by James C. Morrison

Synesthesia is a central conception in Marshall McLuhan’s exploration of the relationship between media, culture, and the human sensorium. Jay David Bolter claims synesthesia as one of the effects achieved by hypermedia. However, McLuhan’s notion of synesthesia as the simultaneous interplay of the senses in a ratio fostered by the particular medium or media involved is missing in the theoretics of hypermedia, which relegates all sensory phenomena to visual terms and overlooks the interplay between orality and literacy. Research into synesthesia in art, culture, language, and cognition supports McLuhan’s conception of it as the normal process by which the brain reaches a new equilibrium when one of its functions is outered in a technology. While hypermedia thankfully falls short of mimicking natural synesthesia, interactive multimedia and virtual reality systems attempt to provide a false synesthesia that threatens the role of art and culture in achieving sensory balance.

arshall McLuhan’s conception of synesthesia is central to his perception that electronic media recapitulate the aesthetic forms of non-literacy. Synesthesia, which derives from the Greek syn, for together, and aisthêsis, for perception, figures prominently in his exploration of how the mind coordinates the interplay of the senses. At times he depicts synesthesia as a cultural ideal—a state of nature from whose bosom alphabetic literacy tore us, and a possible future state to which electronic media might be capable of returning us. But one always has to be careful in dealing with McLuhan’s attitudes towards such issues, particularly because of his expressed desire to be descriptive when dealing with social and cultural effects and to avoid what he considered moralizing. Hence it would be useful to examine what, exactly, McLuhan means by synesthesia, how his usage compares with other definitions of it in aesthetics and cognitive science, and how it relates to current developments in new forms of electronic communication, namely hypermedia, interactive multimedia, and virtual reality.

Such a course is prompted by a passage in Jay David Bolter’s (1991) Writing Space claiming synesthesia as one of the effects of hypermedia. Such a notion prompts the question of what McLuhan would have made of it, had he had the chance to entertain it. Both Paul Levinson (1999, pp. 30–32) and I (2000) have observed that McLuhan often expressed himself in associationally linked reading units, or, to use the jargon, lexias characteristic of hypertext, and in so doing anticipated some part of its epistemology.

The question then arises, to what degree might he have seen hypermedia as a manifestation of the balanced interplay among all of the senses, his definition of synesthesia? The problems of definition will be dealt with later, but to get there we should first examine what Bolter says about synesthesia and how it relates to hypermedia and the range of claims made for it. I use the pronoun “it” here deliberately, in spite of the fact, not always observed among media analysts, that the word “media” is a plural. Here, I am referring not to a collection of media that might be invoked with hyperlinks. Rather, I am referring to the system of interlinked communications itself, to hypermedia as a means of linking both textual and audio-visual files. This is the sense in which Bolter (1991) refers to it when he writes,

This passage raises issues that certainly go beyond McLuhan’s conception of synesthesia into the territory of the writerly text, as expressed in Roland Barthes’s (1974) S/Z, but rather than pursuing that tack here, I wish to explore in more detail what Bolter means by “multimedia texts.” Earlier in his chapter, Bolter gives his vision of the full range of electronic writing:

But what distinguishes such “multimedia texts” from other forms of multimedia production, such as computer games, virtual reality simulations, television productions, documentaries, and other such mixed media? The distinction lies in the fact that hypermedia consists of a symbolic system that incorporates images into the textuality of the piece as a whole, rather than turning text into just another of a range of images:

Still, we must ask why this must be the case. What makes text that accompanies sound and images in hypertext more essentially textual than that which might appear in, say, a public service announcement on television, which has just as much manifest content, not existing merely as decoration? Bolter does not address this issue here, but perhaps we can do so by contrasting the relatively high resolution and refresh rates of computer screens to those of television. The failure of Videotext in the 1980s, when the Internet was just beginning to spread out of research labs and into homes, and before the World Wide Web was created, might provide a clue. In McLuhan’s terms (1964, pp. 22–32), such failure might be explained by the severe mismatch created by the attempt to marry a relatively hot, high-definition medium—text—with a relatively cool, low-definition medium—television. On television, one looks at text as graphics and completes its image in essentially the same way as any other graphic element on the screen.

