General Editors: Thomas C. Crochunis and Michael Eberle-Sinatra
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Crochunis Thomas C. 'Electronic Editing of Women's Theater Materials: Purposes, Contexts, and Questions' British Women Playwrights around 1800. 1 December 1998. 60 pars. <http://www.etang.umontreal.ca/bwp1800/essays/crochunis_editing.html>


Copyright © Contributor, 1998-2008. This essay is protected under the copyright laws of the United States and the Universal Copyright Convention. Publication (print or electronic) or commercial use of any of the copyrighted materials without direct authorization from the copyright holder is strictly prohibited.

1.

In the following pages, I outline some ideas that have emerged for me as I have read recent essays on electronic editing with women's theater writing and authorship in mind. I must offer two very important disclaimers.

2. First, I am new to the concepts underlying text encoding and cannot claim to have a grasp of the practicalities of encoding or what it might or might not be able to accomplish. I hope that some of the participants in this site who can speak in greater detail about encoding will respond to any misconceptions I have by teaching me (and all others who need more information) about the possibilities and limitations of encoding for theater materials. In spite of feeling the limits of my knowledge of encoding at every turn, I have written this piece nonetheless because it seems clear to me from what I have read that, while discourse about textual encoding practices and their implications is still being negotiated, without some active intervention on the part of theater history scholars, much of text encoding practice and theory could come too easily to assume parameters developed from print culture and its artifacts. There may be good practical reasons for why that should be so, but theater history scholars need to know what the possibilities and limitations of electronic encoding are. There can be no waiting until encoding practices are instituted and the institutional roles of electronic texts and archives well established. My brief survey of recent writing on electronic texts and encoding suggests that theater does not fit with the paradigms that textual encoding is internalizing in its infancy. If these paradigms become established, the baby will be past the early learning stage, I am afraid.
3.

Second, I have only begun to collect information from other theater history scholars interested in electronic textuality and archives. It may be that some of the issues I worry over in my discussion are already being discussed in other working groups of whose work I am not yet aware. As this site develops and our work continues, I hope that we will begin conversation with those engaged in other projects as a way of enriching our own specific inquiry into the set of issues that, to some extent, are quite specific to our particular set of contexts, though not unrelated to issues that emerge in other periods, other nations, and other sets of theatrical institutions. If any of you reading my discussion here know of theater history work being done along similar lines, I would encourage you to let scholars know about the work of this site so that, again, those of use working here might be able to benefit from the approaches others have taken to related issues.

4. Finally, I want to emphasize that our intention in establishing this site is to provoke discussion and increased capacity in all of us. Though what follows may appear to a rather long monologue, it is really a series of points of conversation, drawn unsystematically from a few months of reading and writing. Though, as always, I brace myself for the challenges of disputation and difference of views, inviting those differences and making them the subject of our work is the main point. We hope soon to provide a mechanism for posting comments to the site, but in the meantime, please send me any thoughts you have in reaction to the ideas offered here.
 

I. Purposes

Access
What is its value?

5.

One of the main issues any attempt to build an electronic archive of theater materials must consider is how such an archive might affect access to theater materials. We have to look at the role access—limitations on it, structures surrounding it—play in our historical work—in its inquiry, its explanation, its publication. Why might we want to—or not want to—increase access to historical materials and what would be the effects of changing the accessibility of theater materials?

6.

Gender has something to do with where archival materials are and in what state or form. It also influences the likelihood of their accessibility being maintained (though not in a simple way). Gender also influences, of course, what interests users about texts and how these texts will be used. Because gender influences the social practices that constitute accessibility of materials, gender will influence changes in use of those materials. Therefore, gender must influence how we encode texts since encoding cannot help but ask questions about probable use.

7. Furthermore, since both democratizing access or encouraging performance are gestures with gendered implications, so is preparing texts for either scholarship, reading, or performance. For example, putting texts equally in the hands of students and scholars (not just students via scholars) changes the dynamics of the theater history and humanities classroom. Merely making texts available for performance or student use (as Chadwyck-Healey does, by the way) without the screening mechanisms of scholarly archival gatekeeping changes the gender dynamics of availability. In particular, plays by women become available to whoever has an interest in them (regardless of their level of graduate education). Altering accessibility influences how, by controlling access to materials, scholarly and archival professions establish and maintain their roles as arbiters of textual value.
8.

In this context, why shouldn't we consider simply taking transcriptions from archives and preparing them so they are as readable as possible or as rehearsable as possible? Are texts to which access has been limited really best served by scholarly ideologies of representational rigor? Is a turn from adequacy of representational editing toward increased use really a slippery slope by which we begin the long decline into inaccurate and finally new texts that bear little or no relationship to their originals? Is there no middle ground? But even if there will be slippage is not one of the realities of performance that there was likely to have been "slippage" from any text to the performance? Does not the text slip away from performance in various different directions—toward the needs of the licenser, of the actors, of the printer. What are we trying to hold in place with representational editorial adequacy and accuracy? Is it something we could broadly call "performance"?

9.

The very idea of an authoritative text seems to go against the grain of a performance text. It is not that scholarship on theater history might not be interested in accuracy, but rather that what one is accurate to seems a much more tangled business in writing that presumes multiple versioning. The whole point of the theater text is its potential multiplicity, its variations within familiar structures. As Philip Brockbank has commented: "The theatre text has always been mobile and must not be hypostatized (either as one text or two)" (Brockbank quoted in Walsh, 34). For this reason, maybe encoding of theater texts needs to be at a different level of textual structure than line by line, word by word.

 
How do we decide which materials?
10. Tracy Davis persuasively argues that how we determine which women writers to study—and for our purposes here, edit—should not be based on unproblematized notions of "importance." Davis notes that the notions of "professional notoriety" or "influence" that might easily be employed by contemporary professional scholars restrict the field of data as did British nineteenth century periodical criticism that concerned itself with "women of virtue" or "feminine writing." Margaret Ezell has theorized the blindnesses introduced to feminist scholarship by the narrativizing impulse to create lineages. Davis' call implies that we need to envision wider archives for electronic editing and make much more material available before we would really be able to provide a powerful resource for scholarship. While the economics of "publishing" an archive of work are still malleable, we will want to steer clear of the problematics that exist in print where certain texts get published in multiple editions because defining "a limited field of 'great literature' to be studied and examined by all schools and institutions of higher education" enables publishers "to reap the fruits of the economics of scale" (Leslie 49). The work of this site is, in part, a response to those economics, but we must be wary of both the ideological and economic pressures (including careerist ones) that constrain fields of data and knowledge. 
11.

