence, the fragments of our hypertext are connected through keywords such as white, red, apple or thread, key symbols that kickstart a delirious semiotic linking process. For example, when thinking of red one also thinks of strawberries, passion, lust, blood, war, sex…, and so on. Therefore one can click on the hyperlink to get to another fragment in which that particular symbol plays a role.

In our original plan, we intended to link the fragments of text to other online materials such as music and images. However, our lack of knowledge on technological widgets and such has prevented us from doing so. It remains part of our plan, though.

-13-

Maybe he will come, maybe I will make him come, drawing him towards me as he climbs the spiral staircase, all the way up to the last chamber of the highest tower of the faraway castle. And I will wait amongst the crystal chambers of the palace of ice, amidst the webs of white and stains of red. And when he reaches my altar he will embrace me and place upon my lips my only ever given kiss. And I'll finally wake from this life's dream and I'll be blessed by the rain of a thousand shattered mirrors. And I'll open my eyes and say: My prince...

12

Red I wore, for red thread had my robes and hood be made. I stood in front of the gate with the golden key in hand. The beast awaited on the other side, its eyes gleaming with the lust of expectation. “Let me out” it said, and I did. The beast smiled and so did I. Lumberjack would never find out.

11

She was alone, she knew things, secret things, they feared her so. Vanquished into the deep forest, the women would come and see her in secret. The oak from her house was that of a millenary tree, the apples in her yard so ripe and juicy. I wanted to be her, but I chose to sleep instead.

10

I sing as I sang, my hair white, my gray dress, my nails dirty, my feet bleeding. My voice echoes in the walls and the tall gothic vaults. I wander, will he think I’m pretty?

9

I could have awakened all by myself, I could have sent the briars back to earths womb, I could have saved us. I lay here now, wide aware of the skulls that lay below this pedestal I chose as my own and I weep for those to come.

8

Perhaps I will wake, perhaps I will brake the mirror and take the sword and cut the briars and reach the tree and reclaim what is mine, for I have the right. Perhaps next time I will be the witch. Perhaps, just maybe, perhaps she was right.

7

You will kiss me, and you will fade, and from the smoke left I’ll dream you all over again. And one day I will wish I had dreamed you all the same, and the beast will laugh at me and ravage me instead.

6

Come my prince, my handsome prince, a hundred years will take for you to get here, and when the moment comes, a kiss is all I need before I go back to sleep. For I have been tought to trust in life and my robes are made of dreams of white. 

5

It was no longer there, it had rotten in my hands and they all laughed at me and pointed fingers. I ran, but the white thread that layed tangled throughout the garden trapped my arms and legs. My thighs and my insides hurt, and the blood stained thread soon colored the treacherous web.

4

I found myself naked, a tree stood before me, tall and proud and mysterious. Red apples on its hard branches. The wind spread my hair and exposed the full glory of my body, I licked my aroused lips and gave in to my longings. The apple in my hand, I closed my eyes and gave it a faint kiss.

3

My robes got caught in the thorn of a red rose, I did not notice. I kept wandering the garden, the thread of the dress untangling from my body and decorating the twigs and the leaves and the flowers. I was dancing, my joy blossomed in the jazmines, my chant echoed by the nightingale. 

2

All by myself, the others left me there and so I wandered through the long hallways and vast ballrooms and neverending spiral staircases. I ran like the wind with my bare feet, white robes of silk caressing my body. I would laugh like a nymph amidst the moonlight’s smile and the silver dust.

1

I layed there, above the stone pedestal, and they built the walls and pilars of the castle around me. I was not to move, and so the marvel floors and the persian rugs and the stained glass became my sanctuary, or was it their temple and my prison?

12

Heartless, cold. Old-time beauty hardened by centuries of waiting, of dreaming,of weaving tales of white horses and charming gentlemen. Her lips chapped, her skin dry, and she knows. She is aware of such a life’s futility. Her most disturbing thought: realizing that even if she had longed to die, the storyteller would never put the pen down. 

11

She dreamt of the desert. She dreamt of dunes, of sand, of the vague reflection of a prince standing near a fountain. The grainy floor scratched the burnt skin of her naked feet. The prince moved further away with every step forward she gave. Night came, and the millions of stars above held her as she sang the most beautiful song there ever was. But nobody ever listened, for as she wanders in her desert of dreams, on the outside she lays still in the center of a castle where nobody else exists.

10

Once upon a time there was a princess. Actually, there were hundreds of them, tenths of thousands of princesses all asleep, waiting for a non-existent prince. But this one lady was named Eva. And Camille, and Mathilde, and Eunice, and dozens of other womanly names we don't care about for now, because this young, particular princess was named Eva.

9

She smiled. Young, marvelous, exciting, bright. Her prince charming, the perfect man she had always envisioned, had finally come to her rescue. From her inside she tried hard to look beautiful, appealing, delicate. How could she had known that all he saw was an interesting subject for his next story?

8

The scent of roses seized her attention. No more cozy chambers, no more silky gowns. A bow and some arrows hung over her back. She tossed her long, blonde braid aside. It was she who should liberate the prince, for once.

7

He had never thought of her as a prey. She did warn him she preferred being treated as such. Early evening, she went out for a walk. Mom’s little princess strolling into the forest, perfectly aware of what lay ahead. He knew where he should wait. The old lie about the sick grandmother tasted stale.

6

One kiss was all she needed to be set free. Not even his warm embrace, not a word of peace, nor a happily ever after. Only a gentle touch of his lips against hers. He didn’t need to be an inventive, creative, intelligent prince. She didn’t even care if he was actually of royal descent. She only wished for a leap of faith, a kiss so she would wake up and see a sunset once again. But as the crone had warned her, he never came.

5

The witch smiled, but her mirror-self wouldn’t. They both stood up. The princess cried on the other side of the crystal, “let me out, he will know, he will save me”. The witch approached the framed piece of glass, “but dear, he sees you in me. I didn’t hear him complain last night”. A blink of an eye, the witch’s velvet laugh, and the mirror, with its Alice trapped inside, fell to the floor and turned to dust.

4

No woman was ever prettier. No woman was ever as powerful. She laughed at her own image staring from the other side of the mirror. All it took was an apple, a smile, and a light push towards the well. They would never find out. No one would ever notice. The witch had won this battle, and with it, she had secured the war. Her prince knocked on the door, “hurry, the ceremony will begin at once”.

 

3

Too late. No garden, no walls, no princess, only swamps. And in the center of it all, a statue made of bronze. A maiden, laying down, her tender lips parted in the midst of a kiss she never received. A single tear forever suspended on her cheek. After everything he went through, after all his amends, he had hit a dead end. He knew he would never be able to wake her up, but also that he could never go back home. The prince fell to the floor and started to cry.

2

The prince never looked as handsome as when his dreams flew out of his head, around his arms, drawing fiery wings over his shoulders. A silver sword grew from his hand. He ran, he needed no horse, no wizard, no magical advice. A thousand moons and suns went by. Finally, he reached the castle.

1

She had always asked to be left alone. Everytime anyone came close enough for her to touch, she had held her own shivering hands and sent the intruder away. For one last night she stood, trembling, her eyes blank, her mind racing. The open window before her whispered, inviting: "jump, it is your only way out".