Part of that World
Sky Alton
June 2018
When reading Ready Player One, it was so easy to fall completely into the world of the OASIS: I would absolutely revel in the chance to dive into the fictional worlds I love, possess the items from them and interact with the characters (in fact, that sounds like my idea of heaven). But the euphoria at the perfect idea got tempered ever so slightly when I really thought about how that beautiful world of endless possibilities was generated.
The technology stimulates your retinas into seeing the virtual environment. Only my remaining retina is nearly completely destroyed and no longer worthy of the title. While I could still interact with the OASIS to a certain extent through a proper rig that would allow me to ‘feel’ my environment, I’d probably be killed by the first NPC I came across. Besides, the book was always at pains to point out that the tactile and auditory aspects weren’t yet optimal: it was the visuals that really ‘made’ the OASIS.
This returned me to a familiar place: one I try hard not to visit. It was the same when I read The Hunger Games and realised that I’d be dead within minutes of entering the arena. My vivid fantasies of existing within these exhilarating worlds get tarnished the minute I start thinking about the practicalities of being disabled within them. I don’t blame the authors so much: as a writer I know how trying to plan for every eventuality and every reader can cramp your creativity. But I did find myself wistfully thinking that maybe if Ready Player One hadn’t been so specific about the science behind the OASIS (perhaps just even left out that one word, ‘retina’), it would have given my imagination an easier ride.
I often crack that as a blind person with a lower limb disability, the closest parallel I get in Harry Potter is Mad-Eye Moody. Which (while I admire his character and resolve) as a young woman isn’t terribly flattering. But representation in the wizarding world isn’t a problem limited to me or even my minority. However, Mad-Eye does present an aspect unique to me and those like me, one which I personally struggle with. He represents the idea that in order to exist and participate fully in the world, I would have to negate my disability somehow. While I would absolutely love a magical eye that could see all sorts of things, that’s so far removed from my reality as to be quite an uncomfortable dream (yes, even further removed than being able to cast spells or ride broomsticks).
‘So far removed.’ But Sky, that’s what books are for. If you’re lucky, you’ll never have to survive in an arena or escape from a bunch of Sixers or capture any dark wizards. None of us will. Books allow us to be completely wild and unashamed about our fantasy. You can leave behind all the restrictions of reality and inhabit these worlds however you like.
Well, yes, I can. And often times I do. I am not ‘defined’ by my disability and I exist outside it. 99% of the time I let myself get swept away by a book and imagine myself in the world no problem. I’m just as susceptible to fun ideas and vivid prose as the next person. But in order to do so, I have to leave my disability, a part of myself, behind. It may not be a part that defines me. It may not be a part I’m particularly fond of. It may be a part that makes my life very difficult at times. But it is a key and intrinsic part of who I am, one that’s shaped me. And it is a bit of a lurch when reality sets back in and I realise that all of me is not welcome in a world I have fallen in love with.
When reading Ready Player One, it was so easy to fall completely into the world of the OASIS: I would absolutely revel in the chance to dive into the fictional worlds I love, possess the items from them and interact with the characters (in fact, that sounds like my idea of heaven). But the euphoria at the perfect idea got tempered ever so slightly when I really thought about how that beautiful world of endless possibilities was generated.
The technology stimulates your retinas into seeing the virtual environment. Only my remaining retina is nearly completely destroyed and no longer worthy of the title. While I could still interact with the OASIS to a certain extent through a proper rig that would allow me to ‘feel’ my environment, I’d probably be killed by the first NPC I came across. Besides, the book was always at pains to point out that the tactile and auditory aspects weren’t yet optimal: it was the visuals that really ‘made’ the OASIS.
This returned me to a familiar place: one I try hard not to visit. It was the same when I read The Hunger Games and realised that I’d be dead within minutes of entering the arena. My vivid fantasies of existing within these exhilarating worlds get tarnished the minute I start thinking about the practicalities of being disabled within them. I don’t blame the authors so much: as a writer I know how trying to plan for every eventuality and every reader can cramp your creativity. But I did find myself wistfully thinking that maybe if Ready Player One hadn’t been so specific about the science behind the OASIS (perhaps just even left out that one word, ‘retina’), it would have given my imagination an easier ride.
I often crack that as a blind person with a lower limb disability, the closest parallel I get in Harry Potter is Mad-Eye Moody. Which (while I admire his character and resolve) as a young woman isn’t terribly flattering. But representation in the wizarding world isn’t a problem limited to me or even my minority. However, Mad-Eye does present an aspect unique to me and those like me, one which I personally struggle with. He represents the idea that in order to exist and participate fully in the world, I would have to negate my disability somehow. While I would absolutely love a magical eye that could see all sorts of things, that’s so far removed from my reality as to be quite an uncomfortable dream (yes, even further removed than being able to cast spells or ride broomsticks).
‘So far removed.’ But Sky, that’s what books are for. If you’re lucky, you’ll never have to survive in an arena or escape from a bunch of Sixers or capture any dark wizards. None of us will. Books allow us to be completely wild and unashamed about our fantasy. You can leave behind all the restrictions of reality and inhabit these worlds however you like.
Well, yes, I can. And often times I do. I am not ‘defined’ by my disability and I exist outside it. 99% of the time I let myself get swept away by a book and imagine myself in the world no problem. I’m just as susceptible to fun ideas and vivid prose as the next person. But in order to do so, I have to leave my disability, a part of myself, behind. It may not be a part that defines me. It may not be a part I’m particularly fond of. It may be a part that makes my life very difficult at times. But it is a key and intrinsic part of who I am, one that’s shaped me. And it is a bit of a lurch when reality sets back in and I realise that all of me is not welcome in a world I have fallen in love with.