Davis' point is of paramount importance to our work. It both challenges us to manage a more complex logistics to the work we are considering here and to adopt a different stance toward women writers and the materials that reveal their diverse lives. As Davis writes, "The question is not were there women, but where they were" (Davis 15). Where they were is not only a question for our historical narratives, but also for our paradigms of what we study and how we might make useful resources available electronically. Asking "where" invites a canvassing approach to selection and requires that we adopt an editing methodology that does not pre-determine the structures we might need to employ to accommodate a shifting understanding of what matters.

12.

How we decode what matters about the materials we make accessible depends to a large extent on who we envision using them. When I ask for whom electronic editing and availability of women's theater texts might be done, the response might be, "Well, who cares about these texts other than scholars?" And yet, in this answer lies evidence of one of the more vexing problems in editing plays that are somewhat difficult for even scholars to reach—the conditions of our systems of delivery depend upon our mediation of access and knowledge. Though we do not absolutely control access to the plays of women playwrights, we have more influence than anyone. As a result, we in effect participate in maintaining the conditions by which decisions about the purposes of electronic editing are coerced. We might have no choice but to edit these texts with our colleagues in mind as users because we colleagues have tremendous influence on who will use these texts.

13. Some have expressed concern that "the time and money necessary to the creation of hypermedia and multimedia systems to the complex and sophisticated marking-up of texts threaten to absorb the available resources which should be put to the immediate and rapid increase of the volume of texts available to the whole academic community" (Leslie, 50). This concern, especially in the case of work like ours that must define over time its strategic values and methods as an emergent field of data and tools for this data's use takes shape, is one to be repeatedly discussed and evaluated.
14.

Clive Bradley offers interesting and scary comments on why the potential new economies of publishing and making available electronic texts might be more complex than we would think:

One solution . . . is that education authorities should provide the whole cost of such services themselves. After all, they urge, it is cheap and the service is important. . . . The authorities in control of information. Salaried authors, paid by the state, their earnings unrelated to the quality and success of their output. Budget restraints. Cannot afford to innovate, old boy, sorry. (74)

Of course, in the context of what we know about print publishing's inadequacy in maintaining a documentary record of theater history, there may be risks we cannot afford not to take.

Accuracy and representational editing
15.

Together computers and women authors represent a conjunction of inauthenticities, in their relation to books, knowledge as high culture, and textuality, which itself proposes an intriguing, because profoundly unstable and temporary, political alliance. Here women have something to teach: centuries of practice in recognizing our textual illegitimacy provide women, I earnestly hope, with a certain resistance to intimidation by variants (as well as to wholesale electronic seduction). Where so many writings have scarcely been allowed transmission, the niceties of emendation, corruption, or 'purity', like the vexed relationship of editorial choice to authorial intention, can be said to be less exclusive in their relevance. (Sutherland, "Challenging Assumptions," 64.)

Julia Flanders, taking a rigorously critical approach to the "correction" of textual variants, notes the way that "data" about the actuality of some particular text is obscured (or at least structured) by editorial intervention. All in the name, perhaps, of getting closer to authorial intention. It all seems wrongheaded, I agree. There is a blockade put up to certain kinds of use of data based on establishing a set of priorities that reflect the editor's goals, goals often serving "authorial intention." However, in some ways, Flanders' challenge to these strategies of correction seems to grant too easily that the purposes of editing involve some form of representation. In effect, she argues that accuracy to something more than authorial intent or even authorial production is needed. But isn't this the way only a scholar with a certain invested interest in certain uses of the materials in archives might think? And doesn't this model propose (implicitly) that consideration of different perspectives on use value and access are finally not as important as representation (though to some degree they remain its unexamined pre-condition and economic motive)?

Providing valuable tools and models of editing
16. Developing accessible, useful materials dealing with the history of British women's theater work and writing has more to offer than just text availability and more challenging questions to face than just what editorial values will be our priorities. In fact, access and editorial paradigms intersect when we consider the great possibilities of building an archive that could make heretofore impossible search operations and data inquiries startlingly possible. What has to the present mainly been possible only through the combination of a scholar's ingenuity, diligence, and funding could become possible mainly through someone's giving enough thought to how to ask a powerful series of questions about the available data. But there are many different values to be considered and weighed before any archive could begin to be accumulated. 
17.

Consider the following contrast in priorities. C.M. Sperberg-McQueen (41) offers three requirements for electronic scholarly editions:

  • Accessibility without needless technical barriers to use
  • Longevity
  • Intellectual integrity

Compare this vision of electronic editions to Peter Shillingsburg's provocative set of archive specifications (33-4)

  • The electronic archive should be multimedia. . . .
  • The software design should incorporate the ideal that interaction with the material is desirable...
  • User commentary should be attachable to the archive, making a growing bulletin board that is indexed to the archive...
  • The system must give users the capability of marking texts and quoting from any part of the archive for their own use...
  • A web or network of cross-referencing should be created...
  • Intertextuality—linking parallel texts and countertexts. Parallel texts, annotations, visual contexts, and adaptations should all be linked and available in windows...
  • Contextuality and interpretations: archival material should be linked to related materials in other media...

While these two sets of specifications are not addressed to the same facets of electronic processing of materials, the chasm between their respective visions is startling. Sperberg-McQueen seems to have in mind something like a more extensive and flexible set of scholarly editions. Shillingsburg seems to see how possibilities beyond cleverly delivered scholarly editions could radically change not just our access to texts but our very ways of working, collaborating, and performing. Unfortunately, I find myself most in sympathy with Shillingsburg's rather daunting ideas, while at the same time wanting to assure that Sperberg-McQueen's standard is met.

