Performing Fantasy and Reality in Contemporary Culture 9781138088948, 9781315109541

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Routledge Advances in Sociology

PERFORMING FANTASY AND REALITY IN CONTEMPORARY CULTURE Anastasia Seregina

Performing Fantasy and Reality in Contemporary Culture

We frequently engage with that which we consciously perceive not to be real, yet fantasy, despite its pervasive presence and strong role in everyday life through its connection to identities, communities, desires, and meanings, has yet to be properly defined and researched. This book examines fantasy from a performance theory perspective. Drawing on multidisciplinary literature, it presents ethnographic and art-based research on live action role-playing games to explore fantasy as a bodily and negotiated phenomenon that involves various kinds of engagement with one’s surroundings. Overall, this book is a study of various forms and roles that fantasy can take on as part of contemporary Western culture. The study suggests that fantasy emerges as a different type of interpretation of normalised performance and reality, and can thus provide individuals with the tools to wield agency in everyday life. The book will appeal to scholars of sociology, cultural and media studies, literature and performance studies. Anastasia Seregina is a lecturer in consumer research at Goldsmiths, University of London. Her work is based in consumer culture research, but is interdisciplinary, encompassing such fields as consumer research, sociology, anthropology, performance studies, literature studies, art education, and media studies. Anastasia is also a practising visual artist, with the focus of her artistic work often overlapping with her academic endeavours. As part of her practice, Anastasia is also developing various performance-based and art-based research methodologies. In both her artistic and academic work, she explores the role and meaning of consumption in contemporary culture, specifically focusing on topics of fantasy, imagination, and aesthetics.

Routledge Advances in Sociology

For a full list of titles in this series, please visit www.routledge.com/series/SE0511 The Live Art of Sociology Cath Lambert Video Games as Culture Considering the Role and Importance of Video Games in Contemporary Society Daniel Muriel and Garry Crawford The Sociology of Central Asian Youth Choice, Constraint, Risk Mohd. Aslam Bhat Indigenous Knowledge Production Navigating Humanity within a Western World Marcus Woolombi Waters Time and Temporality in Transitional and Post-Conflict Societies Edited by Natascha Mueller-Hirth, Sandra Rios Oyola Practicing Art/Science Experiments in an Emerging Field Edited by Philippe Sormani, Guelfo Carbone & Priska Gisler The Dark Side of Podemos? Carl Schmitt’s Shadow in Progressive Populism Josh Booth and Patrick Baert Intergenerational Family Relations An Evolutionary Social Science Approach Antti O. Tanskanen and Mirkka Danielsbacka

Performing Fantasy and Reality in Contemporary Culture Anastasia Seregina

First published 2019 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business  2019 Anastasia Seregina The right of Anastasia Seregina to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978-1-138-08894-8 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-10954-1 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Swales & Willis Ltd, Exeter, Devon, UK

Contents

List of illustrations Acknowledgements 1 Introduction

vi vii 1

2 Perspectives on fantasy

32

3 Performance

57

4 The LARP performance

74

5 Fantasy performance

101

6 Types of fantasy performances

151

7 Conclusions

190

Index

195

Illustrations

Figures The Nostalgia series, parts I–III: Spatial Dissonance, Temporal Ambivalence, Marketed Memory 18 1.2 Fragments of Me 19 1.3 Objet Petit a 20 1.4 Desynchronised 20 1.5 Exploring Fantasy as Part of Consumption 21 1.6 Frames of Performance 21 1.7 Reality Investments 22 1.8 Of Bittersweet Utopia and Nostalgia 22 1.9 Illusion of Escape and Activist Disillusion 23 1.10 Escapist Extension into Context and Activist Self Investment 23 4.1 Props used in various LARPs 79 4.2 A cabin used as a LARP venue 84 4.3 Author as various LARP characters in full props 87 5.1 Frames of fantasy performance 131 5.2 Othering in fantasy performance 135 1.1

Table 6.1

A comparison of other-worldly and othering fantasy performances

169

Acknowledgements

No book is ever written alone. This book started off as a personal endeavour or quest, but was shaped by countless interactions, discussions, readings, lectures, random remarks, daydreams during boring meetings, as well as shared scribbles and doodles in my oddly structured notes. It is impossible to name all the people who have helped me, shaped me, and thus allowed me to write this book. Yet, I am extremely grateful to all of you in the academic community, in the art community, and, of course, in the LARP community, with whom I have had the pleasure to interact throughout the years. An especial thank you goes to those who have always been there for me during this research project, even as it took over my life for about the past six years. They were there both in the moments of ecstatic joy of discovery and creation, as well as in the periods of desperation and despair. My deepest gratitude goes to Siiri Pöyhönen, Taake, Eevi Huhtamaa, Kira Strandby, and my amazing partner, Aleksi Aalto. Moreover, there are those, without whom this book would not have been possible in practical terms. Thank you to my dissertation adviser, John W. Schouten, for guiding my work, and my doctoral dissertation opponent, Matthias Bode, for grilling me about my work. A huge thank you also to my editor, Neil Jordan, for believing in my research and its potential. Lastly, this book would not have been possible without the financial support of the Foundation for Economic Education (Liikesivistysrahasto), the Helsinki School of Economics Foundation (Helsingin kauppakorkeakoulun tukisäätiö), and the Department of Marketing at Aalto University. The best part of any creative work is its process. That is, unfortunately, over for this particular endeavour. I hope to inspire you, the reader, to engage in exploration, too! I will surely be engaging in new quests as you read this!

1 Introduction

What is it like to experience something that you describe and define as being not real? How is this different from experiencing something real? Why do we engage in such behaviour? And what do we get out of it? Such questions were the basis of and the driving force for this book. Fantasy, simply described as experiencing something that is consciously perceived and subjectively defined as not real, is a natural and essential part of human life. Saler (2012) suggests that fantasy has always been a part of the human world, and Schechner (1993) proposes that it is perhaps what makes us human. Schechner further explains that fantasy is a unique human quality that allows us to dream and imagine, and also reflect and elaborate on these processes by placing our wants, goals, and desires into their realms. Fantasy is thus an important part of social processes, with people devoting a lot of time and energy to it, as Goffman (1974) and Cohen and Taylor (1976) note. In other words, as Saler (2012) explains, fantasy has become an important tangible, communally shared presence in contemporary life; an inherent element of today’s consumption-driven culture that connects to meaning-making and desires (Peñaloza 2001; Kozinets et al. 2004; Martin 2004). Fantasy has been explored as part of different phenomena in various research fields, such as psychology, aesthetics, as well as literature, media, and gaming studies. While building our understanding of human life and culture, these studies have mainly explored fantasy theoretically and/or as a cognitive and individual behaviour, often associating it with entertainment, leisure, and even Utopia. Chronis, Arnould, and Hampton (2012) write that research has focused too much on fantasy as pleasurable mental imagery, and suggest that we need to move beyond this limited understanding. Similarly, Hoogland (2002) stresses that we can no longer “disregard the flesh” (p. 214) of fantasy, elaborating that, while the inner world of individuals is an important part of fantasy, the bodily experience of fantasy, which has received little attention, is just as significant. Fine (1983) and Borer (2010) explain that empirical exploration of fantasy is still largely missing, because such an approach is challenging due to fantasy’s ephemeral and subjective nature. Yet Fine stresses that a better understanding of fantasy could provide us with deeper comprehension of both fantasy and reality. Overall, as fantasy appeals not just to our mind and emotions, but to all of our senses, we need to look at how the phenomenon takes place interactively and materially.

2 Introduction Following these ideas, the aim of this book is to explore how fantasy is subjectively experienced by individuals as it is lived. More specifically, the research focuses on bodily, intersubjective, and spatial aspects of fantasy, as well as the connection of these to individuals’ perceived real (everyday) lives. Fantasy takes up an important place in contemporary culture, as I will show in more detail below. Hence, its in-depth understanding can aid us in comprehending human life and culture, as well as various aspects of these that are influenced by fantasy experiences. To approach fantasy as lived, acknowledged experience of something not real, I ethnographically explored live action role-playing games (LARP), a form of faceto-face role-playing games, in which individuals take on fantasy characters and interact with one another in fantasy spaces. Irwin (1976), Schechner (1993), and Mackay (2001), among others, have noted that fantasy is a central part of the activity of play. Focusing on a form of play that is bodily and face-to-face, as well as involves acknowledged interaction with fantasy allowed access to an almost tangible experience of fantasy. To explore LARP, I took on a performance theory approach, which is a methodology that focuses on experience, participation, and interaction, thus allowing access to behaviour as it is lived and co-created among people. Through the study, I provide a description of fantasy as a multisensory and changing experience of acknowledged parallel performances that heavily tie into and reflect individuals’ understanding of reality. I propose how fantasy works structurally as a bodily and spatial performance; how it emerges subjectively and intersubjectively through ties into its surrounding culture; and how it is linked to experiences of agency and investment into one’s reality. Moreover, I map out a typology of fantasy performances: other-worldly fantasy performance focuses on momentary realisation of desires, and othering fantasy performance provides a more long-term agency through reflexive understanding of performance structures. Overall, fantasy transpires to be a complex performance that is intrinsically tied into our everyday lives. Next, I provide a background to the research, starting with the context and literature it stems from, and followed by an overview of the research context, methods, and methodology.

Fantasy in contemporary consumer culture Fantasy has become a central aspect of contemporary Western culture. Saler (2012) explains that fantasy contributes “to human cognition and everyday life in a capitalist market economy,” (p. 30) in that it helps produce communities, structures, and futures. Through this, fantasy has become combined with the logic of contemporary culture, artifices of mass culture, and the capitalist economic order. Zukin (1991) adds that, specifically, fantasy’s link to consumption connects it to structures of economic power and cultural value, thus reinforcing fantasy as an important underlying process of contemporary life. Contemporary Western culture can be described as a culture of consumption; a development described as the result of various cultural, economic, and technological

Introduction  3 advancements, which have allowed wider production and distribution of, as well as access to consumption goods (see e.g., Slater 1997; Bauman 2007).1 Bauman (2007) explains that consumption has come to provide the ‘raw material’ for social life and its patterning, widely influencing our lives and becoming the underlying logic of “politics and democracy, social divisions and stratification, communities and partnerships, identity building, the production and use of knowledge, or value preferences” (p. 24). The logic of interhuman relations now mimics that of a consumer and the object of consumption, yet these two notions become indistinguishable, with consumers also becoming something to be consumed. Moreover, as Firat and Venkatesh (1995) suggest, practices of production and consumption become increasingly blurred. Hence, it becomes unclear who or what is the producer, the consumer, and the consumed. Nevertheless, their consumption-oriented relationships come to underpin social relations at large. Consumption becomes a “dominant human practice,” say Arnould and Thompson (2005, p. 873), forming blueprints for culture, action, and interaction, as well as becoming an intrinsic part of ideology. In a similar vein, Firat and Venkatesh (1995) explain that contemporary socialising institutions have become saturated with the logic of markets. Going into more detail, Muniz and O’Guinn (2001) as well as Schouten and McAlexander (1995) describe how communities emerge around consumption activities and consumption objects. Belk (1988), Schouten (1991), Holt (2002), and Ahuvia (2005) provide insight into how consumption and brands become central to identity-building, as well as to understanding one’s self and one’s agency as an individual. All in all, consumption has come to permeate various levels of contemporary life. Bauman (2007) notes that the overall driving force of consumption-oriented culture is desire. Individuals’ aim is to fulfil their desires, yet, to keep the momentum of consumer culture going, these desires cannot be fully fulfilled. Campbell (1987) similarly suggests that the ability to ‘want,’ ‘desire,’ and ‘long for’ form the basis of contemporary culture. Campbell suggests that fantasy plays a central part in this. He proposes that fantasy involves the creation of convincing daydreams, into which consumers place their desires and to which they react as though they were real. In this way, desire is strengthened and made more pleasurable, but its consummation becomes disillusioning, as the fantasy is perfect, but the reality never lives up to it. Therefore, the longing created through fantasy is never extinguished, but constantly regenerated, leaving the consumer in a permanent state of dissatisfaction and yearning for something better (see also Slater 1997). While Campbell did not perhaps refer to an acknowledged performance of fantasy, the processes he described have come to form a basis for individuals to engage more directly with what they perceive as not real. Sherry (1990), Schechner (1993), and Martin (2004) show that individuals have learned to place their wants, goals, and desires into fantasy in an acknowledged manner, thus tying other important aspects of contemporary life and culture to the nonreal realm. In parallel, Firat and Ulusoy (2007) as well as Borghini et al. (2009) note that companies increasingly drive the use of fantasy to attract individuals, as well as engage their imagination and desires. Fantasy thus emerges as

4 Introduction a central process within contemporary consumer culture, pushed forward both by consumption and production. In consumer culture research, the concept of fantasy has received some attention in recent years, with studies noting its importance as part of consumption and culture. Research has linked fantasy to the creation and attainment of desires and the evoking of meaning, which are central underpinning elements of consumer culture (McCracken 1988; Peñaloza 2001; Martin 2004). Following these ideas, research has shown fantasy to enable the emergence of long- and short-term communities (Kozinets 2002) through creating collective meanings (Goulding, Shankar, and Canniford 2011) and communal experiences (Fernandez and Lastovicka 2011). Moreover, research has noted that individuals develop their identities through creating and investing in ‘fantasy selves’ (Rook and Levy 1983; Schouten 1991) as well as experimenting with characteristics in ‘fantasy settings’ (Belk and Costa 1998). As becomes apparent, fantasy manifests itself in connection to various consumption practices and as part of investment in material and immaterial objects of consumption (Rook and Levy 1983; Schouten 1991; St. James, Handelman, and Taylor 2011). Fantasy is especially visible as part of the increased thematisation of contemporary culture (Zukin 1991, 1995). Zukin explains that thematisation is largely used to distinguish a place, such as a city, within fragmented contemporary culture. On a smaller scale, various consumption environments, such as theme parks or thematised restaurants aim to distinguish themselves in a sea of consumption choice, thus building fantasy worlds that endorse fantasy experiences (Firat 1991; Kozinets et al. 2004). Thematisation and creation of fantasy worlds can be very direct and clear, as in the case of Disneyland or a Viking restaurant. However, it can also take place in a subtler manner in city or public space planning. Materiality and space are thus important aspects of fantasy experiences (Rook and Levy 1983; Belk and Costa 1998; Martin 2004; Fernandez and Lastovicka 2011; St. James, Handelman, and Taylor 2011), yet their role has remained unclear and underexplored. While linked to many cultural phenomena, fantasy has rarely been the focus of consumer culture research in itself, as Stevens and Maclaran (2005) note. When given attention, fantasy has often been approached as fancy-free, entertaining, and pleasurable temporary emancipation (Kozinets 2001; Martin 2004). Moreover, research has mainly focused on fantasy as an individual and visual phenomenon of the mind, emphasising its playful, hedonic elements (Grayson and Martinec 2004; Fernandez and Lastovicka 2011). Fantasy has been strongly associated with and almost always linked to entertainment and mass media (Kozinets 2001; Martin 2004), as well as the concept of Utopia (Hirschman 1988; Belk and Costa 1998). In addition to pleasurable entertainment, some consumer research has also noted that fantasy can demonstrate new possibilities and enable agency in consumers’ everyday lives (Belk and Costa 1998; Fernandez and Lastovicka 2011). For instance, St. James, Handelman, and Taylor (2011) propose that through negotiating elements of fantasy and reality, individuals can feel more agentic.

Introduction  5 In a similar vein, Rook and Levy (1983) suggest that fantasy can motivate people, while Kozinets et al. (2004) write that fantasy allows individuals to cope better with their problems. Schouten (1991) further shows how individuals gain better self-understanding through consumption practices that use ‘fantasy selves.’ Yet, as Kozinets et  al. (2004) point out, we are yet to fully understand agency and identity in the context of fantasy. To sum up, fantasy emerges as an important and a fruitful experience to investigate, with research having noted its importance as part of culture, interaction, and individuals’ lives. There is clearly a need to understand the experience of fantasy in itself more thoroughly, as its many elements remain underexplored and unelaborated. For instance, Kozinets (2001) writes that while fantasy has been clearly linked to many aspects of contemporary culture, such as entertainment and media consumption, these relationships and especially the connections among them remain underexplored. Similarly, agency on both an individual and a societal level has been linked to fantasy, but it remains unclear how that agency is created and how it is linked to reality in everyday performance. As Kozinets (2001), Peñaloza (2001), as well as Arnould, Price, and Otnes (1999) write, it would be important to understand fantasy as a contemporary experience, as this can provide new insight into everyday interaction, creation of meaning, and culture.

Defining and delimiting fantasy Fantasy has been studied within various fields and from various perspectives, resulting in a plethora of definitions, which I explore in more detail in the next chapter. Coming from different traditions and perspectives, these diverge in many ways. Yet, I believe that they support one another in understanding the multisensory and subjective experience that is fantasy. This follows Armitt’s (1996) idea of fantasy lacking articulation as a concept due to its forms being multiple and subjective. Jackson (1981) and Armitt (1996) have stressed that fantasy has no correct or absolute meaning, as it is a contextual and shifting phenomenon. Similarly, Hume (1984) rejects any general definition of fantasy, describing it rather as an impulse. Attebery (1992) further proposes that it may be more useful to approach fantasy as a ‘fuzzy set,’ that is, a set of various definitions and approaches, as this allows for a more inclusive perspective. In this vein, I aim to explore and describe fantasy, rather than to define it. Fantasy is often approached as a literary phenomenon, writes Attebery (1992). Yet, he stresses that fantasy predates language and is thus independent of it. Fantasy is deeply rooted in non-literary experience, covering a wide range of activities, such as play and games. James (2012) and Casey (2012) similarly note that fantasy has developed far beyond literature into various media and activities. James deems gaming and role-playing games to be specifically noteworthy examples of fantasy due to their bodily characteristics. Following these authors, I would like to stress that the aim of this book is not to explore literary fantasy or

6 Introduction its narrative structures. While these are important topics for research, it is evident that fantasy also emerges as part of other activities of a more interactive and bodily nature. Exploring these can help us understand fantasy as a multifaceted, lived phenomenon inherently tied into contemporary culture. Fantasy is sometimes approached as something that partially or fully belongs to the unconscious. This is especially common in psychology, where fantasy is studied as a crucial part of mental life (Laplanche and Pontalis 1973; Kaplan 1986). Another perspective sees fantasy as the shared imaginary that underlies our whole understanding of reality and society as socially constructed. This is most famously described by Baudrillard (1995). I want to stress that my interest lies in the consciously aware, bodily performance of fantasy. While I do not deny the existence of these other ways that fantasy emerges and even sometimes allude to them because they are a part of the cultural context that fantasy performance takes place in, the main focus of my work is on empirically exploring acknowledged, lived, bodily fantasy, which has, so far, received little attention. In a common-sense understanding, fantasy is usually connected to leisure and media, as Hume (1984) and Armitt (1996) write. Jackson (1981) suggests that this has led to the stigma of fantasy as something inconsequential and irrational. Building this idea further, Saler (2012) writes that fantasy is stigmatised and criticised for being escapist, a distraction from the real world and its problems, and even a danger through seducing individuals away from engaging with meaningful real relationships. Negative connotations of the concept of fantasy persist, causing it to be seen as childish, unserious, frivolous, and almost shameful (see Tolkien 2001 [1964]; Hume 1984; Armitt 1996). I will describe what has led to this development in the following chapter. In connection with the associated stigma, fantasy has been presented in contemporary society as a very personal phenomenon that is strongly connected to identity issues, Jameson (2005) argues. In line with this idea, Hume (1984) and Paskow (2004) suggest that the self and the extension of one’s awareness are central aspects of the subjective experience of fantasy. However, as Fine (1983) argues, fantasy can never be truly private, as it is conditioned and constrained by the social context in which it is created. Armitt (1996) further explains that the desires driving fantasy include both individual and personal concerns, as well as those of collective, political, or even cosmic significance. It would thus be unwise to limit fantasy to a personal and individual phenomenon, as it is also a social, communal, and shared process. While I aim to stray from the stereotypical view of fantasy as an individual, mental experience and focus on the interpersonal performance of fantasy, the former characteristics are still important parts of fantasy and thus remain elements of my study. Lastly, fantasy is often described and understood through its relation to reality (Jackson 1981). For instance, Attebery (1992) describes fantasy as violation of natural law, and Hume (1984) talks about fantasy in terms of a departure from the consensus of reality. Nevertheless, it remains unclear how these seemingly opposing elements of reality and fantasy coexist within individuals’ lives. Agnew (1986), Kozinets (2001, 2002), and Mackay (2001) have speculated on what the

Introduction  7 function of fantasy is in regard to reality and everyday life. They raise the following questions: does fantasy merely reproduce everyday life, thus providing a model for current behaviour and constraining individuals through the repetition of social structures? Or can fantasy provide emancipation and freedom? Moreover, if fantasy is liberating, does this liberation filter back into our culture and cause a shift, or does it only allow momentary escape? It becomes evident that to grasp the role of fantasy in our everyday lives, an understanding of the relationship of what we perceive as fantasy and reality must be advanced. Consequently, while delving into the more subjective experience of fantasy, I also take a step back and explore fantasy as culturally and socially contextualised by what individuals perceive as ‘reality.’ To summarise, I approach fantasy from a wide, cross-disciplinary, and culturally contextualised basis, exploring it as consciously acknowledged and subjective, bodily experience that is multisensory and intersubjective, and can emerge in different forms. In this vein, I aim to delineate from the common perspective of fantasy as something personal, cognitive, literary, and entertaining. In practice, I explore fantasy through ethnographically studying the context of LARP, to which I turn to next.

Exploring lived fantasy through LARP As I noted before, a lack of empirical work as well as a lack of focus on bodily aspects of fantasy have been noted by previous research (Fine 1983; Borer 2010; Chronis, Arnould, and Hampton 2012). Fine (1983) suggests that the majority of studies focusing on fantasy are theoretical because the phenomenon is ethereal and ineffable. Armitt (1996) as well as Grayson and Martinec (2004) further explain that fantasy becomes difficult to record for research purposes due to its subjective and ephemeral nature. With these warnings in mind, I set out to study bodily, interactive performance of fantasy to understand its subjective, lived experience. To explore lived fantasy, I studied the context of live action role-playing games (LARP) in the cultural context of Finland. Following the work of Klinger (1971), Fine (1983), and Schechner (1993), play is a central form of performance of fantasy. Klinger (1971) has proposed that the origins of play and fantasy are inseparable, the two becoming distinguished only in adulthood. Fine (1983) has noted that studying role-playing games (RPG) specifically allows for unique understanding of fantasy in connection to how culture is constructed and transformed, how social systems operate, as well as how meanings or norms are used and negotiated. As Piaget (1962) wrote, games emerge as structured and controlled forms of play. Hence, studying LARP allowed me access to culturally contextualised experiences of fantasy that are structured, yet felt to be bodily, concrete, and almost tangible. LARP is a form of RPG “where the participants take on fictive personalities and act out their interaction in a predefined, fictive setting” (Bøkman 2003, p. 177). Originally inspired by tabletop role-playing games, LARP emerged as a hobby in the 1970s and has since become an international phenomenon.

8 Introduction Bøkman (2003) and Bowman (2010) explain that LARP differs from other types of RPG in that the players act out interaction physically and bodily, in the same space and time. LARP often involves elaborate costuming and moving around in a designated game space (Bowman 2010), which is traditionally set in themes of fantasy or science fiction (Mackay 2001). All in all, LARP can be defined as face-to-face games that allow their players to assume the roles of fantasy characters and operate with some degree of freedom in fantasy environments within actual time and space. LARP specifically as a form of RPG gives insight into performance that is embodied, interactive, and alive, as LARP is not quantified, limited to certain gaming tools, or confined to rigid rules in the same way that most other forms of RPG are. For instance, tabletop RPG uses dice and game boards, limiting play to a table and resulting in more strategic play than an exercise of fantasy. Virtual and online RPG, on the other hand, uses computer platforms and tends to become trapped by the pre-set limitations of cyberspace and software. LARP is played out in actual time and space with a group of people, and generally provides players only with a very vague background and goals. It is important to note that while LARP is quite free in its form, it does involve some rules as well as spatial and temporal limitations. As Mackay (2001) and Waskul (2006) note, rules or conventions are necessary for the players to feel safe and for the game not to be haphazard. While LARP is a relatively marginal hobby, it is tightly linked to and incorporates wider forms of entertainment and geek culture consumption, such as TV shows, books, comic books, films, video games, and online phenomena. Recently, LARP has been gaining a lot of international media coverage, which has led to growth of the activity. Moreover, positive visibility has shifted the previously stigmatised outsider perceptions of the hobby, leading to more people trying out LARP. The growth and change in attitudes have further initiated commercialisation of LARPing, mostly in the form of supportive services. For instance, several specialised catering services and LARP prop stores have opened. Moreover, while LARPs are mostly organised in a non-commercialised form, LARP-organising companies are also emerging (e.g., Dziobak LARP Studios). LARP further ties into more inconspicuous forms of consumption. LARP organisers procure a venue, food, and decorations, while participants buy props, make-up, and other necessary items. Furthermore, in light of consumer culture, LARP ends up re-enacting everyday performances that are underpinned by the logic of consumption. Role-playing games as a research context Mackay (2001) defines role-playing games (RPG) as an “episodic and participatory story creation system that includes a set of [. . .] rules that assist a group of players and a gamemaster in determining how their fictional characters’ spontaneous interactions are resolved” (p. 5). RPG in general is a relatively new activity and representation of fantasy, Fine (1983) writes in his historical account of the activity.

Introduction  9 Nevertheless, as James (2012) and Saler (2012) point out, it has become an important form in which fantasy emerges today. Mackay (2001) provides a thorough background to how RPG emerged in Western culture. He writes that RPG developed from war and simulation games, inspired by entertainment and geek culture themes found in books, comics, films, TV shows, and video games. The starting point of contemporary RPG is ambiguous and contested, but its foundation stone is considered to be the Dungeons & Dragons tabletop role-playing game published in 1974, which was heavily influenced by the growing popularity of the fantasy genre within entertainment media at the time. The increasing success of fantasy and science fiction has been explained by the modernisation and industrialisation of the Western world, which left individuals searching for meaning and wonder, as well as the socio-political climate of the 1970s, which created a need for security and clarity within people. The fantasy genre provided a world with clear-cut good and evil as well as the security of structures and rationality. Saler (2012) adds that RPG became the perfect vehicle for such characteristics, as it allows strict rationality and the creation of complex rules. RPG started as tabletop games, developing into live-action performances, and, with technological advancements, also into virtual and online versions of role-playing. As Mackay (2001) and Waskul (2006) explain, in the contemporary context, RPG is seen more as an umbrella term for a large variety of game types, including board games, video games, live action games, and massive multiplayer online games. RPG as an academic research context has received most interest in the fields of game studies (Williams, Hendricks, and Winkler 2006; Montola, Stenros, and Waern 2009) and information sciences (Harviainen 2013; Montola 2012), as well as some interest in sociology (Fine 1983; Waskul and Lust 2004; Waskul 2006) and performance studies (Mackay 2001; Cramer 2010). Within consumer culture research, the context of role-playing games has mostly been studied through online and video games with the goal of exploring online consumption (Starbuck and Webster 1991; Molesworth 2006) and the psychological effects of virtual gaming (Chuang 2006; Kuss and Griffiths 2012). Tabletop RPG contexts have been represented in Kinkade and Katovich’s (2008) study of cooperation and Martin’s (2004) research of evoking imagery, both using the card game Magic: The Gathering as their setting. A few studies have also explored historical reenactment as their research contexts. While not RPG directly, these involve elements of role-play. For instance, Belk and Costa (1998) studied myth through fur trade rendezvous re-enactment in the Rocky Mountain American West, while Chronis, Arnould, and Hampton (2012) explored the role of narratives in American Civil War re-enactment. Mackay (2001) suggests that RPG has often been studied as one large phenomenon, disregarding the fact that its various subcategories are very different. Yet, it is important to note that while various forms of RPG have developed from one another, they function in different ways because of their individual characteristics. In line with this, it is important to differentiate LARP from other similar

10 Introduction practices, as they have varying forms and focuses. For instance, online gaming differs significantly from LARP in the way individuals engage with the fantasy worlds and interact with one another, because the practice is not spatially bound, does not involve face-to-face interaction, and relies on technology. Tabletop RPGs tend to be much more rule-bound, and less bodily or prop-oriented than LARP. Lastly, historical re-enactment tends to be much more scripted than LARP, rarely involves full immersion into a character, and is very strict about historical accuracy and authenticity of costumes and props. Existing research in the context of RPG has mostly concentrated on describing gaming, community, and lifestyle, as well as on investigating themes of identity creation and negotiation (Mackay 2001; Martin 2004; Williams, Hendricks, and Winkler 2006; Bowman 2010). Hence, there is an understanding of the structure of the game as well as the self within it. However, the dynamics of the social setting and its connection to everyday life remain understudied. Following Fine (1983) and Williams, Hendricks, and Winkler (2006), these themes are central to understanding how fantasy works and is organised within the boundaries of RPG, offering insight into how the more general social world functions, negotiates norms and constraints, as well as distributes power. In terms of LARP specifically, research has mainly focused on LARP as an activity, exploring and developing its mechanics, forms, and experiences (Copier 2005; Montola, Stenros, and Waern 2009; Knudepunkt companion books). While I acknowledge this literature and use some of it to support my work, I want to stress that my aim is not to extend this field of research. I use LARP as a context to study the performance of fantasy, not as an object of study or theorising in itself. LARP in Finland The cultural context heavily reflects how LARP is organised, with LARP varying considerably in different parts of the world. For instance, in the Baltics and in Russia, LARP is traditionally war- and strategy-oriented. LARP in many areas of the USA tends to focus on battling or building experience points for characters. Such LARP reflects a history of tabletop role-playing games and video games, creating a competitive and rule-bound context. Nordic countries promote LARP that is more interactional and relationship-oriented (sometimes called Nordic LARP). This form of LARP is being used more and more outside its original cultural context, thus spreading into many other countries. LARP in Finland predominantly focuses on the emotional and intersubjective lives of the characters, as well as the fictive world that they live in, allowing LARPers to physically enter a world of fantasy. While focusing on interpersonal interaction, LARP is also physically active and action-packed. However, it is not competitive and cannot be won, with the focus rather being on creating emotional experiences among players. LARPs vary a great deal in their themes, including futuristic, medieval, historical, realistic, and surreal games, to name a few. The games often involve contexts, plotlines, and characters that are based on geek culture, which most participants are very familiar with, as I explain below. Elements

Introduction  11 of mediatised geek culture are used both directly (e.g., Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings LARP) and through mixing elements (e.g., vampire LARP). Various activities revolving around entertainment and geek culture, such as cosplay, tabletop RPG, fandom, and LARP, are quite intertwined in Finland, forming one large subculture. Hence, there is a considerable amount of overlap of participants in the various hobbies. Because of this LARPers tend to be very versed in geek culture. This can be seen in the themes of the performances as well as in the shared knowledge and understanding of geek culture elements used as a basis for the interaction. As noted, LARPs are predominantly based on geek culture sources, such as books, comic books, films, TV shows, and video games. Nevertheless, other sources, such as historical or scientific literature, are also used. Themes further tend to be closely tied to and influenced by more general cultural trends. Information about LARPs is spread through online tools, such as social media and aggregate websites. Most often, however, people learn about LARPs through word-of-mouth. Hence, while LARPers are open to newcomers, the community is quite closed and even difficult to find. Individuals mainly get into the hobby through acquaintances that are already members, through an existing similar hobby (e.g., RPG or historical re-enactment), or through existing interest and engagement with geek culture (e.g., fan groups). The closed nature of the community is possibly explained by the fact that LARPing is very rarely a commercial activity, but is rather organised by its participants. Moreover, LARP is somewhat of a stigmatised hobby. This is connected to the stigma attached to overall geek culture (see Kozinets 2001), which LARP is a part of, and is further supported by quite a negative, stereotypical portrayal of LARP in media and culture. Recently, LARP has been gaining positive visibility in media and positive reception outside geek culture, as I explained above. Unlike LARP in some other countries, LARP in Finland does not generally revolve around clubs or organisations. There are a number of LARP associations, but these are more focused on providing financial and organisational support for LARP events. No membership is necessary to attend LARPs, and people tend to participate in events according to their own schedules and interests, with the group of participants reforming in a fluid manner for each separate event. Hence, LARPers tend to take part in games that differ in themes, size, and participants. Besides an age limit, there are usually no limitations to participation. LARPs usually have a minimum age limit, which ranges from 15 to 18 years of age, depending on the themes and intensity of the game. While the community is somewhat closed and fluid, LARPers do nevertheless form a very supportive community. The LARP community is vaguely divided into regions, which are more or less based on geographical areas. The regions do have some differences in the way games are organised, but ultimately provide very similar experiences. Moreover, LARPers tend to form certain pockets of individuals that overlap more often in games. This is based on personal thematic preferences, geography, and interpersonal friendships among LARPers. LARPs tend to be one-shot events, meaning the themes, setting, and characters are not developed outside the specific LARP. Nevertheless, LARPs are

12 Introduction sometimes re-run due to popularity and/or demand (usually with a different set of participants). LARPs can also involve follow-ups, sometimes even forming ‘campaigns.’ A campaign is a series of LARPs connected to one another, in which LARPers usually portray the same character in the same setting. Campaigns can span from only a few games within a year or two, to dozens of games during a decade. Longer campaigns will usually involve more fluidity in organisers, participants, and the characters they portray. LARP events are usually organised by active LARPers or groups of LARPers, sometimes with the support of above-mentioned organisations. The organisers are commonly referred to as game masters (GM), a remnant term from tabletop RPG. GMs organise the whole event; everything from creating the written materials that the LARP is based on, to booking a space and arranging meals, to giving directions to participants when performing. During the LARP, GMs are helped by non-player characters (NPCs), that is, characters that take on the role of an extra, supporting others’ experiences and helping in organisational aspects. I will describe these processes in more detail in Chapter 4. To cover costs, LARPs usually involve some sort of attendance fee. This varies from game to game, but covers things like the rent of the location, food and drinks provided to players, as well as props for general use and decoration of the space. LARP budgets tend to aim at breaking even, with GMs thus rarely making any profit. In fact, making profit seems to be frowned upon within the community. In addition to the attendance fee, LARPers are expected to cover their own costs for travel, snacks, as well as their own props, costumes, and make-up.

Research approach and methods To gain a subjective and bodily understanding of fantasy, I have explored LARP ethnographically, taking on the methodology of performance, which is an experience-based approach. Following Schechner (1988), performance theory concentrates on the study of lived experiences and interactions with a specific focus on action, movement, and the body. Carlson (2003) elaborates that performance theory provides the opportunity to gain a better understanding of how events are deployed in space and time, how events manifest in culture, what material elements are used, what roles individuals take in performance, as well as how events are experienced and oriented. Moreover, as Conquergood (1991) and Denzin (2003) note, the approach humanises research by focusing on how the individual and the group they are a part of perform within their social and material context. Performance theory thus approaches understanding from a bodily and interactive perspective, allowing the study of fantasy from the standpoint of subjective, bodily, and lived experience. The method of ethnography supported the methodology by providing tools for the exploration of lived experience that take into consideration subjective perspectives and their contextualisation. Through the use of participant observation, interviews, and analysis of various materials, I was able to tap into fantasy as a bodily and subjectively experienced performance. The ethnographic methods

Introduction  13 were further supported by art-based research, which provided an avenue for multisensory and multifaceted understanding. Together, the research context, methodology, and methods support the endeavour to explore fantasy empirically as a culturally contextualised, subjective and intersubjective, bodily experience. Performance theory Following Schechner’s (2006) description of performance theory, all action and interaction can be seen as performance, that is, behaviour that is restored by recombining and repeating previously behaved behaviours. From this perspective, reality and norms come into being as effects of their repetitive performance, with understanding emerging through acting in and engaging with one’s context. The notion of performance has its roots in various disciplines, and has been influenced by both the arts and by social sciences, with the approach in this research borrowing from different traditions. Most notably, performance has been studied either as behaviour or as discourse. Performance as behaviour is based in the work of Goffman (1959) and in Turner’s (1969) conceptualisation of the ritual process, which was later developed in collaboration with Richard Schechner. This stream focuses on the anthropology of performance as well as on performance in theatre, and has gained popularity in such fields as theatre studies, race studies, and anthropology. The study of performance as discourse has its roots in Austin’s (1962) speechact theory, which presents the idea of performative utterances. Simply put, the theory proposes that saying things equals doing actions. This has been most prominently developed by Judith Butler (1990, 1993) into a more detailed understanding of performativity. The perspective has been commonly used in gender studies, organisational theory, as well as literature and language studies. As McKenzie (2001) as well as Harwood and El-Manstrly (2012) show, the different ways of studying performance overlap in many ways and offer support to one another. My approach thus involves elements of both. The research at hand is neither directly based in the classical sociological understanding of performance presented by Goffman (1959), in which performance is involuntarily, yet actively created by the subject, nor in the commonly used postmodern approach of performativity that follows Butler’s (1990) work, in which the subject is invoked as a result of the repetition of norms. My approach is based in performance studies and embraces both the emergence of the subject through performance, as well as allows for examining the subjective experience of that performance. Because of the existence of various strands of performance theory, it is important to differentiate the terms performativity, performance, and a performative. Butler (1993) describes performativity as the “reiterative power of discourse to produce the phenomena that it regulates and constrains” (p. 2). She continues that the power of performativity is accrued over time through the process of citing or recombining performance, thus establishing its meaning and power. Schechner (2006) suggests that performativity can be seen as the larger term, which encompasses

14 Introduction both performances and performatives, opening up their possibility. Performance can then be described as referring to the instances of repetition and referencing of behaviour (Schechner (2006). It is not the direct engagement of performers, but rather the activity repeated over time. As Patton (1995) notes, the seeming continuity of this repetition creates the idea of identity, norms, and social reality. Lastly, a performative, according to Schechner (2006), is both a noun that refers to something that is being performed, and an adjective, which infects and modifies that something with the qualities of its performance. Patton (1995) explains that a performative is the specific act or actant that constitutes and reproduces citational power. Performativity, performance, and performative are thus based in and strongly tied into one another, existing in a tension (see Denzin 2003). Within this research I focus on performance, as this helps map out individuals’ understanding of their selves, their interaction, and their context, as well as the norms surrounding these. Following Schechner (2006), I looked at how events are performed in space and time; how performances are controlled, distributed, received, and evaluated; what special spaces or objects are in use; what roles are played and how these differ from what performers usually identify themselves as. It is important to note that while my focus was on performance, performativity and performatives, in their intertwined nature, were also a part of the research. I elaborate in further detail on the methodology in Chapter 3. Social and theatrical performance From the point of view of performance theory, performances are endless series of transformations that adopt various forms, the main categories of which are social and aesthetic performances, Schechner (2006) explains. The former is perceived to constitute quotidian life, while the latter is seen to have a second-order relationship to reality and matter. McKenzie (2001) adds that these strongly tie into what individuals perceive as real and not real. A central focus of performance theory is understanding how the two performances interact and exist alongside one another; where one begins and the other ends. To guide my work in exploring fantasy, I took on the relationship between social and aesthetic performance as a parallel to the relationship between performance of reality and fantasy. Fantasy and aesthetic performance bear many similarities and have often been linked through their connection to imagination, play, art, as well as the expression of that which lies outside reality (Tolkien 2001 [1964]; Schechner 2006). More specifically, I turned to what Carlson (2003) and Schechner (2006) describe as one of the only types of aesthetic performance that have remained bodily and active: theatre. Theatre allows individuals to enter fantasy and become a part of it, as it always requires physical presence and awareness, both for performers and spectators. Moreover, as Mackay (2001) points out, RPG in general is similar to theatre, thus tying the approach further to the empirical context of LARP. As I explain in Chapter 3, I use theatre literature to guide my understanding and analysis of the research context and phenomenon.