To Bolter (1991) the most important difference lies in the fact that text, images, and sound used in hypermedia take on a functional role in determining the structure of the piece as a whole—potentially all of its “frames,” and not just one at a time. That is, each textual and non-textual element in a hypermedia piece occupies a place in the logical structure of the piece analogous to the topoi of rhetoric (pp. 16–17), and thus becomes topical:

McLuhan’s Conception of Synesthesia

hen we compare this description of hypermedia to McLuhan’s use of the term synesthesia we can see some significant differences. Initially, it is clear that McLuhan (1964) saw the connection between digital representations of reality and a heightened ability to involve all the senses, but in a way that returns modern consciousness to a preliterate mode of awareness:

The differences between McLuhan’s and Bolter’s conceptions of synesthesia immediately leap out. First, neither in the passages previously quoted nor in the rest of Writing Space does Bolter make note of “[t]he implosive (compressional) character of…electric technology” nor of the role that “[t]he instant character of electric information movement” plays in reconfiguring “the family of man in the cohesive state of village living.” Implicitly, his conception of hypertext is essentially static and spatialized, and his treatment of temporality seems to be confined to the contrast between static (text) and dynamic media (sound, film, and video), the latter of which force the user to wait until the clip ends before going on to explore other links. Thus, he makes no connection, as McLuhan does, between the virtually instantaneous nature of electronic communication and the generation of synesthetic effects. To Bolter, synesthesia is a strictly spatial phenomenon (as one would guess from his title) and exists purely as a set of visual relationships between media, no matter what their provenance.

The primary reason for this difference lies in the fact that Bolter and many proponents of hypertext and hypermedia derive their theoretical foundations from semiotics, the treatment of all linguistic phenomena as static signs, whether they be truly static, as in writing or print, or dynamic, as in speech. Thus they make no operational distinction between literacy and orality and assume that all words are essentially things, whereas McLuhan, Ong, and the other oralists recognize that words are of their very essence events, and that the origins of all languages lie in dynamic, evanescent speech. As Ong (1982) puts it,

Indeed, as I was transcribing this passage for quotation I was made even more aware of the fact that to do so I have always found it useful, and even necessary, to sound out the words as I transfer them from source to manuscript page or to screen if I am to remember them clearly enough to be accurate. This is precisely the same process that McLuhan (1962) noted occurring in the medieval scriptorium (pp. 86–91), making note of the presence of such vocalization even in silent reading:

Lacking such an awareness of the kinesthetic interplay between the oral and the visual in reading, semioticians thus lack either a physiological or an aesthetic theory that might underlie any conception they might have of synesthesia. Indeed, such a lack is likely one of the reasons that semioticians seem incapable either of understanding or appreciating McLuhan’s work, as evidenced particularly in papers presented by such figures as Umberto Eco (1996), Geoffrey Nunberg (1996a), James J. O’Donnell (1996), and Paul Duguid (1996) at a conference held at the Center for Semiotic and Cognitive Studies at the University of San Marino, July 29–30, 1994, and collected under the title The Future of the Book (Nunberg, 1996b). Ong (1982) explains clearly how semioticians and their fellow-travelers the deconstructionists are exemplars of the graphomania that is one of the products of Gutenberg technology:

The disdain for McLuhan among some contemporary semioticians is unfortunate and probably misplaced, for he recognized the possibilities for synesthetic awareness in Structuralism, an outgrowth of semiotics and predecessor to deconstructionism:

That last phrase may give pause, but it is typical of McLuhan’s determination not to take sides in describing the processes of media change.