New editorial values
18. Flanders cautions us about scholarly editing's ideologies: "One might . . . say that the myth of the lost original is a pretext for an activity essential because of what it enables: the construction of a position of cultural authority for the editor and the text he produces" (Flanders 129). The point is well taken when directed at the ideologies of scholarly editing. But for our purposes we might look at this caution as simultaneously an acknowledgment of opportunity. Since, unlike textual evidence that is often determined to be lost when it is in fact all too present in multiple variants, performance evidence, including theater writing manuscripts and other materials surrounding the absent performance, provides opportunities for scholars to deploy evidence to make arguments about a "lost" performance's position in theater history. These arguments might indeed implicitly advocate for "the cultural authority of the editor" but they might also advocate for a repositioning of the women theater artists with which the scholar is concerned. 
19. While on one hand, the performance of assembling a presence—a performance—at the center of a cluster of artifactual information might be more visibly acknowledged through electronic editing, there might also be some danger in claiming editorial authority for ourselves. In a sense, this potential editing and authorizing of theater materials is a response to the deauthorizing editing out of women theater writers from the text base of the period in question. This editing has not only been a matter of systematic perpetuation of ignorance through neglectful scholarship and teaching but—more complex—a matter of defining the field so that such editing could make sense in relation to notions of authorship, cultural importance, literary importance, and theatrical visibility. To perform theater historiography in this larger discursive context requires not only that we "recover" materials and scripts but that we rewrite the systems of knowledge through our decisions and practices. We must build a new theater history around us as we perform our scholarship.

II. Contexts

Performances as absent texts

20. A dilemma for the editing of written theater materials comes from the unavailability of the primary medium, if that is what performance-in-history is. Performances are not in the archives. Is performance as it was then really the primary medium? Is our goal really to get closer to theatrical events of another time? Closer in what sense? Even if we could witness the performance, would seeing it really give us more of what we need to study it? Wouldn't we continue to face limitations of perception? How are the materials from which we attempt to recreate performance history inadequate? What part can texts play in our approximations? If approximation is not really a primary goal, then how other than editing/transcribing could we explore materials we deal with? How could an electronic medium advance that work? There are important questions we need to ask about our scholarship's relationship to the absent theatrical and social performances we study. Though text editing certainly problematizes the "presence" of the printed or manuscript text studied, our work begins with our central texts pre-problematized. In a sense, work in theater history might further problematize the material "presence" of all archival materials, drawing attention to the complexity of "encountering" materials—even print materials—and decoding their data.
Writing, performing, publishing
21. The role of textuality and of books in relation to theater is complex. An entire history could be written of this interrelationship, of its economics, and of the connections between the evolving relationship between theater and print cultures and the emergence of professional scholarship. It might even be provocative to consider how acting—think of bookish actors studying their scripts carefully in order to get "off book"—might change if there were (yet another) revolution in books. How does the structure of printed books currently constrain or characterize performance? 
22. Scripts are a form of writing so intended for use that they have had a history in which their "theft" has often maintained a small industry. And now we must consider the possibility that electronic editions could be used for free (Chernaik and Deegan, 5-7; Holland, 18-19). The publishing industry has always served the causes of theater and theater history according to its own needs, needs which were often in competition with theater. It is not really surprising that we should find discrepancies between published plays and the uses of theater texts that may or may not align with the structures of published dramatic texts.
23. The period we are most concerned with, the British nineteenth century, was an especially important intersection during which theater and print culture were undergoing complex interrelated changes. Considering just two features of the distinctive landscape of those times should remind us of this point. First, the association of closet drama with this period suggests that something was afoot in the relations between theater and reading (and, retrospectively, scholarship). Second, that one of the primary sources of theater scripts from this period should be the Larpent collection suggests something of the ongoing embeddedness of cultural regulation and management as part of our picture of theater writing of the period. For women writers, some of whom had relationships with both the theater and publishing, the intersections of these two strands of British culture were especially tricky to navigate since each had different—and differently gendered—geographies of public and private.
24. George Landow draws our attention to the ways that books shape our assumptions about texts: "Book technology and the attitudes that it supports are the institutions most responsible for maintaining exaggerated notions of authorial individuality, uniqueness, and ownership that often drastically falsify the conception of original contributions in the humanities and convey distorted pictures of research" (Landow, Hypertext, 92, cited in Holland, 21). While Landow is not specifically cautioning those of us working on theater materials, there are specific manifestations of the kinds of assumptions he indicates in the thinking behind much electronic editing practice. For example, Kathryn Sutherland, in commenting on the importance of recognizing "that a literary text is more than just a sequence of words; it is an organized structure of special components" goes on to note structures ("stage directions, character identifications, and scene and act designations") that are elements of scripts that are most consistently used in printed drama.
25.

While providing some encoding structures to address cases in which printed materials mention performance history, the TEI guidelines for drama make this published gesture seem far more simple than in fact it is.

Performance texts are not only printed in books to be read, they are also performed. It is common practice therefore to include within the front matter of a printed dramatic text some brief account of particular performances. . . .
 No particular elements for such features as theatres, directors, etc., are proposed at this time. (Text Encoding Initiative, "Base Tag Set for Drama")

However, print text gestures toward performance should not be taken as simply representational. They are instead, depending on the period in which they are made, part of a complex interrelationship between the printed text and the performance. They may be promotional. They may be an attempt at conveying that the text before us has a kind of documentary authenticity. But they cannot be taken at face value nor can they be taken simply as evidence of performance history. They must be understood to be part of the print product's apparatus. But the way the TEI guidelines reference them suggests that issues raised by performance writing have not yet been adequately considered. It is not surprising that they have not been, because, when it comes to theater writing, the guidelines seem to take printed drama as, in effect, the normative form of dramatic writing. In doing so, there are potentials for ahistoricism (what period's normative standards of dramatic publishing are chosen?) and for limiting the potential usefulness of theater materials as part of an encoded archive. There is much thinking and petitioning to be done to help develop text encoding guidelines that will enable theater historiographic work that reflects the complex role that manuscripts and printed texts might play in scholarship if encoded adequately.