Introduction  15 Ethnography of performance and RPG “Ethnography is the deep understanding of the lived experience of people as it unfolds in a particular cultural context, and the representation of that understanding in ways that are faithful to that experience,” writes Sherry (2008, pp. 86–87). The approach thus provides diverse, reflective, and critical understanding of research phenomena as part of culturally contextualised constellations of behaviour both as a form of data collection and as a way of describing and interpreting culture. Ethnography is a fitting method to use for exploring performance, as the central focus of performance theory is behaviour and its emergence in social contexts (Turner 1987; Conquergood 1991; Denzin 2003; Schechner 2006). Ethnography provides the tools for mapping out how behaviour is recreated in specific contexts by individuals, how these behaviours support meanings and relationships, as well as what elements are added and omitted in their processes. This ties into central concerns of performance theory. Following Fine (1983), ethnography further emerges as an ideal method for exploring RPG. As I noted, researching RPG can be challenging, because the experience is very subjective and there are few ways of documenting it: once a game is played, it is gone and nothing can fully represent it. Understanding cannot be reached by means of objective and rational observation, but requires participation in and an emotional connection to the subjective experience. In practice, data collection within ethnography is done in natural settings over a long period of time in order to gain understanding through experience, interaction, engagement, and reflection. Moreover, ethnography involves the use of multiple data collection methods, which allow for various perspectives on the behaviours and context being studied (Arnould and Wallendorf 1994; Goulding 2004; Sherry 2008). Conquergood (1991), Carlson (2003), and Denzin (2003) have discussed the use of ethnography specifically in the context of performance, stressing a critical, engaged perspective toward the context of study that involves the researcher dynamically and non-neutrally. Conquergood (1991) and Carlson (2003) further note that ethnography of performance requires a focus on the body as a site of knowing, and taking into consideration non-human elements of performance. I describe my data collection in more detail next. Data collection and analysis I collected data in the context of LARP from July 2012 to December 2015. In order to gain a holistic perspective on the phenomenon, the research incorporated multiple methods of data collection: participant observation, formal and informal interviews, as well as the analysis of objects, spaces, and online materials. The main method of data collection was participant observation. Over the period of 41 months, I attended 53 LARPs as an active participant of the events. Most of the LARPs I attended were held in Southern Finland because this geographic context was easily accessible to me. It is important to note that I have a background

16 Introduction in LARP and other ‘geek culture’ hobbies, and have thus engaged in similar practices beyond the scope of the research. For instance, I have engaged in cosplay, tabletop role-playing games, and video games. Moreover, I have attended LARPs in other countries, including Norway, Poland, Denmark, and the USA. I obtained varied experiences of LARP through attending events of various themes, lengths (from two hours to five days), sizes (from 8 to over 500 people), types of organisation (written by game masters or together with players), and amounts of material (from 3 lines to over 50 pages). I also performed very different characters in LARPs and diverse roles in the events in order to explore the various perspectives one can take during the event. I have played characters of differing age, social class, gender, race, and sexual orientation. The characters have further differed in their dispositions, opinions, and perspectives on politics, romance, and other important issues of everyday life. I have mostly engaged in LARP with a full character, but I have also helped organise some events as an NPC. I wrote extensive field notes for each LARP event that I attended, documenting in detail the entire process of preparing for, attending, and working through the aftermath of the performance. I also documented various material aspects of LARP to help record my experiences. These included the props and costumes brought by LARPers to create their own characters, props brought by the organisers to turn the LARP space into a fantasy world, as well as the various textual and visual materials created as a basis for the game (both online and hard copy). I describe these in more detail later on. Documentation mainly took the form of notes, but was sometimes supported by photography. In order to support my own personal experiences of participating in LARP, to gain an understanding of other participants’ experiences, and to make a comparison between these, I conducted informal and formal interviews with LARPers. The informal interviews involved short discussions with participants, usually at the LARP venue. These focused on discussing the specific LARP we were attending. The informal interviews were not recorded, but their main themes were written down as part of the field notes. Formal interviews were conducted with key informants to acquire a deeper understanding of other LARPers’ experiences. These lasted from 40 minutes to almost three hours; they were recorded and transcribed verbatim. The interviews were open-ended and interactional, allowing private, detailed discussions of LARPs we had both attended as well as providing an understanding of interviewees’ long-term engagement with LARP in the context of their overall lives. We often discussed material and spatial elements of LARP, with interviewees sometimes showing me their props and costumes. A total of 16 interviews were conducted with nine interviewees over the span of the research, with most having been interviewed several times in order to explore development over time. The interviewees were representative of the demographics of LARPers in Southern Finland. They were Finns aged from 19 to 29 years; seven of them identified as women and two as men. They had varied experience in and preferences for LARP. All interview extracts used in this book have been anonymised, and all interviewees have been given pseudonyms.

Introduction  17 The data analysis was a continuous reflexive activity that lasted throughout the research. Interpretation began as soon as the data collection started, which allowed me to adjust the research to my developing understanding of the context and research phenomenon. The different types of data were accommodated into one whole, yet  also compared across data types. Emerging themes were determined, grouped conceptually, and used to guide the research and analysis. My goal in analysing the data was to map out recurring performances in relation to the context, objects, spaces, individuals, and the relationships among these. The analysis was embedded in and continuously linked to the theoretical perspectives and ideas of the research. In practice, I transformed field notes and transcriptions into a summary form, using a LARP event as the unit of analysis. This allowed for the creation of thick description of the performances and the comparison of LARP events as units of data for similarities and discrepancies. I read through each unit of data multiple times to get a sense of the whole, categorising the different parts and elements of the performance. I derived meanings of performances by analysing relationships among elements and the effects of elements on performances as a whole. Art-based research In addition to the more traditional, ethnographic methods of research and analysis that I described, creating art was an important part of the research process. When conducting my research, I found it increasingly insufficient to conceptualise my own experience and the experiences of others using only verbal and textual tools. The lived experiences of fantasy involve many affective and embodied elements that cannot necessarily be described in words. Hence, I engaged in art-based research,2 and, more specifically, in the creation of artwork, in order to better understand fantasy experiences and the theoretical concepts I was using for their analysis. Artwork helped me structure, comprehend, and present my research through tapping into forms of expression that are visual and affective. My art practice took form in acrylic paintings and mixed media art installations.3 Acrylics were the main medium used because of my familiarity and long-term practice with them that allowed me to express my ideas and experiences with relative ease. Using art together with more traditional methods of qualitative research is an issue that has been widely discussed within the arts (Andersson 2009; Hannula, Suoranta, and Vaden 2014), with some discussions spilling over to the humanities (Leavy 2009; Barone and Eisner 2012). Leavy (2018) describes art-based research as “a transdisciplinary approach to knowledge building that combines the tenets of the creative arts in research contexts” (p. 4). Hervey (2000) further provides the three main characteristics of the approach. First, art-based research uses artistic methods to gather, analyse, and/or present research. Second, it requires acknowledged engagement in a creative process. Third, the work is driven by the aesthetic values of the researcher(s). Eisner (1997) notes that art-based approaches arose as a result of discontent with the prioritisation of text- and language-based knowledge in research. Bleiker

18 Introduction (2001) explains that the authority of the written word in academia is connected to the dominance of positivist and realist science that prioritises knowledge as objective, neutral, and rational. Indeed, such knowledge is best articulated through text. In response, the goal of art-based research is to gain meaning and expand awareness by tapping into knowledge as it is felt and lived. Andersson (2009) adds that traditional research often aims to ‘close gaps’ by presenting us with a concrete piece of knowledge, but art is more open to interpretation, aiming to open up ideas or ‘gaps’ to further inquiry and discussion. The focus of art-based research is thus on the process of creating multifaceted and multisensory understanding as well as on the dialogue it creates among researchers and their audiences. The process of creating artwork allowed me to structure and articulate my thoughts and experiences, as well as to tap into novel perspectives in understanding the phenomena I was studying. In practice, I created artwork that expressed various theoretical, empirical, and analytical aspects of this research project. I would often start with a blank canvas and the aim to express a particular aspect of my work I was having trouble with. Through embodied artistic practice and the emerging visuals, I was able to contemplate elements of the research and thus gain better understanding of the ideas I was engaging with. Art as a process aided me in understanding the theory I was reading and the data I was analysing, as well as in honing the ideas I was proposing myself. Collingwood (1938) theorised that the process of creating aesthetics makes us more aware of experiences and enhances our understanding in general. He continued that the aesthetic process allows us to step to the very edge of our knowledge and capabilities, encouraging us to do more. As a result, creating art builds and develops our knowledge in ways we may be unable to do otherwise. In line with this, the process of painting research has impelled me to think about and deal with my work in different ways, revealing possibilities for new meanings and perspectives. Concepts, theories, and my own findings gained clarity and new points of view, as I pushed them into visual form. Following Andersson (2009), I have used the same method and epistemology to inform both my research and my art.

Figure 1.1  Seregina, Anastasia (2015–2016), the Nostalgia series (from left to right): Spatial Dissonance, Temporal Ambivalence, and Marketed Memory; acrylics on canvas and mixed media, 50 × 50 cm each

Introduction  19

Figure 1.2  Seregina, Anastasia (2014), Fragments of Me, acrylics on canvas, 100 × 100 cm

Neither art nor research was restricted to one another, with the processes and their outcomes informing and supporting one another. The artwork and its creation played three roles in this research. First, creating artwork helped me process and gain better understanding of the theory I was working with and the literature I was reading as background material (see Chapter 2). For instance, the paintings in Figure 1.1 engaged the concept of nostalgia, with the three pieces addressing its various stages of development (see Chapter 2). The process of creating the mixed media art pieces allowed me to contemplate the concept of nostalgia and get an understanding of how it emerges in human interaction. Similarly, the painting in Figure 1.2 arose as a result engaging with literature on postmodern fragmentation of identity, and helped me explore the process of fragmentation and reconstruction of meaning. The mixed media piece in Figure 1.3 was used to work on a theorisation of fantasy through Lacan’s ‘objet petit a,’ an approach I considered for the research, but later discarded. Figure 1.4 is the result of my engagement with literature on temporality as part of this project. By visualising the ideas I was reading about, I was able to grasp the literature better as a whole, as well as understand how the various elements of theory work together. Second, in addition to theoretical work, the process of creating art aided me in understanding the empirical research context and its analysis. I was able to better understand my own experiences and the experiences of others through approaching these visually. Here, I often returned to the same topics over and over in order

20 Introduction

Figure 1.3  Seregina, Anastasia (2015), Objet Petit a, mixed media on board, 70 × 40 × 35 cm

to work out meanings and structures of phenomena, as well as to try out different conceptualisations. For example, through the paintings in Figures 1.5, 1.6, and 1.7, I explored the experience of parallel performances in fantasy. The art pieces are in temporal order of development, with the first version (Figure 1.5) alluding to Victor Turner and Richard Schechner’s ‘infinity loop’ of performance, and

Figure 1.4  Seregina, Anastasia (2016), Desynchronised, acrylics on canvas, 40 × 40 cm

Introduction  21

Figure 1.5  Seregina, Anastasia (2013), Exploring Fantasy as Part of Consumption, acrylics on canvas, 38 × 92 cm

the second (Figure 1.6) using Goffman’s frame analysis. The third (Figure 1.7) helped structure the final conceptualisation of fantasy performance as well as link it to the performance of reality investment. The artwork is based on various strands of performance theory (see Chapter 3 for theory and Chapter 5 for the final conceptualisation).

Figure 1.6  Seregina, Anastasia (2014), Frames of Performance, acrylics on canvas, 100 × 100 cm

22 Introduction

Figure 1.7  Seregina, Anastasia (2014), Reality Investments, acrylics on canvas, 46 × 55 cm

Similarly, I used the process of creating the painting in Figure 1.8 as a means of better understanding the process of post-LARP depression (an emic term for nostalgia for the LARP performance) in relation to theoretical literature on Utopia and nostalgia. I discuss this in detail in Chapter 5.

Figure 1.8  Seregina, Anastasia (2014), Of Bittersweet Utopia and Nostalgia, acrylics on canvas, 81 × 64 cm

Introduction  23 Paintings in Figures 1.9 and 1.10 were created in pairs, and worked as tools for conceptualising the typology of fantasy experiences that I present in Chapter 6. The first pair was used in the process of working on an early conceptualisation, while the second pair represents the final typology. The focus on hands helped me explore the subjective, embodied experience of fantasy, reflect on my own experiences of fantasy performance, as well as link the theoretical work to the history of RPG.4 Lastly, the artworks provided an opportunity to communicate my work to others in new ways, giving my audience an opportunity to engage with my work on a more embodied and emotional level. For instance, the artworks were used to communicate my research at various conferences, lectures, workshops, and

Figure 1.9  Seregina, Anastasia (2014), Illusion of Escape and Activist Disillusion, acrylics on canvas, 46 × 55 cm each; the initial conceptualisation of fantasy performance types

Figure 1.10  Seregina, Anastasia (2014–2015), Escapist Extension into Context and Activist Self Investment; acrylics on canvas, 46 × 55 cm each; the final conceptualisation of fantasy performance types

24 Introduction presentations. Becker (1982) notes that using visuals can increase our understanding of phenomena by requiring individuals to work in order to attain full meaning. Hence, art becomes a form of communication that forces individuals to stop and think rather than to passively receive information. Hatcher (1999) adds that being compelled to figure things out for ourselves provides the potential for deeper analysis and novel viewpoints. The artwork used in this research project initiated discussions and feedback surrounding the research topic, allowing the discovery of new points of view, as well as comparison of various interpretations and perspectives on the subject area, thus developing the ideas presented in this book.

Cultural context and limitations The study was conducted in Finland, the cultural context of which influences the data, its collection, and its presentation. Following Meriläinen et al. (2008) and Askegaard and Linnet (2011), it is important to be aware of one’s cultural context, as this brings forth the effects it has on the research. A central part of a cultural context is its language. As Steyaert and Janssens (2013) stress, researchers need to be very aware of the differences of the languages that they work with, especially when the language of analysis and language of presentation are different. Consequently, it is important to point out that all the interviews for this research were conducted and transcribed in Finnish. I analysed the Finnish text in order not to obscure what the interviewees were communicating. I have personally translated the excerpts used throughout the text into English. In translating, I put a lot of effort into keeping the tone and meanings communicated in the original language. My field notes were written in English, Finnish, and Russian, and analysed accordingly in English, Finnish, and Russian. Being trilingual, I feel that this does not pose a problem for the study. In fact, making notes in different languages allowed me to express observations, experiences, and reflections with greater nuance and detail, resulting in a deeper description and analysis. As a cultural context, Finland is rather homogeneous and non-hierarchical, with social class having little influence on behaviour. As described by Holttinen (2014), communication among Finns is straightforward, sparse, and often quite informal. In the context of LARP, these cultural traits help create a community that has few differences in social background and is thus rather easy to enter. Tainio and Santalainen (1984) point out that while Finns are quite individualistic, they do focus on collective efforts of meaning-making. This was very evident in LARP: individuals readily help one another and go out of their way to create a good experience for everyone. These cultural characteristics may further explain the focus of LARP on interpersonal and emotional experiences. As a cultural context, Finland is relatively small. However, as Nordic LARP is engaged in throughout the Nordic countries and is spreading worldwide, the findings of the research are applicable far beyond Finland. Moreover, the study provides a deeply contextualised understanding of fantasy experience and may further work as a point of cultural comparison.

Plate 1

Plate 2

Plate 3

Plate 4

Plate 5

Plate 6

Plate 7

Plate 8

Plate 9

Plate 10

Plate 11

Plate 12

Plate 13

Plate 14

Plate 15

Introduction  25 Following these ideas, it is important to note the limitations of this study. In addition to the particular focus on fantasy as lived performance, the findings are limited to the research context and the cultural context. LARP is not performed in the same way in different countries, and it is thus possible that the experience of fantasy also emerges differently in various cultural contexts. Moreover, fantasy’s intertwined nature with reality would suggest that the cultural context influences fantasy’s bodily experience in general. It is important for future studies to look into how fantasy emerges in different cultural contexts, as well as why these experiences do or do not differ, as this would enrich our understanding of contemporary life.

The structure The book is structured as follows. In Chapter 2, I provide a historical and theoretical background for my study. First, I briefly map out the development of fantasy in Western society, situating the concept historically and culturally. Second, I discuss the relationship of fantasy to the concepts of reality and belief. Third, I review literature on fantasy through the various approaches that have been used to study it. Chapter 3 provides an overview of my methodology of performance, focusing more specifically on how I approach social and aesthetic performance as well as the relationship between them, which I use as a parallel to understanding the relationship between reality and fantasy. To explore aesthetic performance, I focus on theatre, which is bodily performance that has often been linked to fantasy, play, and RPG. I specifically focus on Stanislavski’s typology of aesthetic performance, which has formed the basis for contemporary Western theatre practice. Chapter 4 takes the form of an ethnographic description of a LARP performance. Based on the empirical data, I analyse LARP as a performance of fantasy in Chapter 5. Using the structure of aesthetic performance, I map out the performance of self, performance of interaction, and performance of social space. In discussing my findings, I suggest that fantasy is experienced as a continuous engagement in the parallel performance of both what is perceived as reality and the emergent make-believe. I propose how fantasy performance is structured, what roles and types of performance individuals take on as part of it, what are the central characteristics of fantasy performance, and how fantasy performance allows investment into reality. In Chapter 6, I propose a typology of fantasy performances by comparing different empirical findings and linking them to theory. I explore the typology through two extreme types: other-worldly and othering fantasy performance. I describe the different ways in which the negotiation of roles, spaces, and performances takes place in the two forms, as well as the various spatial, material, interactive, and structural elements that influence how the performances emerge. These aspects lead to varying outcomes for the individuals involved, with fantasy either allowing the performance of personal desires within a limited context, which is restrained by normalised structures of reality; or the

26 Introduction reflexive and educational performance that allows investment into reality through having to make one’s own meaning within structures of performance that are not perceived as stable. Chapter 7 concludes the book through an overview of my proposed description of lived fantasy performance. I discuss how fantasy performance ties into structures and processes of contemporary consumer culture, providing opportunities for emancipation and agency. I suggest that fantasy becomes a way of understanding, reflecting on, or even restructuring reality.

Notes 1 As it is not the aim of this book to argue for the idea of consumer culture (sometimes also referred to as ‘consumerist culture’ and ‘culture of consumers’), but rather to use this idea as the basis for my work, I will not be providing thorough argumentation for it. More detailed accounts can be found in the work of Slater (1997), Bauman (2007), and Featherstone (2007). 2 For a more detailed methodological account of art-based research, see Seregina and Christensson 2017. 3 For more on the subject, see www.anastasiaseregina.com/ 4 Video game RPGs often use a similar aesthetic for a first-person point of view.

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2 Perspectives on fantasy

Intuitively, fantasy is understood as something unreal and intangible, often associated with imagery and the pursuit of pleasure. More specifically, Žižek (1997) describes the common-sense understanding of fantasy as referring to “indulgence in the hallucinatory realization of desires” (p. 13). Yet fantasy emerges in many ways, within various contexts, and in connection to different aspects of human life. Fantasy is a historically and culturally contextualised experience, the understanding of which has changed over time and the performance of which has become intrinsically tied to various other phenomena. Moreover, while often described as the opposite of reality, fantasy has an immensely complex relationship with the idea of reality as well as with the concept of belief, both relationships burdened with fantasy’s stigma of irrationality. In this chapter, I present various perspectives from which – and various phenomena as a part of which – fantasy has been studied in order to build up a theoretical background for the exploration of lived fantasy. I situate fantasy historically and culturally, providing an overview of how fantasy has emerged and is understood in contemporary Western culture.

Historical discourses of fantasy Fantasy takes different forms and is understood in different ways. What’s more, general cultural discourses involving fantasy have developed throughout history. Fine (1983) explains that fantasy’s perception, position, and function in society have changed significantly over the years from something that is an inherent and natural part of our reality to something foreign and in opposition to what we see as real life. Mackay (2001) adds that the change in people’s perception is closely linked to the development of humanity in general, as fantasy is embedded in and closely intertwined with a larger nexus of beliefs and norms of a specific time and place. In order to locate fantasy and better understand its role in the contemporary Western context of consumer culture, it is important to explore how it has developed as a phenomenon. Here, I provide a concise overview of historical discourses on how fantasy has been viewed in society and experienced by individuals. It is important to note that the presented developments do not make up a comprehensive overview. The aim here is rather to provide a basis

Perspectives on fantasy  33 for understanding fantasy in today’s culture through discussing central ways in which fantasy as well as its various connotations and stigma have emerged. I begin by discussing pre-industrial culture. Fantasy is often understood as a post-Enlightenment concept, writes Hume (1984), but the activity also existed in a world before industrialisation, rationalisation of thought, or the division of labour and social roles. According to Turner (1969, 1982, 1985), in pre-industrial society, fantasy and reality were experienced as uncontested, undifferentiated, and coexisting facts. Fantasy was seen as a part of culture and the ‘true’ world, and thus its perception was not different from that of everyday life. Fantasy was normative and instructive, largely consisting of images, experiences, and emotions that were prescribed to people through religion and myths. Turner has described pre-industrial societies as being of a collective nature. Culture and morals were contextual, yet linked to eternal verities, binding and unifying as well as strictly determining and constraining the specific community to which they belonged. The only way to momentarily step out of this rigid system was through making contact with ‘other’ worlds of spirits and gods, which could be reached through highly structured, obligatory rituals that were of a magical and religious nature. Turner explains that the other worlds worked as ‘mirrors’ to society, helping resolve conflicts and deal with everyday life through balancing the ‘as is’ and ‘as if,’ that is, the structure of society and its mirrored anti-structure, with the two forming a continuous social process. Rituals generated myths and symbols, which brought meaning to people and became templates for the maintenance, reaffirmation, yet sometimes also the transformation of society. In a similar vein, Bakhtin (1984) has explained how pre-industrial fantasy took form in carnivals, that is, topsy-turvy alternate worlds based in a particular time and space that worked as an enactment of the boundary of society. Through the carnival, order was never subverted, but rather reaffirmed, because the goal was to teach meaning and the effects of action by suggesting chaotic disorder as an alternative to the established order. Reality and fantasy thus formed a natural, cyclical entity, both being material and spiritual. As Campbell (1987) notes, the divide perceived between reality and fantasy is an extremely recent occurrence; something that continues to be re-interpreted in our culture to date (Zipes 1983; Traill 1996). Saler (2012) describes the critical point for the separation of fantasy and reality as having taken place through industrialisation, which brought about the growth of population, the development of commerce, and the division of labour. Turner (1982) explains that the large-scale, complex, modern communities were unable to sustain general social affirmation, and, as a result, the conventional structures of rituals could no longer be honoured. Doubts and questioning of religious and spiritual beliefs began to occur, resulting in disenchantment. The power of creating meaning and sensations was transferred from the world to the individual. Campbell (1987) and Agnew (1986) provide a perspective on how fantasy developed at this time. They suggest that the experience of fantasy retained a link to the other-worldly and transcendent, yet because of the lack of connection to

34  Perspectives on fantasy religion, the other-worldliness could no longer be believable or survive as a part of ‘realistic’ life. To compensate for the detachment from its guides in the world, fantasy evolved from something prescribed to a community into a self-determined ability to conjure up and control realistic images. This development of fantasy was strongly connected with the rise of self-consciousness, a unique modern ability to become aware of the world’s object-ness and the self’s subject-ness. The ideas of inner and outer realms as well as an individual self became possible. In searching for personal morals and values as part of the newly found selfconsciousness, individuals resorted to experiences of an aesthetic nature, which became the vehicle for fantasy. Campbell (1987) explains that the purpose of aesthetic experiences was to show worldviews, conventions, and behaviours through creating something illusory and ideal. This allowed individuals to discover a depth in themselves previously unknown, Saler (2012) adds. Hume (1984) argues that, here, fantasy became a threat to religion, as it began to present its own morals. Aesthetic fantasy took form in different arts, Agnew (1986) elaborates, with one of the most widespread and popularised forms being theatre. Previously tied to ritual processes, theatre continued to invert and subvert social structure as a communal and public practice. Abercombie and Longhurst (1998) further explain that the interaction taking place in theatre included a clear distinction between performer and spectator. Those who created and observed fantasy were not necessarily one and the same any more; something that was previously unheard of in experiencing fantasy. With industrialisation came a passion for exact scientific measurement, which resulted in a worldview of strictly divided polarities, Jameson (2005) writes. Slater (1997) adds that reality became viewed as an objective, rational, material whole, where reason was a guarantee for meaning. Jameson continues that previously incomprehensible and inseparable principles, such as fantasy and reality, thus came into full existence. The division was initiated by Christianity, which, as I mentioned above, saw aesthetic fantasy as a threat to morals and order. Hume (1984) explains that such ideas were later adopted and developed by the scientific perspective, which saw fantasy as unrealistic and thus irrational. As a result, Agnew (1986) suggests, reality gained an ontological supremacy and a moral high ground over fantasy, because the latter lay beyond the rational scope of reality as something unproductive and expendable. Within Western thought, all irrational ‘flaws’ such as fantasy came to be seen as malfunctions to be hidden away within the individual, Mackay (2001) writes. Consequently, says Saler (2012), fantasy gained its stigma as the domain of ‘inferior groups,’ such as women, children, and the working class. While hidden away as something immoral and unproductive, fantasy continued to flourish, hidden in the mind, as there it could not directly contradict reality. Separated from the now rational and productive domains of work and reality, fantasy found its place in the world of entertainment, leisure, and play. McLuhan (1964) and Agnew (1986) explain that the wide spread of fantasy in this form was made possible through the development of typography and the printing press, as these allowed faster and wider distribution in less time. The public experience

Perspectives on fantasy  35 of fantasy onstage shifted to a private experience of fantasy through the novel. Radway (1991) describes the privatised fantasy of literary fiction, showing that this activity of fantasy retained the ritual function of reinforcing values and showing individuals their place in the world, but also created an experience of individual self-discovery. Kaplan (1986) explains that the autonomous fantasy was a product and a necessity of its time: it was political and empowering, allowing those who previously had no voice to reflect on and even escape their rigid place in society. For instance, romance reading described by Radway was a central tool for women to resist patriarchy. In adopting the written form, fantasy further became more concrete through its materialisation, thus explicitly separating from people’s understanding of reality. Saler (2012) stresses that literary fiction played a central part in the creation of fantasy as we know and experience it today. Interestingly, the book was also the first mass consumer commodity, thus establishing fantasy’s link to consumerism early on. Prejudices and anxieties about fantasy as immoral and functionless still continue today, but wariness towards fantasy has significantly decreased. Saler (2012) provides reasoning for this development. He suggests that fantasy adapted to the logic of reality through embracing rationalism. In practice, fantasy became bound by strict rules, internally consistent structures, and a logical background. Fantasy in this form does not challenge reality, but rather complements and conforms to it by taking on a similar structure and epistemology. Following the work of Tolkien (2001 [1964]), Saler (2012) calls this combination of fantasy with reason ironic imagination. Ironic imagination involves a double consciousness, as people are encouraged to visit a fantasy world and be enchanted by it, but, at the same time, keep a distance and not be deluded by it. This allowed fantasy an acceptable place in the modern world. Saler continues that fantasy became increasingly visible and diffused in everyday life through cultural and technological developments that allowed a wider distribution of economic prosperity, increased the possibilities for and the amount of leisure time, as well as promoted a greater spread of and access to media. As ‘unproductive’ aspects of life became normalised, so did engagement with fantasy. Entertainment and mass media became a part of everyday life, with new photogenic media, such as film and television, emerging and becoming vehicles for fantasy. Illouz (2007) and Auslander (2008) are somewhat wary of these developments, noting that interaction with photogenic media is limited in its focus, as they only produce spectacles to be observed individually. McLuhan (1962) similarly wrote that through photogenic media we have learned to look at media, instead of looking through media at the world, with media thus merely projecting images onto reality. Fantasy became further concretised and separated from reality. The wide spread of fantasy was also aided by the emerging consumer culture, propelled by the same developments as mediatised fantasy. As I described in Chapter 1, culture infused with the logic of consumption is driven by wants and desires. Individual fantasies became the vehicle for consumers to experience their desires by taking images from their memory and environment, rearranging or

36  Perspectives on fantasy improving them in a way that is pleasing, and then projecting these onto consumption products (Campbell 1987). Moreover, with the strict division of ‘serious’ work and ‘playful’ leisure, fantasy became normalised as part of many pastimes, accessible at any time an individual wishes (Williams 1991; Kozinets 2001). Saler (2012) further stresses the central role of various new venues that allow fantasy, such as amusement parks, comic book conventions, the cinema, and, later on, various virtual, online communities. He argues that spatiality is a central aspect of contemporary fantasy that was aided by technological developments and marketing endeavours. Just like the novel before them, these spaces allow individuals to engage with fantasy within specifically marked situations. Fantasy became more strictly delimited and gained spatial characteristics, thus becoming accepted into everyday life as a rationally structured activity, formed around entertainment, leisure, and media. It turned into an individualised consumption process of looking away from reality, guided by its material and spatial separation. This development further reinforced the distinction between fantasy and reality by creating spatial distinction and tying fantasy to escapism. With the emergence of what some call postmodernity, the strict lines previously drawn between fact and fiction became blurred. According to Baudrillard (1995), humanity entered the state of hyperreality, that is, the collapse of reality into signs and representations through cultural fragmentation and multiplication, which no longer link to truths of reality. As Turner (1987) and Schechner (1988) imply, meaning loses its shared aspects, as it is no longer created, but assembled individually (see Figure 1.2, p. 19, Plate 2). In line with this, fantasy also became personally constructed and interpreted. Schechner (2006) continues that the construction of meaning in postmodernity takes place through reassembling bits and pieces of information, which are often borrowed from media. What’s more, these bits of information have become increasingly entertaining and dramatised in order to be interesting enough to engage with in the highly fragmented cultural field. As Minakov (2004, my translation) exemplifies: “Televised coverage of military conflicts, natural and man-made disasters as well as terrorist attacks resemble scenes from another Hollywood blockbuster” (p. 7). The dominant sources of information turned into realistic soap operas, Schechner (1988) continues, while reality was framed as dull and full of discontent. As a result, entertainment became the driver and dominant ideology of culture through giving meaning and content to life (see also Sherry et al. 2001; Jansson 2002; Kozinets et al. 2002). Hence, fantasy, already closely entwined with consumption of entertainment, became abundant. While contemporary culture has become increasingly fragmented, the difference between reality and fantasy has by no means been erased. Fjellman (1992) writes that, within a postmodern world, people can still tell the difference between real and not real, but just do not care about it. Following Hume (1984), once separated and divided, fantasy and reality cannot be reunited, as this would destroy our understanding and articulation of norms of the real world. Auslander (1992, 2008) explains that while there is no longer objective ‘truth’ or ‘reality,’ individuals continue to experience non-real elements in relation to reality, as this structure

Perspectives on fantasy  37 feels authentically lifelike. Similarly, Firat (1991) explains that even though the experience of fantasy and reality become similar, a strong distinction between the two remains on a subjective level. I elaborate on the relationship between reality and fantasy below. To summarise, it becomes apparent that the widespread form and focus of fantasy in its particular cultural and historical setting are connected with the ideas of reality, community, self, and value that govern that particular context. In preindustrial societies, fantasy was a shared, communal, normative practice that was undifferentiated from reality. In an industrialising and globalising world, fantasy became individualised and attached to aesthetic forms. Then, through the spread of reason and rationality, fantasy developed into something that is secondary to reality: irrational, entertaining, and hidden away in individuals’ minds. Later on, fantasy was combined with rational structures of reality and became commodified as well as spatially separated. In a postmodern world, fantasy and reality have seemingly gained equal value yet continue to be differentiated. How is such contemporary fantasy experienced by individuals? This is what I set out to explore.

Fantasy in relation to reality The understanding of the concept of fantasy has developed in close connection to the understanding of the concept of reality.1 From a common-sense perspective, fantasy is typically thought of as opposite to and exclusive of reality, as well as apart from all productive, political, or social concerns. Fantasy is commonly approached by individuals as a physically not existing or even impossible secondary world, while reality is often seen as equal to everyday life – the natural and physical possible world – an understanding that envelops perceptions, senses, and relationships (Tolkien 2001 [1964]; Cohen and Taylor 1976; Traill 1996; Paskow 2004). Moreover, as Burgin, Donald, and Kaplan (1986) add, reality is commonly seen as something external and fantasy as something internal. Yet such perspectives become highly problematic. As Burgin (1986) notes, we build meaning through a complex, mediated set of interdependent systems, which include both material and immaterial aspects. Hence, it is not merely the material world that is real to us, but there is also a reality to our thoughts and immaterial meanings. In parallel, fantasy can be external and material. McAvan (2012) shows that, reflecting the common-sense perspective, research similarly tends to approach fantasy through loosely following the binary of real and unreal. Many researchers have defined fantasy as a contradiction (Irwin 1976) or a violation of reality (Attebery 1980), as I’ve noted earlier. Recent research has also approached fantasy and reality as blurring categories. Baudrillard (1972, 1995) proposes that, following the fragmentation and mediatisation of contemporary culture, there are perceivably no longer any clear-cut concepts of fantasy and reality, as individuals recognise that both are subjectively constructed. The distinction between what is real and what is not vanishes, creating one blurry operational totality of hyperreality. Based on these ideas, consumer culture researchers have argued that individuals no longer see fantasy and reality

38  Perspectives on fantasy as meaningful categories. These two rather blur or blend (e.g., Kozinets 2001; Peñaloza 2001). However, other studies have shown that individuals continue to perceive fantasy and reality as separate entities (Rose and Wood 2005; St. James, Handelman, and Taylor 2011). Based on these ideas, Grayson and Martinec (2004) suggest that hyperreality may only hold true from a detached point of view. Firat (1991, 2001) similarly stresses that the proposed blurring does not mean that people can no longer discern fantasy and reality, as a difference remains in the subjective value of and attitude toward their experiences. Tolkien (2001 [1964]) writes that positing fantasy as indistinguishable from reality would make it lose its sense and its nature. The nature of fantasy requires a certain level of conscious difference from reality; it is by marking it off that we create fantasy. Hence, while fantasy and reality may not be distinguishable from an objective point of view, individuals continue to make subjective, yet very clear distinctions concerning the two on a social and personal level. Moreover, I would add that blurring as a process is predicated on the existence of separate entities, thus actually supporting the idea of the subjective differentiation of fantasy and reality. While differentiated, reality is not necessarily more substantial than fantasy. Goffman (1974) suggests that reality is a term of contrast, not substance. “When we decide something is unreal, the reality it isn’t need not itself be very real,” he explains (p. 560). Žižek (1992) similarly writes that something is real only because we treat it as such, creating an illusion of always having been there and thus upholding social order. We are thus unable to perceive reality as imaginary, because we are born into and brought up within it. Brooke-Rose (1981) further proposes that the idea of a natural reality is a result of the human need to impose significance, a need that is driven in the contemporary world by media and our desires. The experience of something unreal, Žižek (1992) continues, is then the encountering of objects or events that are out of place in this order of things. As Saler (2012) explains, fantasy does not exist in limbo, but connects to what we know and believe to be our reality. Kaplan (1986) elaborates that fantasy is separate from social content, but also always expresses it. Following a similar line of thought, Eco (1973) suggests that fantasy is understood through its connection to shared experience, expectations, and conventions. In other words, to be understood, fantasy requires a coherent framework of the known, as Attebery (1980) explains. Armitt (1996) further writes that the connection between fantasy and reality bears within itself the possibility of transgression of norms. Similarly, Manlove (1975) has proposed that fantasy can imprint onto reality, and Cohen and Taylor (1976) discuss reality investment as part of fantasy performance. Armitt continues that, through this possibility of transgression, fantasy can become a tool to survey time and space, to understand our selves and our world. However, Mackay (2001) and Schechner (2006) note that the playful, irrational stigma of fantasy may often keep this connection to reality at bay, obstructing the ability to extend human awareness. For instance, research has shown fantasy to have the potential to provide motivation and aid in coping with concerns of everyday life

Perspectives on fantasy  39 (Kozinets et al. 2002; St. James, Handelman, and Taylor 2011), yet these experiences often remain limited to specific contexts, such as gaming. In conclusion, reality and fantasy are closely intertwined, with their difference being vague and contextual in contemporary culture. However, as a subjective differentiation remains, understanding their relationship as a part of individuals’ lives continues to be a relevant endeavour. Moreover, many aspects remain unclear. How does fantasy differ from reality experientially? How is the distinction between reality and fantasy made by individuals in practice? Can one ‘imprint onto’ or ‘invest into’ the other? I suggest that if an interplay of the seemingly opposing elements is occurring, we should go beyond the view of fantasy and reality as separate entities which are being blended, blurred, or negotiated, and turn our attention to their relationship as well as its performance in individuals’ lives. This is closely tied to the issue of belief as part of fantasy, which I discuss next.