Synesthesia in Aesthetics and Cognition

he roots of the return of synesthesia in our time can be traced back to Romantic aestheticism and Symbolism, in the writings of Charles Baudelaire, Arthur Rimbaud, E.T.A. Hoffmann, Théophile Gautier, Joris-Karl Huysmans, and others. Other plastic artists, composers, and writers, such as Wassily Kandinsky, Aleksandr Scriabin, Olivier Messiaen, Vladimir Nabokov, and David Hockney have claimed to be synesthetes and have evoked synesthetic effects in their work. Among them, though, only Nabokov and Hockney appear to have been true synesthetes, in terms understood by neuropsychologists (Dann, 1998). Responding to the reports of actual synesthetic experiences which began being published in the early to mid-nineteenth century, under the influence of Swedenborgian mysticism some of the Romantics and the Symbolists saw synesthesia as an artistic opportunity to escape the deadening effects of the Industrial Revolution and the growing spirit of positivism (Dann, 1998). As an early instance, Baudelaire (1857/1961), in his poem “Correspondances” (“Correspondences”), writes,

In 1883, Rimbaud’s (1883/1967) sonnet “Voyelles” (“Vowels”) was published in a French literary magazine, with an appreciation by Paul Verlaine. It was clearly an attempt to put into poetic form the type of synesthetic experience in which letters of the alphabet take on both colors and plastic shapes. It reads,

Here we see Rimbaud clearly evoking psychedelic effects, in a sense quite different from that which Ong has ascribed to the deconstructionists—none of whom, to my knowledge, has claimed possession of such powers.

In point of fact, synesthesia has been recognized for over a hundred and fifty years and studied as a neurological phenomenon, and recently much significant research has been published on it.(1) Note that I did not term it a neurological “condition,” since it is considered a normal state for as many as one out of every 2,000 people (Lemley, 1999, p. 80). It has nothing to do with the lights and colors experienced by epileptics during seizures; in fact, synesthetes tend to feel that they have not just a different view of reality than the rest of us, but a better one:

The cause of synesthesia has not been determined. One researcher, Simon Baron-Cohen, has speculated that all infants may even be born synesthetes, but that as the brain develops the normal process of “selective cell death” precludes synesthesia in most people. In his studies of infant brain development, Baron-Cohen has noted that in infants up to six months old, patterns of cortical responses to either loud noises or bright lights are very similar, whereas afterwards, parts of the brain begin to be segregated as to function, so that sound excites neurological activity in the temporal lobe, while visual stimuli excite the occipital (Lemley, 1999, p. 87). A rival theory by Peter Grossenbacher asserts that the brain cortexes of synesthetes may have unusually strong “feed-backward” sensory pathways between regions that deal with initial response to individual senses and those that integrate multisensory activity, such as the ability to see a particular shape and then pick it out from dissimilar shapes with the eyes closed. Grossenbacher claims that his theory explains better than Baron-Cohen’s the synesthetic effects experienced by people who have taken psychedelic drugs, which could not occur if neuronal pathways had been cut off in the process of normal brain development (Lemley, 1999, p. 87).

If one recent study has succeeded in sampling a typical range of synesthetic responses, a pattern of types of synesthesia emerges. According to researcher Sean Day, in this study its most common form was the elicitation of colors, either by numbers and letters, units of time, spoken sounds, general sounds, or music. In smaller percentages, colors could be evoked by pain, odors, personalities, taste, and temperature (Lemley, 1999, p. 86). Not only do numbers and letters have colors, but subjects who have used color-matching software have been able to designate the precise color for them of each in terms of hue angle, saturation, and brightness (Lemley, 1999, p. 86). In comparison with non-synesthete control subjects, synesthetes were 92% consistent in their associative responses after the passage of one year, while the controls were only 37% consistent after one week (Lemley, 1999, p. 84). Synesthesia also appears to run in families, and it does not appear to be heavily weighted towards people with artistic abilities or temperaments, to whom it is attributed only because they tend to talk and write more about their differences, while others may be inclined to repress them (Lemley, 1999, p. 84). Also, because of the influence of the Symbolists, there has arisen an artistic tradition of creating systems of correspondences between senses, particularly between sounds and colors, as in Aleksandr Scriabin’s light organ, that have overshadowed the literature of neurological synesthesia (Dunn, 1998).