26. As some comments on renaissance dramatic texts in John Lavignino's essay show, there are powerful assumptions about how dramatic texts "are structured" that many scholars hold without realizing the complex ways in which those structures emerge from the complex history of publication of dramatic works. When we think about how to present works that were not ever published dramas (or even those that were), we must ask what relationship we see between their structures and the printed dramatic structures that have become somewhat normative in scholarly work on drama (as the TEI guidelines reveal). The issues involved in decoding print text assumptions when working on theater materials can become even more tangled and complex. For example, Lavignino (71) discusses the value of treating "adequacy" in encoding as our standard, admitting that the knowledge contexts in which we are encoding will always place limitations on what we can notice and encode in a text. In a sense, he acknowledges the performative nature of encoding—in both the Austinian and the contemporary theoretical senses—and encourages us to determine our purposes and let them guide what we encode. Acting in a preliminary way on this kind of pragmatic model, on this site, the version of Jane Scott's play Whackham and Windham was "encoded" in a rudimentary fashion for immediate uses within the context of this working group. We needed to see a text, to provide a case study, and to offer something to all of you beyond chat about encoding. There is more that could be done with this text, but we have yet to determine what more we want to do.
Social practices in theater
27. Whereas one common procedure in oldstyle scholarly editing involves determining the closeness of a text—printed or manuscript—to the person and intention of the author, this procedure is much more tricky with theatrical writing. One can easily argue—even if one sets aside challenges to "intention" as a historically situated notion about art—that someone writing for the theater is not likely to leave the version "nearest to their intention" in text form at all, but rather to leave behind a text that has a complex relationship to the performance that was closest to their "intention" (though, of course, the very idea of intention is a different animal when its realization is to some extent collaborative). The text might mainly be promotional material. Or self-defensive shield. While intention is always a tricky business, in theater writing many of the conventions on which discussion of intention are based get turned on their heads. Lavagnino (68) notes that the position that texts tend not to converge on one primary version with variants but rather disperse themselves into many different versions is widely discussed but not widely endorsed and acted upon. But, it is precisely variants in social contexts that are of great importance to theater history studies. If we were to look at both a licenser's and prompter's script for a play, we could compare variations on the textual material of the play and speculate about the work surrounding the performance as it is reflected in the textual record. If, as Sutherland remarks, "Readers and scholars ordinarily rely on background information and typographical distinctions as clues for recognizing these components and their relationships" ("Challenging Assumptions," 55), then the difference of the "background" in theater history must be noted and its social contexts and procedures distinguished from those of print culture in the development of any encoding scheme. 
28. From another point of view, we might consider the many different kinds of play texts that are available today—scholarly editions, paperback classroom copies, Sam French scripts, or a company's homemade xerox tailored for specific production—as templates for the different kinds of use of theater materials and for the different kinds of data decoding that might matter in working with theater materials. Archival script materials might have both similar structures (acts, scenes, characters and speeches, stage directions) and distinguishing structures that emerge from their particular use. For example, a used performance script can be expected to have annotations from study or rehearsal. Furthermore, the forms of texts for these distinct uses have changed over the years as the social processes of each use have changed. And yet, within a given period, any set of practices surrounding play texts are likely to be somewhat consistent or consistent with local variations (a company may have had a particular way of rehearsing that would be reflected in found scripts). In thinking about how encoding might proceed, understanding these kinds of structures will be important.
29. Quoting Jeff Weintraub, Davis writes, "We need to investigate women's lives and their work in a context for interpretation that sets theatrical activity within the options for sociability construed as politics by 'discussion, debate, deliberation, collective decision making, and action in concert'" (Davis, 16 citing Weintraub, 11). Encoding, like theater history scholarship in general, must take on this challenge, recognizing that the evidence available to us of women theater artists' social practices is likely to be complex to decode.
Scholarly habits
30. There is no question that the habits of theater history scholars could be profoundly changed should theater materials become more widely available electronically. Calling for just such a change in literary scholars, Leslie asserts that they must "avoid the fate of becoming the unacknowledged legislators of our literary culture, of continuing the exclusion from study of the majority of written texts even after the technological and economic reasons for that exclusion have disappeared" (Leslie, 51.) 
31. When we consider that the professional decisions of scholars are not made apart from the pressures of the knowledge industry marketplace, we are faced with how untrustworthy as a group of archivists we might tend to be. What we might choose to preserve electronically and how—through encoding—we might choose to preserve it, shape it, perform its meaning, are inevitably under the influence of our concerns for our livelihoods (and those of our students). But I do not wish to propose a simplistic, cynical equation here, merely to note that any encoding and editing of theater materials that is designed to serve the needs of scholars requires a particular and potentially troubling set of intellectual and social performances. Professional scholars preserve the role of archives in many senses and our approaches to questions of access are uniquely our own. We might be unlikely to cede our unexamined power and authority to a wider interested audience from whom we have sometimes screened material. However, this is not to say that we should not take the lead in thinking about electronic editing of theater materials, only that our leadership should not slide into an unproblematic acceptance of our own professional priorities.