Belief in fantasy Fantasy in its contemporary understanding has developed into something that is thought of as illogical and unreasonable, separate from the rationality of the ontologically supreme reality. From this perspective, belief, which can roughly be defined as “a pronouncement that something exists in reality” (St. James, Handelman, and Taylor 2011, p. 647), cannot be a part of fantasy experiences. Nevertheless, despite the fact that fantasy has been deemed irrational, people continue to interact with it, have experiences of it, and believe in it. In fact, Wolfe (1982) suggests that belief is a core aspect of fantasy. This can be exemplified by fantasy often being described as an act of make-belief, that is, of making belief (Tolkien 2001 [1964]; Walton 1990). The fields of art, aesthetics, and literature studies have articulated the above concerns through what has been called the ‘paradox of belief in fiction,’ originally put forward by Radford and Weston (1975).2 This paradox addresses the problem of individuals believing in and experiencing emotions for unreal, fictional, makebelieve things, such as art or literature (thus tying into the basis for understanding fantasy). The resolution of the paradox has been highly disputed, creating different streams of thought, which I summarise below. In presenting the paradox, Radford (Radford and Weston 1975) proposed that the answer to it simply lies in the fact that people find any response to fiction to be irrational. In opposing this view, Boruah (1988) argued that responses to fiction cannot be irrational, as they lie outside the normative and evaluative rationality of everyday life. Moreover, as Yanal (1999) as well as Rose and Wood (2005) have shown, fantasy can be consistent, coherent, and logical. Weston (Radford and Weston 1975), also taking part in formulating the paradox, was of a different opinion. He suggested that, when interacting with fiction, individuals do not actually respond to people and elements they perceive to be in the make-believe world. The object of response is rather an analogous actuality that is called to mind through the fiction. Yanal (1999) argued against this,

40  Perspectives on fantasy pointing out that individuals clearly experience a connection to the fictional worlds and characters in themselves. Lamarque (1981) presents another perspective in suggesting that an emotional response to fiction does not require belief at all, but rather becomes a matter of thought and of mental representation. He continues that individuals’ reactions to fantasy are identical to those caused by real-life beliefs, but are sparked off by imagination. Yanal (1999) shares this point of view, but adds that emotional response to fantasy is created through the intense engagement in it. Following Scruton (1974), Walton (1978, 1990) theorises make-believe worlds to generate quasi-belief and quasi-emotions, which are secondary to their real-life counterparts. Yet, Yanal (1999) and Paskow (2004) argue that quasi-belief is not a pretence belief or a half-belief; it is parallel to and undifferentiated from the ‘real’ beliefs of individuals experiencing them. It then becomes unclear how the two differ. Nevertheless, while quasi-belief may not fully explain the emergence of belief in fantasy, it is clear that individuals differentiate belief in fantasy and belief in reality. Working from the above-described propositions, Boruah (1988) suggests that belief in reality and belief in fantasy have different existential commitments. Within fantasy, existential belief is replaced by imagination, breaking the binding tie to materiality and reality. Hence, fantasy is valuable without a link to physical existence or rationality, as it involves a different attitude towards the possible and a different commitment to actuality. Boruah’s take on the paradox is limited by his focus on immaterial fantasy that only elicits passive response. Probably the most famous theory on belief is Coleridge’s (1906 [1817]) idea of suspension of disbelief. While not a direct response to the proposed paradox, the theory is often taken on as a part of its discussion. Coleridge suggested that fantasy contexts do not entail belief, but rather the suspension and inactivation of disbelief. Following his thoughts, Gendler and Kovakovich (2006) propose that individuals’ reactions to make-believe are genuine and rational, but they merely momentarily fail to believe them to be fictional. Fine (1983) similarly describes people choosing to forget certain information when engaging in fantasy experiences. In response to these ideas, Boruah (1988) argues that the suspension of disbelief would result in paralysis of our capabilities of judgement, as we would forget that we are observing fantasy. Weinberg and Meskin (2006) similarly wonder how we can still know about the real world if we take our belief system ‘offline.’ As a possible resolution, Badiou (1990) has suggested that perhaps fantasy does not suspend belief, but rather suspends the everyday state of affairs. Tolkien (2001 [1964]) and Saler (2012) also criticise Coleridge’s suspension of disbelief, suggesting that it is inadequate in describing the deep emotional and intellectual investment that takes place during interaction with fantasy. Tolkien (2001 [1964]) adds that such activity may lead to delusion, in which one cannot tell reality and fantasy apart. Attebery (1980) similarly argues against suspension of disbelief, proposing that belief in fantasy may be a matter of committing oneself to the context. Tolkien (2001 [1964]) further writes that we can simultaneously believe in something and be aware of it as fictional. In his theorisation, reality is the

Perspectives on fantasy  41 Primary World and entails Primary belief, while fantasy is a Secondary World that requires Secondary belief. The latter involves both complete immersion in and an ironic distance from fantasy. Following these ideas, Saler (2012) proposed the idea of ironic imagination, which, as I discussed earlier, combines emotional immersion into fantasy with rational reflection, thus permitting delight without delusion. Paskow (2004) similarly suggests that engaging with fiction functions on two levels of awareness: being within fiction and seeing into the fiction. He continues that we never lose this dual consciousness, because it is this distance that constantly reminds us that fantasy is not reality. Belief can also take on different forms. For instance, according to Schechner (2006), performance that interacts with the non-real can involve either make believe or make belief. He suggests that the former involves careful boundaries of the real and not real, while the latter intentionally blurs them through participants ‘wilfully forgetting.’ McGonigal (2003), however, found Schechner’s approach to be problematic, suggesting that individuals may perform belief rather than actually believe. Overall, there are many perspectives on how belief emerges in interaction with the non-real. Because this research focuses on the subjective experience of fantasy, the objective aspects of belief come to lie beyond the scope of the work. As Walton (1990) points out, maybe it does not really matter whether the objects of or the reactions to fiction are real or not, as we still experience them. In line with this, Carroll (1998) calls for research to explore how the belief differs experientially and subjectively. This is what I set out to do.

Approaches to fantasy Fantasy is a complex phenomenon that has been defined in various ways and explored from different perspectives. Jackson (1981), Jameson (2005), and Illouz (2009) have pointed out that fantasy may be difficult to give value to, as it is often confused with other concepts. In this section, I discuss the central approaches and concepts, through which fantasy has been defined and studied,3 elaborating on many elements mentioned in the above historical overview. Imagination Definitions of fantasy often connect it in some way to imagination, sometimes even using the two interchangeably. For instance, fantasy has been presented as an expression (Martin 2004), an evocation (Illouz 2009), an exercise, activity, and originator (Mackay 2001), as well as the extension and discussion of imagination (Fine 1983). Tolkien (2001 [1964]) has described imagination as the process of conceiving something not directly experienced. It is elusive and lies outside our symbolic order, Campbell (1987) adds. Coleridge (1906 [1817]) was probably the first to develop the distinction between imagination and fantasy (or fancy as he called it), proposing that fantasy echoes imagination and makes the latter understandable to us through its use

42  Perspectives on fantasy of fixed and determined concepts. Wolfe (1982) explains that individuals are in control of fantasy, but not imagination, to which the former leads. In a similar vein, Tolkien (2001 [1964]) suggests that fantasy works as an operative link to imagination, expressing that which does not, or does not yet, exist in what we experience as reality. Following Tolkien’s work, Armitt (1996) describes fantasy as the secondary elaboration of imagination. In parallel, Jackson (1981) suggests that fantasy is found between reality and imagination, and Cohen and Taylor (1976) propose fantasy to project imagination into an activity. In summary, fantasy could be described as connecting the unknown and the inexistent of imagination to reality. Other worlds Fantasy is also often defined as existing in or creating other worlds. In line with this, James (2012) suggests that fantasy is a sub-creation that is not real, but has the consistency of reality. He explains that this development originated from and was normalised by Tolkien’s fantasy novel Lord of the Rings, spreading into other forms and media. Tolkien (2001 [1964]) put great emphasis on other worlds in his understanding of fantasy, defining the latter as “the making or glimpsing of Other-worlds” (p. 41). Similarly, Manlove (1975) and Attebery (1980) describe fantasy as involving the creation of supernatural or impossible worlds. In consumer culture studies, fantasy is also often presented as the creation of new worlds, into which consumers can escape and in which they can find the freedom to go beyond what they know and believe (Belk and Costa 1998; Sherry et al. 2001; Kozinets et al. 2002; Martin 2004). These become places of refuge, separate from the real world. The acceptance of separate fantasy worlds was a central aspect of the rationalisation of fantasy described by Saler (2012). Other worlds reflect rational reality through cohesive rules and structures, empirical detail, and a logical background, supported by various documentation, such as maps and glossaries. Saler adds that such rationalised fantasy is very different from the previously epistemologically ambiguous fantasy, which tended to focus on travelling into fantasy, rather than the contemporary focus on fantasy worlds themselves. Utopia Bould and Vint (2012) suggest that building other worlds through fantasy allows individuals to see their reality anew, with the process tending toward a utopian impulse. In this light, fantasy is often connected to the idea of Utopia, which is commonly understood as an imagined place that is perfect (Noble 2009). This would imply that fantasy represents something flawless and ideal. Consumer research similarly tends to link fantasy to Utopia, describing the latter as an ideal or a space that consumers can engage with and travel to through fantasy activities (Kozinets 2001; Rose and Wood 2005).

Perspectives on fantasy  43 Dolan (2005) argues that Utopia has become imbued with too much positive meaning. Utopia literally means ‘no place’: it both is and is not a place, infinite and inevitable in its disappearance. Tolkien (2001 [1964]) and Jameson (2005) stress that fantasy could never become Utopia or exist within it, because Utopia is perfect and thus cannot be reached, expressed, or perceived. Kaplan (1986) agrees that fantasy does not exist in or even need Utopia. However, she suggests that Utopia cannot exist without fantasy. Such dependence has possibly served as the basis for the strongly perceived interdependence of the two concepts. Moreover, this once again connects fantasy to the process of reaching for the inexistent. Fantasy and Utopia are also incompatible in their performance. While the former tends to emerge concretely, Utopia, as Noble (2009) suggests, is shattered if located in something tangible. Bammer (1991) explains that a conceived Utopia incapacitates itself and neutralises its power to create hope or will for change, as it can no longer be ideal. In line with these ideas, Maclaran and Brown (2005) have proposed that Utopia is no longer possible in the contemporary world because it is compromised by consumer culture and commercialism that aim to materialise Utopia. Following a similar line of thought, Kozinets (2002) proposes that Utopia is no longer possible as a grand social vision, and emerges only as a small-scale, individual, and personally enriching ‘youtopia’ that takes form in daydreams, fairy stories, art, film, theatre, and television. Nostalgia Another concept that often arises in relation to fantasy is nostalgia (see Figure 1.1, p. 18, Plate 1). Armitt (1996) and Cramer (2010) propose that, at the core of all fantasy, there is a desperate need to return to origins, even though this return may no longer be possible. Originally conceptualised as a spatial phenomenon of longing for one’s home in far-away places, the experience of nostalgia developed into a temporal ambivalence that values and longs for the past (Jameson 1991; Higson 2014). Following Jameson (1991), contemporary nostalgia loses both its temporal and spatial aspects. Building on this idea, Eco (1973) and Armitt (1996) suggest that the result is a fantasy experience involving a dialogue with a past that has never existed. Higson (2014) proposes that the atemporal and aspatial nostalgia becomes attainable through consumption, and especially through popular culture and fantasy experiences within consumption. What nostalgia aims to return to never existed, but it can be constructed through fantasy. Imagery Fantasy is commonly associated with imagery, which links back to fantasy becoming hidden in the mind of an individual. Campbell (1987), for instance, describes fantasy as imagery unconstrained by reality, which is allowed to develop because of the pleasure that it yields. In line with this, consumer research generally approaches fantasy as a visual, image-based phenomenon (Grayson and Martinec 2004; Martin 2004; Rose and Wood 2005).

44  Perspectives on fantasy Aesthetics Fantasy has been linked to aesthetics, with the forms of the latter intersecting media, genre, and purpose. As I noted in the historical overview, aesthetics has also been an important vehicle for fantasy. Tolkien (2001 [1964]) points out that both fantasy and aesthetics serve as operative links to imagination, creating a world of inner consistency and expressing that, which exists outside what we conceive of as reality. Following this, Traill (1996) suggests that fantasy could be approached as an aesthetic category. Aesthetics and fantasy are both inherently tied to the same phenomena. For example, McLuhan (1964) and Schechner (2006) note that both tap into play and art in similar ways. Holbrook (1980) discusses fantasy and aesthetics as both connected to media and entertainment. Fantasy has further been discussed in connection with mimesis, that is, imitative representation. Turner (1987) and Schechner (1988) suggest that both fantasy and aesthetics consist of processes of reflecting on and mirroring everyday life. In contrast, Hume (1984) argues that mimesis and fantasy are complete opposites, as the former aims to copy reality, while the latter clearly moves away from it. Attebery (1992) agrees that the concepts are different, but suggests they are complementary. Desire Fantasy is widely discussed in psychology literature, with psychoanalysis taking an especial interest in fantasy (sometimes with the spelling phantasy). Laplanche and Pontalis (1973) define fantasy from the point of view of psychoanalysis as an “imaginary scene in which the subject is a protagonist, representing the fulfilment of a wish in a manner that is distorted to a greater or lesser extent by defensive processes” (p. 314). Following Freud (1955; Breuer and Freud 2000), fantasy is focused on imagining or picturing the self as realising and satisfying desire, either known or unknown to the subject. Laplanche and Pontalis further explain that there are three types of fantasy: original/primal, secondary unconscious, and conscious. However, as Kaplan (1986) notes, primal fantasy has been largely displaced by contemporary research because of its structuralist and colonialist nature. Laing (1961) postulates that fantasy is the content of unconscious mental processes that represent actual aims and desires, which are directed toward objects. Psychoanalytic fantasy can then be seen as caught between the conscious and unconscious, the objective and subjective, the internal and external. In line with this, Jackson (1981) has described fantasy as existing in the “hinterland between ‘real’ and ‘imaginary’, shifting the relations between them through its indeterminacy” (p. 35). In reaction to the above ideas, Hume (1984) and Armitt (1996) argue that fantasy is not merely pleasure giving and personal, but emerges as the repressed tensions, anxieties, as well as unconscious fears and desires of a cultural continuity of a specific context.

Perspectives on fantasy  45 Commenting on the psychoanalytic approach, Žižek (1989) has noted that defining fantasy as “an imagined scenario representing the realization of desire” (p. 118) is misleading, because it makes no mention of where the object of desire is derived from. For early psychoanalysis, the point of departure was primal or instinctual, but, as noted, much of contemporary research has dismissed this idea. Consequently, Žižek (1989, 1992, 1997) proposes that, in addition to being a scene for and satisfaction of desire, fantasy is also its staging and constitution. Fantasy creates objects of desire and teaches us how to desire, thus supporting the symbolic order of our society. Jackson (1981) similarly theorises that fantasy is perhaps the desire toward something that is absent. She continues that fantasy can both tell of and expel desire. While there are many approaches to the relationship between desire and fantasy (not all being psychoanalytic), it is clear that fantasy has come to play a key role in our economy and society through creating and driving conscious and unconscious desires (following Žižek 1989; McAvan 2012). Fantasy is thus essential to contemporary consumer culture, as it aids in generating, understanding, articulating, and pursuing individual and communal wants. Dreaming Psychoanalysis has also equated fantasy with dreaming through their shared process of immersion in the impossible as if it were real (Freud 1955). As a reaction to Freud, Klinger (1971) explains that dreaming and fantasy may be functionally similar, but differ experientially, with the latter being conscious, under the individual’s direct control, and exceeding mere mental activity. Armitt (1996) adds that dreams are always partially beyond conscious cognition, becoming a static screen for an individual to observe. Fantasy, while capable of completely capturing us, is never mistaken for reality, as it is an interactive process of production subject to will, elaboration, and revision. Tolkien (2001 [1964]) was adamant that losing this reflexive aspect would spin fantasy out of control, causing it to collapse and become delusional. Walton (1990) has a more positive outlook on dreaming, proposing it to be fantasy without props from our real world. However, Paskow (2004) stresses that it is exactly without such aids that we lose sight of fantasy, as we are no longer able to reflect on it. Hence, dreaming and fantasy can be seen as experientially different. Play Fantasy is often described as playful and connected with the process of play (Belk and Costa 1998; Maclaran and Brown 2005). Klinger (1971) even argued that play and fantasy originate as the same process, becoming distinguished only in adulthood. The two are also closely connected in how they are approached in contemporary culture. Both are seen as unproductive, inconsequential, and in opposition to work (Turner 1982; Irwin 1976). Both involve entering another world, suspending disbelief, and indulging in something pleasurable and leisurely (Piaget 1962; Huizinga 1949; Schechner 1993).

46  Perspectives on fantasy Most importantly from the point of view of studying fantasy is that play interacts with something that is not reality, as Schechner (1993) notes. Huizinga (1949) explains that play is temporally and spatially distinct from real life, extending into imagination and involving the awareness of make-believe. However, Fine (1983) stresses that although play makes use of fantasy, it is not equal to it. Play could thus be seen as a central form of performing fantasy. Gaming Connected to play, another important context for fantasy has been gaming, both digital and bricks-and-mortar. Piaget (1962) explains that a game is the tangible model for play, which is structured, contrived, and controlled. Games organise play and allow it to be shared among individuals (Goffman 1974; Schechner 2006; Montola, Stenros, and Waern 2009). From the perspective of exploring fantasy, the most important aspect of games is that they involve collective make-believe (McGonigal 2003). For instance, in the context of tabletop role-playing games, Martin (2004) describes play as involving a shared visualisation of a fantasy world. Hendricks (2006) explains that this allows for the shared belief and understanding, on which a game is based, to emerge. He continues that individuals extend themselves into the game, thus constantly restructuring and repositioning performance, as well as blending reality and fantasy. Based on Goffman’s (1974) frame analysis, Fine (1983) conceptualised the effort of juggling various realities in the context of role-playing games. He presents this as the three levels of consciousness: 1) the primary framework, that is, the perceived real world, 2) the game context, that is, the context of the rules, conventions, and constraints that govern players’ actions in the game, and 3) the fantasy context, that is, the fictive reality created by the medium in question. According to Fine (1983), each level involves its own self or role, with each role blocking and ignoring knowledge and awareness of the other roles. Fine’s study substantially extended understanding of how individuals juggle social frames and roles, becoming a seminal work for game studies. However, as I will show in detail later on, Fine leaves a few loose ends in terms of how structuring and performance of fantasy frames take place as well as what effects such interaction has on individuals. Another approach to understanding the separation of reality and fantasy in games is based on Huizinga’s (1949) work. Various gaming research (Salen and Zimmerman 2004; Montola, Stenros, and Waern 2009) has proposed that games operate within a magic circle, that is, a ritualistic and conceptual boundary between reality and the fantasy of the game, each having its own rules and norms. Using this socially constructed entity with temporal and spatial borders, players are able to interpret what is real and what is play. Copier (2005) and Waskul (2006), among others, criticise the idea of the magic circle for its rigidness and strict division of the real and the fantastic that seem to close each other off. Moreover, researchers have proposed that contemporary fragmented culture blurs

Perspectives on fantasy  47 the boundary of the magic circle. For instance, McGonigal (2003) and Montola (2005) describe pervasive gaming, that is, games that incorporate aspects of and expand into real life, thus augmenting and fabricating reality. Literature Fantasy has been thoroughly studied in the context of literature, resulting in numerous definitions and approaches. Following Saler (2012), the novel was a central cultural and technological development that allowed for fantasy, as we understand it today, to emerge. Hence, literature continues to be an important context for the study of the phenomenon, even as contemporary fantasy goes far beyond textual form (Todorov 1970; Attebery 1980). Literature studies have explored various aspects of fantasy, such as thematic analysis and narrative structure of fantasy, going heavily into detail about the features of the genre. For instance, Mendlesohn (2008) explored how authors of fantasy construct fantasy worlds. I want to stress that the aim of this book is not to explore the creation or the particularities of fantasy as a literary genre, and hence much research in literature lies outside the scope of this work. Literature studies have provided various perspectives on how individuals engage with and understand fantasy. For instance, Irwin (1976) presents fantasy as the establishment and development of an impossibility. Manlove (1975) describes fantasy as wonder through engagement in the supernatural and the impossible. Attebery (1980) writes that fantasy involves the violation of natural law, but also treating this violation as if it were true via reconciling our intellectual understanding of it. Many have approached fantasy as a more fluid concept that emerges in many forms. Attebery (1992) suggests that fantasy should be approached as a ‘fuzzy set,’ that is, an inclusive set of various definitions. Similarly, Armitt (1996) proposes that fantasy has no absolute meaning, but is contextually defined. She further notes that fantasy involves a duality as well as a boundary that is being pulled in two directions, one being escapist entertainment and the other rationalised psychoanalytic fantasy. Tolkien (2001 [1964]), whose work I already discussed in connection to imagination and other worlds, presents interaction with fantasy worlds to lead to various outcomes, namely, escape, consolation (re-enchantment of one’s perspectives on reality), or recovery (estrangement from and transformation of perceptions of reality). Todorov (1970) describes fantasy as hesitation in confronting something supernatural that is in contrast with reality. He further conceptualises fantasy as a continuum ranging between the marvellous and the uncanny, a theory later developed by Jackson (1981). Following Todorov’s (1970) and Jackson’s (1981) work, the marvellous can be described as supernatural, magical, and unconnected to reality, but, nevertheless, accepted and believed in by its viewers. The uncanny is alienation from reality that disorients individuals and is dependent on explicable natural elements. The fantastic, used here interchangeably with fantasy, can be found between the marvellous and the uncanny, borrowing and

48  Perspectives on fantasy juggling elements of both. Jackson developed Todorov’s work because she felt that the latter was only concerned with the structural effect of fantasy, disregarding its deep connection to cultural issues. Jackson explains that fantasy is “preoccupied with unconscious desire and to relate this desire to cultural order” (p. 63), which can either reconfirm or counter culture. Similarly, Zipes (1983) links fantasy to political and societal consciousness. Lastly, Hume (1984) argues that fantasy should be seen as an inclusive and flexible phenomenon, the different manifestations of which overlap and interact. Hume approaches fantasy as a human activity of constructing that which departs from the consensus of reality. She further proposes that the diverse and even contradicting definitions of fantasy can be connected to construct four basic forms of fantasy: illusion, vision, revision, and disillusion. Illusion takes form in amusing and pleasing fantasy worlds, into which individuals can escape. The temporary relief from reality involves passive acceptance that disengages from and reaffirms the order of everyday life. Vision also comforts, but simultaneously engages people through comparing multiple perspectives, that is, the real world and the illusory fantasy world. This challenges one’s sense of reality, allowing observation of self and the world from a new perspective. In revision, vision’s familiar and comforting forms are exchanged for defamiliarised states and a focus on the context of reality, which the form questions, calling individuals to action. Lastly, disillusion completely rejects illusion and liberates individuals from it by exaggerating, skewing, and/or destroying it. The effect is a disengagement that does not try to present a different world in the way illusion or vision would, but rather questions and changes our own reality through calling to attention its limitations. The most important difference between disillusion and revision is that disillusion moves beyond actuality by establishing, embodying, and constructing new possibilities outside perceived reality. Media Throughout its historical development, fantasy has been heavily linked to media (Kozinets 2001; Green, Brock, and Kaufman 2004). Originally materialised in print media, fantasy became intertwined with various mass media and especially photogenic media as well as the popular culture and the consumption of entertainment that developed through these. In line with this, consumer research often refers to fantasy as make-believe worlds articulated through mass media stories set outside everyday reality (Kozinets 2001; Martin 2004). Saler (2012) explains that technological developments in media have allowed the wide spread of fantasy. Casey (2012) agrees, yet notes that media have also come to structure fantasy as more realistic and thus harder to differentiate from reality. In their concreteness, media help create other worlds of fantasy, thus supporting individuals in understanding and engaging in them. Green and Brock (2000) suggest that interacting with fantasy worlds of media involves narrative transportation, a mental process that involves “an integrative melding of attention, imagery, and feelings” (p. 701). They continue that this process suspends reality

Perspectives on fantasy  49 and cuts off access to the real world. In further studies (Green 2004; Green, Brock and Kaufman 2004), they describe narrative transportation as a state similar to flow (Csikszentmihalyi 1990), the enjoyment of which stems from empathy and the narrative world’s personal safety (Green, Brock, and Kaufman 2004). In addition to being a vehicle for fantasy, media have also provided the content for fantasy through popular culture and geek culture. Mackay (2001) proposes that contemporary fantasy exists within Imaginary-Entertainment Environments, which are fictional settings based on the combination and recombination of various media, such as novels, films, and television series, as well as fictive blocks found within these, which include brands, characters, plotlines, or even entire worlds. Elements of the various media are disconnected from and stripped of their original contexts, which creates environments that are individually specific, yet generic, familiar, logical, and comprehensible among people. The result is something that people do not believe to be true, but that makes sense to them. In line with this, Fine (1983) and Bammer (1991) explain that media allow fantasy to be better articulated and spread among people through creating a shared frame of reference and providing instantly recognisable themes. However, Auslander (1992) worries that the intertwined nature of media and culture has caused fantasy and entertainment to collapse into one another with their critical difference becoming impossible. Walton (1990) agrees that media and especially entertainment media play an important role in allowing individuals to interact with fantasy. He explains that people often base fantasy on media elements or use them as props in some manner, as this helps structure unregulated and free imagination. However, fantasy does not need to be based on or ‘authorized,’ as Walton (1990) puts it, by media. The process exceeds and can occur outside entertainment media. Fantasy landscapes Fantasy has become an especially important element in the organisation of space, which has also become increasingly dependent on consumption (Agnew 1986; Zukin 1991). Saler (2012) stresses that spatiality is a central characteristic of contemporary fantasy that exists in specifically marked physical places. This development is heavily tied to the rationalisation of fantasy and its clear differentiation from reality. In her study of landscapes, Zukin (1991) proposed that a central form of organising space and creating place in contemporary Western culture is fantasy landscapes. Such places are most noticeable in large, public places, such as shopping centres or theme parks, but can also be a part of urban housing or city centre public architecture. She further points out that “building theme parks, theme towns, and other artificial complexes is now a favoured strategy of economic renewal” (p. 266). Consumer culture research has similarly explored various consumption contexts that incorporate fantasy, such as serviscapes, theme parks, and heritage sites (Belk and Costa 1998; Kozinets et al. 2002; Chronis, Arnould, and Hampton 2013). Fantasy-related aspects of these spaces are usually

50  Perspectives on fantasy connected to the possibility to escape from (Sherry et al. 2001; Kozinets et al. 2002) or momentarily evade reality (Kozinets 2002) through the creation of a separate space and time that detaches from everyday life, allowing renewal, play, and a sense of community. Kozinets et al. (2002) have proposed that a fantasy space creates heterotopia, that is, “a place that is capable of juxtaposing in a single real place several spaces, several sites that are in themselves incompatible” (Foucault 1986, p. 25). Foucault (1986) explains that heterotopia is a real place of enacted Utopia; it is outside any real place, as Utopia is a site with no place or relation to reality, but, at the same time, its location can be indicated. Heterotopia thus juxtaposes multiple spaces in one. Following these ideas, Kozinets et al. (2002), describe individuals experiencing the sensation of being elsewhere than and distant from reality when interacting with fantasy spaces. However, it is important to note that Foucault (1986) described heterotopia not as escapism into a space, but as multiple spaces, which mirror one another. Zukin (1991) argues that contemporary fantasy spaces cannot be instances of heterotopia, as they do not juxtapose several sites as totalities nor do they aim at enacting Utopia. These spaces rather present individuals with a set of signs and meanings that can be interpreted in a way that diverges from reality. Objects Material elements are an important part of fantasy spaces and settings. Research has shown that objects can be imbued with fantasy characteristics to create fantasy identities (Rook and Levy 1983; Schouten 1991), as well as to construct ideals, goals, and meaning (Fernandez and Lastovicka 2011; St. James, Handelman, and Taylor 2011). Such processes aid self-transformation by allowing people to temporarily become someone else and to test out different selves. As Fernandez and Lastovicka (2011), Jenkins, Nixon, and Molesworth (2011), as well as Chronis, Arnould, and Hampton (2013) note, the way in which meaning is incorporated into objects has been thoroughly studied, yet the incorporation of the material world into fantasy experience is still largely unexplored.

Fantasy as lived bodily experience It becomes evident that fantasy is a complex phenomenon, the understanding of which has deep historical and cultural rooting within the contemporary Western context. The phenomenon is made even more intricate by a complex relationship with the concepts of reality and belief. Fantasy has been studied from various perspectives and in various disciplines, resulting in a seeming cacophony of definitions and perspectives. However, as James and Mendlesohn (2012) argue, fantasy is a multifaceted phenomenon and we should thus approach it from multiple perspectives and by incorporating its various aspects. In my review of literature, I have shown how the various perspectives are interconnected and end up informing one another. Following this, I take

Perspectives on fantasy  51 on an inclusive understanding of fantasy, using the rich profusion of literature on the subject as a background for my work. In taking on this wide background, I specifically focus on fantasy as a lived, bodily phenomenon. As I noted in Chapter 1, empirical and interactional understanding of fantasy is still lacking, with most previous work being largely theoretical, as well as focusing on fantasy as an individualistic phenomenon of the mind. The importance of lived fantasy performance has nevertheless become clear through fantasy’s strong link to normative and cultural structures, its situatedness in context and space, as well as its connection to materiality and the body. I explore lived performance of fantasy through the context of LARP, using the methodological approach of performance theory, which I discuss next.

Notes 1 It is relevant to note that, in discussing the relationship between reality and fantasy, I am focusing on their subjective experience as defined by individuals, rather than entering any metaphysical or ontological discussion. 2 The paradox of belief is based on three points: 1) people experience emotions towards things they take to be fictions; 2) emotion is experienced only if the object of emotion is believed to exist and exhibit emotion-inducing properties; 3) people do not believe that fiction exists or exhibits emotion-inducing properties. 3 In conducting the literature review, I have used some terms interchangeably, namely make-believe and fancy as interchangeable with fantasy. In some cases, especially in older texts, fancy has been used to mean fantasy, as historically the two share the same root and meaning (Oxford Dictionary). Following the work of Walton (1990), Martin (2004) and Kozinets (2001), I also use the terms make-believe and fantasy interchangeably.

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54  Perspectives on fantasy Jameson, Fredric (1991), Postmodernism, or, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism, Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Jameson, Fredric (2005), Archaeologies of the Future: The Desire Called Utopia and Other Fictions, London, UK: Verso. Jansson, André (2002), “The Mediatization of Consumption: Towards an Analytical Framework of Image Culture,” Journal of Consumer Culture, Vol. 2, No. 1, pp. 5–31. Jenkins, Rebecca, Elizabeth Nixon, and Mike Molesworth (2011), “‘Just Normal and Homely’: The Presence, Absence and Othering of Consumer Culture in Everyday Imagining,” Journal of Consumer Culture, Vol. 11, No. 2, pp. 261–281. Kaplan, Cora (1986), “The Thorn Birds: Fiction, Fantasy, Femininity,” in Victor Burgin, James Donald, and Cora Kaplan, eds, Formations of Fantasy, London, UK: Routledge, pp. 142–166. Klinger, Eric (1971), Structure and Functions of Fantasy, New York, NY: WileyInterscience. Kozinets, Robert V. (2001), “Utopian Enterprise: Articulating the Meanings of Star Trek’s Culture of Consumption,” Journal of Consumer Research, Vol. 28, No. 1, pp. 67–87. Kozinets, Robert V. (2002), “Can Consumers Escape the Market? Emancipatory Illuminations from Burning Man,” Journal of Consumer Research, Vol. 29, No. 1, pp. 20–38. Kozinets, Robert V., John F. Sherry, Benet DeBerry-Spence, Adam Duhachek, Krittinee Nuttavuthisit, and Diana Storm (2002), “Themed Flagship Brand Stores in the New Millennium: Theory, Practice, Prospects,” Journal of Retailing, Vol. 78, pp. 17–29. Laing, Ronald D. (1961), Self and Others, New York, NY: Routledge. Lamarque, Peter (1981), “How Can We Fear and Pity Fictions?” British Journal of Aesthetics, Vol. 21, No. 4, pp. 291–304. Laplanche, Jean, and Jean-Bertrand Pontalis (1973), The Language of Psycho-Analysis, translated by Donald Nicholson-Smith, Oxford, UK: W. W. Norton. Mackay, Daniel (2001), The Fantasy Role-Playing Game: A New Performing Art, Jefferson, NC: McFarland. Maclaran, Pauline, and Stephen Brown (2005), “The Center Cannot Hold: Consuming the Utopian Marketplace,” Journal of Consumer Research, Vol. 32. No. 2, pp. 311–323. Manlove, Colin N. (1975), Modern Fantasy: Five Studies, Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Martin, Brett A. S. (2004), “Using the Imagination: Consumer Evoking and Thematizing of the Fantastic Imaginary,” Journal of Consumer Research, Vol. 31, No. 1, pp. 136–149. McAvan, Emily (2012), The Postmodern Sacred: Popular Culture Spirituality in the Science Fiction, Fantasy and Urban Fantasy Genres, London, UK: McFarland. McGonigal, Jane (2003), “A Real Little Game: The Performance of Belief in Pervasive Play,” Proceedings of DiGRA 2003, Tampere, Finland: Digital Games Research Association. McLuhan, Marshall, (1962), The Gutenberg Galaxy, New York, NY: Signet. McLuhan, Marshall (1964), Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man, Boston, MA: MIT Press. Mendlesohn, Farah (2008), Rhetorics of Fantasy, Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Minakov, Igor (2004), “Драма жИзнИ, ИлИ Сумбурные запИскИ о драматИческом” [“Drama zhizni, ili Sumburnye zapiski o dramaticheskom”], in Eric Bentley, ed. (2004), Жизнь драмы [Jizn’ dramy], translated by V. Voronina, Moscow, Russia: Iris Press, pp. 5–21.

Perspectives on fantasy  55 Montola, Markus (2005), “Exploring the Edge of the Magic Circle: Defining Pervasive Games,” in DAC 2005: Proceedings of the Digital Arts and Culture 2005 Conference. Copenhagen, Denmark: IT University of Copenhagen. Montola, Markus, Jaakko Stenros, and Annika Waern (2009), Pervasive Games Theory and Design: Experiences on the Boundary between Life and Play, San Francisco, CA: Morgan Kaufmann. Noble, Richard (2009), Documents of Contemporary Art: Utopias, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Oxford Dictionary, in Oxford Dictionaries Online, http://oxforddictionaries.com, accessed 13 January 2013. Paskow, Alan (2004), The Paradoxes of Art: A Phenomenological Investigation, Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Peñaloza, Lisa (2001), “Consuming the American West: Animating Cultural Meaning and Memory at a Stock Show and Rodeo,” Journal of Consumer Research, Vol. 28, No. 3, pp. 369–398. Piaget, Jean (1962), Play, Dreams and Imitation in Childhood, New York, NY: W.W. Norton. Radford, Colin, and Michael Weston (1975), “How Can We Be Moved by the Fate of Anna Karenina?” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society: Supplementary Volumes, Vol. 49, pp. 67–93. Radway, Janice A. (1991), Reading the Romance: Women, Patriarchy, and Popular Literature, Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Rook, Dennis W., and Sidney J. Levy (1983), “Psychosocial Themes in Consumer Grooming Rituals,” Advances in Consumer Research, Vol. 10, pp. 329–333. Rose, Randall L., and Stacy L. Wood (2005), “Paradox and Consumption of Authenticity through Reality TV,” Journal of Consumer Research, Vol. 32, No. 1, pp. 284–296. Salen, Katie, and Eric Zimmerman (2004), Rules of Play: Game Design Fundamentals, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Saler, Michael (2012), As If: Modern Enchantment and the Literary Prehistory of Virtual Reality, Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Schechner, Richard (1988 [1977]), Performance Theory, second edition of Essays on Performance Theory, New York, NY: Routledge. Schechner, Richard (1993), The Future of Ritual: Writings on Culture and Performance, New York, NY: Routledge. Schechner, Richard (2006), Performance Studies: An Introduction, Abingdon, UK: Routledge. Schouten, John W. (1991), “Selves in Transition: Symbolic Consumption in Personal Rites of Passage and Identity Reconstruction,” Journal of Consumer Research, Vol. 17, No. 4, pp. 412–425. Scruton, Roger (1971), “Attitudes, Beliefs and Reasons,” in John Casey, ed., Morality and Moral Reasoning, London, UK: Methuen, pp. 25–100. Sherry, John F., Jr., Diana Storm, Adam Duhachek, Krittinee Nuttavuthisit, and Benét DeBerry-Spence (2001), “Being in the Zone: Staging Retail Theater at ESPN Zone Chicago,” Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, Vol. 30, No. 4, pp. 465–510. Slater, Don (1997), Consumer Culture and Modernity, Cambridge, UK: Polity Press. St. James, Yannik, Jay M. Handelman, and Shirley F. Taylor (2011), “Magical Thinking and Consumer Coping,” Journal of Consumer Research, Vol. 38, No. 4, pp. 632–649. Todorov, Tzvetan (1970), The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

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3 Performance

Following the work of Schechner (2006), this research takes on performance as a methodological approach.1 The approach stems from social sciences and the arts, forming an ontology and epistemology based in experience, participation, and interaction. As McKenzie (2001) suggests, at the heart of the approach is engagement with social norms and an aim to understand how these work via the study of behaviour, its performance, and its performers. Performance theory does not explore whether things are repeated (as, according to the approach, they always are), but rather how things are repeated. The focus is thus on the doing and the lived experience from an active and reflexive perspective (Pelias and VanOosting 1987; Bode 2010). Carlson (2003) stresses that while movement and action are emphasised in performance theory, the individual and their subjective experience remain central concerns. The approach therefore fits well for exploring the subjective, bodily, and lived experience of fantasy, as it allows studying human behaviour with a focus on embodied enactments and embodied understanding, stressing action, process, and movement. In this chapter, I delve into performance theory as it is used in this research, presenting the three levels of abstraction of performance (self, interaction, social structure), discussing the two main types of performance (social and aesthetic performance) and their relationship, as well as exploring the aesthetic performance of theatre. This sets up a basis on which the following chapters build.

Engaging with performance Following performance theory, all human action and interaction is approached as performance, which Goffman (1959) originally defined as “pre-established patterns of action” (p. 26). Building on this idea, Schechner (2006) conceptualises performance as restored behaviour, which consists of “recombining bits of previously behaved behaviours” (p. 35). He continues that performance emerges as repetition of elements, which have become independent of the context that brought them into existence. Hence, the repetition is never exact (even though it may appear so), as performance is ever-changing and reflective of its context.

58 Performance Carlson (2003) explains that performance is neither the behaviour itself nor the cultural rules and norms that guide it, rather emerging as the reflection and negotiation between the two. In other words, performance can be described as the tension between actual doing and the existing blueprint for that doing (Schechner 2006). Schechner (1988, 2006; see also Turner 1987) adds that performance exists in relation to its past and future occurrences, with understanding of performance emerging only in the context of its repetition. More specifically, our understanding of performance is based on memory of the past, which is, in turn, determined and driven forward by goals that point to the future. Performance is thus never completed or finished. At the same time, we can only understand performance through its disappearance, as we only perceive it to exist once it is gone. Yet, when performance is performed, it is no longer a performance, but a blueprint to be restored and recombined. Performance is thus ephemeral in its nature, never fully grasped or delimited. Following Butler (1990, 1993), the repetition of performance creates symbolic and reflexive meaning through arranging and rearranging familiar strips of performance into a seeming continuity. The repetitions accumulate authority over time through prior practices and actions that they echo, creating an experience of realness, which is used as a standard to judge any performance. As I described in Chapter 1, this meaning and authority of performance constitutes performativity. Each performance emerges as an event in specific space and time, defined by what Goffman (1974) called spatial and temporal brackets, which are formed by the repetition and normalisation of performance. Schechner (1982, 1988) explains that the time of a performance is contextually configured in terms of duration and recurrence, resulting in the temporal flow of performance. Auslander (2008) further suggests that temporality has become a central characteristic of performance within contemporary culture, because the context is imbued with mediatised and recorded elements that are strictly temporally defined. While time structures performance, spatiality anchors it, Dolan (2005) notes. From the point of view of performance theory, space has no reality without the performance deployed in it, and thus emerges as an effect and negation of performances that transpire in it (McAuley 2000). However, Butler (2004) suggests that performance and its performers presuppose space, which is an illusion that is based on the seemingly natural essence of space and the repetition of its performance. Space nevertheless ensures cohesion and continuity of performance by enforcing the repetition of structures and relations. Butler (1990, 1993) continues that materiality has become a sign of irreducibility that is used to ground and verify our context and our selves. She explains that our common-sense understanding of the world follows the logic of a preexisting reality bound in materiality, as this allows for coherence. Yet, matter is not a site or a surface, but a “process of materialisation that stabilises over time to produce the effect of boundary, fixity, and surface,” Butler (1993, p. 9) stresses. Materiality is multiple and negotiated, but, through its contextual reiteration, results in the appearance of substance and temporality. Consequently, materiality allots reality to performance, conditioning the presence and actions of individuals.