A notable aspect of such research is that in the West, at least, expressions of synesthesia seem to remain at the denotative level of language and so are not embedded in culture itself. Synesthetes remain at the fringes of Western culture and so must assert their synesthetic abilities either through testimony or particularized artistic constructs. By contrast, there are other cultures, notably non-Western, in which synesthesia seems to be more integral to the culture and is even expressed in the morphology of the language. According to the Encyclopædia Britannica Online (2000, May 31), in the Austroasiatic languages,

Thus, synesthetic expressiveness is built into the very structure of the language itself, allowing communicators to create new forms as they speak, making the language a plastic medium that bends to the speaker’s purpose. One might also infer that the culture expressed in and by such a language would itself encourage synesthesia as not only a way but perhaps the way of perceiving reality, as contrasted with the West, where synesthetes have to convince their audiences of the reality they perceive and are studied as peculiarities. Research has also been done on synesthesia in the Tzutujil Mayan language (Kieffer, 1974) and Tsonga ritual (Johnston, 1977) in the presence of hallucinogenic drugs.

Such research supports McLuhan’s (1962) observation that non-Western art and cultures are more amenable to synesthesia, in terms of the ability to represent multifaceted aspects of reality on a single plane, rather than creating the illusion of vanishing-point perspective as seen from a fixed point of view:

To underscore, we must recognize that McLuhan (1962), like verified synesthetes, saw synesthesia as the normal mode of perception, and "normal" perspective as the oddity:

He then makes a direct connection between synesthesia and the Imagination of Blake and the Romantics:

Synesthesia and Electronic Communication

oday, under the pressures created by the “all-at-onceness” of electronic technology, which prompts a retrieval of the tactility of oral modes of communication, we are recapitulating these modes in other forms. In reference to an early-1960s attempt in England to introduce a reformation of English script in a “more phonic character,” McLuhan (1962) notes, “In our desire to restore some unity of interplay among our senses we grope towards ancient manuscript forms which must be read aloud to be read at all” (p. 47).

In Hypertext 2.0: The Convergence of Contemporary Critical Theory and Technology, George Landow (1997) notes, “Medieval manuscripts present some sort of hypertext combination of letter sizes, marginalia, illustrations, and visual embellishment, in the form of both calligraphy and pictorial additions” (p. 63). This is a promising tack, for it seems to recognize that electronic communication through the computer is reprising, with variations, some of the aspects of medieval manuscript production and consumption. It also suggests connections between the computer screen and the “light through” of stained glass windows and illuminated manuscripts, as distinguished from the “light on” the printed page (1962, pp. 105–109).

Landow goes on to write, “These observations about hypertext suggest that computers bring us much closer to a culture some of whose qualities have more in common with those of preliterate man than even Walter J. Ong has been willing to admit” (p. 82). But when he discusses what Ong says about the computer, he demonstrates the particular blindness to what is actually being asserted that seems typical of the semiotically oriented proponents of hypertext. He claims,

Landow’s objection is not quite beside the point: It is worse than that. What he considers Ong’s mistake actually points directly to the delusion shared by the theoreticians of hypertext: that because it is nonsequential it is therefore nonlinear, unlike the obsolescent book. But one must object that there is no such thing as a strictly nonlinear hypertext, for all links embedded in a conventional hypertext are chosen by the author; unless that occurs, no matter what a reader desires, he or she is always under the control of what the author considers to be a “desirable” link. No conventional hypertext allows the reader, to borrow Norman O. Brown’s (1959) phrase, meant in a quite different context, to be “polymorphously perverse” (p. 308). Rather than breaking the bonds of linearity supposedly forced upon the reader in a codex book, hypertext actually imposes a relentless linearity of a type to which no book reader is bound.