32. As editors, scholars might tend to work with texts in ways that ultimately do not serve our intentions to engage others with the history we study. Flanders, describing the effects of certain kinds of editorial emendation, argues that "By minimizing, instead of foregrounding, the historical distance between the text and the present, the edition gives the text a specious comprehensibility and familiarity, encouraging us to imagine it as a transhistorical message of universal value" (Flanders, 134). Sutherland voices a perhaps related concern often expressed about electronic resources that electronic tools might alter the way we approach information: "Can computers deliver us what we promise ourselves they can—a passage of discovery through an informationally intolerable world? or do they, in taking the labour and randomness out of intellectual enquiry, remove much of the knowledge, too?" (Sutherland, "Challenging Assumptions," 65). Concern about the ways specific editorial practices, electronic archives generally, or information technology might alter the nuanced somatics of knowledge practices is well worth investigating, both because some concerns might prove to be ones we need to address and because others might provide evidence of which of our professional practices and assumptions deserve further examination.
33. Flanders' question about editorial procedures that make providing easily digestible texts a priority deserves our attention. If over time all the available texts provided on this site were to aim at readability or easy accessibility for the user, we could be fairly be criticized in this way. At the same time, we might need to examine further a scholarly assumption embedded in Flanders' comment—that historical representation should be a foundational value in electronic editing. Flanders cautions against editing texts toward familiarity (for example, by regularizing structures, spelling, presentation), especially when they are those of non-canonical writers "whose texts have not necessarily been a formative part of our expectations of textual meaning" (134). This caution doubly applies to women writing for the theater since they belong to two groups who have not necessarily defined the forms of print versions of dramatic texts. "To isolate the literary component of the document like a gem from its setting is to locate it solely within the ideological space of our existing version of literary history and to preclude any contextualization which might enable a different reading" (Flanders, 137-38). Her point is an important one, but we cannot afford to take text-based literary history and scholarship as our norm. Theater texts occupy such a different position in relation to a historian's object of inquiry that they raise questions that current electronic editing theory and practice cannot help us resolve.
34. While Flanders' caution about diminishing a text's historical situatedness is important, preserving complex features of a text connected to social context requires more than a commitment to representation of historical material. It requires a reading or decoding of the text/context relationship. As such, preserving complexities and peculiarities of historically situated textuality must also be the subject of encoding if a less than expert reader is to engage with the material presented to them. The problem is especially complex in the case of theater materials that were written within contexts that even expert literary scholars do not much bother to understand. When texts are written in a social context, and that social context has tremendous influence on what precisely they say and how they say it, any decision that alters them and makes them appear less embedded in a different time risks removing some of their complex features. If the issues are already complex for theater writing generally, they are even more challenging for theater writing by women. As Flanders notes, "[T]he legitimacy offered by the printed book depends on the very structures that kept women's writing in the archive in the first place" (Flanders, 141). How much more relevant is this comment, then, for women theater artists whose texts could be seen as twice removed from any easy relationship with print culture. For scholars, the dilemma is a tricky one. Faced with the theater texts of women whose works did not always reach print accessibility in their own time, is the most important goal now to provide readable texts or to provide a high quality archive? The answer, of course, is both. Electronic tools might make this possible.
35. Flanders notes the respective "failures" of the concept of "edition" and "archive"—one providing a synthesis, but limited resources; the other greater wealth of resources, but inadequate synthesis. For other than scholarly readers, the wealth of resources, if thoughtfully constructed with theater practitioner and general audiences in mind, could prove most valuable, allowing the creation of useable texts for more than scholarly purposes. In a theater archive, how texts can be used as outputs might determine how useful they are to readers other than scholars. You see, it is possible that our goal, or one of our goals, in presenting texts might be to get them visible and used. Flanders comment here seems to envision a universe of scholars and therefore to call for a bracing difficulty of encounter with the past. For scholars this would no doubt be beneficial, but would it serve the goal of creating access in a more widespread sense? Access after all is about a feeling of accessibility as much as it is about raw availability. Is inaccessibility, if even for reasons of historical representation, a value we can afford to embrace? At the same time, should we let go of difficulties in encountering historical materials that may be important to the performance of gaining access to period texts?
36. Perhaps one of the things that we need to keep in mind as we decide what kinds of electronic editions to make available at this time is that what is needed now might be different from what will be needed in five years or ten years if awareness of the work of women playwrights of the period in question builds and influences paradigms of knowledge in complex ways. This is a still further reason for us to evaluate carefully the needs of scholars, of readers, of performers and students, and at the same time the changing needs of any person in one of those groups. I would argue, for instance, that many of us need any rough and ready version of Jane Scott we can get. We need to read her plays right now. Scholarly work will build on acquaintance, but right now acquaintance is what is most needed.
37. The question to ask might be "How best can we encode texts for both the present need and the future of performance and scholarship?" As we attempt to answer that question, we should think of ourselves as performers of history, from archive to classroom to theater and back and forth again.
III. Questions
38. What we are engaged in at this site, make no mistake, is an immensely complicated project. It may take us years to know what we are about with anything approaching sufficient theoretical and practical information. Why? Consider: Text encoding is a rich and complex theoretical and practical enterprise. It is capable of subtleties of design only limited—as is any text, object, or artifact preservation—by human ingenuity. Even so, I am not sure that text encoding has yet tackled a social and aesthetic milieu as elusive and yet as material as theatrical performance and its textual materials. Also, feminist theater historiography, we have come to understand, has its own complexities. They are bred of the challenges of unwriting our own institutional, scholarly assumptions and of re-examining forms of evidence that once might have seemed unimportant. When linked together, these fields of endeavor multiply each other's complexities.
What is a viable authorship equation for theater?
39.