Performance  59 Following Goffman (1959), performance further emerges on three levels of abstraction: the self, interaction, and social structure. Schechner (2006) stresses that the performer, the context, and the performance are separate, yet cannot exist without each other, as they bring one another into existence. The three are inseparable, existing in a closely intertwined dialogical and dialectical relationship that forms the basis for performance by creating an understanding of what is out there, how it presents itself to our consciousness, and how one’s self is established within that context (Turner 1987; Schechner 2006). I discuss the levels of abstraction in more detail next. Self and performance Performance always entails people taking on a role, as Goffman (1959) explains. Identity, or one’s self, is understood here to mean an individual’s subjective understanding of who they are. Identity is performed differently in various situations, creating a number of roles people play, which are guided by the context, individual experience, and other people. Each role entails specific competences, responsibilities, physical and social boundaries. While one’s self may involve different versions in different situations, Goffman stresses that individuals do not usually differentiate these on a personal level, resulting in the perception of a unified, continuous self. Butler (1990, 1993) writes that identity is often assumed to pre-exist the elements and interests that are invested in it. However, from the point of view of performance, the self emerges as it is performed. The performance does not constitute the self: it merely designates, structures, and maintains the social phenomena to which the performance of self refers. The self is thus invoked by its performance, and the self’s seeming continuity is enabled by the repetition of said performance. Butler (2005) continues that the existence and need for a self are driven by our desire to be recognised by others. Through the need to be recognised, we submit to norms, which creates a self that is invested with social meaning. As a result, identity is recognisable and understandable, but also similar to others’ selves, as these are supported by the same terms. Goffman (1974) suggests that we often refer to the self as located in a corporeal, substantial, and material world. However, as I already noted, from the perspective of performance theory, materiality and matter are an effect of performance. In response, Butler (1990, 2004) proposes that in order to understand the self in the world, we reference the two to their mediating boundary, the body. The body emerges as the tool for understanding the self, the world, and interaction in it, as it is our only connection to materiality. Interaction and performance Goffman (1959) writes that performance is never done alone, but always done for another, even if it is an imagined one. Hence, while performance is perceived

60 Performance individually, it is fine-tuned through relating to other people, Turner (1987) explains. The meanings of performances emerge through encountering, being recognised by, and influencing other people. Goffman (1959) suggests that for a performance to become significant to others, it must be mobilised in a way that expresses the meaning the performer wishes to convey. Schechner (1988) adds that performance is socially typified, that is, its meaning is created by fitting it into the social, cultural, and role-specific context. Understanding of performance is thus guided by conventions and norms, which are naturalised and emerge as effects of the repetition of performance over time, Butler (1993, 2004) explains. Butler (2004) and Carlson (2003) note that norms have a dual function in our interaction. On the one hand, they guide and orient performance within its context, opening up possibilities of meaning and shared understanding. Norms legitimate and make performance intelligible by structuring knowledge, meaning, and reality. On the other hand, norms produce parameters and conditions that govern life, thus constraining performance. Hence, it is quite unlikely for anything completely new or spontaneous to emerge in performance. Nevertheless, as Butler (1990) points out, the possibility of variation of repetition of performance remains through its interpretation, misinterpretation, and failure. Social structure and performance Performance among individuals fosters a social structure of norms that is an immense performance site. This creates is an impression of reality inseparable from its participants and their interaction (Turner 1987; McKenzie 2001; Schechner 2006). Turner (1987) explains that people form knowledge of and belief in the world by experiencing performances within a certain spatial and temporal context, which is supported by a set of value judgments as well as a system of ideals and principles of conduct. Goffman (1974) adds that individuals experience reality as pre-existing performance. However, from the point of view of performance theory, reality is rather an effect of performance. According to Goffman (1974), performance is structured around and organised into frames, that is, situational definitions “constructed in accord with organizing principles that govern both the events themselves and participants’ experiences of these events” (pp. 10–11). Scheff (2005) points out that Goffman was quite unclear as to what ‘frame’ actually means, which has led to considerable misuse of the concept.2 Scheff proposes that frame implies context, with the central aspect of this context being individuals’ mutual awareness of norms that guide and organise it. Following Goffman (1974), performance always involves the primary framework, which is the main frame perceived by individuals to be paramount reality. Everyday life, for instance, would be perceived as one’s primary framework. Other frames build on the primary frame by keying, that is, by transforming performance into its laminations, which are layers between an act and the model that it refers to. In other words, performance already meaningful within the primary

Performance  61 frame is transformed for and within a specific context, and is thus perceived as something quite different within the keyed frame. For instance, a person talking to himself on the street would seem mad, but the same performance on a theatre stage turns into a beautiful monologue. All frames involve rules and limits, which most commonly emerge in the form of norms and conventions. These can be both natural (i.e., physical) and social, and they assign individuals specific roles, positions, and possibilities in a frame. Frames can be re-keyed, that is re-interpreted, through the various meanings we gain in our performances. The re-interpretations of frames are perceived differently depending on one’s point of view, with the innermost frame being what the people engrossed in performance experience, and the outermost frame, or the rim, being how the performance is seen from an outsider perspective, that is, the performance’s position in reality. Goffman (1974) seemed to imply that frames always create a hierarchy of sorts, as he described frames fitting in or adding to one another. A keying thus always fits into a larger frame of what it is keying, which, in turn, fits into a larger frame, and so on. It is important to stress that while most performance involves several frames, these are rarely directly perceived or differentiated by individuals.

Social and aesthetic performance Following Turner (1987), Schechner (1988, 2006), and McKenzie (2001), performances are endless series of transformations, the main forms of which are social and aesthetic performances. A central concern of performance theory is understanding how social and aesthetic performances interact and exist alongside one another, where one begins and the other ends, and what their relationship is to materiality. Schechner (2006) and McKenzie (2001) describe how the two types of performance are stereotypically viewed. Typically, social performances are perceived as instrumental, practical, constituting quotidian life, and aiming to define the real. Aesthetic performances, then, are usually seen as having a second-order and referential relationship to reality and matter; they are ornamental, prearranged, predetermined, and the focus of display. Yet the two are not as separate as it would seem. Schechner (1982, 1988, 2006) explains that in the contemporary cultural context of fragmented meaning, performances can no longer be differentiated through categories, as their definitions become an issue of context. Following Baudrillard’s (1983) idea of hyperreality, Schechner adds that the loss of hierarchy among performances has resulted in the blurring of actual and referential performances. Hence, the difference between aesthetic and social performance becomes very difficult to specify, with possibly only the thinnest dissolving membrane separating them. The two are continuous, forming a complex relationship of cross-feed and reflection. Nevertheless, Schechner stresses that people continue to differentiate aesthetic and social performances based on their context and associated norms.

62 Performance To conceptualise the relationship between social and aesthetic performances, Schechner created the idea of the infinity loop, which he subsequently developed with the help of Turner (see Turner 1982, 1985, 1987; Schechner 1988, 1993, 2006). In essence, the infinity loop presents social performance as flowing in and out of aesthetic performance and vice versa, feeding their meanings into one another and thus creating an elaborate feedback system. Social performance is informed, shaped, conditioned, and guided by underlying principles and ideas taken from aesthetic performance. Reciprocally, aesthetic performance is underlined in the same way by social interaction. The two sides of the loop become shadow images of one other that are analogous states of cognition and perception, with our meanings and values becoming entangled in their complex interaction. The reflections are multiple and never faithful to their counterpart, resulting in distortions, inversions, additions, and modifications. Therefore, the pattern is not cyclical, as its name would imply, but it spirals, continuously building on itself. Schechner and Turner believed social and aesthetic performances form a continuum of sorts. Pitches and Popat (2011) problematize this idea, suggesting a shift away from approaching performances as entities on a linear continuum, to a more holistic approach of discerning differences between and relationships among performance types. More specifically, they propose to analyse performances from the point of view of their various elements, such as the body, space, time, technology, interactivity, and organisation. This perspective was central for the analysis of data in this study, adapted to Goffman’s levels of abstraction of performance, as I explain below.

Aesthetic theatrical performance As I already discussed, strong connections and parallels can be drawn between the concepts of fantasy and aesthetics, as well as their respective relationship to everyday or real performance. Consequently, I use aesthetic performance as a parallel for exploring lived fantasy. This perspective allowed me to tap into the experience of, relationship to, and negotiation of fantasy performance as a part of individuals’ everyday lives, as well as to examine the relationship of fantasy performance to the performance of reality. More specifically, in order to explore how individuals perform fantasy from a bodily point of view, the research adopted the perspective of a performer of theatrical performance. Theatre is a fitting form of aesthetic performance to focus on because it is one of the few media that has remained bodily, participative, and active. As described by McAuley (2000), Schechner (2006), and Auslander (2008), theatre requires active engagement and physical presence from both actors and spectators, allowing individuals to enter fantasy and be a part of it. Auslander (2008) elaborates that theatrical performance is live and does not condense or fragment performance like some directed aesthetic performances, such as films, do. Moreover, theatrical performance involves art, play, and make-believe, all of which are central to fantasy. Following similar ideas, Mackay (2001) has previously likened role-playing games to theatre. Such characteristics connect the methodology of this research to its context.

Performance  63 The perspective of theatrical aesthetic performance aids the endeavour of studying fantasy empirically, which, as Fine (1983) has noted, is challenging because of its ephemeral nature. Following Schechner (1988, 2006), theatrical performance is easier to approach in terms of research because it emerges as physical, active, and consciously reflective processes. It enacts, frames, and controls human interaction by actualising it in a visible, sonic, and tactile event. Badiou (1990) further notes that the performance is always material and corporeal, as well as based in a defined and limited space. Theatrical performance thus gives access to bodily performance of fantasy in a specific context. Schechner (1988) suggests that aesthetic performance in general involves a special ordering (or reordering) of space and time, often much more specifically bracketed and defined than everyday performance. In addition to the time of the event being strictly sequenced and/or scheduled, aesthetic performance may involve symbolic time, that is, the representation of a different ‘span of clock time’ than that experienced in reality. Similarly, as I will explain in more detail below, the performance of space is often structured and delimited in new ways. Schechner (2006) has proposed that theatrical performance takes the form of the following time-space sequence: proto-performance (that which precedes and gives rise to performance; training, rehearsal, workshops), performance (the event itself, including its warm-up and cool-down), and aftermath (reflection, critical response, documentation; this phase is indefinite). While the structure is described in the context of theatre, Schechner stresses that the three phases are also applicable to other kinds of performances, such as entertainment, rituals, and everyday life, because social and aesthetic performances are similar in their structure and constitutive elements. As social and aesthetic performances tie into one another, the three levels of abstraction, that is, the self, interaction, and society (Goffman 1959), are also present in aesthetic performance. It is important to note, however, that aesthetic performance is in many ways more complex that social performance. Schechner (1982, 1988) explains that this is due to its conscious, reflexive, and purposeful construction. Most vividly, aesthetic performance involves more tensions than social performance, as people, things, and spaces can emerge on different levels simultaneously. There are various perspectives on how theatrical performances are experienced, how they take place, how they should be structured, and what kinds of forms make up their typology. I discuss the perspectives taken on in this study next. Self and theatrical performance Schechner (2006) suggests that, from the perspective of the performer, aesthetic performance does not present fixed identities, roles, or norms to people to the same extent as quotidian performances. Goffman (1959) similarly writes that such roles are not perceived to be real or to involve the consequences of real roles. Based on these ideas, Badiou (1990) believes that a role in aesthetic performance is more ephemeral than a role of everyday life, because the former can only exist as it is performed in the limited, embodied context of theatre.

64 Performance The way the self as well as the body are experienced and performed has always been a contested subject in the realm of theatre. Some perspectives advocate an extension of self. Stanislavski (1953), for instance, proposed that actors ideally extend their selves into the character role, thus creating genuine emotions. In developing Stanislavski’s work, Strasberg (1987) believed that the self and character should melt into one. In a more extreme development, Grotowski (1968) advocated pure consciousness in theatrical performance, in which the focus is on being, rather than a differentiation of self and not self. Other perspectives propose a strict differentiation of roles. Most notably, Brecht (1965) and Meyerhold (1968) believed that actors should retain their own self, but also create a distance from it, as aesthetic performance requires them to consciously take on a different self in the form of a character. Brecht (1965) stressed that such an approach should be purely rational and lack any emotion, while McConachie (2008) criticised this notion, suggesting that emotion is necessary for sustaining rational attention through the created empathy and sympathy. In supporting the rational approach, Meyerhold (1968) noted that actors can experience emotions, but only as a similar emotion, not the emotion of the character. Stemming from Stanislavski’s work, Mikhail Chekhov (1995) proposed that the self exists on three levels during a theatre performance: the self, the character, and the ideal self, which is in control of the other selves. An ideal self creates the character by looking at the self from the outside and then building up the character self through a basis in various emotional experiences of the self. Lastly, Schechner (1988, 2006) has proposed an in-between state of sorts. He has suggested that “theatrical role-playing takes place between ‘not me’ and ‘not not me’” (2006, p. 72). The self is never lost, yet otherness is never fully achieved. Hence, the individual is between performed character and self, with the latter observing, manipulating, and enjoining action to the other. Interaction and theatrical performance Similar to social performance, aesthetic performance thrives on interaction among individuals within their context. However, aesthetic performance, especially theatrical performance, becomes complicated on this level of abstraction by its clear division of various roles among individuals. The roles are necessary for the performance to take place. Following Schechner (2006), the roles can be roughly divided into four overlapping and contextually changing groups: sourcers, producers, performers, and partakers. Sourcers give rise to the performance, and producers transform resources into publicly performed events through performers. Performers play the actions, while partakers receive the actions and, depending on the perspective and requirements of the performance, sometimes participate in them. According to Badiou (1990), each category of roles has its own set of dialectics. The directors (or producers) are objective and concerned with what the theatrical performance is about. The performers are subjective and focus on what actually happens during a performance. Lastly, the spectators are in a position of absolute knowledge, as

Performance  65 they prescribe the performance meaning. Badiou (1990) does not consider sourcers to be a group that is a part of the actual performance, but rather sees the group as a referent necessary in forming a basis for the performance. During the event of theatrical performance, two main groups emerge: performers (or actors) and spectators (McAuley 2000; Schechner 2006; Kennedy 2009). As the aim of this research is to explore the experience of the performance itself from the perspective of the performer, these two groups will be the points of focus in my research and analysis. McAuley (2000) suggests that theatrical performance emerges as the relationships within and among groups of performers and spectators. He continues that performers interact on three levels of awareness: as people in a social context, as performers in the presentational context, and as characters in the fictional context. McAuley (2000) and Kennedy (2009) further stress that, while audience members are restricted by the event and relinquish a part of their agency to assist the performance, they by no means perform secondary or passive roles. Spectators have a lot of agency through their own forms of communication and have ultimate control over meaning-making through their all-seeing perspective. Hence, for a theatre performance to take place, both performers and spectators need to be actively present, with the former ready to interact and the latter ready to respond. As I will explain later on, physicality, materiality, and social distance among the groups can emerge in different ways. Social structure and theatrical performance In addition to the people present and the interaction taking place among them, theatre involves the performance of a different social structure and a different space. Badiou (1990) writes that the created other space emerges through a changing understanding of materiality, which is aided by the space, décor, costumes, and props reserved for the performance. He further stresses that each theatrical performance is unique and cannot be repeated exactly. Hence, the repetition of performance creates a new reality each time. Goffman (1959) initially described theatrical performance as a keying of a primary framework, as it is not real or actual. Interestingly, he later points out that the frame of aesthetic performance is “something less than a benign construction and something more than a simple keying” (Goffman 1974, p. 138), leaving it unclear as to what it could then be. He points out that, from a performer’s perspective, the aesthetic performance could be seen as a keying, but that the presence of an audience complicates this definition. McAuley (2000) conceptualises theatrical performance as involving triple awareness, that is, simultaneous awareness of social reality, presentational reality (the context of aesthetic performance), and fictional reality. McAuley (2000) elaborates that the fictional reality exists at the mercy of the social and presentational realities, both of which are based on their own sets of contextualised norms. Objects and spaces are both real and not real, existing simultaneously in actual space, performed space, and fictional space.

66 Performance Schechner (2006) describes the space of theatrical performance as involving a paradoxical experience (similar to the earlier described paradox of belief), in which the causes of the reaction are in one domain of reality (fictional reality), while the effects and responses happen in another (material reality). This demands the emotional and intellectual achievement of keeping contradictory realities simultaneously in play. All in all, theatrical performance shifts awareness by creating a fictive space and a fictive social structure as part of and as an effect of the performance. However, as McAuley (2000) stresses, the spatial and the social are indivisible from one another, creating a totality of social space. I use this concept to approach fantasy performance in the following chapters.

Stanislavski’s typology of aesthetic performance It is commonly accepted that contemporary theatrical performance in the Western world has its origins in the general typology presented by Konstantin Stanislavski (1953, 1989). The typology has been, most notably, developed by Vsevolod Meyerhold (1968), Evgenii Vahtangov (1984), Lee Strasberg (1987), Mikhail Chekhov (1995), and Bertolt Brecht (1965).3 In brief, Stanislavski’s typology takes form in the art of perezhivanie and art of predstavlenie. A similar typology was later presented by Brecht (1965) as dramatic and epic theatre, and more recently discussed by Richard Schechner (2006) as realistic and Brechtian theatre. It is important to note that Stanislavski himself originally spoke of art and aesthetic experience, rather than the more limited theatrical performance. This allows me to link his work better to aesthetic performance in exploring the performance of fantasy. While Stanislavski’s approach was developed some time ago, it still remains relevant today. Pitches (2006) writes that the typology has created a backbone for Western theatrical performance through its intrinsic ties to cultural, political, and scientific thought. Both types of performance continue to be appropriated and reinvented to this day, resulting in the development of various performance approaches. The typology is especially appropriate for the cultural context of this study. Finnish theatre and aesthetics in general have developed in close connection to its neighbouring country, Russia, with the culture of the latter heavily influencing and spreading into Finnish aesthetics and everyday life. I discuss the typology in detail next. Iskusstvo perezhivaniya Stanislavski (1953, 1989, 1990, 1991) was driven to create his famous System of acting by the poor state of the dominant form of aesthetic performance in Russia at the beginning of the 19th century. He called this type of performance remeslo (ремесло; translated from Russian as craft or trade), which consists of readymade characters and practices that are mimicked without feeling or understanding. Stanislavski noted that remeslo is fast and efficient to produce, but becomes a

Performance  67 robot-like performance that has no spirit or connection to life, merely enslaving its audience through entertainment. Inspired by a need to develop aesthetic performance in a direction away from the form of passive meaningless entertainment, Stanislavski proposed and put to use his System, which promoted iskusstvo perezhivaniya (Искусство пережИванИя, literally the art of experiencing and feeling), or perezhivanie for short. Bertolt Brecht (1965) later called this dramatic theatre. Perezhivanie was created on the basis of the ideas of the Enlightenment, yet was heavily influenced by Fordism and Taylorism, as well as Newtonian mechanics (Carnicke 1998; Pitches 2006). Pitches (2007a, 2007b) notes that Stanislavski himself further linked his work to Aristotle. Aristotelian aesthetic performance is rooted in the real world and based on observation and perception, with the aims being to create a logical and ordered world, seeking truth through the senses, and engaging the audience’s emotions (i.e., creating catharsis). Schechner (2006) proposes that this type of performance results in a realist school of thought. Perezhivanie has been roughly translated as a theatre of experiencing (Carnicke 1998; Pitches 2006), but is actually a much more elaborate concept, referring not only to experiencing, but also feeling deeply, worrying about, and living through experience (my translation). The aim of this type of performance is to create a world, which is not reality nor its reflection or representation, but a separate temporal and spatial fantasy context that forms a totality that is alive. A successful performance is one both actors and spectators believe in as well as react to with real emotion. To create experiences that are alive, this type of performance is logical, finalised, and uses elements of real life. Perezhivanie theatre is usually based on some sort of referent or source, such as a text, a script, a ritual, or a story, and heavily relies on the materials it is based on, as the aim is to provide perfect representation of them. This reflects, in many ways, the rationalisation of fantasy described earlier. During the performance, actors are placed within a well-planned, detailed atmosphere of performance based in realism and naturalism. The starting point of the actor’s performance is their inner world and emotions, with the direction of performance being outward: from inner to outer, from mind to body, from fantasy to reality. The idea is that through belief in emotion and fantasy, which are bound to the mind, we can also create fantastic action and reality. Simply put, fantasy is made alive and real. The performance is thus not imitation, but existence, into which the real self is extended through recombining memories and emotions, as well as fitting them into the context. Stanislavski stressed that emotion is difficult to control, as it is irrational as well as dependent on context and experience. Yet, he also believed that it is the experience of emotion that creates belief in the fantasy world. Therefore, perezhivanie performance calls for a balance of cognition and emotion. Cognition, which, according to Stanislavski, is under constant control, is used to uncover and frame elements and processes that are normally unconscious. The process is supported by a clear plotline based in the script, the goal of which is to bring together the various bits of the performance in order to form a whole.

68 Performance The realistic life and emotion created by actors are infectious to their witnesses, says Stanislavski. As a result, the audience become involved emotionally and cognitively through empathy and reflection, swept away into the new reality. Nevertheless, while perezhivanie requires full belief from its viewers, it remains separate from them behind the so-called ‘fourth wall,’ that is, an imaginary wall between actors and spectators. The performers and spectators come close through shared concerns: emotional experiences are created on both sides of the fourth wall. However, the two cannot be united, as their difference is never eradicated or forgotten. The performers exist in their own world, into which spectators are only allowed as unacknowledged observers. Most notable critique of the approach of perezhivanie has come from Brecht (1965, 2000; see also Leach 1989) and Meyerhold (1968), who argued that such theatre makes people passive and fails to teach them anything, as it only creates mimicry and illusion, into which both performer and spectator are placed. Both groups come back to real life unchanged and with no developed knowledge of their lives or the world. Perezhivanie, from the perspective of critics, is too psychological and aesthetic. It is only pseudo-active, as it creates emotions and empathy that link to memories, but does not transfer experience or create a need for action. Consequently, the performance can easily become hallucinatory or fake, resulting in the loss of contact of the performer with the spectator and/or the real world. Brecht elaborates that the created world of perezhivanie is self-evident and fully explained: ideals are shown and desires are created, but the process of attaining them is left unaccounted for. As a result, the performance becomes either limited to an individual’s own experiences or results in the eradication of the self completely. Meyerhold concludes that perezhivanie extends passiveness by clinging on to the individualism of modernity, in which it was created. Iskusstvo predstavleniya As a parallel reaction to remeslo theatre, Vsevolod Meyerhold (1968) and, later, Bertolt Brecht (1965) developed a different approach to performance: biomechanics and epic theatre, respectively. The form has become well-known as Brechtian theatre (Schechner 2006). These approaches combined popular theatre forms with the theories of industry fashionable in that period, including Taylorism, behaviourism, and biomechanics (Pitches 2006, 2007b). While the two are separate schools of performance, they share an underlying philosophy and aim. Most importantly, for the purpose of my research, the two approach the relationship of art and reality as well as the individual’s relationship to the perceived other world in the same way. Zazzali (2008) has similarly argued that Brecht and Meyerhold “shared striking artistic, personal, and professional similarities” (p. 293). Consequently, I group the two together, using the term predstavlenie proposed by Stanislavski. Predstavlenie can be harshly translated as spectacle, but also means imagination, presentation, dramatics, ideas, and impression (my translation). Brecht does not actually use the term iskusstvo predstavleniya (Искусство представленИя; predstavlenie for short), but it is clear that Stanislavski referred to this school of

Performance  69 thought when describing the performance in his typology. Moreover, Vahtangov (1984) and Chekhov (1995) describe this type of theatre as predstavlenie, and Meyerhold (1968) describes his work to be in line with it. Consequently, I use this term in order to sustain conceptual clarity by adhering to Stanislavski’s typology. I nevertheless forgo the term’s negative connotation originally given to it by its inventor. The approach of predstavlenie is often connected to Plato’s work. However, Pitches (2006) stresses that the connection is illusive. Plato was against mimetic arts, believing these to harbour lies and immoral behaviour, as well as engage the sympathies of the audience to make them passive. Consequently, Brecht described his approach to theatre as non-Aristotelian, rather than Platonian. Pitches (2006, 2007a) nevertheless notes that clear links to Plato can be seen as underlying the theatre of predstavlenie, with the approach building on Plato’s ideas rather than trying to align with them. For instance, the performance focuses on reason and approaches emotions with suspicion. Moreover, the material world is seen to be ignorant and illusive because real Forms can only be found on a metaphysical level. Pitches (2007a) further adds that the predstavlenie performance is dialogic rather than cathartic in its relationship to the audience. As a result, the actual doing and performing become more important than adhering to a plot or narrative. The aim of predstavlenie is to allow people to experience and contemplate reality by activating both actor and spectator through making them face something utterly different. In doing this, the performance does not copy life or create another world. Meyerhold explains that our perception of reality lacks clarity and a holistic view of all its elements, and thus emulating such a structure does not accomplish anything. The performance thence focuses on making reality strange and unreal by breaking elements of life down into actions without building them up into a whole. The approach moves away from naturalism and realism, aiming to create something shocking and lacking direct meaning, thus breaking convention and leaving things open. In practice, performance usually starts in a clear frame of an ambiguous context, with the details emerging later on as a montage of elements and processes. No meaning or plotline are provided, and there is no story, which the performance faithfully emulates. Meaning has to rather be constructed by actors and spectators themselves. Performance is based on well-specified movement, form, and technique, focusing on the physical, the rational, and the external, as the body is believed to be in more control than the mind. Emotions are not blocked, but are seen to be a side-product filled in by each individual on their own. The aim of the performance is to separate from reality by awakening fantasy, rather than being placed into fantasy. Hence, the performance moves from reality toward fantasy in making the performance detached from anything perceived as real and by blocking any naturalisation of performance. The focus is on becoming aware of, acknowledging, and taking a step back from the performance’s illusion in order to allow change and development of one’s views. Through becoming conscious of and stepping out of both aesthetic and social structures, actors and spectators gain new perspectives and start searching for explanations, motives,

70 Performance and modes of action on their own. By forcing individuals to reach for the unknown rather than by just showing them something, the real is extended and questioned, but never becomes illusionary. An actor does not hide, transform, or extend their self in such performance, but creates a duality of the self and the character as standing next to and communicating with one another, Brecht (1965) explains. The result is an interaction between performer and their various selves that accentuates the difference between them. This brings about a detached, ironic, and almost painful self-awareness both cognitively and physically. The aim of this is not to make others empathise, but to create a stimulus for people to react to. The performance arouses activity, demands an attitude, and compels the audience to make decisions, opening up new ideas as well as teaching individuals new things about themselves and their surrounding world. Spectators and performers become equal and co-creating parties, filling in gaps created by the performance with their interaction and meaning-making. As Brecht and Meyerhold actively advocate, the fourth wall is broken down, with predstavlenie becoming a way of communicating with people, rather than to them. Critique of the approach has mostly come from supporters of perezhivanie, namely Konstantin Stanislavski. He rebuked the approach to be truthlike, not truthful, through its harsh non-idealised themes, as well as the lack of belief and explanation. Stanislavski believed that, while the approach surprises the audience, it remains pompous and shallow, unable to show or interpret subtle emotions. Moreover, in its lack of connection to real life, he feared a complete disconnection of the form from quotidian concerns. Lastly, Stanislavski worried about the detachment of performers from what they portray, as this rips apart the body and the soul. Similarly, McConachie (2008) writes that the performance type dismisses emotion, resulting in the elimination of a central part of experience. While Brecht feared that empathy turns an audience passive, McConachie argues that emotion and empathy are necessary to sustain rationality and attention during performance. Balanced theatre The approaches of perezhivanie and predstavlenie started out as different responses to the same problem, Vahtangov (1984) writes, and, through their development, came to overlap in many ways. With time, proponents of perezhivanie noticed a need for more physical and material elements. Despite his harsh critique, Stanislavski turned towards a more physical type of theatre in his late work, as he realised that the focus on the mind alone neglects the important role of the body (see Carnicke 1998). Advocates of predstavlenie also became aware of the gap that a lack of emotion, cognition, and a holistic perspective create. Meyerhold (1968) came to the realisation that because of their shared historical roots and context of development, the different types of performance work better in unity and balance, creating a continuum from perezhivanie to predstavlenie. Alone, the two sides of Stanislavski’s typology are unimportant and become

Performance  71 stunted, says Vahtangov (1984). Together, he continues, the approaches create a cognitive horizon that incorporates performers and spectators into what is viewed, yet allows them to be critical.

Notes 1 The practicalities of the method were discussed in Chapter 1; see also Conquergood 1998; Denzin 2003. 2 In contemporary research, frame analysis has been developed into three streams that approach frames to organise behaviour through cognitive structures (cognitive-heuristics), habits and norms (habitual-frame-categories), or words and language (linguistic) (Putnam and Holmer 1992). In this research, I take a more classic approach to frame analysis, which focuses on norms and habits, as this is how it has been used in performance studies. 3 For a more detailed account of the development of Western theatre see, for instance, Leach 2004, 2008.

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72 Performance Dolan, Jill (2005), Utopia in Performance: Finding Hope at the Theater, Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Fine, Gary Alan (1983), Shared Fantasy: Role-Playing Games as Social Worlds, Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Goffman, Erving (1959), The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, London, UK: Penguin Books. Goffman, Erving (1974), Frame Analysis: An Essay on the Organization of Experience, Boston, MA: Northeast University Press. Grotowski, Jerzy (1968), Towards a Poor Theatre, Holstebro, Denmark: Odin Teatret. Kennedy, Dennis (2009), The Spectator and the Spectacle: Audiences in Modernity and Postmodernity, Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Leach, Robert (1989), Vsevolod Meyerhold, Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Leach, Robert (2004), Makers of Modern Theatre: An Introduction, London, UK: Routledge. Leach, Robert (2008), Theatre Studies: The Basics, Abingdon, UK: Routledge. McAuley, Gay (2000), Space in Performance: Making Meaning in the Theatre, Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. McConachie, Bruce (2008), Engaging Audiences: A Cognitive Approach to Spectating in the Theatre, New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. McKenzie, Jon (2001), Perform or Else: From Discipline to Performance, New York, NY: Routledge. Meyerhold, Vsevolod E. (1968), Статьи, письма, речи, беседы [Stat’i, pisma, rechi, besedy], Moscow, USSR: Iskusstvo. Pelias, Ronald J., and James VanOosting (1987), “A Paradigm for Performance Studies,” Quarterly Journal of Speech, Vol. 73, No. 2, pp. 219–231. Pitches, Jonathan (2006), Science and the Stanislavsky Tradition of Acting, Abingdon, UK: Routledge. Pitches, Jonathan (2007a), “Tracing/Training Rebellion: Object Work in Meyerhold’s Biomechanics,” Performance Research, Vol. 12, No. 4, pp. 97–103. Pitches, Jonathan (2007b) “Towards a Platonic Paradigm of Performer Training: Michael Chekhov and Anatoly Vasiliev,” Contemporary Theatre Review, Vol. 17, No. 1, pp. 28–40. Pitches, Jonathan, and Sita Popat (2011), Performance Perspectives: A Critical Introduction. London, UK: Palgrave Macmillan. Putnam, Linda L., and Majia Holmer (1992), “Framing, Reframing, and Issue Development,” in Linda L. Putnam and Michael E. Roloff, eds, Communication and Negotiation. Sage Annual Reviews of Communication Research, Vol. 20, Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE, pp. 128–155. Schechner, Richard (1982), The End of Humanism: Writings on Performance, New York, NY: PAJ. Schechner, Richard (1988 [1977]), Performance Theory, second edition of Essays on Performance Theory, New York, NY: Routledge. Schechner, Richard (1993), The Future of Ritual: Writings on Culture and Performance, New York, NY: Routledge. Schechner, Richard (2006), Performance Studies: An Introduction, Abingdon, UK: Routledge. Scheff, Thomas J. (2005), “The Structure of Context: Deciphering Frame Analysis,” Sociological Theory, Vol. 23, No. 4, pp. 368–385. Stanislavski, Konstantin S. (1953), Станиславкиŭ, К.С. Статьи. Речи. Беседы. Письма [Stanislavskii, K.S. Stat’i. Rechi. Besedy. Pisma], ed. G. Kristi and N. Chushin,

Performance  73 Moscow, USSR: Iskusstvo. Stanislavski, Konstantin S. (1989), Работа актера над собоŭ. Часть 1: Работа над собоŭ в творческом процессе переживания. Дневник ученика [Rabota aktera nad soboi. Chast’ 1: Rabota nad soboi v tvorcheskom processe perejivaniya. Dnevnik uchenika], Moscow, USSR: Iskusstvo. Stanislavski, Konstantin S. (1990), Работа актера над собоŭ. Часть 2: Работа над собоŭ в творческом процессе воплощения [Rabota aktera nad soboi. Chast 2: Rabota nad soboi v tvorcheskom processe voplosheniya], Moscow, USSR: Iskusstvo. Stanislavski, Konstantin S. (1991), Работа актера над ролью [Rabota aktera nad rol’yu], Moscow, USSR: Iskusstvo. Strasberg, Lee (1987), A Dream of Passion: The Development of the Method, Boston, MA: Little, Brown and Company. Turner, Victor (1982), From Ritual to Theatre: The Human Seriousness of Play, London, UK: PAJ. Turner, Victor (1985), On the Edge of the Bush: Anthropology as Experience, Tucson, AZ: University of Arizona Press. Turner, Victor (1987), The Anthropology of Performance, New York, NY: PAJ. Vahtangov, Evgenii (1984), Евгениŭ Вахтангов: Сборник [Evgenii Vahtangov: Sbornik], ed. L. D. Vendrovskaya and G. P. Kaptereva, Moscow, USSR: VTO. Zazzali, Peter (2008), “Did Meyerhold Influence Brecht? A Comparison of Their Antirealistic Theatrical Aesthetics,” European Legacy, Vol. 13, No. 3, pp. 293–305.

4 The LARP performance

LARPs differ greatly in size, length, and theme, but they take on a fairly similar performance structure. Below I describe the structure of a LARP performance from the perspective of a participant LARPer who is not organising the event. I divide the LARP performance roughly into three sections: before the LARP event, during the LARP event, and after the LARP event. The division reflects the three stages of theatre performance described by Schechner (2006): proto-performance, performance, and aftermath.

Before the LARP event Before a LARPer can participate in a LARP, a number of preparatory performances need to take place. Just like Schechner’s (2006) proto-performance, these preparations help set up and give rise to the performance. Signing up and getting a character To take part in a LARP, individuals need to sign up for it. This usually occurs through an online or email form that can be found on the LARP’s individual website. The forms vary in length, but involve quite similar questions, such as contact information, dietary restrictions, previous experience in LARP, as well as possible character preferences. LARPers may also discuss possible characters with the game masters (GMs), that is, the LARP organisers, especially if player involvement in the writing process is allowed or preferred. While some LARPers prefer to play a specific type of character, most LARPers like to try out various characters and various game styles, as this ensures that they get different experiences and do not become bored with the activity. LARPers often talk about trying new things or playing a type of LARP character they have not played in a while. Wade: When I sign up for games, I’ve usually written [in the sign-up sheet] something that I feel like would be fun to play, and maybe also based on what I played last time. Like last time I played some soap opera drama so this time I want action, so sort of like that . . . you wanna try out different things.

The LARP performance  75 Performing different characters broadens LARPers’ perspective and lets them explore different types of experiences, environments, and people. Because LARPs are usually relatively small events, involving about 40–60 characters, many of the games cannot accommodate all applicants. The GMs that I have talked to describe the selection of players (referred to as casting) to be organised in accordance with individuals’ preferences and suitability for the characters. The latter does not refer to any characteristics of the individual, but rather to a player’s experience, abilities, and openness to new challenges. When casting, GMs tend to aim at forming a diverse group of players in the LARP in order to have an exciting and lively experience. Moreover, many GMs and LARPers prefer not to repeat previously existing structures of LARP, thus having different LARPers play different types of characters. However, there have also been cases of cronyism and favouritism in casting, which has resulted in animosity within the community. This type of behaviour has created some tensions among LARPers, most of who seem to want the community to be open, equal, and transparent. Moreover, not getting cast can be emotionally difficult for LARPers, especially if they are new to the community. Those that do not get cast are, nevertheless, usually put on a waiting list, as places tend to open up due to sickness or scheduling conflicts. One of my interviewees, Dawn, explains that casting aims to be equal to everyone, but having experience in LARPing definitely makes a difference in the GMs’ choices. LARPs do not have main and side characters, but there are characters with different levels of authority, responsibility, and social status. The more authoritative characters, such as a tribe elder, a king, or a queen, usually have a more central position in the hierarchy and community created within the LARP; tend to have more goals for and relationships to characters in the game; and can strongly affect the structure and development of the overall LARP. These are usually given to more experienced players, as they require more preparation and active engagement. Moreover, such roles can be challenging and emotionally difficult, leaving newer players overwhelmed. LARPers new to the hobby thus tend to be given less complex and less emotionally difficult characters. These require less preparation and tend to be more reactive in their performance. Beyond the casting of challenging characters, however, experienced LARPers rarely obtain a higher status in the community. The LARP community stresses equality of all its members as well as a lack of hierarchy or preferential treatment, which reflects the egalitarian nature of Finnish culture. GMs obviously gain a momentary high status, but only in terms of organising their own LARP. The exception to all the above are non-player characters (NPCs), which are limited, task-oriented characters that usually don’t have written backgrounds or personalities. NPCs aid the GMs in organisation and support other characters in their performance. For example, an NPC could be a messenger or a ‘respawning’ soldier on a battlefield. Often, one LARPer will play several NPC roles during a LARP. NPCs tend to be cast separately or even outside the application system. Moreover, they are often given a discount for or are exempt from the LARP fee.

76  The LARP performance I will not be considering NPC roles in my analysis of fantasy experiences, as these are focused on supporting others’ fantasy performances, not personally engaging in them. Game materials When applicants are chosen for a LARP, they receive an information package about it. As Attebery (1992) notes, even when not literary, fantasy is often accompanied by written materials to help explain it. The general information for the LARP is usually available on its website and social media page. The more specific information is distributed privately to individuals, usually through email or via document-sharing software. The amount of information provided varies from game to game, depending on the GM as well as the goals and themes of the LARP. Moreover, individual preference plays its role in this. Some feel that too little information in the materials can result in a lack of understanding of the character and what to do with it. For example, Rose feels “it’s more fun when there is more information than when there is less of it.” She explains that she has had negative experiences with a lack of shared information among players, which led to misguided interaction among LARPers. However, too much information can create an overwhelming experience. For instance, May described a LARP she attended that involved dozens of pages of game materials. The LARP was very stressful to prepare for, as she could not remember all the details or come to grips with all the information provided. While the amount of information varies, similar types of information are usually provided. These include practical information, information on the fantasy world of the LARP, and individual character sheets. All of the provided materials serve as a basis for the LARP, but are, nevertheless, open to interpretation and some modification. The information on the practicalities has the most standard structure of all the LARP materials. It is distributed to everyone, and can usually also be found online. This includes things like the time and place of the event, rules, information on the venue, the cost of the LARP, and contact information. Information on the fantasy world is also quite widely distributed, with most of it being available online. This type of information varies a great deal from LARP to LARP in both the amount and the kind of information provided, depending on the sources, goals, and themes of the LARP. If a LARP is fully or partially based on specific aspects of geek culture, references to the source are usually made. Moreover, it is made clear whether the narratives are strictly followed, modified somehow for gameplay, or mixed with other geek culture themes. When fantasy worlds are more original, GMs tend to write a longer description and history for the world. Depending on the themes of the LARP, information on its world may include things like the political situation and political factions, races and minority groups, subcultures, secret societies, and important recent events. Common information on the fantasy world includes a list of characters, places and persons of interest, historical events, norms and conventions, as well as common terminology.

The LARP performance  77 The information is meant to create a shared understanding of the world and support the LARP performance. Hence, participants are expected to be familiar with the background information and possible source media. The player’s own character sheet is confidential. It includes information on the character’s personality, history, and goals for the game. Goals differ from game to game and character to character; these can be emotional, relational, political, scheming, or action-oriented. Some examples are: sorting out a quarrel, representing a political position, pursuing a love interest, or assassinating another character. The character also has a set of contacts, that is, a list of other characters in the LARP that the character is somehow connected to and has a relationship or history with, forming a social network of sorts. The character may further be a part of a specific community that may or may not be disclosed to other players, such as a family, a religious group, or a secret society. Some character information may be secret even to its player and revealed only though gameplay to create interesting drama. In Finland, LARP materials tend to be fully written by GMs.1 Some LARPs require the attending LARPers to either partially or fully write their own characters, as well as help with background materials. In this case, the GMs go through and adjust the written materials created by LARPers in order for them to fit the other characters and the context. Preparing for the character After receiving all the materials, LARPers take the time to prepare for and develop their character. Preparation aids both the individual LARPer and the LARP overall, as individuals get in touch with their character and are able to support one another’s performance. Preparation involves going through LARP materials, propping, mental and physical preparation; preparation is done both alone and with other LARPers. LARPers stress that, while understanding the character beforehand is helpful, detailed planning of a character’s game and plotlines is pointless, as “it only really becomes clear during the game what the character and their plotlines are really like” (Wade). Rose elaborates that characters start “living a life of their own.” In other words, the character develops as one prepares for the LARP, but only truly emerges in its performance. The overall aim of preparation is to get to know one’s character. Any LARP character will differ from their player on some level, and it is thus important for the LARPer to come to know, understand, and embrace these differences. First, LARPers portray characters that differ from themselves on a physical and bodily level. This includes things like difference in height, body mass, age, and sex. Characters may also have some type of disability, such as blindness or a limp. Second, the portrayed characters often differ from the LARPer in various beliefs, morals, perspectives, and emotional responses. Third, characters differ in their social status. A single LARP will often form a community, meaning that there are characters ranging from leaders to the lower class. LARPs also tend to involve many marginalised characters, such as sexual, religious, and racial minorities.