A book is a quite serviceable random access system: One can instantaneously, and freely, access any part of the book one desires, without having one’s choices sanctioned by the designs of a controlling supratechnology. Randomness here is meant not in the sense of arbitrariness, but the ability to go at will to any part of the work without having to scroll through parts in between, as in a compact disc or LP, as distinguished from an analog recording tape. As shown in the work of Ong (1982) and Elizabeth Eisenstein (1979), in particular, in the five-and-a-half centuries of book development, the movement has been towards providing the reader greater and greater means of randomness in accessing information, through such navigational aids as sequential pagination, tables of contents, chapters heads and subheads, and indexes—the very tokens of “linearity” the hypertext industry holds in abhorrence. In the history of the book, the sequentiality built into such tools has actually worked to empower the reader in accessing information nonsequentially. By contrast, many hypertexts, particularly fictional productions, have actually served to wrest control of the reading process from the will of the reader, substituting instead a pseudo-aleatoric scheme of links determined by an omniscient author, who supplants the omniscient narrator and leaves the reader in a kind of imaginative limbo.

What is more, Landow (1997) overlooks the analytical point that Ong (1982) is making, that the “secondary orality” of computers is a “more deliberate and self-conscious orality” (p. 136), based as it is upon a proliferation of printed texts for instruction in programming and coding, design of circuits, tutorials in operation, explanation for “dummies,” and so forth. It seems significant that the proponents of hypertext have consistently chosen as their primary means of spreading the gospel not hypertexts, but books: The so-called death of the book and its replacement by hypertext has served only to create more and more books that only build off one another in a never-ending spiral of self-replication.

While Jay David Bolter (1990) has produced a StorySpace version of Writing Space, it exists, and could exist, only as an ancillary to the printed book, and one cannot imagine its being the primary publication, with the book in the handmaid’s position (or even absent).(2) [Editor’s note: In the second edition of Writing Space, Bolter (2001) has abandoned the StorySpace version of the book in favor of a Web site (www.lcc.gatech.edu/~bolter/writingspace/), which as of May 23, 2003 seems no longer to exist.] Anything as conceptually challenging as hypertext demands an ordered and rational presentation of ideas that build upon one another, which every theorist of whom I am aware has been at pains to produce, but with one notable exception: Gregory Ulmer (1992), whose “Grammatology (in the Stacks) of Hypermedia: A Simulation” attempts its simulation in linear print form and thus loses the formal characteristics central to the technology—in McLuhan’s terms (1964, pp. 7–21), the “message” of the medium. The eloquence expended on the new age of hypertext is possible only though the media of the book and journal article, supposedly anathema to the hypertext world. The prospect of writing a hypertext about hypertext and expecting it to possess the same explanatory power as a book or article about it, or any other subject, seems about as useful, to borrow a phrase used by Elvis Costello (White, 1983), among others, as “dancing about architecture”(Scott, 2000).

This is not to assert that hypertext lacks use or value. Quite the contrary: Hypertext is most valuable when it is used either to make connections that surpass what books alone cannot achieve, or to extend functions already inherent in books to enhance their usefulness as random access devices. And this random access function is fulfilled most completely when the work uses the navigational aids built up over five hundred and fifty years of printing, rather than trying to subvert them. Thus, dictionaries, encyclopedias, user manuals, training systems, travel guides, atlases, and other reference works are naturals for hypermedia, since their functionality is thereby enhanced. Hypermedia also has been used creatively in such venues as interactive museum collections, travelers’ kiosks, parallel presentations of literary texts and taped performances, and learning systems (Barrett & Redmond, 1995). But the more it seeks to subvert the uses to which books have been put over the past millennium and more, as in imaginative fiction, the more dubious it becomes in connecting with the needs and desires of the vast unhip and untrendy majority of humans. To be sure, what are termed free-form multimedia systems such as Anchors Aweigh (Brown & Chignell, 1995) and XML (eXtensible Markup Language) for the World Wide Web allow users to customize and define their own links within documents and document sets. Nevertheless, the results of such customization still fall short of synesthesia, since they do not transcend the linear bounds of dynamic linking and sequential processing.(3)