In her discussion of "authorship" and women theater artists, Jane Moody proposes several challenging ideas for us to consider when thinking about how authorship will function in our consideration of electronic editing of theater materials relating to British women from around 1800. Commenting on two of the British nineteenth-century stage's significant auteurs, she writes,

Neither Céleste nor Vestris claimed the identity of a dramatic author. Indeed, apart from their possible roles in the composition of playbills and other theatrical advertising, neither woman wrote a word for public consumption. Interpreting their playwrighting is a task rendered more difficult, too, by the extant traces of their professional lives as perceived through the eyes of male playwrights such as Planché and Boucicault; reviewers friendly, hostile or rhapsodic and, in the case of Vestris, through the voyeuristic shadows cast by scandalous memoirs of her 'public and private adventures'. Can we interpret Vestris and Céleste as collaborators in a form of institutional playwrighting? To what extent did Vestris and Céleste 'ventriloquize' a form of dramatic authorship through men such as Planché, Bernard and Buckstone? (Moody, 5)

These are important questions certainly for understanding the theater work of these specific women. They are even more profound questions for understanding the range of women's theater work and how it might be represented through electronic archiving and databases.

40. Moody notes also that certain "plays" written for women like Vestris "do not appear to have been performed beyond their original home, or in the absence of their original 'author'" (13). Part of the problem with our slice of theater history, then, seems to lie with the bookishness of dramaturgic history that has precisely omitted the period's emergent innovations in "authorship" as they relate to women theater artists. We should be careful about attributing "authorship," for example, to those who owned copyrights, since these rights were in some cases "purely theoretical" and some of these texts were only ever performed in particular theaters where a certain performer would have starred in them. I wonder whether we should not look not at who owned the performance rights to a play, but rather at where most of the receipts from performances went. Though this is not an unproblematic economic equation, we might form different ideas of authorship if we followed the money.
41. Moody's claim for Céleste "as an Adelphi playwright rests on a still more intangible form of authorship which comes about when a performing body, especially a body associated with the representation of mute action, begins 'wrighting' theatrical production" (19). The point is that authorship is not always a matter of writing scripts. "[A]uthorship is predicated not on writing, but rather on the agency and authority exerted by Céleste and Vestris as actor-managers" (23). Based on a discussion of Barthes' "The Death of the Author," Moody suggests that, in the period under consideration, publishing might be said to necessitate erasures of certain kinds of authorship. What ought to concern us in our work at this site, therefore, is that models of editing grounded in print culture could potentially threaten to resist the very kind of reassertion of women's "authorship" of theatrical performances that we are interested in exploring. This problem can only become more complex when we deal, as we must in order to draw on the documentary evidence available, on materials with some proximity to print culture (if only in their rhetorical forms and gestures) and with an audience of scholars and students steeped in the conventions of print culture.
How can we think about texts by women apart from publishing contexts?
42. One of the reasons that text encoding sometimes alarms people in the way it structures or interprets textual data is that although it merely follows publishing's lead, we have come to see publishing as a natural set of structurings that invisibly convey meaning rather than interpreting and reshaping it. Text encoding, because its "codes" are made explicit so computers can read them, requires a kind of back translation of kinds of print and manuscript codes we often treat as natural. But these codes are always there in print as any critically astute publications designer will tell you. Text encoding forces us to recognize not only the significant forms of the materials with which we work—their typefaces, layout, paper—but also our own blindness to the use of these features in the creation of print editions and in publishing our own work. Even further, we are confronted with the extent to which our scholarship is contained within the parameters of an industry driven by not just ideas but also material production. And yet we tend to frame out of our consciousness the very meaning of publishing details when we think about what a "work" is. We might be more sensitive to the printed works we study if we spoke of specific manifestations of an author's work not as appearances at some certain time/space coordinate but rather as newly realized works of print publication. Text encoding of the type proposed in the TEI guidelines begins to force us to confront these kinds of issues of material culture. 
43. But this is where the situation of theater writing by women playwrights around 1800 throws a wrench into the orderly movement toward a new scholarly order. Unlike poetic or prose texts whose primary delivery to their public can often be said to be in the medium of print publication, the previously unexamined codes of print publication are not the main ones needing decoding and encoding in the written and printed materials related to women playwrights. Although there is every reason to apply encoding guidelines like the Text Encoding Initiative's to many of these materials, a new approach to encoding that takes into account the kinds of social processes that bear on the period's theatrical culture's relation to writing and, most importantly, on this relation's impact on women writers in particular—is needed.
44. You see, underlying the Text Encoding Initiative guidelines is not surprisingly an assumption that the publishing industry organizes, in a sense, what we interpret in texts. Even when manuscript materials are the guidelines' focus, they exhibit a larger awareness of structures and genres of print publication and of scholarly reading as a primary form of use. This is not surprising since a large body of the work that the Text Encoding Initiative guidelines are meant to help us encode and include in our potentially massive archive have some important relationship to print publication or its ancestors. As a result, the structures by which print publications can be encoded must be in some way connected to those employed in recording manuscript structures and details. Theater materials have a much more inconsistent relationship to print however.
45. Theater materials may or may not borrow structures and significant forms from print publication. They present a challenge to the schemes of an encoding system like TEI's because when we deal with writing that has theatrical production at least partially on its mind, we must always allow for a denaturalized relationship between the text's form and the forms of print culture. Thus, a play manuscript, written with scene and act breaks indicated makes a potentially complex gesture toward forms primarily significant for readers. The gesture toward scene and act divisions can be read in numerous ways. It could be a gesture toward print publication or toward forming the work for a particular set of readers as if to invoke print publication. It could also be mainly a form of personal notation (though this seems a less "interesting" reading). However, it is important to note the context of the gesture in order to encode it effectively or usefully. In a print publication of a play, the fact of a scene or act division might be enough—after all, such notation may mainly be a requirement of the form of production. But with theater materials, we may want to know, for example, when Jane Scott's plays do or do not have such marking in manuscripts that were likely to have been prepared for review by the licensers.
46.

There are important theoretical implications to the tensions between print structures and gender. Discussing Samuel Johnson's Preface to Shakespeare, Flanders points to a crucial point in the tradition of textual criticism where the gendering of the relationship between author and text, intention and unruly medium, has significance for our work with women theater artists.

The identification and recovery of the author's true text relies on a belief in the centrality of intention—the ability to will and to perform one's will—to the production of textual meaning. Intention here is defined in opposition to the realm of the involuntary, the physical body which compromises the spiritual man. (Flanders 131)

There are many layers—particularly around 1800 in Britain—to the gendering of performing bodies and their relationship to the legitimate dramatic textual tradition. It is precisely the phantom "true dramatic text" that haunts any historiography of theater writing in this period, clouding even the somewhat bookish dramaturgy of Joanna Baillie with the seemingly ambivalent alterations that were made for this or that production. Baillie herself, fortunately or unfortunately, authorized texts of her plays before she died through her editing of the 1851 collection of her works. And yet much of what Baillie wrote in her lifetime—about the importance of performance and about her plays' potential need for adaptation—complicates her own authoritative literary editing of her works. If as Flanders remarks, "[A]uthorially intended meaning is achieved within an eroticized theatre of sexual domination, in which the subordination of the material to the authorial will is cast as a feminized sexual submission" (131), how much more complex is this editorial gender politics when enacted among the versions of a dramatic text.

47.