78  The LARP performance All the characters are, nevertheless, seen to be equally important from the point of view of the performance, meaning that the players themselves are not marginalised through their characters. To begin preparing, LARPers go through all of the game materials, sometimes adding or filling in aspects of their characters, such as personality characteristics, elements of the character’s past, or bodily mannerisms. Depending on the character, LARPers may also need to search for and go through additional information that would be important for the character to know. For instance, one of my LARP characters was an expert in astronomy. I prepared by reading some general information on astronomy online and taking some books on loan from the library. LARPers readily prepare for characters in this way, often studying minor details that may be unfamiliar to them, such as a political position or religious beliefs. Sometimes, the researched information is modified to fit the game materials and the fantasy world of the LARP. For instance, my astronomy expert lived in a parallel universe where magic was possible. I quite freely edited a lot of the new information I learned on the subject of astronomy to fit the fantasy universe. In addition to fantasy worlds with supernatural elements or different laws of physics, information may need to be edited for games set in the past or in the future. For example, I have played several characters in LARPs set in the 1800s or early 1900s. Here, I needed to disregard many technological developments common to me in everyday life to portray the character in a more authentic fashion. Once LARPers get to know the provided materials, they begin preparing in more detail. Next, I discuss the preparation of props, as well as mental and bodily preparation for the character. Preparation of props Gathering all of the necessary props is a central part of preparing for a LARP, as props form stimuli for “developing the character” (Rose). Prop is a theatre term that is used by LARPers to refer to the costume and personal objects of a character in a particular LARP. Just like most other LARPers, Wade explains that he thinks very thoroughly about the props before going to a LARP, sometimes planning months ahead: “I always think beforehand what things I need and I look for guides in the materials, but I also think what would be, like, natural for that character and that world and situation.” The props create a physical and bodily basis for the character that is used by both the character’s performer and other LARPers to perceive individuals as characters and to immerse into the fantasy world. Props communicate meanings about the character and can serve as reminders of performance characteristics to the performer. As Peg explains: “The external stuff, the props, they can really help [. . .] they create an atmosphere, a feeling”. Props include a character’s entire outfit: clothes, shoes, make-up, hairdo or wig (see Figure 4.1 for examples). Additionally, props can include any character-specific personal items that are necessary for or somehow add to the character: weapons, jewellery, books, maps, as well as headgear or eye accessories. For example,

The LARP performance  79

Figure 4.1  Props used in various LARPs. All props were made or acquired by the author.

a wizard character may require a wand, a soldier character may need a replica gun, and a scholar character may use writing paper and a pen. Props can also be given characteristics that are impossible or difficult to achieve in real life. For instance, an item may be cursed or have other magical effects. This is done by attaching an OFF-game note, that is, written instructions about the prop (I discuss OFF-game in more detail in the section ‘Rules’). For example, such a note may read: “OFF-game: When you touch this prop, you become cursed. You cannot speak for the next 10 minutes.”

80  The LARP performance The LARP materials may provide direct descriptions of necessary props, but, more often, the materials rather point to a specific aesthetic, such as medieval fantasy or futuristic cyber punk. This aesthetic generally has roots in some form of mediatised culture and thus sets everyone on a similar visual track. Sometimes characters may be directly based in geek culture, in which case LARPers can use imagery from the source materials. Even without a direct link, LARPers often use geek culture and various media narratives for inspiration and as a visual guide for props. Rose describes her props for a vampire character: Rose: . . . when I was thinking about the props, I searched through all sorts of Underworlds [vampire film series] and things because vampires aren’t really a familiar thing to me. So I had to do a little research [. . .] I wanted my coat open in that action movie way and I still need to get Tomb Raider guns from somewhere. Props are never ready-bought outfits, but are compiled piece by piece. LARPers explain that this makes them feel more personal and authentic. The pieces can be either bought or hand-made, the former often in specialty or thrift stores. Searching for and buying props is referred to by LARPers as prop hunting, and becomes a way for the LARPer to explore and engage with the mind-set of the character. Dawn points out that collecting all the props can be “exciting and emotional.” Making a prop is similarly a process of understanding and planning the character. Crafting is often detailed and arduous, as Rose elaborates: Rose: If you make [props] yourself, then of course you put in a lot more time and effort and from that perspective they’re much more . . . like . . . your own, but I also often make props that I’ve bought really personal. It’s interesting how it works . . . some clothes or props just scream at you in the store “you’re mine!” or like I mean “I’m yours!” and then you have to get it [laughs]. Props can become very detailed. For instance, Wade always tries to make his props with techniques and materials that are realistic to the character (e.g., handsewing leather for a historical LARP), and even wears authentic underwear to create a complete character. He points out that such small details in props make the character feel more real, but are usually done for oneself, as “it’s not like any other player would notice them, but you know it and it can bother you a lot.” Similarly, Sue and Dot use character-specific perfumes and deodorants in LARPs in order to create a multisensory embodied experience of their characters. LARPers tend to avoid using immediately recognisable everyday objects and personal items as props, because these hold too much personal meaning and can become distracting. LARPers often remove various personal items, such as jewellery, piercings, and glasses when LARPing in order to remove their own image from the character. For instance, Dot describes being disappointed when she has to use her reading glasses during LARPs, as it makes her feel like she is at work.

The LARP performance  81 Props used in LARP are thus often unfamiliar or even exotic, over-the-top objects, as these create a strict difference of self and other. At the same time, props need to be practical, as LARPs can last up to several days. Sometimes practical use takes precedence over fit to the fantasy context. For instance, Finnish winters can get very cold, and, in games taking place in the winter months, LARPers often settle for warm clothing, even if it does not fully fit the LARP. While props are mostly gathered on one’s own, LARPers also discuss props for a specific LARP on social media, coordinating with one another, and asking for advice on making or buying props. Items are also sometimes borrowed from others, especially if it is expensive or difficult to find, such as a replica weapon or specific insignia. “With LARPers it’s also great that if you don’t happen to find some accessory, then you can always ask for advice from others, or to borrow from others,” says May. The LARP community is not strict about authentic detail of props in the way other similar hobbies, such as cosplay or historical re-enactment, are. “LARPers appreciate if you just try,” May explains. “And people do try, like they’ll go around flea markets for weeks and weeks, just to find the perfect shirt, jewellery, or shoes.” Authenticity is nevertheless appreciated and often a certain minimum effort is implicitly required, as Dawn points out: “There are some things . . . like if someone comes to a historical LARP in sneakers, then you’re sort of like ‘why couldn’t you just put on darker shoes?!’” Many LARPers also feel self-imposed pressure to have ‘good’ props in order to support the creation of a good experience for all participants. Props that feel right to a LARPer help create the whole atmosphere of the LARP and thus support everyone’s performance. LARPers appreciate others’ effort, which, in turn, pushes them to prop well. Dawn says: “I really annoy myself if I forget something or don’t have the time for something. Like I have an awesome vision [for an outfit], but don’t have time to complete it! That really vexes me.” Wade describes a similar situation: Wade: I could probably have made many [props] much more easily than I did. Like I did not have to make a complete Viking outfit by hand, but I have. So you do do it for yourself because in the long run it looks pretty much the same whether you bought it ready or had it made or sewed it on a machine or by hand or something else. It doesn’t really matter if one stitch looks wrong. It doesn’t show. But then you know there’s a difference, that something is flawed. So you acknowledge it and it bothers you. So in that sense [props are] for other people. That you don’t show up in a towel-cape and sneakers. Because you know everyone else puts in effort so then I have to put in effort as well. Long-time LARPers build up large collections of props. But these are not always reusable, especially if made in great detail to fit a specific context and/or character. Moreover, LARPers often want each character to feel different and, as a result, do not like reusing entire prop sets, as these leave a trail of experiences and emotions from a previous character.

82  The LARP performance Rose: If I had the same outfit, which fits two different games perfectly, I wouldn’t really want to use exactly the same outfit. For example, for this game that’s coming up, I know I can probably find pretty fitting props [in my closet], and if I wanted to go cheap I’d just use them, but I would rather want something from a different world and so [. . .] I go buy new props because I want to be different from what I was before [laughs]. Yet, as Wade points out, “it’s not just the prop, but it’s also the set . . . the context and everything around it.” It is then the combinations of props, not individual pieces that support the material development of a LARP character. Hence, LARPers do reuse props for different games, but always in different combinations and with the addition of something new. While props may be reusable, they are not always disposable. Echoing other LARPers’ narratives, Rose points out that she cannot throw props away as she feels she may need them for future LARPs. Dot, on the other hand, has saved specific props as they have gained nostalgic value and remind her of specific LARPs. To sum up, the props need to fit the LARP character, as its performance is heavily based in materiality. Props help create the atmosphere of the LARP, communicate meanings to others, and become a guide in performance for both the LARPer using them and to other performers. Individuals often practice putting on props before the actual LARP to see how they look or to test out different elements. However, the meanings of props only fully emerge in the performance of the character at the LARP event. Mental and bodily preparation In addition to preparing the appearance and materiality of the character through props, LARPers prepare both cognitively and bodily to get into character. As Lin (2012) points out, the body can be crafted in the same way props or clothes are. LARPers stress that understanding the various cognitive elements, emotional states, beliefs, morals, and opinions of the character is central to preparing for a LARP performance. The effort put into such preparation varies from LARPer to LARPer, but all LARPers do prepare for the character in some form. May gives an example: May: . . . if, for example, [the character] is that type of lone wolf character then you tend to go, or you tend to do the sort of thing that you think “I’m alone, I’m independent, I don’t need anybody.” Like that kind of mentality. And you might start doing that a few days before the LARP. And then with a more social character you try to do stuff like, I might get in touch with my contacts before the game and talk a bit about how they interact, and what they know about each other, stuff like that. And you get to know the character so you know how to react to things, I mean that says a lot about a character, how they interact with their friends and enemies and things like that. And during that you start to learn what goes on in their head. And that makes it easier to immerse into the character.

The LARP performance  83 LARPers also focus on various bodily characteristics of characters. My interviewees described thinking about and practising various embodied elements, such as how characters move and talk, or what kind of habits and mannerisms they have. Both the bodily and the mental sides of the character are important to create a different “frame of mind” (May) or “mood” (Dot) that one takes on for the LARP. Dot elaborates: Dot: you have to start with what kind of person [the character] is. Like are they generally negative or positive, like are they a cheerful person. [. . .] also like how they approach other people, are they superior or inferior. How they stand . . . like their posture. Then also you need to figure out the voice and how they speak. Do they have a word that they repeat . . . or mannerisms? So all sorts of stuff like that. The type of preparation described by Dot is common, as it lets LARPers explore the character and test them out in action. This makes it easier to act and react as the character, thus aiding one’s own and others’ performances. Moreover, taking on bodily and mental characteristics clearly different from one’s own helps separate the character from one’s self, which is a central part of the performance, as I will explain later on. LARPers’ preparation is often based on imitating examples, usually ones from geek culture. In explaining an upcoming medieval fantasy character, Rose says: “I’ll use a lot of Tolkien and Weisman and Salvatore.” Wade explains that he used the TV show Sherlock as the basis for one of his LARP characters: “I was watching the new Sherlock a few weeks ago and I was like ‘my character could be Moriarty, he’s just like that guy!’” Performers thus tend to connect the character to a role model or role characteristics, archetypes of sorts. LARPers may also combine multiple characters in preparing or even base their ideas on people they know. Archetypes are accentuated, as they are easy to grasp and portray, communicating meaning quite directly to others. Most preparation for LARPs is done individually, but some LARPers also like to prepare in groups. This takes form in face-to-face conversations or discussions via email or social media. Most commonly, discussions involve LARPers who will play close contacts, with the aim of better understanding their characters’ relationship. For instance creating dynamics within a family may be important. In addition to creating interpersonal dynamics, preparing with others allows individuals to toss around ideas for their own characters and develop them further. Some GMs organise meet-ups or workshops before the LARP event. Meetups involve casual get-togethers for players, where they can meet each other and discuss their characters. Workshops are more structured and usually involve practising specific elements for the LARP, such as dancing, singing, or battle re-enactment. Workshops may also be used to create or develop the LARP itself and its materials, focusing on development of characters, social networks, or the overall world. Additionally, there are often general discussions and hype that take place in social media groups for the LARP. These rarely go into detail, but they get participants excited and allow for coordination of character preparation.

84  The LARP performance

During the LARP event The LARP event varies in length, ranging from just a few hours to several days. A typical LARP will usually last about 6–12 hours, with individuals staying the night before and after at the venue to prepare and then help to clean up. GMs usually set a schedule for when the LARP is due to start and end, when LARPers need to arrive and leave the venue. Reflecting Schechner’s (2006) structuring of performance, the LARP event starts with getting to the venue and preparing for the game both individually and in groups. This is followed by the LARP game, and concluded by after-game discussions. Getting to the LARP LARPs are usually removed both spatially and temporally from LARPers’ everyday lives. The venues are rented cabins, camping sites, youth or community centres (see an example of a cabin used for LARPs in Figure 4.2), as these allow the accommodation of a large group of people for several days, and provide a peaceful context without interruptions from outsiders. The games are usually scheduled for weekends or holidays to accommodate work and school hours. As the sites are off the grid, the most common way of getting to LARP venues is carpooling, which is organised among LARPers. The car rides are often accompanied by discussions and hype over the upcoming LARP, as well as possible contacting and preparation. Depending on the venue and the beginning of the game, LARPers either arrive the morning of the game or the night before. In any case, LARPers arrive in good time to be able to prepare and socialise. A few days before the LARP and at the latest on the way to it, LARPers start feeling very excited, but, at the same time, nervous about the upcoming performance.

Figure 4.2  A cabin used as a LARP venue

The LARP performance  85 Dawn: When you’re on the way to a game, it’s like “yay! I get to go to a game! This is so cool!” But at the same time, it’s like I haven’t read the character enough [. . .] and like I haven’t thought about the character enough and then if there’s an unexpected situation and gaaah! Would my character do this or this? . . . You should really prepare for each game well and think about the character beforehand. The LARP event is often simultaneously exciting and daunting to LARPers, as they feel that they are never prepared enough. LARPers describe feeling pressure to prop correctly and authentically for a LARP, and to portray their character in a believable manner. As an unsaid rule, everyone strives to create an authentic atmosphere and an experience that everyone enjoys. At the same time, LARPers stress that you “can’t be good or not good at LARPing” (Peg) and that the “aim is to have fun” (Dot). LARPers thus experience a self-imposed pressure to do well, and simultaneously perceive this to be paradoxical, as there are no set expectations. Preparing for the game Once at the venue, LARPers usually have some time to themselves. This is filled by discussions with other players and preparation for the LARP. While the LARP community is not strictly organised, most individuals know one another. As LARPers do not necessarily see one another much outside LARP events because of geographic limitations and busy schedules, they are excited to talk to their friends. Reunions before a LARP are often emotional, with people hugging one another and engaging in joyful discussions. It is noteworthy that while most LARPers know one another well, there is little discussion of everyday life at LARP events. Even casual conversations among LARPers will revolve around LARPs, both past and upcoming, as well as characters and exciting events in these LARPs. The time between arriving at the venue and the LARP starting is usually filled with commotion and racket. While there is a lot of casual hanging around, GMs are busy organising the venue, the materials, and the LARPers. At the same time, LARPers are busy preparing for their characters and helping with overall arrangements. As LARPers prepare, they usually engage in three central performances: contacting, propping, and organising the space. Contacting Contacting is an emic term that refers to discussions on the topic of the relationship between contacts that takes place among LARPers who will be playing said characters. A contact can involve any type of relationship, varying both in strength (e.g., acquaintance, sibling, lover) and type or relationship (e.g., love, friendship, animosity). The amount of contacts one has depends on the LARP and the character, ranging from just a few to all of the characters in the game.

86  The LARP performance Moreover, contacts can emerge naturally during the performance. Through experience, I have noticed that most LARP characters only have a few central contacts, with which they interact during the game. While contacting may take place long before the actual event, it more commonly happens at the LARP venue, as people have easier access to one another. The aim of contacting is to gain an understanding of the characters that will be important to one’s own character during the LARP. LARPers learn what the other characters look like visually, and, more importantly, they gain insight into how players have interpreted the characters and relationships among them. This creates a shared understanding of the social network that will be performed during the LARP, and creates further understanding of one’s own character through the eyes of others. In practice, contacting involves two or more LARPers stepping to the side and discussing their characters. When I contact with other LARPers, we tend to first sum up our own characters as well as our interpretation of the character’s attitudes, values, and central characteristic. After that, we discuss how their relationship works, how they interact, and even plan what we might do during the game. Sometimes, it has been necessary to make up elements of the history between characters. For instance, when LARPing a couple with someone, we might make up a back-story to how the characters met just in case a conversation around the topic arises during the LARP. Rose has a similar process and explains why it is important: “I wanna know who I am and how I react to things, and that’s in many ways in the history . . . I like that the character has a history. With others.” While LARPers prepare well in advance, many elements are changed or modified through contacting to accommodate other characters and the interaction with them, the meanings of which are shared among the involved players. Propping Propping, that is, the process of putting on the character’s props, is a central part of preparing for the LARP. Depending on the difficulty and amount of props, LARPers will begin propping from a few hours to a few dozen minutes before the beginning of the game. In addition to putting on clothes, propping includes a whole array of practices that transform the LARPer’s appearance, such as putting on make-up or face paint. Depending on the character, the make-up can range from very subtle everyday make-up to quite radical changes in appearance that use professional body paints and prosthetics (e.g., fake scars, horns, unusually shaped ears or noses). The latter is common for non-human characters. Contact lenses are also quite popular both for the purpose of not wearing glasses and for colouring one’s irises. Hair is another point of transformation that is key to propping. Players always do their hair somehow, going as far as colouring it or growing facial hair for a specific character. They may also choose to wear a wig or put on fake facial hair to transform their appearance. Chase describes how a fake beard created the finishing touch to his character transformation: “I noticed with Cole [a character] that when he has a beard . . . that really helped a lot with getting into character.” I provide some examples of my fully propped characters in Figure 4.3.

The LARP performance  87

Figure 4.3  Author as various LARP characters in full props. All props were made, acquired, or borrowed by the author.

LARPers describe the process of propping to be almost ritualistic in helping them make the change from self to character. Sue elaborates on the matter: “When everyone is getting ready, propping . . . you get this atmosphere that something really great is about to happen.” People tend to gather in the same room to prop,

88  The LARP performance helping each other with hair and make-up, making last-minute adjustments and sharing their resources. Some LARPers will bring extra props that fit the theme of the game, and lend them to others in order to help expand their characters. The communal experience of physical transformation builds up emotion and energy for the LARP, which helps individuals step away from their selves and their everyday lives. The shared ritual further intensifies the excitement for the LARP, creating a community out of the individual characters that are about to emerge in the performance. Organising the space An important element of the LARP is the space that it takes place in. The space is usually chosen with the LARP in mind so that it supports the fantasy world and players’ performance in it. Consequently, a medieval fantasy LARP would probably be played at a cabin in a forest, while a science fiction LARP would be played in a more modern building (various spaces can be seen in the background in Figure 4.3). However, a great deal can be and often is left to the imagination. The venue, just like the individuals in it, is usually propped for the LARP. First, this involves removing or covering up any distracting elements of the venue that could break the LARPers’ performance. For instance, a youth centre may have a noticeboard full of information irrelevant to the LARP, or a camping site might have pictures of previous tenants. Furniture is sometimes moved around to build up a different atmosphere in the space. Second, the GMs and other LARPers prop the space to fit the fantasy world. The propping varies greatly from game to game, depending on the theme, venue, and budget of the LARP. Common props include various informative and decorative items (e.g., posters, noticeboards, tableware, art). Just like personal props, these are pieced together through various items that are bought or hand-made. Very specific items, such as fictional insignia or maps, are made specifically for the game. Props for the space are usually gathered by the GMs, but are sometimes borrowed from other LARPers or made together. As Wade explains, propping of the space does not need to be perfect or even present at all, but can add a lot to the LARP’s atmosphere. Wade: Well, I have played games where we’re in a classroom propped with tape on the floor, which we pretended is a spaceship . . . so [propping the space] doesn’t matter in a sense, but it does create a certain atmosphere. Especially if it’s a historic game where people are like “we’re monks from the 1500s” and everyone has the clothes of a monk from the 1500s and the gear of a monk from the 1500s which is like really detailed and everything . . . so there it would bother me . . . In addition to propping, the space usually needs to be cleaned and food needs to be prepared. In general, everyone helps out with cleaning, while cooking is done by specific NPCs, GMs, or other helpers, such as designated cooks.

The LARP performance  89 LARPers are very open to helping organise, clean, and prop the space, as well as help with any other arrangement for the game, as this helps create a better experience for everyone. Brief The most formal part of the pre-LARP performance is the brief, which takes place at every LARP, usually right before it is scheduled to begin and after everyone has propped. The brief is a LARP term for a quite formal account of directions and guidelines made by the GM to players of the LARP. Everyone gathers in one space for the brief and is expected to listen carefully. The aim is to ensure the safety of everyone during the LARP and to affirm a clear, shared understanding of the starting point of the LARP. Briefing could be seen as an extreme form of frame alignment (Goffman 1959), the role of which is to provide clear information that defines the situation that individuals are in. The brief varies considerably from game to game, but usually covers the three following areas: the information on the fantasy world, the specifics of the LARP space, and the rules structuring the LARP performance. First, the GM always quickly goes through all the general information provided to the players, such as the fantasy world, its history, politics, and subcultures. In most LARPs, the brief will also include a short introduction of each character and, if relevant, of each subgroup or community. This may be omitted, if the game includes a large number of participants, or if character-specific information is intentionally withheld. Second, the GM discusses the space of the LARP and its possible restrictions. In some larger LARPs, the brief may also include a tour of the space. LARPs are confined to specific areas, which typically include both indoors and outdoors. The spaces are designated a use within the LARP, which may or may not correspond with their ‘real’ purpose. For instance, kitchens and bathrooms are usually used for their real-life purposes in LARPs. However, a classroom or a dining hall may be transformed into a ballroom, a nightclub, or a spaceship. A specific area is always reserved as a break room, which is called an OFF-space (see ‘Rules’ for more information). This space remains outside the scope of the fantasy world, and is used for things like storing players’ personal items, taking a break from the LARP, or as the GM’s office. Lastly, the brief always involves going over the rules and techniques of simulation of the LARP. Rules help maintain safety and security during a LARP, as well as aid in understanding elements of the LARP performance. Depending on the content of the game, the GM will also discuss various techniques for the simulation of actions that are not physically possible (e.g., magic) or are undesirable (e.g., violence). For instance, if the LARP will most likely involve a battle, the GM will go through the rules of battle simulation. Most LARPers know these rules and techniques well, as similar ones are used throughout LARPs. I discuss the rules and techniques in detail in the next sections. In addition to the general brief, which is for all the LARPers, GMs will often have quick briefs for individual characters or smaller groups. These serve the

90  The LARP performance same purpose as the general brief, but allow the discussion of themes and goals that are not yet open for all players to know. Sometimes such personal briefs are done before the whole LARP event, either face-to-face or over the phone, in order to free up pre-LARP time at the venue. Rules In addition to state laws and rules imposed by the venue, LARPs involve a number of self-imposed rules that the players are expected to follow. LARP rules are unwritten, but have become quite standard among LARPs in Finland. While all participants are expected to abide by and govern the rules, the GM has absolute control over the game. GMs commonly have a less active character, an NPC, or no character at all, which lets them observe and support the game, rather than be a part of it. Rules can be general to LARP or may be game-/venue-specific. As an example of game-specific rules, LARPs that are expected to have many battles may impose a rule that characters cannot be killed during the LARP or may only be killed after a specific time (e.g., only after the LARP has been going for 4 hours). This does not mean that characters are immortal, but rather that players are not allowed to kill other characters in order to ensure that everyone has time to engage in the performance. There may also be different rules in terms of what to do if your character does die. Some LARPs may provide a new character or an NPC, while in others the individual’s LARP merely ends. The more general rules incorporated into LARPs are used for safety and for clarity of structuring of the performance. LARPers are very serious about safety and security, with participants being expected to follow rules strictly in order to prevent any types of accidents or harassment. The rules may seem strict and rigidly governed by GMs, but they rarely restrict the LARP in any perceivable way. The following are some of the common LARP rules in Southern Finland. (1) The beginning and end of a LARP are signalled by the GM, usually by shouting ‘Game begins!’ and ‘Game ends!’ (2) If, at any time during the LARP, a player is in danger or is hurt, individuals are to yell ‘Hold!’ This can be done by any participant and signifies a pause in the game to figure out what has happened. When heard, the yell is to be repeated so that everyone knows to stop performing. (3) The players can use safety words to signify to other players that they are uncomfortable with a situation in the LARP for any reason. The safety word is decided during briefing, but is usually ‘turvasana’ (which is Finnish for ‘safe word’). A modification of the safe word is a technique called ‘Street Lights,’ where saying ‘green’ means I am OK with the situation, ‘yellow’ means I don’t want the situation to progress any further, and ‘red’ means I want the situation to stop. Many other versions of this rule exist, but all versions focus on ensuring a feeling of safety. In addition to safety rules, LARP is guided by the strict division of ‘IN-game’ and ‘OFF-game.’ The former refers to interaction as characters in the fantasy world, while the latter refers to any interaction outside the fantasy world done

The LARP performance  91 during the LARP. ‘Being OFF-game’ can be used by anyone at any time, and is usually signalled by holding your fist over your head. This is sometimes supplemented by saying ‘OFF-game’ out loud. Going OFF-game can be useful or even necessary for a number a reasons, which I describe below. However, it is important to note that LARPers generally prefer to stay IN-game throughout the LARP, as going OFF-game breaks immersion. First, OFF-game is used when dealing with practical issues during the LARP. The GM, LARPers, or NPCs may need to fix something or discuss organisational issues. As I noted earlier, the LARP space will usually have an OFF-space, in which lengthier discussions around such topics can take place. Second, going OFF-game may be necessary for clarification of LARP-relevant information, between a LARPer and a GM or among LARPers. Players may go OFF-game to clarify rules and character information, or to make sure that everyone is on the same page both IN- and OFF-game. Here, the terms OFF- and IN-game can be used to describe characters, interaction, and the surrounding world during the LARP. LARPers start such interaction by saying ‘OFF-game’ to signify interaction outside the scope of the fantasy performance. For instance if a player has stepped into a building and is not sure where the character now is, they might ask “OFF-game: Where am I IN-game?” Third, OFF-game can be used to give IN-game directions. Directions may be given by the GM or by any LARPer in order to explain things like a character’s actions, environmental occurrences, or the general development of affairs. This is especially common for events that are difficult to re-create or are physically impossible (e.g., magic). For instance, a GM may instruct the sudden emergence of fog in the following way: “OFF-game: everyone suddenly notices fog around them.” The instructions can be either spoken or take the form of OFF-notes that can be attached to objects or be given to players. Directions can be given to everyone or only specific characters affected by the actions or events. Lastly, OFF-game is sometimes necessary for moving around in the space out of character. For instance, characters may need to travel, players whose characters have died may need to move around the venue, or a LARPer may merely need to take a timeout. Techniques for simulation As LARP is based on face-to-face interaction among individuals, the rules often incorporate techniques for certain common actions so as not to break a player’s performance or pause the game for discussions. Such interaction is done through simulation, that is, mimicking actions in a manner pre-defined by the GM. Just as with the rules, LARPs can involve game-specific techniques and more common techniques that are used in almost all games. The two main common categories of simulation are combat and intimacy. Not all LARPs involve either or both, but most LARP briefs go through the techniques just in case. Combat covers many different types of battle and varies from game to game. It can include, among others, hand-to-hand combat, gunfire, sword fighting, and

92  The LARP performance magical combat. There are many different ways of simulating combat, which depend on what fits the game best. Usually, no physical contact is allowed and movements need to be slowed down. For firearms, nothing is actually shot, but a signal, such as ‘Bang!’ is yelled by the player. Moreover, the battle and its outcome are usually discussed by the LARPers OFF-game. Sometimes, if a LARP is expected to involve a lot of combat, the GM may incorporate a point system that reflects the experience and strengths of the characters. Intimacy is another aspect that may happen among characters, but is simulated by the players. Typically kissing is simulated by holding up one’s hand against another player’s hand and kissing the back of one’s own hand. Sex is usually discussed by the LARPers OFF-game. However, some games may involve more physical ways of simulating intimacy, such as rubbing each other’s shoulders. In addition, LARPers playing characters in intimate relationships are encouraged to discuss their limits before the game. The players decide themselves whether they are OK with things like holding hands or hugging. In addition to elements that may be too dangerous or uncomfortable to perform realistically, LARPs may incorporate simulation of elements that are impossible or difficult for LARPers to do. These may include things like speaking foreign languages or performing magic. Such elements are usually very game-specific and involve game-specific rules. For instance, speaking a foreign language may be signified by a hand signal, such as holding up crossed fingers. IN-game While based on a detailed structure, the LARP game itself has quite emergent and free form. There is no script that the LARP follows, with the performance being improvisational in nature, and developing organically via interaction among performers. The performance is largely based on the provided characters, their contacts and aims. The GM will sometimes plan elements to throw in to keep the LARP going or to create drama, but these are merely there to support or re-ignite interaction. Moreover, while LARPers prepare for their characters, they rarely actually plan in detail what they will do. The game starts as the GM shouts ‘Game begins!’ with the LARPers beginning their game in a pre-defined place. Depending on the LARP, players may all begin the LARP in the same space and at the same time, or begin in different places and enter the LARP gradually. LARPers often describe the beginning of the performance to be nerve-racking, as, even with preparation, you can never be fully sure how the character performance will emerge. The co-performers, contacts, themes, and setting are new every time, with the performance emerging organically through their interaction. Hence, even replayed LARPs or sequels provide their participants with novelty and challenges. LARPers embrace this aspect enthusiastically and actively want to try out different types of characters and different types of LARPs in order to broaden their perspectives. “If you would always play the same thing, it would get really boring,” Wade explains.

The LARP performance  93 LARPers describe taking the final step into the fantasy world and the fantasy character as “plunging into the character” (Rose). Entering the bodily performance of fantasy is thus like diving into the unknown. In the context of theatre, Chekhov (1995) similarly proposed that actors need to make an imaginative leap into fantasy to interact with the aesthetic performance. The beginning of a LARP is often stiff and slow, as it can take some time to get into character. A discussion with Dawn exemplifies this: Interviewer: What does it feel like when the game is starting out? Dawn: Well sometimes it’s quite difficult. And in many games there is a type of initial stiffness because people have not really got into their characters yet . . . it’s like “cough, cough, we need to . . . somehow get over this” . . . Interviewer: So what do you do to get over it? What kinds of things do you do? Dawn: Well, it’s usually a really awkward silent moment, and the characters are just like “well now we’re just standing here.” So you just try to think what the character is thinking . . . like are they pissed off at the situation or would they try to begin a conversation or would they just leave. Like just really try to get into the character’s mind and continue from there with actions. Performing in a LARP requires continuous attention to and negotiation of one’s own behaviour and reactions, which results in LARPers being consciously aware of themselves, other people, and the context they are in. “It’s sort of like you’re really focused on what you’re doing and focused as a person . . . you really notice the surrounding world and such,” Rose explains. I discuss this bodily, emotional, and cognitive awareness in detail in the next chapter. LARPs in Finland are not competitive, as, most of the time, they cannot be won in any way.2 In fact, most LARPers like to ‘play to lose,’ that is, play with an aim for an outcome that results in more drama and interesting outcomes, even at the cost of favourable consequences for their character. A similar idea is ‘the rule of bigger drama,’ which many LARPers abide by. This encourages LARPers, within the confines of the given materials, to build interaction that is dramatised and goes to extremes, thus creating more spectacular and exciting experiences. In connection to these positions, LARPers aim to always support one another in interaction. Wade elaborates that “if others want to do something that involves your character, you always try to go along . . . you can’t really brush off another’s idea.” This is in many ways similar to how improvisational theatre is structured, and, once again, reflects egalitarian aspects of Finnish culture. The LARP ends at a predetermined time or with a certain event, which is expected to happen or is invoked by the GM. For instance, this can be some sort of a ritual, a speech, or a battle. GMs often give a heads-up to players when the game is about to end so that they have time to wrap up their interactions. Most games end at the same time for all players when the GM informs them of it by

94  The LARP performance shouting ‘Game ends!’ Some LARPs have a more gradual or unstructured ending. For instance, a game may end when people go to bed or when they choose to leave the IN-game area. After the game The fantasy dissolves through the shared understanding that the LARP is over and that its world is no longer to be taken seriously. Unlike the gradual process of getting into character, this return to reality and the everyday self is experienced by LARPers to be fast and almost disenchanting. The experience is abrupt, because the performance of reality is familiar and thus does not involve preparation or build-up. Moreover, the change in performance is harsh, as it breaks apart the emergent community, pushing individuals back into their own, separate lives. In attending LARPs, I have noticed a distinct change in people’s behaviour the moment the LARP ends. Individuals may visibly fall back to a familiar posture, way of talking, or mood. The abrupt end of the fantasy performance is often very emotional for LARPers, as they become invested in their characters, contacts, and the fantasy world. Dawn says: “When you come back to the real world after a game, now that’s a challenge. [. . .] when you’re in character for many hours or even many days, you live in that world, it’s so weird coming back.” The ending is especially disenchanting if character goals are not reached or interactions are left unfinished. Moreover, as I will show below, elements of the character may stick to the LARPer, causing nostalgia. The emotionality is intensified by the energy-draining nature of LARP. Dot explains: “you’re so excited all the time, and you prepare and then you put in so much effort and then I’m always like dying of hunger because you just use up so much energy during a LARP day.” Rose adds that she gets physically and emotionally tired, as LARPs require continuous negotiation of behaviours, interactions, and responses. Once the LARP is over, LARPers actively focus on getting out of character in order to avoid various negative repercussions that may emerge from mixing self and character. I discuss these in more detail later on. Getting out of character is supported by a variety of practices. Most notably, individuals aim to discuss their characters in the third person so that everyone detaches the character from the performer. Another important aspect is depropping, a LARP term for changing from character props into one’s everyday apparel. Unlike propping, depropping is not ritualised or centralised, probably because it does not build up to anything. Depropping tends to be more individual, unscheduled, and unstructured than its counterpart. The practice nevertheless plays an important role in reverting back to everyday life and self through changing the material basis of performance. LARPers do not leave the venue right away, but stay to discuss the performance and debrief, a process I describe below. Everyone also helps to deprop and clean the space. If the venue is close to LARPers’ homes, players may leave the same night. However, as games usually end quite late, people tend to stay the night and leave for home the next morning.

The LARP performance  95 Debrief LARPers are very enthusiastic about discussing the performance after it has ended. Discussions are formalised in the debrief, which refers to the wrap-up of the LARP that aims for LARPers to gain an overall understanding of what happened in the game. The debrief uncovers characters’ goals and relationships, as well as presents different points of view on the performance. In some cases, such as in campaigns, information may be withheld if it is important for upcoming LARPs. A debrief can be seen as the counterpart of the brief, but is less of an account from the GM and more of a collaborative discussion among all LARPers. The brief and debrief can be seen to create an entity of holistic understanding of the fantasy performance. Briefing happens before the LARP and creates a shared perspective for the starting point of the LARP, and debriefing wraps up the LARP by explaining and presenting multiple perspectives on the events that took place during the LARP. In practice, debrief takes different forms, varying much more from LARP to LARP than briefing. Most commonly, the GM first gives an overview of the LARP as they saw it, answering any questions performers have. This is followed by the LARPers’ own accounts of the game. In smaller games, every person tends to give the whole group a lengthier personal debrief. In larger games, personal debrief time may be limited or LARPers may be divided into groups for debrief. Recently, more structured forms of debrief have emerged. Here, LARPers are divided into small groups, each run by a discussion leader. In the groups, performers discuss various aspects of the LARP, and how it influenced them as characters and as themselves. Debriefing is very important for several reasons. First, it allows LARPers to share, reflect on, and better understand the experiences and emotions that emerged as part of character performance. In debriefing, LARPers often share a little of their character’s background, the character’s goals for the LARP, the main events that happened to the character, and personal highlights of the game. Debriefing becomes therapeutic in a sense, as it helps individuals release and deal with the emotional experiences ensuing from LARP. Rose provides an example: Rose: You get to break down your character and tell everyone else all the fun things that happened to you and what experiences and emotions you had. When you have that intense feeling and you get a high curve of this awesome feeling and then you hit a low or a feeling of emptiness. And then if you go through it together, what just happened, then it sort of clears that out. So the final breakdown is really important. Second, the debrief allows LARPers to hear about and better understand the experiences, motivations, and perspectives of others. Wade elaborates: Wade: After the game you tell everyone what you did . . . and I often like to ask about motivations from some people. Like if they shot me and I wanna know why they did that. Or some secrets that you don’t find out in the game. [. . .] Stuff that didn’t come up or wasn’t clear or your character didn’t want to do. I think it’s always really fun to ask others, and often I really wanna tell others.

96  The LARP performance Through sharing experiences, LARPers gain greater understanding of what others did and why, as well as how their own actions as characters influenced and were perceived by others. LARPers receive feedback on their performance, possibly learning how to improve future LARP performances or even everyday interaction. Third, the debrief covers the events that a character and thus also the performer had no knowledge of during the LARP, creating a bird’s-eye view on the whole LARP event. Peg explains: “All these new things are always revealed and it’s really fun to hear about them because things are clarified. Meaning what happened in the game. Because you only get to follow your own game.” Fourth, debriefing helps release and resolve various emotional reactions LARPers experience as themselves during the LARP. As LARPs can be quite intense and dramatic, LARPers may face situations that they do not know how to deal with themselves or ones that trigger some kind of personal memories or responses. For instance, in a high school LARP, some of my co-performers were unexpectedly faced with being bullied by other characters, which brought up sore personal experiences that they were unable to distance themselves from. In such a situation, debriefing helps in dealing with personal emotions and responses to the fantasy performance. Moreover, debriefing disconnects the characters from performers, thus detaching possible negative experiences or impressions from the individuals. It is especially important to disengage from a character as quickly as possible if a LARPer plays an emotionally difficult character or has an emotionally difficult game. For example, May described playing a mentally ill character, which was very interesting for her, but the characteristics of which felt like they could have been harmful if she had held on to them for a longer period of time. May: As soon as possible, I wanted to shake off the character out of my head. Even though it was fun to play, I don’t want to keep it in my head after the game. It is fun to talk about the events of the game and stuff like that, but most likely I couldn’t be in any way in character because it was such an intense game. The distancing of the character is promoted by a humorous attitude toward the performance after it has ended. LARPers are often enthusiastic about sharing the various mishaps and misfortunes that happened to their character, easily mocking both their own and others’ characters as well as the encounters they had with one another during the LARP. This humorous perspective seems to create a distance between the self and the character, and between the fantasy world and the real world, aiding LARPers in reverting to their everyday life. In addition to the formal debrief, most LARPers also debrief in smaller groups and one-on-one with the players of characters they had most interaction with. The informal discussions help LARPers to get to know others’ thoughts and motivations more personally as well as sort out any misunderstandings, both as character and self.