It appears that the missing element in the evangelists’ awareness about the effects of hypertext is the very element that Bolter claims for it: its purported synesthesia. As we have seen in comparing other types of synesthesia—whether artistic, neurological, or both—with that claimed for hypermedia, the latter comes far short of matching the former. What seems primarily missing is the simultaneity present in true synesthesia: With hypermedia, one always has to wait for the animation to complete its cycle, or the audio or video clip to come to an end. In contrast, we need refer only to the foundations of Western culture in the oral performances of the great Greek epics, which Eric Havelock (1986) reminds us were not readings but true performances, involving the simultaneous interplay of many, if not all, of the senses:

Another crucial missing element in hypermedia is tactility, which to McLuhan (1962) is the essence of synesthesia. Landow (1997) notes,

That cost, Landow avers, is the lack of fixity in the text extended over what Bolter (1991) refers to as “the whole life of a text” (p. 31). But, to contradict once more, absolute fixity has never been characteristic of texts: What Bolter and others are remarking on is rather the relatively greater impermanence of electronic texts, which is due to the evanescence of the electronic image. Manuscripts have always been notoriously subject to “scribal drift.” Printed texts have always undergone a constant process of revision, whether it be for optimizing the accuracy and sufficiency of a manuscript for production, correcting errors in subsequent printings, reflecting reconsiderations or revisions by an author, or realizing an ideal representation of a supposed Ur-text. In print, that process has necessarily been slower, but electronic means of generating text have only speeded up the process of transformation, not created it. Indeed, the greater one’s awareness of the impermanence of an electronic text, the more urgent one’s desire to print it out to preserve it in a fixed form before it gets changed. The disappearance of editions in electronic text only serves to increase the pressure for fixed representations for future reference.

But the ultimate cost of hypermedia is not its lack of fixity but its divorce from somatic input and interplay—the very characteristics that make synesthesia valuable in cultural and aesthetic terms. Baudrillard’s reference to the shift from the tactile to the digital gets to the heart of this problem, for it helps us to historicize once more the reconfiguration in the ratio of the senses that takes place during any shift in communications media, whether evolutionary or revolutionary. Throughout his work, in discussing the distinctions between “hot” and “cool” media, McLuhan (1964, pp. 22–32) was careful to note that these are only relative terms. They are useful not in fixing forever the immutable characteristics of individual media, but only in helping us to appreciate how and perhaps why the introduction of a new medium into an existing communications environment changes the ratio of the senses. Print is a hot medium only in comparison to manuscripts, just as television is a cool medium only in comparison to print, radio, and film. Thus, we would expect the introduction of hypermedia into the existing media multiverse to reconfigure relationships among exiting media, and to possess characteristics that we need not blithely assume to be the same as those of television, simply because they share the cathode ray tube technology. Certainly, Michael Joyce’s (1988) dictum about hypermedia being the revenge of text on television (p. 14) alerts us to a possible agonistic relationship between them.

So it should not come as much of a surprise if we see hypermedia sharing the hotter, higher-definition, lower-involvement characteristics of text. This seems paradoxical, for the hypertext evangelists are constantly stressing how much the reader becomes involved in the creation, or recreation, of the work, how empowered the reader is, and how free the reader is to explore ad libitum. This seeming paradox is a problem only if we fail to make the distinction, as McLuhan does, between activity and involvement in the experience. Users of hypermedia may be very active in exploring the paths laid out for them in the web of lexias provided, but that is not the same thing as saying they are highly involved in representing what they are experiencing. Certainly, the higher-definition environment of the computer screen has something to do with this, but equally important is the fact that their participation is only superficial—every dynamic aspect of a hypertext is pre-programmed by the author, and users can follow only those links that have been given prior sanction.