However, Flanders also points to Jerome McGann's alternative approach to the medium/intention problem:

[William Morris's] model of artistic production, based not on the subordination of the material but on the potential meaningfulness of its autonomy, helps diversify our sense of what counts as meaning and where we look for it: not just authorial meaning but social meaning; not just in the author's production of language, but in the cultural incarnations of that language. This paradigm allows for the inclusion of numerous other agents and influences—editors, printers, readers, libraries. . . . (Flanders, 132-33)

I would argue that, in the case of theater writing, all the conditions surrounding the text must to some extent be "included" in our "decoding" and "encoding" of the text. Flanders' discussion of McGann points us to the possible significance of the non-published fragmentariness of the kinds of texts we are likely to find when excavating the works of women playwrights. We are faced not just with resistant material forms, but also with material forms that exist within resistant social processes and whose materiality might potentially yield evidence of those resistances. For example, Jane Scott's manuscript for the licensers is just one example of intention in relation to complex resistance. It exhibits, though not perhaps in a way that is easily decipherable, counter-intentions. If we had alongside it a manuscript for use in rehearsal, we might note different features and decode different purposes. Still, studying the licenser's copy invites us to think about how two very different scripts might be related. Our models of textual encoding must anticipate this kind of complex decoding.

48. In her consideration of women playwrights as "representative citizenry," Tracy Davis asks: "Are they representative of women sharing their class and background, of other playwrights, or perhaps of women in general through the characters they created?" (8). These questions are also questions for electronic editing and encoding, because depending on which of these "representational" roles a woman playwright plays, we might see her texts as differently structured sources of information. The stabilities of printed texts and formats of information are misleading when we consider, for example, that women wrote "theater texts" (or the texts that we will want to study to understand women as authors of performance) in any number of forms, many of which have an uneasy relationship to the forms of published dramatic writing (even in the cases of women like Jane Scott who were nothing if not "playwrights"). At the same time, there were many women who were "published playwrights," and we would want to link their texts with those written by women who published little drama, creating a continuous archive of "performance writing." If we extend the category of "performance-related writing" to include some of the many types of "theater theory" that Catherine Burroughs traces, then our archive should include links to journals, novels, and personal correspondence since all these reveal women's perspectives on social performance (broadly conceived).
49. Differentiating theater writing from dramatic publishing is particularly complex in the case of women writers. A very important strand of the culture of women's writing—a strand wound around the strands of women as professional writers for print and women as theater professionals—is the one that links women's exploitation of multiple media—print and performance—as sites for production of their writing. Women involved in theater were often also writers for publication. Women playwrights of this period could not, as scholars often do, take the forms of print publication for granted. They needed to be aware of them perhaps, but their multiple sites of textual performance required them to adapt a much more flexible approach to the available forms of textuality. Thus, what might seem to a scholar enmeshed in print traditions to be a kind of primitiveness in the textual structures of Jane Scott's "Whackham and Windham" could also be understood to be either a more savvy set of choices about textual form in context or a complex mixture of savvy and disregard for certain print forms on a particular textual occasion. While many of these ideas may hold for both men and women, our work on women writers must always be one step ahead in its contextual attention to where women do their writing. To understand British nineteenth century women's theatrical art, we need to explore the theatrical culture in which they created texts.
50. It all depends on what we want to look at and what we want depends on our theories of social life, performance culture, and so forth. As Davis asks, "Shall we let women succeed on their own terms?" (9). A serious question, and one with complex implications for the institutions of scholarship when access to primary materials is in question. A rethinking of the possible "terms" is essential to both our scholarly writing and our building of an archive. What would it mean to let the "performance writing" of women, broadly conceived, succeed on its own terms and shape our construction of electronic archives? One thing it would mean would be giving rigorous attention to how we think about encoding such texts. As a result, as we begin to consider the role encoding might play in delivering materials related to British women playwrights around 1800, we need to envision schemes that could enable linkages across these different kinds of writing. And to do that, we must ask whether encoding the situation of a particular gesture of writing is possible or desirable.
Can we distinguish the information we encode from the uses we envision for it?
51. Susan Hockey makes a statement often heard in electronic editing theory "SGML allows us to separate data from the delivery vehicle that presents data to users" (Hockey 10). I have some question about this. It seems to me that every encoding is a decoding. How and what is delivered to users depends to some extent on which data is decoded and then encoded. Since there are many different things to be decoded in any textual artifact, questions of what data matters tend to be determined by who is envisioned as the intended user of the data and what the purposes of the decoder are. Hockey's statement seems to me to make too optimistic a distinction between "data" and "users" as though what the data is could be determined without any assumption of use in the first place. That seems to me to be an implausible working assumption. Sutherland, too, ("Challenging Assumptions," 64) suggests that encoded scholarly material is not created as a deliverable form but rather as a source from which various forms can be delivered, but her model sidesteps whether determining what will be captured in the scholarly material can be agreed upon without asking some very difficult questions about who decides the potential use of the materials encoded. Undoubtedly, electronic editing installs a separation between data and form of delivery, but the separation is often messier than, in theory, it ought to be.  
52. From another perspective, however, electronic editing does give us a different perspective on how forms of delivery contribute to what we "receive" from an edition: "Digital information technology permits us to perceive that books, printed books, are machines just as are computers that handle or present text" (Landow 30). As Sutherland notes, "In their presentation of knowledge books are profoundly inauthentic. The inauthenticity can be stated like this: painters paint pictures; sculptors carve statues; but authors do not author books. Books are material objects which present one authority by means of another" (Sutherland, "Looking," 12). So, I would question optimistic assumptions that delivery (formats, users) will be cleanly severed from data capturing (decoding, encoding, archiving) by the alienation from the medium of the book that electronic media can produce. The reason for my lack of optimism is that it was never the books, but rather the users of books who naturalized the link between delivery and data capture, and the users have not yet significantly changed. A specific case of this challenge comes when we consider the ways in which print culture might continue to exert influence on how we decide what data to capture. Hockey notes that SGML is often described as "a markup scheme that emphasizes the structure, but there is no reason why it should not be used to encode the physical appearance of the source" (Hockey 8). I wonder whether the same might be said of the social situation for which a particular performance-related text was created. I would urge that we not let our thinking be limited to book based notions of encoding.