The LARP performance  97 To summarise, debriefs allow LARPers to deal with their experiences, get reflexive understanding of their own performance, and gain holistic understanding of the entire LARP. As a result, the performance gains deeper meaning based in multiple perspectives. Dealing with experiences LARPs often result in strong emotional experiences, which LARPers deem to be the most valuable elements of LARPing. Most of the time, LARPs result in positive experiences (even as the events that characters experienced were not necessarily positive), which the participants cherish and learn from. How much a LARP influences a performer varies a lot from performance to performance, as well as from individual to individual, depending on their position in society and personal goals. LARP performances with positive and long-lasting aftermath usually involve strong support from other performers as well as intense, emotional experiences. What performers learn also varies. Some LARPs provide revelatory experiences of the specific life situations that performers face or skills they must embrace, allowing performers to literally walk in someone else’s shoes. Learning can also take more general form in that individuals gain understanding of how various performances work, how they are perceived by others, and how they can be changed. I discuss these experiences in more detail in the next chapter. Negative experiences are, unfortunately, also possible. Small breaks in performance can happen when individuals are distracted, unprepared, or unfocused for some reason. This may be caused by the lack of rules or clarity of context, poor or distracting propping, other people being OFF-game, or merely the LARPer themself being tired or hungry. Long or continued breaks in performance can seriously affect an individual’s experience, as they can cause one to “go too much into yourself,” as Rose puts it, and thus lose the embodiment of the character and connection to the fantasy world being performed. Negative overall experiences are usually a result of LARP elements poorly fitting one another and not emerging as a consistent entity. This can be a result of various processes, both stemming from the LARP design and the players themselves. As seen in Wade’s example below, LARP design can produce a bad experience through such elements, as a poorly structured network, short contact lists, and incompatible or non-existent character goals. When characters have nothing to do and have no materials to base active engagement on, players get bored. Wade: I got really annoyed at some point . . . there was a clear problem, like there were a few characters that were clearly redundant and they had no function there. Like I was just hanging out with five other prisoners, or four other prisoners and a guard, in this tiny cell the whole game basically. [. . .] Many people seemed to have a pretty bad game. [. . .] We told the game masters that we could have done other things during the game or like play contacts, which were missing.

98  The LARP performance At the same time, LARPers themselves have an enormous role in creating a good experience for themselves and for one another. Negative experiences can be a result of contacts that are too passive or engaged in other goals, as well as players not being supportive of one another. For example, in one LARP my character’s central contact became too caught up in other goals, leaving me with nothing to do. In another LARP, I found that I was in a similar situation when my character reached her goals too quickly, as other players, whose characters were supposed to impede my character’s progress, played their characters too leniently. Negative experiences can, nevertheless, be interesting to LARPers, as they still present a new perspective and a break from everyday life. Some LARPers have pointed out that they actually enjoy having a really poor experience once in a while, because it puts LARPing into perspective and makes the positive experiences even better. Through the positive and negative experiences within LARP, LARPers learn what works and what does not, allowing them to develop their own performances.

After the LARP event After the LARP event is over, performers continue individual and communal reflection. Similar to Schechner’s (2006) description of performance aftermath, the aftermath of a LARP involves critical reflection, archiving, and reminiscing. As LARPs tend to be both physically and socially draining, LARPers often describe needing a day off to relax and recharge after a game. Most games are organised on weekends or during holidays, and thus getting time off can be easily arranged. However, some of my interviewees have described taking a day or two off from work after very taxing LARPs, especially ones they helped organise. Possibly as a way of holding on to the fantasy world of the LARP, debriefing often continues after the LARP is over. LARPers reminisce and delve into how characters may develop after the events of the game. The GMs also usually ask for a small written debrief from everyone to get to know how the characters came to life and to get feedback on the game’s organisation. Peg, who has organised several large LARPs herself, elaborates that “it’s nice to hear whether people had a good time [. . .] and there’s usually so much stuff that you didn’t even think of planning that just happens.” Many LARPers point out that it is helpful to get the experiences out in writing, as this further helps reflect and deal with emotions, as well as leaves the performers with an archive of the performance. As individuals return to their everyday selves and lives, many LARPers experience various levels of what they call ‘post-LARP blues’ or ‘post-LARP depression’ (PLD for short). This is not a very descriptive term, as it is, of course, not actual depression or a post-traumatic disorder, but could rather be described as a bittersweet feeling of nostalgia for the LARP character and world (see Figure 1.8, p. 22, Plate 8). LARPers seem to simultaneously enjoy and dread PLD. Dawn describes PLD as “a horrible feeling of this strong need to LARP and continue the game.” She elaborates: “You continue thinking about the game and how much fun you had and about the great feeling you have still even though you’re like ‘oh no! Why did the game end?!’” PLD is underpinned by a wish to go back to the fantasy world and the fantasy character, thus allowing performers to continue to engage

The LARP performance  99 in the fantasy performance on some level by contemplating it. At the same time, LARPers acknowledge that they would not actually want to live in delusion or even in a real version of a LARP world, as characters often have difficult lives. In light of PLD, individuals also feel nostalgic for the ephemeral community of LARPers, its closeness and intensity. They miss the face-to-face contact with and support of other people. “LARPer groups get really tightly knit and then all of a sudden you have to go home after [the game is over], and it’s a horrible feeling,” says Sue. LARPers further seem to miss the transparency and the clear structures of the performance. Many LARPers point out that real life seems confusing compared to LARP, and that they miss the clear structures and rules that a LARP provides. PLD varies from individual to individual, and LARP experience to LARP experience. Dawn explains that the strength of the PLD does not especially depend on the themes or length of the LARP, but rather on “the intensity of the character, I mean like how you play that character. If it’s really great and gripping, then it easily sticks to you.” PLD seems to be tied into intense emotional experiences and elements of the character spilling over from the LARP into the individual’s own life. PLD may also be stronger if the character’s life is preferable to one’s own, as Dot explains. Dot: I always get PLD. Especially if the character has somehow a better life situation than myself. Like if I’m in exam season and they’re not . . . or like they’re the types of people in whose skin I’d like to be for a little while. Nostalgia is further intensified if LARPers perceive their own lives to be ‘boring’ and ‘mundane,’ as this cannot compete with the dramatic and exciting LARP experiences. Wade expresses the point of view that PLD “is more pronounced in people whose lives aren’t going that well.” Therefore, the LARPer’s own life situation may influence the intensity of PLD. Although PLD seems to be a negative element of LARPing, many LARPers believe that “PLD is a sign that you had a really good game” (Dawn), as it points to deep emotional ties and experiences. It also pushes individuals to contemplate and thus reflect on the fantasy performance, allowing learning and discussions with other LARPers to take place. Moreover, PLD often becomes one of the central elements driving individuals to continue to LARP. LARPers themselves discuss various ways of overcoming or preventing PLD. In the short term, PLD can be alleviated through debriefing and learning to keep the character at a distance. In the long term, many LARPers have found that organising their real life to be interesting and exciting is the ultimate solution to PLD. Rose provides an example: Rose: This time I had less of [PLD] than I usually have . . . I think it’s because I’m in quite a fresh relationship and so a couple of days away from my boyfriend kind of made me miss him so it was really nice seeing him. It wasn’t like “oh, life is wonderful in that other world and now I have to go home alone.” It wasn’t like that. I feel like my everyday is also a little exciting, not like routines, but that it has all sorts of drama in it. It’s not that big of a drop to everyday life.

100  The LARP performance Some LARPers have even pointed out that experiencing PLD has urged them to change things in their life in order to make it more exciting, taking on new hobbies or lifestyles. All in all, LARP can have great impact on individuals’ lives through pushing them to reflect and take on new perspectives. I discuss this in more detail in the next chapter.

Notes 1 In other countries, it may be more common for materials be written communally or individually by each participant. 2 As noted earlier, LARP culture differs greatly in different countries. In other cultures, LARP may be, for instance, more directed at winning or strategising.

References Attebery, Brian (1992), Strategies of Fantasy, Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Chekhov, Mihail A. (1995), Об uскусстве актера [Ob iskusstve aktera], ed. N. B. Volkova, M. O. Knebel, N. A. Krymova, T. I. Oizerman, G. A. Tovstonogov, M. A. Ul’yanov, second edition, Moscow, Russia: Iskusstvo. Goffman, Erving (1959), The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, London, UK: Penguin Books. Lin, Erika T. (2012), Shakespeare and the Materiality of Performance, New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan. Schechner, Richard (2006), Performance Studies: An Introduction, Abingdon, UK: Routledge.

5 Fantasy performance

In the following sections, I focus on the performance of lived fantasy from the subjective point of view of an individual participating in a LARP. I examine the performance of fantasy as it emerges on three levels of abstraction (following Goffman 1959; McAuley 2000): the performance of self, the performance of interaction, and the performance of social space.1 In practice, the performances are not clearly distinct, but flow in and out of one another. The separation nevertheless allows for detailed analysis of performance in abstraction.

The self in fantasy performance A central element of LARP performance is taking on the perspective of the character one is portraying. While bodily performed, taking on a fantasy character is a very conscious and reflexive process, requiring continuous awareness of and differentiation between self and other. Building up the fantasy character To recap, individuals prepare extensively for LARPs, with various material, bodily, and cognitive elements building a basis for the performance of the character. The material elements include the props that create the character’s visual and physical appearance; bodily elements include things like the character’s mannerisms, habits, and behaviours; and cognitive elements involve beliefs, opinions, and personality traits. The character performance is initiated through concrete and clearly defined characteristics that the player has received through the LARP materials and consequently developed through preparation. Hope explains how these aspects help begin the LARP performance: Hope: Props and materials and other things really affect it, because then when you look at yourself in the mirror, you don’t see yourself, but you see the character and you get this feeling, that hey! I’m the character, not me, and I need to think like this . . .

102  Fantasy performance Embracing another’s body, possessions, and characteristics creates a very approachable essence for the character, making them feel more real through their tangibility. In the same vein, Walton (1990) suggests that various physical elements can help “prompt,” “coordinate,” and “enrich imagined lives” (p. 21). Props and characteristics of a character create what Goffman (1974) described as a personal front, that is, the character’s appearance and manner as experienced by others. Belk and Costa (1998) noticed a similar occurrence in the context of historical re-enactment, proposing that “‘fronts’ are easier to maintain and that consumer ‘props’ are more important to role enactment” (p. 231). The material elements do indeed become a LARPer’s tools for changing the body physically and getting into the character. However, LARPers stress that the physical props are never central to the performance. A common saying among LARPers goes: ‘Propping for LARPs, not LARPing for props.’ The front can help keep the character embodied and grounded, but its role is merely supportive. May explains: May: Of course the props help [. . .] but I would say the primary place where you develop the character is in your head. And that’s what’s great about LARPs! It doesn’t matter that you don’t have the magic wand that looks exactly authentic, or a sword that looks exactly real. They’re just the tools you play with. The real game is in your head. As Butler (1990) proposes, materiality allots reality to and anchors performance. Yet, in LARP, materiality is not the end goal, serving merely as the basis for embodied performance and interaction. Starting off in materiality, the LARP performance requires the performer to “get into the character’s head,” as Peg explains. She elaborates: “If you are able to understand this character and the logic through which they act . . . when you think through the character’s thoughts, then you can immerse into it.” To understand their characters and thus perform them bodily and cognitively, LARPers try to imagine how it is to live in the character’s context, with their goals and their values. The character performance emerges as one embraces beliefs, opinions, and emotions of the character, building action and reaction on these traits. LARPing is thus experienced both as an external and an internal performance. The former emerges as bodily performance and interaction, while the latter emerges through ‘internal play,’ an emic term for the LARP character’s emotional and thought processes. For example, contemplating as the character how to react to a situation would constitute internal play, whereas discussing it with other characters would not. Peg explains that internal play requires “understanding the character and their logic [. . .] thinking through their worldview.” May adds that this can be extremely interesting and beneficial, as “you find a lot of new levels in the character when you have more internal play.” Of course, in practice, the internal and external are intertwined and inseparable, but individuals seem to explicitly differentiate the two. The inseparable nature of the internal and external performance is evident in how individuals approach them. As I already described, bodily performance is

Fantasy performance  103 often based on a thorough thought process. Wade explains how bodily reactions can also be a side effect of internal character performance: Wade: One time I had this character that was a junkie and he couldn’t get a fix so he was just climbing on walls and I actually started feeling nauseous at some point [of the LARP]. And I got other physical reactions at some point. It was kind of freaky when my hands were all shaking after the game [. . .] You can definitely psych yourself up to do physical things. Similarly, getting into the character cognitively and emotionally is commonly approached by LARPers through bodily aspects of performance. Wade gives an example: “you can get yourself nervous if you sort of breathe in a shallow way.” The various aspects of the character performance tend to be heavily based on or at least influenced by entertainment media and geek culture. As I noted in the previous chapter, LARPers often use various characters from films, TV shows, or books to model their character on. Characters may be used directly, as Wade did in modelling his LARP character on Sherlock’s Moriarty, or through recombining various elements of behaviour and appearance, as Rose did with her character for a vampire LARP. Building on Baudrillard (1995), Auslander (2008) explains that media have become the realm of recall and repetition of a limitless amount of information, which we don’t necessarily have direct experience of. In line with this, LARPers build fantasy performance through recombining bits and pieces very familiar to them through consumption of entertainment media. Through the familiarity, the performance becomes easy to portray and understand. All in all, character performance is anchored in materiality, but emerges as bodily, cognitive, and emotional. Moreover, LARPers stress that the character only fully comes to life as one actually performs it within the fantasy context of LARP. As Peg notes: “LARPing makes the [make-believe] world alive and it develops and extends the character.” This coincides with Butler’s (2004) ideas of identity not preceding its performance, but rather emerging only as it is performed. I explore this next. Performing the fantasy character LARPers describe the experience of performing a character as a different perspective or a new point of view that is taken on. The aim is to think, act, and react as the character would through “applying the frame” (Hope) and “certain guides” (Dot) that emerge in the form of the LARP materials. These ‘guides’ direct performers’ actions and patterns of thought by limiting, but also freeing them in various ways. The embodied character performance requires continuous, conscious management of all the necessary information, such as the character’s opinions, morals, ideals, and norms, as well as the control of all necessary responses, both physical and emotional. As Hope explains, character performance is non-natural and thus requires such negotiation:

104  Fantasy performance Hope: You are pretending to be another person and [. . .] you get to do something different from what you would normally do. So then you don’t know those limits naturally [. . .] You just sort of have to be like “I’m the character and this is how I’m supposed to think.” As the LARP progresses, the fantasy character becomes clearer and more familiar through its performance. Rose exemplifies this: Rose: As the evening went on and I got more into the character, it’s interesting that it kind of found its own identity which ended up in a certain way . . . like I myself realised at some point that OK, now [the character] is like this and this is how she ended up in this situation. However, the character is never naturalised. LARPers continue to be intensely reflexive of what they are doing throughout the performance, always aware of their actions and of the characteristics they are portraying. “You always know that it’s a different world,” says Rose. This is closely linked to LARPers being adamant about keeping the self and the character apart, as I will explain in more detail later. Moreover, some characteristics are impossible to naturalise. For example, I have played an English character that had travelled to Finland and could not speak Finnish. The techniques used for language were very simple: English was used for English and Finnish was used for Finnish. However, as I do speak Finnish, I had to consciously pretend not to understand any discussions going on among characters speaking the language IN-game. Similarly, physically impossible characteristics, such as superpowers, cannot be naturalised. As the self and character are different, the LARP performance requires individuals to either push and challenge their own limits, or, in contrast, to restrain and hold themselves back. Both can be extremely difficult. The former may require exaggeration and hard work to portray skills one is deficient in or unfamiliar with. The latter may require more conscious work in leaving out inherently natural actions and reactions. Pushing and holding back the self can take place both on a physical and social level. In terms of bodily characteristics, individuals may take on the lives of characters that lack their own physical disabilities, such as a sight or speech impediment, or may gain new abilities, such as speaking another language or sprouting wings and flying. In terms of social performance, individuals may need to push or hold back how they present themselves, what their character finds acceptable to do or say, and what status their character takes on in society. Many characteristics fall between the two levels. For instance, crossplaying, which is a term for performing a character of a different gender than one’s own, often involves elaborate changes in bodily and social performance (for more on crossplay, see Seregina 2018). Below, I provide an example of pushing one’s own limits in character performance. Rose contemplates having had to make a decision as a character that would be harmful to other characters, and would, in her everyday life, be against her strong Christian morals.

Fantasy performance  105 Rose: So you’re like “how am I supposed to react to this?” A little bit differently in this game than I would personally react . . . You think about everything through the character. [. . .] Like I knew the situation and how I felt. But then I also knew that as the character I could not accept that view. It’s interesting . . . this relationship between me and the character. The LARP performance may cause reactions or emotions in the performer that do not correspond with the character. These then need to be negotiated in light of the character performance. Through the continuous reflection, LARPers never reach the state of flow (as many have suggested in the context of play and gaming). According to Csikszentmihalyi (1990), flow is characterised by intense and focused concentration on what one is doing, merging of action and awareness, loss of reflective self-consciousness, a sense of control over one’s actions, distortion of temporal experience, and the experience of activity as intrinsically rewarding. While LARPers do feel in control, concentrate fully, find their experiences intrinsically rewarding, and possibly have distorted experiences of time, they are nevertheless continuously aware of their actions and constantly reflexive of their self. Schechner (1988) similarly argues that flow does not have a place in aesthetic performance, as the latter is continually interrupted by reflexivity. Such reflexivity can be seen in the excerpt below: Rose: I think the more the game goes forward the more Rose and the character become intertwined. Then I have to dig up some facts from the character’s history which I’ve been learning by heart last night, and then Rose might make a comment that echoes in the character’s head . . . so the metaplaying becomes almost a part of the character. I would say that’s when you’re in character. But you can never fully be someone else. Rose mentions metaplaying, a process LARPers are continuously engaged in when LARPing. Metaplaying, an emic term, entails a cognitive process of being aware of, negotiating information on, and having perceptions of both the everyday self and the character, as well as the everyday and fantasy contexts. Wade describes metaplaying in the following way: “There is a sort of filter between your thoughts in that world and your own thoughts, so like you are conscious of the fact that the camping site is not really a Ukrainian prison or settlement or whatever it was.” Rose elaborates: “it’s like multitasking [. . .] focusing on something, but simultaneously acknowledging everything that is around you.” Metaplay is used to keep the self and the character separate, as well as to negotiate LARP rules and structures, such as the OFF-game information and IN-game information that the character does not know. Rose describes an experience of negotiating her self and her character in a LARP where her character, an ambitious reporter, died and was left in limbo to be judged by her peers:

106  Fantasy performance Rose: There was an interesting situation when the minister character . . . he started telling us that we’re in limbo and we should think about what we have done . . . and my character was a complete atheist, she was like “yeah, this is not possible at all.” Sort of . . . Rose was also there at the back of my mind laughing at the situation, because I would be thinking the completely opposite. [. . .] I had a bit of a reaction like I don’t know if I wanna go along with this, but I did not jump too much into myself because the character was thinking all the time that there’s something interesting going on and she’s there to do a story . . . so it was easy to take on the situation through the character. The term metaplay is sometimes used by LARPers with negative connotation in reference to individuals using information not known to the character in order to advance one’s goals as the character. This then becomes an intentional break of the performance, something that is largely shunned in the LARP community. Most LARPers seem, nevertheless, to use the term in a more neutral manner, as I described it earlier. I will therefore use that understanding of the term. It becomes evident that the exact opposite of flow takes place during a LARP performance, as individuals become extremely aware of their self, their body, and their actions. This experience is similar to Fuchs’s (2010) and Wyllie’s (2005) theorisation of temporality. They start off suggesting that we do not have reflexive awareness of the implicit time of everyday life, as it has chronological consistency, which emerges through individuals implicitly synchronising with one another and with social processes. Implicit time involves an implicit body, which is tacit and unreflexive in its experience, but allows habitual, normalised action and interaction, as well as a sense of reality. Fuchs (2010) and Wyllie (2005) explain that through interruption or disturbance, a rift can be created in implicit time. They call this explicit time. Explicit time is desynchronised and consciously experienced, with the body becoming experienced as a double body, both lived and reflected on. Following these ideas, LARP performance could be described as creating explicit time, and thus involving direct awareness of time and body (see Figure 1.4, p. 20, Plate 4). To summarise, character performance comes to life through conscious negotiation of its characteristics, as well as through pushing and/or holding one’s self back in this performance. Individuals never reach a state of flow, but continuously reflect on their performance through conscious awareness of both the self and the character. The performance thus disrupts implicit time, causing performers to experience time and their bodies explicitly. Next, I delve more deeply into the negotiation of self and character. Discerning the self from the fantasy character Character performance and its aims are somewhat paradoxical, as both embodiment and conscious distancing are stressed. LARPers make the conscious effort of discerning the character from the self. Yet, a deep engagement in the character bodily and emotionally is a central goal of the performance. In a pre-LARP

Fantasy performance  107 discussion, a LARPer elaborated on this topic: “LARP does not involve your feelings, they are the character’s. But you get to feel them . . . and they can be really strong!” Peg further explains that one needs to “immerse enough to feel the emotions that the character is feeling.” But, she adds: “It’s important to distinguish which thoughts are the character’s and which thoughts are your own.” LARPers thus aim to experience what the character goes through, but also to distance themselves from these experiences. This reflects Brecht’s (1965) fears of aesthetic performance losing touch with reality. Failure to discern self and character is associated with getting “stuck” (May) in the character, which may result in experiencing possible negative aspects of the performance personally and/or becoming alienated from everyday life. To keep this at bay, individuals continuously sustain reflexivity of their performance through using various practices to aid them. The practices include such things, as metaplay and speaking about characters outside the LARP in the third person. This helps keep the emotions, attitudes, and responses of a character with the character and at a safe distance. With all the safety precautions in place, the character and the self can nevertheless become confused during the LARP performance, with emotions, actions, and experiences ‘bleeding,’ that is, partially or fully transferring, to one another (see also Montola, Stenros, and Waern 2009; Bowman 2010). Bleed can happen in either direction: from self to character, or from character to self. In the former, personal characteristics, mannerisms, and emotions may bleed into the character in the form of reactions that are not true to the character. For instance, when LARPing a character called Samuel, Hope felt like she saw too much of herself in the performance. She felt that this made the character’s emotions too personal, while the overall experience lacked novelty and excitement. Characteristics of a character can also bleed into the performer’s own life, usually as a result of accidental naturalisation of character performance. Bleed can include emotional and cognitive aspects (e.g., a character’s mood, mindset, or experiences), bodily characteristics (e.g., a limp or a way of talking), the community experienced by the character, as well as the associated relationships and emotions of the character. Hope gives an example in discussing a character, Mort, she had recently LARPed: “in the past few days I’ve sometimes gotten this feeling like, whoops, I’m being super courteous [. . .] it’s sort of more Mort, that’s not really me.” Bleed of self to character breaks one’s experience of LARP, but the reverse can have more long-term repercussions. Bleed from character to performer can result in negative experiences and/or a considerable amount of PLD. For instance, one LARPer described her most disagreeable LARP as having involved playing a character whose parents were dead. The game took place right after a close relative of hers had passed away, and caused her to relive the grief on a personal level. Wade further explains that “negative experiences in the game can affect you. For example oppressive situations, scary situations, depressing situations, these types of things can affect the player outside the game.” I propose that the possibility of such bleed supports LARPers’ drive to keep the self and the character apart.

108  Fantasy performance Bleed isn’t always negative. May gives an example: “emotions sticking to you do let you understand things from many different levels. Suddenly something like stealing has a million background elements and influences that I have never even noted before.” In my analysis, favourable bleed seems to take place when the emotions and experiences are either only partially transferred and/or have no personal ‘trigger’ that they are associated with (i.e., personal experience that is negative or even traumatic). When experienced as favourable, bleed allows individuals to gain experiences with positive and educational aspects, without possible negative side effects. Moreover, LARPers note that overlap with personal life events can sometimes be therapeutic, as reliving an experience from a different or distanced point of view can provide closure or understanding. Bleed and PLD could be explained through the explicit time and doubleness of body I described earlier (see Figure 1.8, p. 22, Plate 8). Wyllie (2005) and Fuchs (2010) describe the process of resynchronising time (i.e., changing explicitly experienced time back into the implicit time of everyday life through coming back to habits and norms) as a shocking and painful process, as it requires reflexive restructuring of something seemingly lost, yet deeply naturalised. Many LARPers describe the end of a LARP in similar terms, which means PLD could be explained as the painfulness of the process of resynchronising implicit time. In line with these ideas, bleed could then be understood as the inability to keep the two temporalities (implicit and explicit) distinct and (accidentally) incorporating elements of one into the other when trying to synthesise explicit time into implicit time. Either favourable or not, bleed is more likely to happen when the LARP involves intense emotional experiences or characters LARPers can identify with. Moreover, bleed can happen easily when the character and one’s self are perceived as very similar. Reflecting the above, performing characters closer to the self both in terms of emotions and characteristics causes difficulty in distinguishing between the explicit time of fantasy and the implicit time of reality, resulting in the two mixing easily. Playing a character very similar to one’s self has been described by many LARPers to be easier, because the performance emerges naturally and does not require a lot of effort or preparation. Some LARPers, especially ones new to the practice, prefer characters similar to themselves, as the alternative feels too difficult or intimidating for them to perform. Moreover, if individuals have not fully mastered keeping self and character apart, they easily slip back into their naturalised behaviours. In such situations, a character similar to their self does not break the fantasy performance as badly. Once having gained some experience, most LARPers start to feel that performing characters similar to their self is boring and even difficult. Dawn explains this perspective: “When a character is really close to myself, then it’s really hard for me to differentiate between the character and me.” Many reject the idea entirely. For instance, Hope exclaimed during an interview: “I wouldn’t want to play myself!!!” As LARPers develop in the practice, they often want to try out different types of performances, thus taking up novel challenges. May notes that “performing a character different to your self is much more challenging,” as

Fantasy performance  109 it requires more “preparation, planning, and effort.” Most LARPers find such challenges fun, rewarding, and educational. More importantly, the performance of a character with different or even opposing characteristics becomes easier to embrace, as the guidelines are clear and explicitly separate from personal opinions or emotions. Peg explains: “if the character is different then it is easier in a certain way to behave according to that character because you can make the difference all the time, that this is now the character.” As I elaborate in the next section, LARPers cherish the delimited clarity of their characters, as it is comforting and easy to engage in. While LARPers learn to keep the self clearly apart from the fantasy character, the former seems to be present to some degree in all character performances, be they distant or close to the self. In fact, LARPers stress that it is necessary for the character to have some similarity to the self, as this creates a point of identification and connection. “If the character feels like nothing comes remotely close to yourself then it feels really difficult [to perform],” says Wade. Peg elaborates: “It’s nice if there’s something a little bit similar, because then it’s easier to relate to them. But like in the main features they should be very different.” To sum up, a delicate balance of similarity and difference to the self in character performance is necessary for a successful and enjoyable LARP. Similarity provides a basis from which to work, and difference creates novelty, challenge, as well as clear limits and guides. Performers aim to differentiate the performances of self and character, but the two can bleed into one another, especially if they bear close similarities or if the performance is particularly emotional. Learning from the performance of fantasy characters LARPing involves experiencing things one would not necessarily engage in otherwise, thus providing many opportunities for learning. Naturally, LARPers learn a lot from engaging in extensive preparation for their characters through reading up on history, science, philosophy, and many other topics, or even learning a specific skill for character performance, such as knitting, dancing, or even playing an instrument. Moreover, through taking on various social, political, religious, cognitive, emotional, and bodily characteristics, LARPers become aware of different perspectives and gain insight into various worldviews. For example, Dawn, who identifies as an atheist, describes having learned a lot from playing religious characters, gaining new understanding and deep respect for different beliefs about life. Similarly, LARPers describe learning about such aspects, as cultural differences or gender performance.2 In addition to the very specific knowledge and practical skills of the characters they perform, LARPers have pointed out developing more general life skills, such as communication, interaction, and leadership. Many feel they have developed positively through LARP by gaining better understanding of social situations and roles, as well as about how to productively function within their limitations. Individuals become more in tune with themselves and their communities, as, through understanding various characters and their points of view,

110  Fantasy performance they better understand both their own and others’ reactions and behaviours. This resonates with Schechner’s (1982) idea of performance knowledge. Performance knowledge is the transmission of shared meaning and actions body to body, which occurs through face-to-face interaction. Schechner believes that performance knowledge has been lost to contemporary culture, in which knowledge is mainly transferred through text and images. He, nevertheless, notes that aesthetic performance involves the possibility of such learning, and fantasy performance in LARP becomes a clear example of it in action. On a more personal level, LARPers become aware of the elements various identities are made up of and how these can be performed in different ways. Rose explains: Rose: [Performing a character] is interesting and lets you . . . sort of see what [characters] hold within themselves, what other people’s lives are like, what they are like and how they have ended up in them [. . .] you understand what things are necessary to be that person. Through gaining understanding of how different people perform their selves, LARPers also learn a lot about themselves. Rose further explains how she came to understand herself better through LARPing: Rose: When I overemphasised some characteristics in that character, then I like exaggerated them and then I noticed that these are characteristics that I have avoided in myself or hidden in myself. It was sort of like a revelation. Like “aaah, I haven’t noticed this in myself.” In becoming reflexive of characteristics her characters possess, as well as comparing these to and finding similarities in her own self, Rose has become more aware of who she is, thus gaining a stronger self-image. May talks about how she has learned about herself in a slightly different way: through the opposition of opinions and reactions between herself and her characters. May: When you play a character, you notice that you would react differently to a situation than the character does. And then you understand that OK, now I know how I would react to that. I don’t know . . . at least for me personally that brings a lot into my life. The performance of fantasy characters thus allows individuals to observe and build on their self, be it through opposition or similarity, as both allow reaction of and reflection on the self. I propose that several characteristics of LARP performance support these learning processes. First, reflection and comparison of performances are aided by the context of the performance that is removed spatially, temporally, and normatively from everyday life. The created distance is experienced as freeing and safe

Fantasy performance  111 for experimentation, with individuals performing a different role without any fear of personal repercussions. Second, the explicit temporality and duality of body promote learning processes, as they create explicit awareness of self and one’s surroundings. In other words, the roles and structures of performance become highly visible to performers, as they are continuously reflected on. This is supported by the heavy use of entertainment media and geek culture as the basis of the performance. Following Schechner (2006) and Auslander (2008), entertainment media reflect and help build social reality. Hence, their explicit performance helps individuals gain insight into structures of everyday life. Third, the learning processes are supported by the clear structuring of the character through the provided set of characteristics, goals, and contacts. LARPers often talk about having a “sense of clarity” (Rose) in LARPing, specifically pointing to a lack of such clarity in their everyday lives. Wade elaborates: “it is really freeing and stuff to be some other guy and do something really specific, something that is really clear . . . which are my goals for the next 6 hours.” In performing a fantasy character, individuals do not need to be confused about who they are and what they should be doing, or sort out their emotions and attitudes, as a direct basis for these is given to them. In comparing the clear character performance to their more confusing everyday self, individuals may gain insight into various structures and elements they may not be normally aware of. In conclusion, LARP performance allows individuals to continuously experience and experiment with new things, as well as reflect on performances and their elements through the explicitly experienced bodily performance. Of course, each instance of LARPing does not necessarily involve learning and self-development. Sometimes the performance is about letting off steam through a character that exceeds the norms of social interaction, or about having fun with an overdramatised or -idealised character. However, on the whole, LARPing allows individuals to gain new perspectives and become more open to things. More specifically, LARPers learn how to be different people thus understanding themselves and those around them better. Negotiating the self and the fantasy character The performance of fantasy in the context of LARP involves a complex negotiation of roles. According to Goffman (1959, 1974), we change roles all the time to fit the various situations we find ourselves in. He adds that the characters we perform and our understanding of our self are more or less equated, which leads to the perception of a continuous identity. However, such merging of roles does not occur in the context of LARP. Building on Goffman, Fine (1983) proposed that individuals can engage in the conscious performance of multiple selves, with contexts of fantasy being especially suitable for such experiences. Reflecting this, individuals engaging in LARP perceive a distinct self and a distinct character, breaking the continuity of identity and its merging with various roles. This is similar to various theorisations of roles in theatrical performance, as I elaborate next.

112  Fantasy performance From Stanislavski’s (1953) point of view, theatre performance entails the balancing of cognition and emotion. Schechner (1988) echoes this idea, pointing out that actors need to not only feel their experience, but also know that they are feeling it. Following these ideas, Stanislavski further suggests that character performance begins with the self and becomes an extension of the self. LARP character performance similarly requires a balance of emotional engagement and its reflexive distancing, as well as some similarity to one’s self in order to be successful. However, the self is not extended, but is continuously perceived to be separate and in parallel to the character. Building a somewhat different perspective, Schechner (2006, 1988) proposed that, in aesthetic performance, the actor is neither the self, nor not the self, resulting in an in-between state of sorts. However, LARPers clearly experience two distinct roles, the self and an other, in which they engage simultaneously. Hence, performance emerges as a duality of roles rather than in between them. The strict separation of roles in LARP bears similarity to the work of Brecht (1965) and Meyerhold (1968), who were of the opinion that theatre performance requires a duality of self and character. Further parallels emerge: both Brechtian theatre and LARP provide no holistic understanding of the performance, focus on physical movement, as well as allow individuals to reflect and learn through the performance. However, in LARP, the difference of self and character is not as unemotional and unengaged as it is in the work and Brecht and Meyerhold. LARP allows individuals to experience and feel through their characters. Developing Stanislavski’s work, Chekhov (1995) theorised that the self exists on three levels in aesthetic performance. These levels are the self, the character, and the ideal self that controls the other two. In LARP, individuals also distinctly experience a self and a character, from which they are clearly distanced. The performance is based in the negotiation of the two through metaplay, which could be said to resemble Chekhov’s ideal self. Metaplay, however, is not experienced as a self, but rather emerges as a process of reflection and self-reflection. All in all, a consciously negotiated, strict duality of self and character can be seen in the performance of fantasy during LARP. This is an emotional and embodied, yet also a very distanced performance, bearing similarity to Walton’s (1990), Paskow’s (2004), and Saler’s (2012) ideas of fantasy requiring individuals to be both aware and self-aware. I develop this idea throughout the chapter.

Interaction in fantasy performance While the character serves as a basis for individual performance, fantasy as a whole only emerges through individuals interacting with and reacting to one another as characters. In any type of aesthetic or social performance, individuals are always dependent on one another as subjects, but, in fantasy, this becomes explicitly evident. Fantasy performance comes to life as it is legitimised by others and extended through shared performance.

Fantasy performance  113 Legitimisation of fantasy performance The fantasy performance begins to emerge as a consistent entity through performers interacting with one another as characters. Rose describes the experience: “The whole environment and the people, all of it starts to work in a certain way. [. . .] It’s through the people getting into the game and interacting that the illusion is created.” She continues: “My character has a specific position and I take that specific position because everyone agrees on it [. . .] everything works as long as other players are sort of in on it.” The character thus becomes experienced as real because their characteristics are accepted and taken seriously by others, with the fantasy world and the social network of the characters in it emerging as they are legitimised. Butler (2004) has proposed that personhood is tied to the desire to be recognised. Similarly, recognition legitimates the identities of fantasy characters as well as the whole premise of the fantasy performance. LARP performance thus requires individuals to react to others in a proper manner. More specifically, for a successful performance, performers need to remain loyal to the shared point of departure, that is, the provided characters and context. As a result, the meaning of performance does not arise as it would in everyday performance through citing historicity and iterations of performance, that is, through its performativity (Butler 1990). Meaning rather emerges through everyone’s conscious acceptance and legitimisation of performance that are based on shared materials. Straying away from the materials can impair others’ experiences by creating misunderstandings, blocking others’ performance, or even leaving someone out of the performance completely. LARPers try to avoid doing anything that contradicts the provided materials, as Wade explains: “it’s written in the character like what your character’s goals are and then you should really aim to go for them [. . .] you should play it in a way that is natural to the character.” As Huizinga (1949) has pointed out in the context of play, a cheat is better than a spoilsport, as the latter shatters the game world and the unshakeable truth underlying its performance. Similarly, in LARP, the worst thing someone can do is break the shared understanding underlying the performance. LARPers feel that they have a responsibility to others to do a good job, and thus perform in a supportive way, aiming to “create a good experience for all the players” (Wade) and “help other players to experience the LARP in an authentic way” (May). Wade elaborates on how LARPers create interaction through active engagement: Wade: It really helps the game if someone clearly comes in and creates a game situation and I easily go along with that. [. . .] If I notice that things just don’t progress, then I start being active. And like I might even force myself to talk to people and ask them things and do stuff so that things progress. [. . .] sometimes you just need to be more proactive about it, so that you don’t just let things happen and follow that “oh what are people doing” . . . but you start doing things for it to work.

114  Fantasy performance LARPers tend to go out of their way to actively support interaction and thus react to performance appropriately, often engaging in actions that may seem intimidating, scary, or silly in order to create a good and interesting experience for other performers. Co-performers respond to this by performing reciprocally. LARPers also actively perform in a way that allows others to react to them. Recognition, as Goffman (1959) and Schechner (1988) write, requires performance that depicts meanings in a shared manner. Rose explains that in LARP “you need to make the character clear so that others can properly react to them.” This is often supported by the use of various geek culture and entertainment media elements as part of one’s performance, just like I exemplified previously in the context of character performance. By using familiar cues and recombining them in new ways, other performers get a clear understanding of what their reaction needs to be. This reflects Mackay’s (2001) ideas about fantasy always being already shared, as it is based on shared elements familiar from media consumption (see also Walton 1990). Many LARPers further abide by ‘the rule of the bigger drama,’ which I already discussed earlier, when actively creating interaction. Rose discusses its use: Rose: The more I’ve LARPed, the more I’ve internalised the rule of the bigger drama, like for example in that cowboys and Indians game I had to make a really fast choice that do I help with the murder of this character or not, like do we kill the bad guy or not, but then the rule of the bigger drama! My character decided yes. And I mean the character technically could have decided otherwise in that situation, it was pretty much 50–50 to her personally. But then you need to realise that you have to think about the gameplay, but that’s a part of metaplay. Support of others’ performance mostly happens IN-game. As I have noted, OFFgame performance is not favoured by LARPers, as it involves breaking the continuity of the fantasy performance. Therefore, the support among LARPers tends to be much more subtle and comes through accepting and reacting to each other’s performances appropriately. However, legitimisation may sometimes require OFF-game interaction. At times, LARPers may need to introspectively negotiate what to do through metaplay, as exemplified by Rose. LARPers may also need OFF-game interaction to discuss what is going on, or to give a hint, a warning, or a reminder to a co-performer. For example, I attended a LARP, in which some players had received deficient contact lists, and therefore players had to discuss the matter OFF-game. All in all, for fantasy performance to emerge, individuals need to be active and reactive, as well as loyal to the shared basis for the performance. Fantasy performance has no historicity to base its meaning on; authority rather emerges interpersonally, with everyone’s commitment and explicit synchronisation legitimising the performance. This is, nevertheless, supported by the use of familiar cues in performance, such as entertainment media elements.