What is more, within any particular frame, users are allowed to experience and process only one passage, image, video or sound clip at a time. Indeed, overlaying them over one another within the same experiential frame (both spatial and temporal) results in cognitive dissonance at best and chaos at worst. To be sure, one can open multiple windows and arrange them in a pseudo-collage, but under such conditions one window is always privileged, and the tiling created can do nothing to overcome the fact that we process text, images, and sounds sequentially, not simultaneously. Bolter is correct in asserting that in incorporating all prior media, hypermedia relegates them all to the status of text. Where he errs is in asserting that the effect created can be called synesthesia, which we have seen requires a participatory element that hypertext ultimately lacks. This is not to deny that electronic media cannot attempt to mimic synesthesia, merely that hypermedia doesn’t do it.

Are there any electronic media that do? In the last chapter of Electric Language, Eric McLuhan (1998) points to interactive multimedia (IM), such as video games, and virtual reality (VR) as attempts to substitute a “fake synesthesia” (p. 181) for the real thing. Here he extends his and his father’s work by exploring the studies of synesthetes by Dr. Richard Cytowic (1993/1998) to establish the connection between synesthesia and the normal process of perception. Cytowic claims that synesthesia is based in the limbic system of the brain,

He finds components of the limbic system in every part of the nervous system, from the spinal cord to the cortex, thus constituting its “emotional core” (Cytowic, 1993/1998, p. 157). Thus, the extraordinary experiences of synesthetes point to a way of answering one of the central questions in media ecology:

Eric McLuhan writes,

Hence, in escaping this state so desired by many devotees of electronica, perhaps we are fortunate that hypermedia falls short of creating the synesthesia it lays claim to. What interactive multimedia and virtual reality hold in store for us remains to be seen.

In summary, the concept of synesthesia held by at least some theorists of hypermedia falls well short of uses of the term in aesthetics, neuroscience, and media ecology, where it involves an instantaneous interplay or interaction among the senses. What they mean by synesthesia seems restricted to the idea that hypermedia makes it possible to call up files created in a variety of media within the same platform. The critical theory applied to hypermedia considers all symbolic units, whatever senses they may engage, as texts that are interreferential among themselves but have no symbolic relationships with the universe of orality. Such a reduction of semantic units to visual and spatial relationships is diametrically opposed to the polymorphous interplay of the senses that true synesthesia entails.

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Endnotes

(1) A keyword search for “synesthesia” on HOLLIS, the campus-wide Harvard online library catalog, on June 7, 2000 yielded 28 entries, and an online search for the same term on the Web of Science Citation Databases of the Institute for Scientific Information on June 10, 2000 yielded 51 articles published since 1983 in art, the sciences, and the humanities. For the most available recent books on the subject, see Baron-Cohen (1996), Cytowic (1993/1998), and Dann (1998). A comprehensive World Wide Web site that not only explores the literature on synesthesia but also simulates some of its effects can be found at http://web.mit.edu/synesthesia/www/synesthesia.html. [Return to text]

(2) Richard Lanham (1993) has also published The Electronic Word as an electronic book. While such productions have hypertextual elements, such as the ability to do keyword searches, record notes, bookmark pages, change typeface, mark passages, and copy quotes in a notebook, they are more like linear books with electronic versions of actions one can perform with a printed book. There are no pseudo-aleatoric links predetermined for the reader, and the text is essentially the same as in the printed versions, without division into lexias. [Return to text]

(3) I am indebted to John McDaid, William Bly, and Susan Jacobson for suggesting that I consider such qualifications to my argument. [Return to text]

James C. Morrison is Lecturer in Communication in the Department of Urban Studies and Planning, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Room 9-512, 77 Massachusetts Avenue, Cambridge, Massachusetts 02139-4307.