53. Allen Renear characterizes the evolution of text encoding as follows: "Literary encoders came to see texts not as single ordered hierarchies, but as systems of ordered hierarchies. Each hierarchy corresponds to an aspect of the text as revealed by what might be called an 'analytic perspective'—roughly, a natural family of methodology, theory, and analytical practice" (Renear 120). However, we must note that these many structural perspectives sometimes correspond to different professional or user roles. What a performer wants to do with a text is not contained within what a scholar wants to do. Should perspectives on encoding be determined by scholars because ... well, because they are on the scene, interested. But isn't their monopoly on interest partially due to the role they have played in shaping what performers and readers are drawn to? Who encodes for actors? Who encodes for readers? If as Renear notes, "encoding is a historically situated human activity" (122), then how might we think about the ways in which we would like to resituate our approach to it. Do scholars, like the publishers that electronic editing might attempt to circumvent, have too narrow a vision to encode for anyone but themselves?
54. If much text encoding to date has followed the structures of publishing culture (including pre-print "publishing"), what might a theater writing encoding informed by performance look like? Conceivably, rather than thinking about the reader's view of the text, the encoder might think about either the performer's view or the audience member's view and, though of course not encoding the performance itself, attempt to decode the possible relationship of the manuscript or printed text to performance. Guesswork would unavoidably be involved, but rather than attempting, for instance, to focus on just the verse or printed materiality of a piece of a play, the performance encoder, knowing pretty certainly by details of the placement and presentation of a bit of verse that the bit was a song; and further knowing that the song was one to be sung by the character played by Jane Scott; and further knowing that characteristics of Scott's voice and persona were commented upon in the press and in journals of theatergoers; and further yet having a hunch about the song's placement in the play—knowing or intuiting all these things, a performance encoder might be able to note certain patterns in the language and phrasing and how they relate to familiar popular song structures of the period. The presence of a performance context adds an immense quantity of suggestive detail to the possibilities of encoding, detail that, so far as I can tell, is entirely different from what dramatic text encoding has so far begun to deal with. With performance work, this kind of decoding of a text must be captured in more than explanatory annotations; it must be part of the information infrastructure of an encoded text in order for it to be as useful as it might be. In scholarship on periods previous to print publication such as early English poetry, some comparably complex models of encoding have already been attempted with other performance traditions in mind (see Duggan). These might serve as models to be revised to suit the needs of the period and cultural forms and practices we study.
How do we expand our audience, solicit reaction, and reinvent a working community of theater historians?
55. The challenge we face in pursuing this work in ways that will open up new possibilities for theater history is that editing has typically been a scholar's game. We need to ask not just how we can manage to make electronic materials available to the same group who might go to the archive to rummage among the papers, but rather how electronic archives might change the possibility of engaging other audiences with theater history, specifically students and theater practitioners.  
56. Even amongst ourselves, we are considering an alternative form of collaborative work, one that both builds on informal collegial relationships and common interests and yet goes beyond informality to actually constructing a somewhat deliberate edifice of resources together. Consider how different our enterprise would be if we each developed printed scholarly editions on the figures of greatest interest to us. We would certainly get more individual credit towards professional advancement (authorship remains a sacred fiction in tenure decisions), but we would build only a loosely constructed edifice. Others could use the editions, draw on the work. (That is, if such editions could get published—which they could not in the current publishing climate.) But even if we fantasized that they could, they would remain staunchly separate edifices even if our sociable interactions and intellectual interchange made them feel connected. Are new ways of working desirable?
57. When we consider that our decoding/encoding of texts could potentially go even farther in connecting our work, making, in effect, our note-taking on texts we investigate part of a growing database of common inquiry that would not only allow us to discuss our own work but to explore shared interpretive data, it is clear that electronic text preparation makes radically different ways of working possible. An electronic archive offers the prospect of an elaborately interconnected matrix of resources that can continue to be constructed, updated, annotated, and maintained. (In fact, it would need to be carefully maintained, as many involved in electronic resource development point out.) The key difference, however, is that the edifices that each member of the working community constructed would be enhanced by links to other areas developed for the archive. Cross-referencing, shared resources, and the development of both collectively and individually valuable resources would be possible. Of course, the irony is that we can expect little individual credit towards professional advancement for our labors in such a setting. Get a book contract and you will get more credit, but develop work in relation to a working group like this one and you will little by little build something. The danger and the value is that building something with a working group is more tenuous and less definitive or easy to complete. It is a little like the oddly insecure economic security of living in a commune.
58. A further set of considerations are those surrounding how the work of a site like this one can go beyond a limited community of scholars. How can the work of students, or theater artists, and of amateurs contribute to the work of this site? For example, if the possibility of experimental performance videos based on texts made available at this site were pursued, could movement from text into performance be shared & discussed? How would performance exploration influence how we thought about editing and encoding materials? Also consider what would happen to our teaching of theater history if a wide research archive were available to our students and we could construct syllabi with options that were not limited by our own knowledge and familiarity. Imagine students teaching us about some of the corners of the archive.
59. I have one final futuristic image that I would like to offer in closing: Imagine a user of electronic texts who is a post-modern, cyber performer, for whom the subtle headset she wears enables her to have pre-programmed certain search structures to manipulate a database of prompt texts. Prompted by voice-recognition software that translates her speech, the data is searched and, based on some core linguistic search structures, generates a whispered prompt text that serves as the basis for her spoken performance and improvisation. Imagine this wired performer enacting the electronic text provided live through her headset like a rhythm to be danced, syncopated, challenged, overcome, embraced. Imagine a text that the performer could play within, restructuring it, resequencing it, linking it to any other text in the archive and incorporating texts into performance improvisationally.
60. Now, tell me: Is this performer a scholar, a student, or a theater artist?

Thomas Crochunis
The LAB at Brown University

Thomas C. Crochunis is an independent scholar, currently working as a communications specialist for the U.S. Department of Education research laboratory at Brown University. Since finishing his dissertation at Rutgers University, "Staged Reading: Theatrical Character in the Dramatic Poetry of Robert Browning," he has co-edited a volume of essays on Joanna Baillie's plays and dramaturgy (Gordon and Breach, forthcoming). In 1998, he was guest editor of a special issue of Romanticism on the Net on British Women Playwrights around 1800. He is also co-founder (with Michael Eberle-Sinatra) of the Web-based working group on British Women Playwrights around 1800.

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Read Jane Moody's response to this essay 'The Electronic Theatre Archive'