Fantasy performance  115 Shared fantasy performance The LARP world and the characters come to life as they are performed by and among the participants. However, the performance is not just an accumulation of individual fantasies to be legitimised by others. A shared fantasy emerges through individuals’ interaction, extending individual fantasies into a whole that is much more than the sum of its parts. “You get a lot of support from other players . . . because you can imagine things better and get much more interesting situations. So how it develops among all the players, that’s the most interesting part,” Rose explains. A personal fantasy is limited to and restricted by one’s own ideas, knowledge, experiences, and possibilities. When it is shared, fantasy can be developed and extended beyond such limits through combining various elements and creating completely new totalities. While LARPers stick to the provided materials, the performance is not as strictly bound as it would seem. Hope points out that the fantasy performance involves “a lot of freedom to apply things yourself and to improvise.” Performers interpret elements differently, with the starting point of the performance usually developing into unexpected directions. Moreover, as Peg notes, “The materials are not always perfect. There’s always imperfections and loopholes.” Hence, LARPers need to be flexible and responsive in their performance in order to “patch things up as you go” (Peg). As Wade explains, the LARP community further stresses a culture of never blocking others’ suggestions: “If other people want to do something then you should always go along with it. Like you should never reject another person’s idea.” Overall, interaction fills in gaps and expands ideas stemming from the materials, as players interpret the information individually and communally. Performance thus becomes re-interpreted and recombined on the go, developing organically through interaction among performers. Following these findings, I propose that the fantasy performance of LARP involves an intricate balance of individual and shared fantasy. Through the shared fantasy of LARP, individuals become a part of something much more elaborate, novel, and interesting than what they could engage in on their own. The individual fantasies are, nevertheless, necessary, as they form the basis for performance to be combined and recombined. As Walton (1990) points out, imagining can be done just as easily on one’s own, but it is more exciting when it is provided by others, as this imparts a sense of exploration. Following a similar line of thought, Rose and Wood (2005) show that individuals accept fantasy that is co-produced as more authentic. Saler (2012) further stresses that interaction is central for fantasy to be able to sustain enchantment, develop experiences of non-reality, and create new possibilities. Hence, when shared, fantasy becomes much more exciting and revelatory. On the whole, interaction in fantasy performance can be described as the result of the encounter between an individual and a shared fantasy, a process that needs to be supported by each performer. Individuals negotiate personal ideas and perspectives, combining and modifying them with others’ for the benefit of the shared performance that becomes much more than the sum of the individual fantasies.

116  Fantasy performance Fantasy community and subculture community The fantasy performance of LARP takes place among members of the fantasy community in the fantasy context. Yet, there is another community interacting in parallel: the subculture community of LARPers in their social context. To be clear, by fantasy community I refer to the characters that emerge as fantasy is performed, and by the subculture community I refer to LARPers as their selves in the community formed through their shared hobby. As I have noted, LARPers in Finland are not strictly organised into clubs or associations. There is, nevertheless, a clear subculture community that has vague limits. A fantasy community is ephemeral and reforms with each LARP. It is based on the provided LARP materials, emerging and developing through performers interacting as characters. This social network and relationships within it emerge fast, creating very straightforward interactions with little misunderstanding or miscommunication. Rose gives an example: “In this LARP in February . . . there was [my character’s] best friend from like childhood and I didn’t know [the player] but we just spontaneously started hugging and telling one another everything in the game.” Wade stresses that the emergent fantasy community is central for the fantasy performance, forming a solid basis for interaction: “The most successful games have been ones where there’s a really good social network for the characters, because it creates like a framework.” Strong emotions easily arise during a LARP, as individuals are very involved and the interactions tend to be dramatic. Friendships among LARPers as their selves often emerge out of the strong, shared fantasy experiences. Sue explains: “LARP friends also become your friend friends. And you notice how it happens through characters.” Rose adds that “real-life relationships develop much faster in LARP,” as people experience a lot together in a short amount of time. LARPers stress the importance of bodily, face-to-face interaction in the fast development of interpersonal connections, both in the fantasy and subculture contexts. Many feel that most of their daily interactions take place through various social media and technology. Hence, bodily interaction is something they miss, as Dawn explains: “I’m mostly alone on the computer [. . .] and it’s missing that aspect of human contact, like you can’t read their body language.” Such confessions reflect Illouz’s (2007) and Auslander’s (1992) work, in which they theorise that individuals are losing contact with one another physically and emotionally due to technology and its growing role in interaction. Illouz (2007) proposes that communication in contemporary culture has become decontextualised, disembodied, unemotional, unclear, and indirect. Individuals now form connections only to the medium, not directly to one another, says Auslander (1992). Almost as if providing a remedy to this, LARP performance allows close and intense face-toface interaction. Rose explains that such interaction is much more meaningful: Rose: The physical experience leaves you with much more, like I don’t mean that you physically hurt someone, but there is more residue of the experience left among people [. . .] and because you physically do things, you have to move more and your brain works better and you think better, and somehow it’s much easier to develop the situation and your character that way.

Fantasy performance  117 The bodily interaction of the fantasy community helps build the subculture community, as strong, emotional bonds emerge, spilling from one context to the other. As Lin (2012) has shown, physical closeness expresses social affinities and promotes interactivity, thus creating emotional and cognitive closeness. It is important to note that the emergence of relationships in the subculture community does not necessarily require the fantasy community relationship to be of a positive nature. What matters is the intensity of the experience and the strength of the experienced emotions. LARPers often describe their most meaningful subculture friendships as emerging from character interactions that have involved sworn enemies or bickering couples. When the LARP is over, it is the intensity and closeness of the character relationship that stay with the individuals. This may be further aided by bleed of emotions and experiences, which can occur within the interaction among individuals. I discuss the negotiation of the parallel interactions next. Negotiating interaction as characters and as selves Similarly to the performance of characters, LARPers experience the interaction among characters as much more “clear” (Dot), “understandable” (Rose), and “straightforward” (Wade) than interaction among their everyday counterparts. Dot elaborates: Dot: I really appreciate the fact that character are . . . very . . . clear, I appreciate that in all characters. Like when they walk into the room and everyone knows who that is. [. . .] And it’s not the clothes or anything, it like has to be far away from myself and it has to be very clear. Like Igor [a LARP character] is very clear, you know already from the way he talks who he is. Or like the way he comments or says anything. Berger and Luckmann (1966) write that everyday interaction is based on a common stock of knowledge, the access to which may be varied or limited for individuals. They continue that interaction is heavily patterned through normative schemes, but holds an immense possibility for pretence and misinterpretation. Such problems are eliminated in LARP performance, as interaction is explicitly communicated, extremely transparent, and is based on a very clear and specific stock of knowledge. It is almost as if when performing characters and their relationships, LARPers receive a ready set of cultural and social capital, or even a primary socialisation for the fantasy world (following Bourdieu 1990) that they can start using instantly without the hassle of acquiring it. Just like individual character performance, the interaction and relationships within fantasy performance require continuous, conscious attention. Goffman (1959) writes that interaction normally becomes naturalised in everyday performances through their repeated performance by individuals. This naturalisation does not, however, take place during LARP, as I elaborate below. During a LARP, individuals primarily perceive others as the characters they are portraying. This is aided by props, individuals’ performance, and the legitimisation

118  Fantasy performance of that performance by the fantasy community. Nevertheless, as already noted, the self is always present in performance, ready to spring into action if needed for things like OFF-game performance. More importantly from the point of view of interaction, a physical, bodily presence of the self of other performers always remains alongside their performed characters. Rose explains: “Even when the other person is in character and you are yourself in character, there is always still the person’s own being and you somehow notice it.” Goffman (1974) has similarly noted that the self always remains as part of performance, no matter how hidden it is. Hence, in addition to a duality of one’s own performance, individuals engage in a duality of performance in interaction, both negotiated through metaplay. In other words, other performers are perceived both as their character and their self, with interaction taking place with both roles. The duality of interaction is intrinsically tied to the duality of self and character. Similarly to the negotiation of their own role performances, LARPers sustain an internal understanding of the duality of other performers as individuals and as characters, choosing how to react to them and in what role based on whether interaction happens OFF-game or IN-game. Because interaction is continuously and consciously negotiated, naturalisation of performance does not occur. The lack of naturalisation is further impeded by the short duration of the performance, through which performativity does not have time to build up, as well as through the performance of non-naturalised relationships that performers engage in and may have to push, hold back, or modify in comparison to interactions they are used to. Duality of performance becomes especially important in negotiating parallel relationships within the fantasy community and the subculture community, as, through a lack of conscious reflection, the two may become mixed or bleed into the other. Rose explains, for instance, that she does not like LARPing close contacts with her significant other who also LARPs, as she feels she could not keep their real relationship at bay. She further stresses that she would never want to LARP any type of negative contact with them either, as she is afraid of such experiences tainting their relationship. Bleed of emotions can thus happen in either direction among the fantasy and subculture communities. At the same time, subculture relationships can be supportive of character relationships. Many LARPers point out that it is easier to engage in close character relationships with individuals one is already familiar with outside the specific LARP. This is because that existing bond brings with it a certain level of trust as well as the knowledge of the other’s limits and ways of interacting. Performances with friends may, however, become repetitive, which many LARPers steer away from. Negotiation of interaction as part of fantasy performance leads to similar learning experiences as those described in connection to character performance. Rose exemplified this: “[interaction in LARP] has deepened my understanding of things and taking into consideration other people and their situations . . . I feel like I can think also from another’s perspective.” Through having to perform interactions different from those in their everyday lives, continuously negotiating

Fantasy performance  119 and reflecting on them, as well as comparing them to everyday interaction, individuals gain new perspectives on different types of relationships, how these work, and how different roles play out within them. For example, I have personally gained insight into family relationships, friendships, and power relations by LARPing different roles in these set-ups. The learning is supported by the bodily interaction that I discussed earlier, as it allows for the transfer of performance knowledge (Schechner 1982) to take place. Reflection and learning are further supported by the ability to gain feedback through briefs, debriefs, discussions, and continuous support during the fantasy performance. As Fine (1983) writes, individuals normally gain only a version of the interaction that takes place in everyday interaction. LARPers, however, are able to get an understanding of various versions of the performance they took part in, gaining different interpretations of events and filling in elements that they missed. Discussions after the LARP further allow individuals to obtain feedback on their own performance by hearing how co-performers viewed it and reacted to it. As I noted earlier, recognition is a central element of performance (following Butler 1990). Within LARP, individuals have a clear picture of what they want to be recognised as through the character they are performing. What’s more, they are also able to gain an understanding of how they were recognised by others through discussions and feedback. Hence, LARPers develop and build their understanding of performance of interaction, as they gain a clear view on how to perform in a manner that is understood by others in specific ways. To summarise, fantasy performance involves clear interaction that is sustained through continuous negotiation of interaction as characters and as selves. Through reflection and comparison, LARPers gain insight into how various relationships and interactions are performed as well as what influences their recognition by others. Spectating, acting, and the ‘fourth wall’ in fantasy performance LARP performance shares many characteristics with theatrical performance. For instance, it is temporally and spatially framed performance, it is often dramatic and excessive, and it occurs in a context consciously alternative to everyday life. At the same time, the interaction of individuals within LARP follows patterns more common to social performance. There are no spatially or physically divided audience and actors; there is no specific stage; and the interaction is unscripted, emergent, and taken seriously. Mackay (2001) similarly notes that while RPG is similar to theatre, it is closer to social performance in one respect: performers make no distinction between being an audience member or an actor. However, McAuley (2000) and Lin (2012) stress that the interaction between audience and actors is the defining aspect of theatre performance. What does this mean from the standpoint of interaction and its emergence in fantasy performance of LARP? I propose that while there is no distinction between actors and spectators in LARP as separate groups of roles, a distinction between acting and spectating as parallel performances is continuously present.

120  Fantasy performance It is important to note that I am using ‘spectating’ and ‘acting’ somewhat differently from Goffman (1959, 1974), whose work has often been used as the basis for actor and spectator roles as metaphors in understanding social performance. For Goffman, the roles of actor and spectator are taken on in any performance, but are rarely differentiated from, and often become equated with, the individual’s self. Using such an approach as a tool for understanding fantasy performance is problematic, as it does not allow for exploring the reflexive differentiation of performances that takes place. In my conceptualisation, I instead rely on how actors and spectators as well as acting and spectating are viewed in the study of aesthetic performance. As I explain next, I focus on the two as types of performances rather than as roles. In exploring theatrical performance, Badiou (1990) has proposed that an actor’s performance is subjective and focuses on what happens in the makebelieve context, while a spectator is in the position of absolute knowledge and is the one who ultimately ascribes meaning to performance. Similarly, McAuley (2000) explains that the actor is limited by the context in terms of what they are experiencing and interpreting, while the spectator’s experience is fully under their own control, incorporating the world outside the make-believe. It is important to note that, from this perspective, being active does not make one an actor (as Moisio and Arnould 2005 and Firat and Dholakia 2006 imply), and being physically passive does not make one an unengaged spectator. It is often taken for granted that if spectators are unresponsive, and if spectators and actors do not interact directly, the result is passive, unreflexive reception of a spectacle (Grotowski 1968; McConachie 2008). However, as Kennedy (2009) points out, passivity does not mean inattention: an audience may not physically respond during the performance, but can be very reflexive of it afterwards. Walton (1990) also briefly discusses spectating make-believe without actively participating in it. He elaborates that such engagement is more objective, which can be both a positive aspect (in allowing more reflection and comparison) and a negative aspect (in creating a less intense, detailed, and emotional experience). Difference between acting and spectating thus becomes a matter of orientation in and focus of performance, not a result of activity or passivity. Following these notions, I propose that individuals consciously both act and spectate when LARPing, negotiating these performances through the process of metaplay. The interaction IN-game transpires as acting among performers as their fantasy characters. Here, a LARPer only acts, reacts, interacts, and uses information known to or felt by the fantasy character. At the same time, LARPers spectate OFF-game, continuously reflecting on and guiding the performance taking place, as well as interacting with other spectators when necessary. As a spectator, the LARPer taps into knowledge of the general LARP rules, the materials for the specific LARP and LARP character, as well as their own perspectives and emotions, reacting to the fantasy performance taking place also in their own right. While interaction during LARP mainly takes place through acting, it also emerges in subtle ways through spectating. Kennedy (2009) writes that spectators retain the ability to communicate during aesthetic performance in a restricted

Fantasy performance  121 manner through pre-decided gestures. In LARP, such communication can take two forms. First, it can take place on a personal level, as the individual continuously engages in the negotiation of the self and the character through metaplay, choosing what performance to engage in and how. Second, the communication can happen among LARPers in the form of gestures and/or discussions done OFF-game, with the spectator emerging, when necessary, to comment, guide, or negotiate interaction. Goffman (1959) points out that theatre performance always involves cues among actors that are invisible to the audience, which help the actors sustain the performance. In LARP, spectator cues emerge as various rules and gestures, which aim to minimise disturbance of the fantasy performance, even though the cues are known by all performers. Fantasy performance in LARP thus involves both acting and spectating, with LARPers strictly separating these two types of interaction. Internally, performers engage in both acting and spectating simultaneously. Performers clearly differentiate the two performances through the arduous cognitive process of metaplay, experiencing both roles emotionally and cognitively, as well as being ready to spring into bodily action as either role at any moment. The interactional and bodily performance, then, only happens either as acting or as spectating. As Goffman (1959) would put it, individuals perform only in one frame at a time. Kennedy (2009) describes the audience as relinquishing a part of its agency to assist aesthetic performance. Similarly, in fantasy performance, performers relinquish bodily agency both in acting and in spectating, when engaging in the other performance, for the performance to retain clear form that is shared in interaction. The ‘pure’ bodily performance is experienced as more real through materialising it and allowing one’s interaction to be clearly recognised by others (following Butler 2004). As I noted in Chapter 3, some perspectives on aesthetic performance propagate removing or erasing the division between spectators and actors. Brecht (1965), Meyerhold (1968), and Grotowski (1968) stress a need for the two groups to encounter one another through the destruction of the so-called fourth wall. Similarly, Abercombie and Longhurst (1998) suggest that, for the audience to truly engage and be active, the difference between actors and spectators should be eliminated. McConachie (2008) and McAuley (2000) elaborate that the physical and psychological distance created by the fourth wall is problematic, as it can result in actors and spectators becoming completely divorced, with meaning no longer being transmitted from one to the other. I propose that, in the context of fantasy performance of LARP, the elimination of the difference between acting and spectating, and thus consequently between social and aesthetic performance, would be problematic, as it would break down the structures of reality and fantasy that individuals consciously uphold through parallel, dual performance. If individuals were to interact on the same plane with roles from different frames, the frames would collapse into one (following Goffman 1974). The character would become another self (following Goffman 1959) and fantasy performance would turn into delusion (following Tolkien 2001 [1964]). Mixing acting and spectating in interaction and bodily performance

122  Fantasy performance would thus either break the seriousness of the fantasy frame, or confuse the reality frame. Moreover, the performance of self and character, as well as interaction between selves and characters would become very difficult to sustain, making bleed and PLD more prominent. LARPers specifically avoid mixing reality and fantasy, as they seem to sense the psychological difficulties, such as breaking of the self and their understanding of reality, that would follow. My proposition reflects the work of Paskow (2004), who was of the opinion that individuals retain dual consciousness in interacting with make-believe: one in fiction as engaged and aware, and the other outside the fiction as passive and self-aware. He continues that we never lose consciousness during this interaction, allowing us to be constantly reminded that what we are engaging in is not real. If the separate processes of acting and spectating are kept in place, it would seem that fantasy performance does not break the fourth wall, but actually reinforces it. Division is not necessarily made in the same material and physical sense as in classic Western theatre, as there is no division of space or groups of people. The difference between acting and spectating nevertheless remains strongly present through individuals’ dual approach to the performance. This emerges on levels of self and interaction, as well as in performance of social space, which I discuss in the next section. To conclude, interaction in the fantasy performance of LARP involves engagement in and conscious negotiation of both acting and spectating. The two types of performance are kept strictly apart in bodily performance and interaction, as their collapse into one another may cause the performance to become unserious or delusional. Internally, a continuous duality is sustained through conscious differentiation of and parallel engagement in both types of performance.

Social space in fantasy performance The roles of and the interaction among individuals are always prescribed by the social structure they are in, continuously co-creating one another, Goffman (1959) explains. Similarly, the social structure and space of LARP is central to the performance, both supporting and being supported by the performance of characters and their interaction. Following McAuley’s (2000) work, I approach the social structure and space as one totality of social space. Performance of fantasy world and place LARP performance emerges in a space that “feels real, but it’s . . . it’s like away from the normal world, a different world,” as Chase puts it. This space involves both a fantasy world at large as well as the concrete fantasy place, in which the performance occurs. Both entail material and social elements. Following Relph (1980) and Zukin (1991), a space is a physical expanse, while a place is a distinct and meaningful space, formed by the intention and attitude of, as well as the relationship to, the persons in it. In LARP, place is a central focus of performance, as it involves concrete, bodily, material presence and is intrinsically

Fantasy performance  123 tied into the physical space. It is where the fantasy performance occurs. Yet the larger normative structure of the fantasy world provides the background for this; to put it in Goffman’s (1974) words, the primary frame guides performance of place. In practice, place and world seem to be approached by individuals as one totality. This totality has its own temporality, distinct from the temporality of reality. Schechner (1988) described this as symbolic time. Symbolic time has its own value and can be rearranged in different ways in comparison to the ‘clock time’ of everyday life. The social space emerges based on the materials provided by GMs. However, just like the performance of characters and their interaction, the social space does not precede its performance. It is always negotiated and co-created during the performance of fantasy, emerging in interaction as well as through the relationships in and to it. Rose explains that LARPers must perform together and in line with given materials for social space to emerge: Rose: People start acting different, but in a specific way, and that really helps a lot, the fact that people that were something else just a second ago are now completely different. All of the environment, the props, and people just work in a specific way. All of a sudden everything works in a certain way. The entity starts working in a certain way. As becomes evident, the performance of social space involves conscious individual effort, which is both bodily and normative. According to Borden (2001), space is first produced in the body, then projected outward in relation to the context and the objects in it. Only after that space is experienced. Similarly, the fantasy social space of LARP emerges as an individual bodily performance, which is then negotiated in shared performance. In other words, fantasy social space emerges as a shared fantasy that is built up through performers’ individual fantasies. The social structure of the fantasy world is upheld through its conscious, reflexive performance by all those partaking in it. As performers acknowledge the start of the LARP, the social structure of fantasy takes primacy, imposing its own set of rules and norms. Similarly, as everyone acknowledges the LARP to be over, the fantasy context ceases to guide individuals’ performance and is thus no longer experienced as believable. Consequently, fantasy social space comes to be through LARPers’ continuous legitimisation of it. As Zukin (1991) and Borden (2001) have shown, this is true of any social space. However, individuals usually do not acknowledge this process, as they do in performance of fantasy. While emerging as co-created performance, fantasy social space is often based on materials that involve the direct use or combination of various bits of geek culture and entertainment media. Wade explains: Wade: it’s really easy to build familiar drama for players because it seems like most [LARPers] seem to be into some sort of pop culture thing, so then tying in stuff is easy . . . like we have these guys who are werewolves and then they know how it goes right away, and that’s really cool.

124  Fantasy performance The basis of the performance in such familiar elements creates a very approachable understanding of the fantasy social space. This corresponds with Mackay’s (2001) ideas of contemporary fantasy existing within an imaginary entertainment environment, that is, a context made up of various elements of entertainment media. Just like in performance of characters and their interaction, the result is a direct, shared, and clear understanding of social space. This reflects Stanislavski’s (1953) ideas of aesthetic performance creating a detailed and perfect other world for performers to step into. Building up the fantasy place Fantasy is performed in a specific fantasy place, but also in a specific everydaylife place. Organisers tend to select venues for LARP based on their suitability for the themes of the performance. For instance, medieval LARPs are often held at camping sites, creating a link to nature and a distance from contemporary technology that are present in the genre. A sci-fi LARP may be held in a warehouse, creating a modern, dystopian, or clinical aesthetic. Moreover, LARPs are often held in remote spaces, which forces individuals to travel, thus removing them from their own everyday places physically and temporally. Going away from one’s mundane places seems to be an important element of the performance, as it aids in the disruption of the continuity of lived reality. LARPers stress that an everyday place can impair and disenchant fantasy performance: “with ordinary mundane things around you, you don’t get the same atmosphere,” says Dawn. May elaborates: May: I prefer games in closed environments. It creates . . . I like the fact that it creates a strong image in your head. I’ve played a few city games3 among like normal people, and they never leave a strong impression like the ones in secluded spaces. [. . .] It’s much harder to keep to the character. Because you have to take so many more things into consideration. Like someone can come up to you and ask about what you’re doing. The seclusion supports the clarity of the fantasy performance, as it creates a secure structure, in which encounters with elements outside the fantasy context are minimised and controlled. For example, there is little chance of contact with outsiders, or of encountering elements with deep, everyday life meaning attached to them. The physical spaces used for LARPs are usually propped to some extent in order to support the transformation of the space into a fantasy place. “It’s really important to plan how you prop the space,” Sue points out. “Because it helps you a lot. [. . .] For example you can have a couch, but it would be really good if you modify it somehow so then it looks more like something else, like it fits the [fantasy] world.” In the same manner as props support the emergence of a character, propping of the space supports the emergence of the fantasy place, giving it a clear identity and providing it with shared meanings. In the context of theatre, McAuley (2000) and McConachie (2008) have stressed that space can support,

Fantasy performance  125 condition, and direct performance by giving cues to identifying meaning. In the context of fiction and art, Walton (1990) has similarly theorised that objects can become the props of make-believe. Props can greatly add to the experience of the fantasy place, yet gaining neutrality may be more important than bringing in a lot of new details. Dawn explains that “first, you have to at least get rid of any distractions.” Through removing or masking any elements that bring about meanings of everyday life, a ‘clean slate’ is created for the performance. In other words, the performance of fantasy place is aided by stripping its physical space of any real-life identity as a place. Following Butler (2004), a sense of reality and its continuity emerge through embodiment of norms, which are reperformed over and over, creating a sense of the body and the space it is in as pre-existing and thus defining performance. By stripping the physical space of associations with norms of reality, the performance of fantasy becomes relatively free of the normative restraints of reality, and can thus be easily recombined in novel ways by performers. The ‘clean slate’ is especially helpful in supporting the performance of material elements of fantasy place that are not actually materialised. Just like with character performance, performance of fantasy place often involves elements that are difficult or impossible to create physically. These may include additional rooms and decorations, or make-believe landscape, architecture, and climate. Such elements tend to be agreed upon during the brief and are negotiated by participants through metaplay. Wade exemplifies this idea: “You have like a filter for your thoughts in that world and you real thoughts, so you know that a camping centre is not a Ukrainian prison . . . I mean it was kind of hard to create.” In addition to the supportive materiality and physicality of place, LARP performance involves a very clear, shared, and explicit understanding of place. This understanding allows for the legitimisation of place, and is based in the brief, shared performance, and the use of familiar elements as basis for performance. Hope explains: “[the world] feels authentic . . . a lot like that I am really in this world. Everyone immerses so well that everyone is that specific character and the environment is just like we decide.” Similarly to the legitimisation of one another’s roles in interaction, LARPers authenticate the fantasy place in shared performance through explicit synchronisation. The fantasy place thus has a clear identity, which makes it easy to understand and approach. In effect, fantasy performance may create a stronger experience of place than its mundane counterparts. Relph (1980) has proposed that contemporary culture supports ‘placelessness,’ by which he meant that we are losing a sense of place, an awareness of its symbolic significance, and an appreciation of its identity. In contrast, fantasy performance creates a momentary, clear experience of permanent place through its explicitly synchronised and shared nature. Engaging in the fantasy world LARPers engage in performing both a specific fantasy place, which I described above, as well as the larger fantasy world. The latter provides a background in

126  Fantasy performance the form of a normative social structure for the performance of fantasy. In line with this, Saler (2012) suggests that contemporary fantasy is focused on and always needs to begin with a logically sound other world, which may become spatial and embodied. In performing the fantasy world, LARPers take on a social structure with possibilities and limitations that are different from that of their everyday life. As Rose explains: “[you] act in that way . . . in a different way. I mean in a way that goes against my own norms and stances.” This includes approaching both physical and social norms in a new manner. The former may involve things like rethinking and recombining laws of physics or reconfiguring physical possibilities of individuals (e.g., performing a world filled with magical creatures and witchcraft). The latter includes various structures and hierarchies, or the social limits, as Goffman (1959) would put it. A fantasy world of a LARP may have different gender norms, altered divisions of social classes, or reshaped rules of polite social conduct. The various norms of the fantasy world require continuous awareness to be performed, thus becoming experienced explicitly by performers. This breaks the naturalised continuity of reality, disrupting implicit time and the sense of reality it provides (following Fuchs 2010). The disruption of everyday life and the recombination of performance with new limits is supported by the shared basis of the performance in the provided materials, as well as by performers taking the structure seriously, and thus legitimising one another’s performance. Performers of fantasy easily engage in the new set of norms because the fantasy world is ephemeral and removed from everyday life physically and temporally. Individuals have no trouble in overstepping various norms, as this holds no repercussions in everyday life. LARPers further seem to thoroughly enjoy stepping out of the limits of everyday life. Dawn describes excitedly that “it’s really fun to play supernatural things because you can’t do that in normal life [. . .] like you can’t really do anything with a wand in the real world.” Similarly, referring more to social norms, Chase says: “It’s so great to get away from the normal world and do something completely different!” May adds that “you get to leave the normal world behind [. . .] and like not stress and worry about things.” Following similar findings, previous research has presented fantasy as providing a pleasurable escape from everyday life (e.g., Belk and Costa 1998; Kozinets et al. 2004; Jenkins, Nixon, and Molesworth 2011). However, I would suggest that fantasy performance of LARP never allows full freedom or escape from reality. As I discuss in detail next, reality is always consciously negotiated and performed in parallel to the performance of fantasy social space. Furthermore, the performance of fantasy social space is clearly structured, allowing only specific ways of stepping out of norms. Negotiating two social spaces As Chase describes, “when you are in fantasy, reality is still always there”. Throughout the performance, LARPers retain an awareness of the fact that the fantasy world they are performing is not real and thus sustain a distance from it.

Fantasy performance  127 Peg explains: ”When you’re LARPing then it’s not just LARPing but you really live it, but you also sort of always know that you’re just LARPing. You consciously know, but also pretend that you’re in a different world.” Hence, similar to the performance of the self and interaction, individuals are continuously performing two social spaces – one of everyday life and one of fantasy – and negotiating these through metaplaying. Individuals retain a distance from both social structures, making sure these do not mix. Through consciously performing two social spaces simultaneously, individuals are, once again, able to become aware of and reflect on the structures that govern their lives. Hope explains that performing fantasy social space lets her “see how things are structured [. . .] and what limits me.” In performing fantasy, individuals are essentially pushed to consciously renegotiate structures and exceed limitations of reality that they are naturalised to. Through explicitly performing the new fantasy social space as well as the real social space it deviated from in parallel, individuals gain a different, reflexive perspective on social space, allowing them to become more aware of their own social structure and their role in it. I discuss this process in more detail at the end of this chapter. In describing similar learning experiences, previous research has often referred to fantasy space as liminal or liminoid (e.g., Belk and Costa 1998; Kozinets et al. 2004). Schechner (2006) explains in the context of aesthetic performance that, when entering a liminal space, individuals enter a highly charged in-between space-time. Liminality further involves a highly ritualised separation from structure into an anti-structure, the return from which bears with it a changed status or a new self (on liminality, see Turner 1969, 1982, 1987). While learning and selfdevelopment can happen through LARP performance, individuals do not change their status or self in their real lives, especially from the point of view of others in their community. Moreover, as I explain below, individuals do not enter an antistructure, but rather a different structure. Turner (1987) suggests that liminality is no longer performed in contemporary society because the context lacks the necessary shared structure of rituals and rites. He proposes that the liminal developed into the liminoid, which takes form in media and popular culture. The liminoid does not teach or transform individuals, rather allowing the individual to step out of their reality and return to where they left off, unchanged. This reflects ideas of fantasy providing pleasurable escapism, which I mentioned earlier. In terms of historical context, liminoid would also seem to fit the fantasy performance explored here better. However, LARPers can and do learn from their experiences, as I have shown. Moreover, fantasy performance of LARP does not entail leaving a structure, but rather negotiating two structures simultaneously. Lastly, the experiences provided by LARP are not always pleasurable, with themes often being quite serious and intense. Another perspective on fantasy space has been to liken it to the carnivalesque (e.g., Goulding and Saren 2009; see also Fiske 1989). Reflecting the carnivalesque, LARP is embodied, dramatic performance that does not involve an audience and is not a part of real life. Yet, once again, the analogy does not fully fit. Bakhtin (1984) described the carnivalesque to have four main characteristics: it encourages

128  Fantasy performance free interaction among people that are unlikely to come together in everyday life; it has no consequences for and even welcomes eccentric or unacceptable behaviour; it allows elements that are normally separate to be united (e.g., something sacred and profane); and it allows sacrilegious events to take place without punishment. In contrast, LARP performance is not free. While it is different from everyday performance and may allow unacceptable, sacrilegious behaviour, as well as performance among individuals that normally would never interact, the performance is bound by very strict and clear rules created specifically for the particular world, interaction, and character being portrayed. What’s more, while there are no repercussions for the self, the character can and does have to live with the consequences of the performance. Fiske (1989) and Bakhtin (1984) note that the carnivalesque is an event specific to its cultural and historical context. They add that many contemporary performances that may appear to be carnivalesque are actually spectacle-like, because contemporary culture lacks the bodily and communal elements necessary for the carnivalesque. A spectacle entrances, pacifies, and entertains, but is devoid of interaction, reflection, and a shared point of departure. While emerging as a contemporary performance sharing many of carnivalesque’s characteristics, LARP does not fit this description, as it is bodily, communal, and extremely reflexive performance. All in all, the fantasy social space of LARP is not random, chaotic, or unbound, as it is constrained by a structure, a hierarchy, and a set of norms, which are based on the provided materials and supported by serious, legitimising performance. When performing fantasy, individuals are required to step outside physical and social limitations natural to them, but do not, in effect, become free of a structure. Performance of fantasy rather presents a different world with norms and structures different from everyday life that are experienced as the character’s life and not one’s own second life. Moreover, fantasy performance does not escape reality, but retains a strong link to it through allowing conscious awareness of and reflection on its structures, while also creating clear difference and distance from it. The fantasy social space thus exists in addition to and not in contrast with reality. This additional structure is experienced as clearer than that of everyday life, supported by the shared basis for explicit interaction in and continuous reflection on fantasy performance. Negotiating levels of reality in fantasy performance The notion of fantasy involving a duality of space is not novel. Tolkien (2001 [1964]) described engaging with fantasy as seeing two places at once. Building on this, Saler (2012) talks about primary and secondary worlds in experiencing fantasy. In parallel, Walton (1990) and Paskow (2004) discuss a duality of perception and a duality of consciousness in connection to fantasy. However, previous literature has been unclear about how individuals engage in and experience this duality as performance. Aesthetic performance has also been approached as involving duality. Schechner (1988), for instance, describes aesthetic performance as involving two

Fantasy performance  129 performances in the same space and time. Building on a similar notion, Carlson (2006) suggests that a ‘consciousness of doubleness’ is the fundamental feature of aesthetic performance. In discussing theatre, McAuley (2000) explains that theatre performance involves the problematisation of reality and fantasy, with both being proposed as possibilities, but neither being completely realised. As a result, performers experience a duality of performance. McAuley further suggests that the duality of aesthetic performance exists in three realities, which are all present and negotiated during theatre performance.4 These are as follows. (1) Social reality, which encapsulates the physical space and the social context of everyday performance perceived as reality.5 In this reality, McAuley stresses the division of space for the audience and the actors. Kennedy (2009) elaborates that the performing space and watching space are often far apart, as this supports the division of roles between actors and spectators. However, this also makes it difficult for the two groups to read each other’s reactions and body movements. (2) Presentational reality, which consists of the stage space and the theatre performance in it. This reality is defined by tensions, as it is simultaneously both physical and fictional; real and not real. (3) Fictional reality, which consists of the fantasy space and performance in it. McAuley points out that this reality exists at the mercy of the other two, the social and the presentational realities, as it builds on them and is not viable on its own. Fine (1983) describes fantasy experiences in a very similar way to McAuley’s (2000) analysis of theatre space. Building on Goffman’s (1974) frame analysis, Fine (1983) studied individuals’ engagement in fantasy frames in the context of tabletop role-playing games. He concludes that the three following frames are negotiated as people engage in the performance of fantasy worlds. (1) The primary framework, which, following Goffman’s (1974) ideas, involves the individuals’ common-sense understanding of the real world and their real selves within it. Fine stresses that this frame does not depend on the others for its existence. (2) The game context, which is the structure of the game that is governed by a complicated set of rules and constraints (which may go beyond what is physically possible in the primary framework). The game frame involves the individuals’ player selves that manipulate the characters through knowledge of the game structure. (3) The fantasy context, which involves the fantasy world and the individuals as the characters of that world. Fine suggests that the fantasy frame in itself is inaccessible to individuals, only to be perceived through the other frames. From Fine’s perspective, engaging in a fantasy context results in the individual enacting three frames and corresponding three personae, continuously switching between these in an oscillating manner. Fine continues that the three frames of fantasy are separate from one another, and have their own structure and meanings, with individuals having to block out information from the other frames when engaging in one. For instance, when engaging in the fantasy context, one would need to block out all information from the primary framework as well as the game context. In exploring fantasy, Fine seems to have focused on the physically possible when defining reality and the primary framework, thus omitting aspects of social

130  Fantasy performance reality that were stressed by Goffman (1974) to be as important as physical reality from the perspective of individual experience. Moreover, while Fine presents each frame as having its own structure and meanings, he believes that examining the fantasy context in itself is pointless, because it is not accessible to us and forces culture away from its behavioural moorings. Fine does note that negotiating multiple frames in fantasy may be extended to everyday life, but does not elaborate on this notion or explore how fantasy can become connected to everyday life.6 Fine’s perspective could be a remnant from Goffman (1974), who was unsure how to define fantasy in terms of frame analysis, but believed it to be out of touch with reality; a mimicry of productive performances. In contrast, the fantasy context of LARP becomes real, bodily, and serious to its performers, feeding back to their everyday lives and thus deserving our full attention. To extend Goffman’s, Fine’s, and McAuley’s work, as well as help resolve the above-described issues, it becomes useful to employ Schechner’s (1985) theorisation from his work with theme parks. In line with his ideas on aesthetic and social performance building on one another in the form of an infinity loop (see Chapter 3, p. 61, ‘Social and aesthetic performance’), Schechner proposes the following structure of frames in the performance of make-believe space in theme parks. Each following frame is encapsulated by the previous frame. Frame A is the ‘as is’ world, that is, the real world as it is perceived by spectators and actors. Frame B is the ‘as if’ world, or the specific make-believe world, in which actors exist as their performed characters. Frame AB forms the performance subjunctive, which is the make-believe world B that spectators enter in order to interact with actors, while keeping consciousness of the real world A. Schechner explains that as individuals enter frame AB, the frame transforms from being encapsulated by frames B and A to itself encapsulating the whole performance. In other words, the ‘smallest’ frame becomes also the ‘biggest’ frame, with the framing of fantasy performance thus taking the following form: AB – A – B – AB (see Schechner 1985, p. 93). Schechner explains that, in performing the frame AB, individuals are aware of both the real and the make-believe worlds. Similarly, fantasy performance of LARP involves the conscious experience of a duality of performance. While Schechner does not elaborate on how the duality and restructuring of performance is experienced by individuals, his conceptualisation does help challenge Goffman’s idea of performance frames as hierarchical (see also Fine 1983). Simultaneously, this helps explain Goffman’s remark about aesthetic and fantasy performance being more than keyings. I elaborate on these ideas and propose a conceptualisation of the frames of performance of lived fantasy in the next section.

Experiencing lived fantasy Performance of lived fantasy involves a duality of performance of self and character, a duality of performance of their interaction, and a duality of social spaces. It is important to note that, from the perspective of an individual, the dualities of the different levels of performance are not experienced separately. They rather form

Fantasy performance  131 two parallel totalities of performance with the various levels of performance being intertwined, as I will show below. In the following sections, I bring together the findings of this chapter. First, I discuss the frames of performance, the roles taken on by performers of fantasy, and the experience of performing fantasy. Subsequently, I propose how fantasy performance can be described and map out the main characteristics of the subjective experience. Lastly, I show how fantasy allows individuals to invest into their own realities and selves. Frames of fantasy performance Building on the conceptualisations presented in the previous section and connecting them to the findings I have presented throughout this chapter, I propose the following frame structure for the performance of the social space of fantasy as experienced subjectively by performers. This is visualised in Figure 5.1 and explained in detail below (see also Figure 1.6, p. 21, Plate 6). The performance of fantasy always involves the reality frame (visualised as the largest full circle), which corresponds with Goffman’s and Fine’s primary framework. The reality frame in fantasy performance includes that which is perceived by individuals to be everyday social space and hence normalised as reality both in physical and social terms. As Goffman (1974) and Lin (2012) suggest, any performance is always anchored in reality. The reality frame includes various situation-specific keyings, such as being in a specific crowd, city, or game (visualised as the smaller full circles). These build on the reality frame to construct the specific performance. However, these are not likely to be differentiated or even acknowledged by individuals. Following Goffman (1974), individuals tend to perceive keyings of a frame as a part of and indistinguishable from the performance structure that makes up their reality. Hence, I will not discuss the specifics of said keyings, as this goes beyond the scope of exploring subjectively perceived fantasy performance. One of the most contextualised keyings of the reality frame is the participatory frame (visualised as the smallest full circle), which individuals enter as they engage in LARP performance. The participatory frame is not non-reality, but a

Figure 5.1  Frames of fantasy performance

132  Fantasy performance keying of reality, as it structures how individuals themselves should act in the context of engaging in LARP. In practice, this takes form in the general LARP rules as well as the game-specific rules, limitations, and structures, which are based on the provided materials and brief. While not differentiated from reality, I suggest that the participatory frame puts into action a break in implicit time and space. The participatory frame structures performance in a way that allows the restructuring of the reality frame, that is, taking on a normative frame that is perceived as not real. Yet the participatory frame is not in itself a part of this restructuring; the frame remains a part of perceived reality. In transforming performance of real social space and performance in it, the participatory frame allows the emergence of and works as a guide to the make-believe frame (visualised as the largest dashed circle), in which the performance of fantasy takes place. It is possible that the make-believe frame involves keyings of its own, such as a specific place or social situation (visualised as the smaller dashed circles). Reflecting my discussion on the reality frame, I believe these would not be consciously differentiated by performers from the larger frame. Hence, I do not discuss their specifics. It is further important to note that the make-believe frame and the participatory frame cannot be performed on their own. They emerge only alongside one another, with the latter bringing the former into existence and continuously supporting it. In the make-believe frame, individuals engage in non-naturalised performance in an acknowledged manner. More specifically, the frame requires taking on nonnaturalised normative structuring of and a non-naturalised role in performance. In this sense, the make-believe frame does not involve an unreachable or an ideal world, as some have implied, but rather a consciously recombined and renegotiated performance. The performance of the make-believe frame is based on the reality frame in that the latter becomes the point of departure, recombination, and contrast for the non-naturalised performance. However, the reality and makebelieve frames do not directly reflect one another. Because performance of the make-believe frame is non-naturalised and consciously recombined, it is continuously reflected on from the subjective point of view of the performer. Moreover, as the make-believe frame is constantly contrasted with and differentiated from the reality frame, the performance emerges as a consciously perceived duality of space and time. The acknowledged duality of reality and make-believe is what upholds the structure of fantasy performance. Goffman proposed that frames always reside within one another, thus creating a hierarchy. Yet, the make-believe frame emerges as much more expansive than its basis, the participatory frame. In fact, the make-believe frame can, in theory, be as encompassing and as detailed as the reality frame. The aim becomes to re-key (at least hypothetically) not just one context or performance, but the entire primary framework. The reality and make-believe frames thus emerge as equal in scope. In contrast with Schechner’s (1985) ideas, I suggest that a single frame does not envelop both the make-believe and reality frames. Following my findings, I propose that, from a subjective point of view, the two frames are perceived as

Fantasy performance  133 and performed parallel to one another, with the performer taking on conscious distance from both. McAuley (2000) similarly implied that the three frames of theatre are parallel performances, and do not form a hierarchical structure as suggested by Fine (1983) and Goffman (1974). It is, nevertheless, important to note that the frames I have proposed do build on one another and hence do require the structure I have visualised. Reality does not encompass the make-believe, but nevertheless enables it. To summarise, I propose that the social space of fantasy performance is experienced as the parallel performance of reality and make-believe frames. The latter allows the former to emerge through the extremely contextualised keying of the participatory frame, the norms of which require individuals to change their whole normative performance structure. As the make-believe frame is completely nonnaturalised and intentionally departs from the reality frame, the performance of fantasy involves a continuous, explicit awareness of both social spaces. The reality frame and the make-believe frame do involve contextualised keyings, but these keying are not differentiated, resulting in the subjectively perceived duality of performance of social spaces. In connecting my conceptualisation to previous literature, an interesting mismatch remains. For instance, Fine (1983) and McAuley (2000) present three levels of perceived reality. Schechner (1985) writes about two frames that merge into a third. Why do my findings point toward a duality of performance, which I employ in my conceptualisation? I believe this can be explained by a difference in approaches. Fine’s and McAuley’s analyses provide a good understanding of experience from an objective point of view. However, the aim of this study is to understand the subjective experience of lived fantasy. As Goffman (1974) wrote, performance is perceived differently from within and from without. He continues that the ‘rim’ of the frame defines activity as it is perceived in the world, but performance can involve other inner frames that are only apparent for those performing them. In the same vein, fantasy performance is structured very differently if viewed objectively or performed subjectively. The performer may not differentiate the subtleties of frames in the same way that an outsider can. Hence, as I have proposed, lived fantasy performance involves the awareness of two totalities of social spaces – reality and make-believe – even as these may involve keyings. When viewed objectively, the rim of performance is formed by a single participatory frame (which is perceived as part of reality from the subjective point of view of the performer), in which reality and make-believe may be differentiated, but also blur into one another. The objective perspective in research may further explain why previous literature has described reality and fantasy to blur (Kozinets 2001; Peñaloza 2001). The rim of fantasy performance provides a view of two performances happening within the same space and time, with the two overlapping and ‘blending’ from an outsider point of view. However, as Firat (1991, 2001), as well as Grayson and Martinec (2004) theorise, a clear difference between the two performances remains on a subjective level. I would, nevertheless, argue that this difference does not result in any strict boundary between the real and the unreal, such as the

134  Fantasy performance magic circle discussed in the context of play by Salen and Zimmerman (2004). As I explain in the next sections, performers of lived fantasy rather perform reality and make-believe in parallel, building them through one another and reflecting on both. Roles in fantasy performance Following Goffman (1974), performance is guided by the specific role that one takes in each frame. I suggested earlier that fantasy is a performance that requires conscious awareness of and interaction in multiple frames. In connection to these parallel structures and building on Goffman’s ideas, I propose that performers take on parallel roles and, through these, engage in different types of performances within the two frames. I describe these next. The role taken on in the reality frame is perceived to be one’s real self. Various studies have proposed that contemporary consumer culture no longer provides individuals with strict identities. The self thus becomes multiple and fragmented, formed individually through the combination of various elements of one’s environment (e.g., Cohen and Taylor 1976; Slater 1997). However, reflecting Goffman’s (1959, 1974) ideas on the self, my findings point to individuals maintaining a coherent perception of a self from a subjective point of view. This does not mean that fragmentation or multiplicity does not take place; merely that individuals subjectively perceive unity of self. Keyings of the reality frame (including the participatory frame) are anchored in reality and are not clearly differentiated. Hence, their roles are perceived by performers to be a part of one’s self. Fine (1983) argues that fantasy involves an acknowledged role taken on in the structuring frame, which is similar to the participatory frame suggested here. Yet, from a subjective point of view, such a role is not differentiated from the self of reality, even as it guides the character performance. Moreover, such a role cannot be sustained on its own, existing only to jumpstart the performance of the fantasy character through a point of departure in reality. In the make-believe frame, the performer takes on the role of a character, an other that is perceived as different from the self, but limited by the structures of the make-believe social space. By taking on the role of the character that needs to be consciously performed differently from the naturalised performance of the self, performers become hyperaware of both this character role as well as the self that it deviates from. Individuals become very conscious of their thoughts, emotions, and actions, negotiating and contrasting what they are supposed to be doing with what they would normally (and unreflexively) do. Various theatre, performance, and sociology studies often refer to dualities or sometimes even trinities of selves when theorising the performance of the non-real (e.g., Meyerhold 1968; Stanislavski 1989). As I discussed in connection to the performance of self, this usually involves multiple selves, or one’s self being extended into the character. Fine (1983), for instance, describes individuals as oscillating between three selves during fantasy – real self, player self,

Fantasy performance  135 and fantasy self, – while Stanislavski (1989) discusses characters as extensions of one’s self. Similar to the latter, consumer culture research often approaches fantasy as involving an extension of the real self. For instance, Schouten (1991; see also Rook and Levy 1983) discusses the idea of fantasy self as a possible self, that is, a hypothetical self-schema that is based on the past and aims at the future (Markus and Nurius 1986). Another perspective on experiencing the self in fantasy proposed by research is the idea of an in-between self. Armitt (1996) describes fantasy as involving scrutinising the boundary between self and the not self, while Zipes (1983) suggests that fantasy requires the individual to take a step away from their self. In performance studies, Schechner (2006) proposes the idea of being not self and not not self when engaging in make-believe. In contrast to the above, I suggest that neither a multiplicity nor an extension of self takes place in lived fantasy performance. First, the self becomes very distanced, while the fantasy character is not perceived as a self at all, but as something other. Second, my findings show individuals clearly differentiating two roles, one being their self and the other a fantasy character. In line with this, Walton (1990) has suggested that make-believe does not involve taking on an identity between the self and a fictional entity, but rather involves both separately. Hence, I propose that the performance of lived fantasy can be described as the conscious performance and reflexive negotiation of two parallel roles. Following Butler (2009), the self is always created through a relationship and dependence on the other. Yet this emerges on multiple levels within fantasy performance: the character is the other of the self; the other characters are the other to the character; and the other performers are the other to the self (see Figure 5.2). It is important to note that while the dual performance of other performers is acknowledged, interaction among individuals only takes place between the same roles (i.e., between selves or between characters). The performance of fantasy thus emerges not only as performance of two parallel roles, but also as the elaborate negotiation of their interactions among one’s own roles and the roles of other performers. I elaborate on the parallel interactions in the next section.

Figure 5.2  Othering in fantasy performance

136  Fantasy performance To conclude, fantasy performance involves the distanced, conscious negotiation of two roles, the self and the other as the character, which are anchored in reality and make-believe frames respectively. The fantasy character never becomes a possible or potential self, as it is not perceived to be a self at all. It is an other, from which the performer retains consciously upheld distance. At the same time, individuals also distance themselves from their self, as they aim not to perform it and thus come to perceive it as non-naturalised. A distance from both roles thus emerges as part of fantasy performance. Chekhov (1995) would say that the ideal self takes over in this situation. He argues that, in aesthetic performance, the ideal self controls the self and the character self, building the latter from a third-person perspective through using the self and various external elements. In contrast, in performance of lived fantasy of LARP, individuals do not perceive a self to be taking control, only experiencing the negotiation of two structures. The performance of fantasy would thus seem to be self-less, that is, without a self. The idea of always having a self is imposed on us, but do we really always experience it? Fantasy performance involves conscious recombination of previously naturalised performance elements to form the character role. Moreover, the performance involves the differentiation and comparison of this non-naturalised performance to the previously naturalised performance of the self. As a result, individuals come to perceive the performative nature of both the character and the self, as both are deeply reflected on and possibly even deconstructed. In other words, the idea of any stable norms or entities preceding the performance of the character and the performance of the self becomes shattered. Consequently, fantasy performance is perceived as lacking any self, as no such seemingly preexisting and continuous structure is experienced. I explain these ideas in more detail in connection to investing into reality through fantasy. Performing fantasy I suggest that to keep the parallel roles and frames in check, that is, to be aware of, in control of, and continuously involved in them, individuals anchor the roles and frames in different types of performances – acting and spectating – to which I alluded earlier. When acting, individuals perform within and focus attention on the make-believe frame through the role of the character. When spectating, individuals perform the everyday self in the reality frame, as well as have knowledge of the limitations and rules of acting. To tie back into the roles of fantasy performance and their interaction, acting involves performing the character and interacting with its other as characters, while spectating involves performing the self and interacting with its other as performers. Moreover, as I noted before, the self and character also become other to one another. These do not interact, but are strictly differentiated and negotiated internally through metaplay, creating distance from both roles that helps create an experience of lack of self perceived as part of the performance. Connecting to Schechner’s (2006) idea of performance and summing up discussions of this chapter, acting could be described as the conscious recombination

Fantasy performance  137 of elements of previously behaved behaviours, observed behaviours, and bits of media performance in unfamiliar ways. Spectating, on the other hand, could be seen more like everyday performance in that it consists of familiar, naturalised patterns of performance, which performers become acutely aware of. Just like the make-believe frame is enabled by the reality frame, acting is enabled by spectating, but is not a part of the latter. The difference between the two performances is strictly maintained, most vividly through differentiated bodily interaction, that is, performers interacting only through either spectating or acting. While a cognitive duality is sustained by each individual throughout the performance, bodily performance is limited by physical capabilities, with performers relinquishing bodily agency both in acting and spectating to retain clarity of performance. Hence, both acting and spectating are continuously performed internally or cognitively, but they only emerge one at a time in external, bodily action and interaction. In external, bodily performance, individuals aim to perform as characters in the make-believe frame, but, when necessary, can step into the reality frame to spectate bodily. As McAuley (2000) and Kennedy (2009) write, in relinquishing a part of their agency when spectating, individuals retain their own forms of communication and respond actively when necessary. Similarly, in LARP, individuals have various techniques and rules that guide spectating cognitively without the need to switch roles for a long time (e.g., the OFF-sign, rules for simulation). Bodily spectating is, nevertheless, necessary for more detailed discussion and negotiation (e.g., fixing problems, solving miscommunication), or even personal contemplation. The parallel performance types do not form a hierarchy of performances in the way Badiou (1990), McAuley (2000), and Schechner (1985) have implied. They explain that acting is limited to the fantasy context, while spectating is involved with both the fantasy context and the reality outside of it, allowing the spectator to connect fantasy to reality and thus create meaning. Following these notions, Badiou refers to acting as subjective experience and to spectating as objective experience, while McAuley suggests that acting is experiential and spectating is cognitive. In the context of lived fantasy of LARP, acting and spectating rather emerge and exist in parallel: the role of the character acts in the make-believe frame, and the role of the self spectates in the reality frame.7 Both performances are under continuous cognitive control, but both are also emotional and bodily. Meaning is created through the simultaneous performance of the two, as they build on and illuminate one another. Neither performance takes primacy, as a balance is necessary for performers to engage in fantasy and to remember that they are not engaging in reality. Individuals further do not block information from different roles in the way Fine (1983) has suggested. Performers remain aware of and cognitively perform two structures of performance, bodily enacting only one structure at a time, yet using all the knowledge they have to guide their performance. For instance, a LARPer may intentionally walk into a trap, even as their character is not aware of it. Hence, while individuals are often aware of and aim not to abuse

138  Fantasy performance details of the make-believe frame beyond what their character should know, the awareness of the parallel performances nevertheless continuously guides both acting and spectating. In connecting my description of fantasy performance to the starting point of this research, aesthetic performance of theatre, it becomes apparent that fantasy performance involves elements of both perezhivanie and predstavlenie. In performing the self, fantasy performance reflects Meyerhold’s predstavlenie through the critical distancing of self and character. At the same time, the performance involves a balance of cognition and emotion based on provided materials, something that is apparent in Stanislavski’s perezhivanie. However, there is no strict plotline; rather, similar to predstavlenie, there is a clear starting point, from which the performance emerges. The unstructured performance never reaches the montage that Meyerhold purported, with performance emerging as the holistic entity described by Stanislavski. In terms of spectator–actor interaction in fantasy, there is a clear separation of performances and contexts, as suggested by perezhivanie. Following Stanislavski, both groups are emotionally, empathetically engaged. However, in line with Meyerhold’s work, performers are not fully taken in by the fantasy and are actively, physically a part of the performance. Finally, the social space of performance is similar to Stanislavski’s two separate worlds, from which performers maintain reflexive distance, as suggested by Meyerhold. All in all, fantasy performance emerges as the balance of perezhivanie and predstavlenie that Vahtangov (1984) advocated. Yet, as I explore in detail in the next chapter, fantasy performance can take on different forms. Lastly, I address an important point of debate in previous literature on the topic of fantasy: the paradox of belief (see Chapter 2, p. 39, ‘Belief in fantasy’). As many researchers have suggested, for aesthetic performance to be successful, both spectator and actor should believe in the fantasy. Yet, as became apparent throughout my findings, many previous theorisations of belief in fantasy become problematic if enacted in LARP. I discuss some of these next. Coleridge’s (1906) suspension of belief, for instance, would cause individuals to be unaware of the fact that they are attending a fantasy performance. As a result, performers would be unable to follow the rules of the LARP or to differentiate experiences of reality and fantasy, thus breaking their own and others’ experiences. Boruah’s (1988) suggestion of difference of existential commitment for fantasy also poorly reflects the experience of LARP, as, unlike he suggests, the fantasy performance does not lack actuality, physicality, or inner logic. To continue comparisons, the performance of fantasy does not declare the norms of society at large to be irrelevant in the same way as Turner’s (1969) liminality or Bakhtin’s (1984) carnival do. The performance rather allows individuals to take on a different additional set of physical and social limitations in the same setting. Weston’s (in Radford and Weston 1975) proposition of belief in fantasy arising through the connection of make-believe elements to their real-life counterparts is actually actively countered in LARP. While individuals do use familiar performance elements as a basis for the fantasy performance, they are also extremely wary of connecting or overlapping the two. LARPers aim not to connect fantasy

Fantasy performance  139 experiences and emotions to elements of their everyday lives in order to avoid nostalgia and negative effects of experiences. Moreover, performers try not to respond to elements of fantasy performance in the way they would in everyday interaction, even when these build on mundane experiences. Finally, Badiou’s (1990) suggestion of suspension of the everyday state of affairs does seemingly take place in LARP performance to an extent. For example, individuals point out that fantasy performance allows them to step out of their everyday lives and forget their worries. However, this theorisation disregards LARPers’ ability to connect back to their own lives and to react to certain situations as themselves. Based on my findings and their comparison to previous literature, I suggest that perhaps belief is the wrong term for what happens in fantasy. This becomes apparent in the dual structure of the performance. Two performances are engaged in simultaneously, with each approached seriously. Yet fantasy is specifically never believed to be real, while reality often becomes perceived as less real and believable. Moreover, individuals specifically detach themselves from both parallel performances, with the two being continuously contrasted and compared. It would then seem that lived fantasy does not require belief, but rather a serious attitude toward the performance. Similarly, Attebery (1980) has noted that fantasy does not involve belief, but commitment to it. As I have shown, lived fantasy emerges through serious performance that accepts the rules and norms of the make-believe context, but also keeps this context at a distance through continuous acknowledgement of its non-real nature. The performance is legitimised and supported by others’ performances, as well as individually sustained through its clarity and sharedness. The result is a bodily and emotional experience, which is, nevertheless, not believed or perceived to be real, and is not seen to be one’s own. Describing lived fantasy To summarise, I propose that lived fantasy performance can be described as a simultaneous conscious engagement in parallel performances: the performance of reality and the performance of not reality, that is, the make-believe that is outside our naturalised symbolic order. The latter is very strictly guided by a shared structure, which constrains the performance, but also makes it extremely well-defined. In LARP, this structure emerges as the rules and materials of the role-playing game. However, other fantasy performance could be similarly guided by such frames. For instance, a theme park or a theme restaurant could involve a certain canon from the entertainment media it is based on as well as rules of conduct created by the company running it. The difference between parallel performances is actively and consciously sustained by individuals through strict differentiation of roles, types of performance, and social spaces (or frames). This results in a self-less and distanced performance. It is important to note that, while internally and cognitively the two performances are continuously engaged in parallel, bodily and interactive performance only takes place in one frame at a time for the sake of clear, shared performance.

140  Fantasy performance Following these ideas, fantasy can be described as a type of performance that is different from any type of naturalised or normalised performance, as it has a dual, reflexive form, as well as involves a different perception of and attitude toward reality. Individuals do not suspend the rationality and common sense that their everyday context imposes, but acquire another additional version, which they perceive at the same time. The duality of performance allows individuals to take on a critical distance from both reality and not reality, as well as invest into their realities, as I will show later on. As fantasy performance involves subjective orientation and individual maintenance of the dual structure, the same performance may be perceived as fantasy or reality, depending on the performer’s perspective. There is no barrier between fantasy and reality to be imploded, broken, or blurred, but performance of fantasy is rather found in a multiplicity of perspectives and attitudes toward reality. Moreover, it may be impossible to differentiate performance of fantasy and reality from an uninvolved point of view. Fantasy and reality may seem blurred from a distance, yet performers retain clear, carefully structured differentiation of the two subjectively. In addition to the dual, reflexive structure I have described, the following characteristics are central to the performance of fantasy: the non-naturalised essence of performance, the extreme clarity of performance, familiar elements as the basis of performance, and the shared quality of performance. As I explain next, these characteristics support one another and the dual structure of fantasy performance. Non-naturalised performance The fantasy performance is not naturalised and it is not something that its performers are used to. The performance emerges from the disruption of implicit time and space, which results in the explicit duality of performance, its temporality and embodiment. Because fantasy performance involves conscious deviation from and recombination of elements of the performance of reality, a continuous awareness is required to sustain its structures and to ensure its continuity within the given space and time. Moreover, fantasy’s authority as performance is not based in performativity, that is, a long history of recombined and reperformed behaviours that create a seemingly continuous and seamless idea of reality. Performance elements are rather recombined in unfamiliar ways, with performance authority emerging through the performers’ mutual decision to grant it. In practice, this takes place through performance that is taken seriously and legitimised by performers. In essence, fantasy performance is inherently nonnaturalised in that it is always consciously perceived by its performers, and it is never based on performativity of norms. Žižek (1992) described fantasy as creating a break or hole in reality, which allows us to perceive reality in new ways. He explains that, as we move away from reality, we place ourselves alongside it, seeing it from a distance and at a

Fantasy performance  141 skewed angle, which allows a clearer understanding of the totality. In lived fantasy performance, the performance of the participatory frame could be seen as creating such a break in reality by initiating the performance of fantasy. The result is a duality of performance that involves a distanced awareness of both reality and fantasy. Hence, performance of fantasy is non-naturalised both in the recombined make-believe performances that lacks performativity, as well as in the previously unreflected performance of reality that individuals gain awareness of. Clarity of performance Fantasy performance is not naturalised behaviour, and thus requires continuous guidance and control. One of the main ways in which this is sustained is through extreme clarity of the performance. The performance creates a feeling of inner consistency through a basis in a clear structure, characteristics, and goals for action on personal, interactive, and societal levels. The clarity of fantasy performance emerges as a distinct counterpoint to how individuals perceive performance of reality. Slater (1997) writes that contemporary culture provides us with endless choice, which can create considerable anxiety and a lack of understanding of one’s world. Fjellman (1992) similarly describes contemporary culture as filled with fragmentation, confusion, as well as feelings of fear and lack of power. Urbany (2014) suggests that individuals lack an understanding of how to deal with this complexity and uncertainty, which has led to a demand for clarity. Fantasy performance seems to be able to provide the tools to relieve such confusion and provide clarity. Fantasy is an ephemeral, yet a very well articulated and stable point of comparison to one’s everyday reality. While reality may often appear to be unclear and fluctuating, fantasy performance emerges as understandable and controllable, creating something momentarily concrete and dependable for the individuals engaged in it. These findings are in contrast with a majority of previous consumer culture research, which has suggested fantasy experiences are driven by ambiguity and a loss of control (Belk and Costa 1998; Kozinets et al. 2004; Blanchette 2014). My findings are, however, in line with the ideas of Tolkien (2001 [1964]) and Saler (2012), who note that the structures of fantasy worlds are always more clear than those of the real, primary world. Attebery (1992) has further theorised that fantasy seeks order through comprehensible patterns. It is important to note that clarity is not the same as simplicity or lack of complexity. Blanchette (2014) has pointed out that a lot of research believes the central appeal of fantasy to be its easiness. Belk and Costa (1998) as well as Cramer (2010) similarly point out that fantasy contexts are driven by a need for more primitive, authentic, and easy experiences. However, my findings show that fantasy can be arduous or intricate, while providing much more welldefined structures for performance than everyday life. It is thus the clarity of performance, not its easiness that emerges as a central characteristic of lived fantasy performance.

142  Fantasy performance Familiar elements as basis of performance The clarity of fantasy performance is based on its well-defined structure, which is created through a recombination of familiar elements that tend to be archetypal. The fantasy performance of LARP is mostly based on elements of entertainment and geek culture, thus drawing on a more globally shared subcultural set of archetypes. This is in line with the idea of contemporary fantasy being based in media elements (Mackay 2001), and media becoming a normalised realm of memory in contemporary culture (Baudrillard 1995; Auslander 2008). This further explains the strong link that previous research has noted between fantasy and media (Kozinets 2001; Martin 2004). My findings are in line with Attebery’s (1992) work, in which he wrote that fantasy is based in archetypes and tropes, as these create understandable, familiar structures within the ‘magic’ of fantasy. Cohen and Taylor (1976) similarly propose that archetypes work as a common stock of symbolic material, which are drawn from cultural scripts to form the “vocabulary and grammar of fantasy” (p. 95). Hume (1984) further explains that archetypes create instant understanding through shared cultural meaning. Following these ideas, archetypes give power to fantasy performance through reaching out to individuals, connecting to familiar meanings, and resonating with their emotional needs and concerns. Attebery (1992) suggests that the archetypal structures of fantasy may seem naïve outside their context. However, as Eco (1973) points out, an individual archetype may appear tasteless and clichéd, but multiple archetypal elements together connect to our understanding of reality in creative and innovative ways. Fiske (1989) further proposes that a multiplicity of archetypes pushes individuals to reflect, actively work on understanding the created reality, as well as create new meanings. Hence, in addition to sustaining clarity, the basis of fantasy performance in archetypal elements of geek culture heavily supports the dual structure of the performance as well as the awareness and reflexivity that it allows. Shared experience Fantasy performance has a basis in archetypes that makes the performance understandable and available to its performers. Hence, fantasy is always more than just the self and its desires; it is always already shared to an extent, as it is imbued with shared context, meanings, and opinions. To retain the clarity of its structures, fantasy performance further relies on the integrity of individuals to perform in a manner that supports and legitimises others’ experiences. To create explicitly synchronised, shared fantasy among performers, individuals need to reach a deep level of shared understanding of their role, interaction, and social structure. Hence, meaning is shared in a much more articulated manner than during everyday interaction. Individuals can always engage in fantasy by themselves, writes Walton (1990). However, as Saler (2012) suggests, in engaging in fantasy together, individuals can make the fantasy world seem more real by discussing its details, as well as by

Fantasy performance  143 filling in and reconciling its various elements. Through inhabiting a fantasy world communally, individuals are brought out of their own prejudices and preferences to create something new. Fantasy performance brings together various (and possibly contradictory) interpretations, viewpoints, and opinions, and requires the adjustment of each individual fantasy for the sake of the shared fantasy. Individual fantasies form the basis for and are communally recombined into shared fantasy that allows new and unexpected meanings, developed far beyond any one individual’s capability. Saler (2012) briefly notes that interacting with fantasy communally may allow individuals to compare fantasy and real worlds to one another. The shared nature of fantasy thus also supports its dual, reflexive nature, becoming deeply entwined with fantasy’s ability to invest into reality, which I discuss next. Investing into reality through fantasy Previous literature has sometimes suggested that fantasy is irrelevant to reality. Fine (1983), for instance, believed that fantasy worlds are too far from our own moorings, while Walton (1990) argued that fantasy experiences are inconsequential, as they are not real. In contrast to this, Tolkien (2001 [1964]) was of the opinion that fantasy can cause us to momentarily glimpse underlying reality or truth. Hoogland (2002) and Yanal (1999), have further suggested that fantasy can show people possibilities for their real lives. In line with this, I suggest that fantasy performance allows individuals to invest into their realities (see Figure 1.7, p. 22, Plate 7).8 Previous work has proposed investment into reality to take place through the performances of fantasy and reality mirroring one another (e.g., Schechner 1988, 2006) or mixing (e.g., St. James, Handelman, and Taylor 2011). I propose a somewhat different process to take place in lived performance of fantasy.9 Naturalisation never sets in within lived fantasy performance because of the conscious creation, acute awareness, continuous reflexivity, and the limited time frame of the performance. These aspects further push individuals to perceive the fantasy performance as malleable and as having no pre-existing entity at its basis. In other words, the performative nature of fantasy is evident to those performing it. Through this, performers become acutely aware of how performance, its meaning, as well as its cultural and normative structures emerge. Individuals gain insight into the possibilities and limitations of various fantasy performances, as well as how these can be edited or changed through recombination of performance. No scripts or directions are given in lived fantasy performance; performers are pushed to figure out how to perform fantasy on their own within the provided limits. This results in a direct, embodied learning experience similar to the transfer of performance knowledge described by Schechner (1982). Similarly, Brecht (1965) and Meyerhold (1968) advocated that having to build up performance and create its meaning on one’s own results in active, bodily learning with deep, long-lasting influence on everyday life. The bodily aspect of fantasy performance is especially

144  Fantasy performance crucial from the point of view of reality investment, as it taps into the idea of a pre-existing, material reality described by Butler (2004). By consciously deconstructing and recombining bodily, material performance, seemingly unchangeable aspects of reality are altered, thus allowing performativity to be perceived more vividly. Because fantasy performance emerges as a duality of parallel performances, performers simultaneously engage in both the make-believe and reality. As a result, individuals have to not only actively construct and be acutely aware of what they are performing, but also be extremely reflexive of what they are not performing. Individuals end up constraining and limiting or pushing and expanding their normalised performance, thus gaining newfound understanding of the social spaces, interactions, and roles of their naturalised everyday lives, which they normally do not reflect on. Through this, individuals are further pushed to compare the parallel performances. In perceiving similarities or differences of various structures and elements of performance between make-believe and reality, individuals come to perceive reality just as performatively created as the make-believe, shattering the idea of an immutable, pre-existing essence of reality, its norms, and the self as part of it. In taking on a distanced, parallel approach to both reality and make-believe, individuals gain clearer understanding of not only their self and reality as well as the character and make-believe world, but also what makes up these performances in general. Individuals become aware of how performances emerge, what meanings they create, how these are received and understood by others, as well as what limitations and possibilities are tied into various bits of performance that can be recombined. Consequently, performers gain deeper understanding of how to perform and interact in various contexts, becoming capable of changing their own performances within these environments. It is important to note that the result of reality investment is not individuals gaining clarity of all performance or succumbing to some ultimate order of things. Performers of fantasy rather gain a clearer understanding of how performance and its meaning work within various contexts and interactions, thus allowing them better understanding of how they can engage in and modify their performance. Reflecting Žižek’s (1992) and Attebery’s (1992) work, fantasy does not allow individuals to find order, but rather to find understandable patterns in reality, which helps them deal with the chaos that is everyday life. The awareness and questioning of norms further do not create transgressive action on their own, as fantasy does not link to ‘real’ action directly (as, e.g., Walton 1990 and Boruah 1988 have argued). Nevertheless, fantasy performance can have a great influence on how individuals perceive and perform in their everyday lives: the better an individual understands how performance works, the more aptly they can engage in it or mould it. Of course, individuals are not capable of changing their entire realities. Nevertheless, by gaining newfound understanding of their contexts and their own roles in them, individuals are capable of disturbing rules, thus possibly creating awareness in others and beginning a ripple effect for wider impact. Certain forms of fantasy performance may be more successful in sparking these processes, as I explain in Chapter 6.

Fantasy performance  145 There are several characteristics of lived fantasy performance that seem to activate and support reality investment. These reflect the four characteristics of fantasy performance I described earlier. First, the non-naturalised and dual nature of fantasy performance plays a central role in individuals becoming aware of the performative nature of their reality, norms, and self. As Tolkien (2001 [1964]) and Saler (2012) theorise, we may need secondary worlds (i.e., make-believe worlds) to comprehend and influence the primary one (i.e., reality). Reality investment thus becomes inspired by the acute awareness of self and its context as well as their comparison to the character and the fantasy world. These emerge as a result of the duality of performance. In a similar vein, Cohen and Taylor (1976) have proposed that self-consciousness allows individuals to reinvest in their routines, engaging in what they call reality work and identity work. These are two interrelated processes of building up stable constructions of the world and one’s identity with the help of various elements from one’s surroundings. Cohen and Taylor explain that self-consciousness creates distancing, which allows individuals to undermine rules, reduce pressure from norms, and adjust roles and routines. Similar processes emerge as part of fantasy performance. Second, the limited, clear nature of lived fantasy performance aids in focusing the performance. The clearly framed role and clearly structured context of fantasy result in experiences that are easily comprehendible and comparable. The performance does not create a topsy-turvy fantasy world, such as in the carnivalesque described earlier (see Bakhtin 1984), which often comes to reinstate the status quo of reality through the chaotic alternative it presents. The limited fantasy performance rather provides an additional, different set of possibilities and constraints for performance, which allows for breaking the norms of reality, but in a very specific way. The result is a very clear and controlled deviation, from which individuals can learn and reflect on very specific elements of performance through comparison to reality. Third, familiarity is crucial for the learning process to take place. As I have shown, fantasy performances are based on the recombination of familiar elements and structures. This results in a similarity of structure and norms of the parallel performances. Mackay (2001) and Paskow (2004) note that fantasy involves patterns very similar to our own structures of culture and power. This similarity of structure is an important part of reflection and reality investment in fantasy performance, as it allows for more articulated comparison of performances and a clearer understanding of how they can be repeated or recombined across performance types. Fourth, the shared essence of fantasy performance supports the reflexivity and development of new possibilities for performance. By recombining fantasy performance together, individuals tap into understanding and interpretation far beyond a single point of view. Additionally, performers gain outsider perspectives on their own performance, thus allowing testing and legitimisation of various performance meanings. As Saler (2012) has proposed, shared fantasy is far more detailed and creative than individual fantasy. The shared aspect helps overcome individual norms and prejudices, pushing individuals to edit and renegotiate performance to reach consensus.

146  Fantasy performance In addition, slight failures throughout the performance seem to aid reality investment. As an individual’s fantasy experience becomes too emotional and bleeds, a stronger connection is created between the parallel performances. This results in a greater learning experience, as various elements of performance are perceived much more strongly, passionately, and emotionally. Montola, Stenros, and Waern (2009) also note bleed between role-playing games and real life in their study, regarding it as being due to individuals lacking knowledge of their own limitations. I propose that this failure further helps individuals understand their own limitations and the wider structures that the limitations are a part of. Bleed tends to takes place in connection to aspects of performance that individuals do not have deep understanding of, are not reflexive of, or have not differentiated well enough between the parallel performances. Hence, bleed points to norms, structures, and characteristics a performer has not previously noted, allowing them to gain deeper reflexivity and reality investment. It is important to stress that while bleed can be productive, it can indeed also be destructive, as I have shown earlier. A delicate balancing is thus necessary. All in all, fantasy performance allows individuals to invest into their realities through critical awareness and comparison of performances. Individuals do not end up changing their entire realities, but rather gain insight into what performance is made up of and how it can be performed differently, thus influencing the understanding, meanings, and structures of everyday performance. Depending on the type of fantasy performance, investment into reality can emerge differently and influence performers’ lives to a varied extent. I discuss these performance types in the next chapter.

Notes 1 As I noted in Chapter 3, social space is the contextualised totality of the spatial and the social structures of performance (McAuley 2000). 2 I have previously discussed this learning process from the point of view of gender performance in Seregina 2018. 3 May refers to ‘city games,’ or ‘pervasive games’ as they have been named in literature (see Montola 2012; Montola, Stenros, and Waern 2009). These are played in everyday settings, usually in city centres, and involve lax spatial and temporal game boundaries. However, these games are less common in Finland, and some LARPers I spoke to tend to avoid them, just like May. Moreover, it is contestable whether pervasive games are a type of LARP or a separate form of RPG. Hence, I do not address pervasive games here. 4 It is important to note that McAuley (2000) analyses a traditional theatre space that involves a very clear spatial division for the roles of spectators and actors. Unlike theatre, LARP creates no physical distance or clear hierarchical difference between spectators and actors. 5 This level could be equated to Goffman’s primary framework. 6 Some of the differences in findings between Fine’s (1983) work and this research could be explained by the differences between contexts of study. Unlike in LARP, tabletop role-playing games involve less bodily performance, as games are played out through discussions around a table. Hence, the performance is more cognitive and less immersive or bodily.

Fantasy performance  147 7 The differences in theorisations may be explained by the characteristics of research contexts. First, theatre contexts provide a very specific fantasy narrative, which is much more limited than the possibilities of reality, thus creating the illusion that reality envelops the make-believe. While fantasy performance of LARP is also guided by certain rules, it involves the potentiality of an endless recombination of performance within these limitations, thus creating a seemingly infinite amount of possibilities. Second, unlike in theatre, LARPing involves no spatial or bodily distancing between the roles, that is, the same individuals act and spectate simultaneously. This complexifies the subjective experience of fantasy performance. As a result, the self in LARP performance becomes a distanced role, and not the naturalised performance of a theatre spectator. 8 I borrow the term reality investment from Cohen and Taylor (1976), as it is most encompassing and descriptive of the process. However, the performance I describe deviates from and extends Cohen and Taylor’s concept in many ways. 9 I have previously given an account on how individuals build and challenge gender through fantasy performance, providing more specific, practical examples of learning experiences. For more on this, see Seregina 2018.

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6 Types of fantasy performances

Through engaging in LARP, it became evident to me that the performances differ greatly in the type of experience and value that an individual gains from them. The differences may depend on many of the LARP’s structural and interactional elements, such as the organisation, themes, and participants’ cooperation. Additionally, the type of experience is strongly connected to the LARPer’s own attitude toward and aims for the performance. Based on my analysis of the empirical data, I propose a typology of two lived fantasy performances, which I call other-worldly and othering fantasy performances (see Figure 1.10, p. 23, Plate 10).1 It is important to note that the two do not work as a dichotomy and are not opposites, but can overlap in many ways. Moreover, fantasy experiences are subjective, and, hence, participants of a single LARP do not necessarily experience the fantasy performance as the same type of performance. In the context of experiencing art, Walton (1990) notes that the same piece of art can have multiple fictional worlds built around it by the individuals engaging with it. This can result in vastly different experiences, which, nevertheless, focus on the same object. Something similar can be seen in the fantasy performance of LARP: individuals attending the same game may have completely different experiences with a focus on different values and meanings. To provide a quick overview, other-worldly performance of fantasy focuses on getting away from everyday life, with themes often being fun and repeating media performances directly. Other-worldly performances mostly involve passively interacting participants who seek playful and leisurely experiences. As I elaborate in detail below, the performance is more oriented toward personal pleasure and individual fantasy rather than shared fantasy, even as the experience has a clear, explicitly communicated communal structure. The performance is spatially and materially focused, revolving around the social space of fantasy. The social spaces of fantasy and reality are clearly separated, but the performances of self and character may become more easily blurred. This is supported by the more frequent, bodily switching between acting and spectating. The result of otherworldly performance is a personal and emotionally strong experience, which gives access to personal desires by seemingly taking individuals outside reality. The performance is often accompanied by nostalgia, but does not usually result in reflection.

152  Types of fantasy performances Othering fantasy performances are more active and reflective. These tend to be thematically serious, often recombining elements of entertainment and geek culture rather than using them directly. The performance is aimed at staying true to character as much as possible and, through this, focusing on shared fantasy. The two social spaces being performed are less of a focal point for conscious differentiation, with othering performance thus involving a more vague structure and a lax attitude towards material aspects of the performance. Instead, physical embodiment as well as the differentiation of self and character become central. More specifically, because of the lack of bodily spectating, performers focus on distinct internal differentiation of the roles of self and character, which requires them to put more effort into figuring out how to perform fantasy. The performance is often educational and bears long-term influence on individuals’ lives. There is usually little nostalgia ensuing from othering fantasy, but long-term reflection on both fantasy and reality commonly occurs. The two types of fantasy performance are connected to individuals’ development in LARP. Many LARPers tend to initially be more passive participants who seek leisurely experiences that are oriented toward personal pleasure. They start out in the context of LARP with self-focused aims to have fun, be entertained, and possibly interact with a favourite fandom medium. With time and experience, individuals take on more challenges within LARP, undertaking characters that are more difficult, have more authority and responsibility. Moreover, individuals begin to focus more on the needs and aims of the shared fantasy, rather than just their personal enjoyment. LARPers become more reflective and active, as they learn how various characters, structures, and relationships work, allowing them to adjust to various situations better. With this development, keeping the difference between self and character becomes easier and more important, while PLD and bleed of emotion become less severe. Learning and reflection turn into conscious processes that individuals value. I witnessed such a development in most of my interviewees, most clearly in Rose, whom I interviewed multiple times over the duration of two years. Talking to her after her first LARP, Rose stated she was quite a passive player. A year and a dozen games later she says: Rose: I’ve definitely developed. For example, just now in a recent game that was at the end of August, my character was the wife of the bad guy . . . that was really fun because she was in on a lot of stuff. [. . .] She wasn’t the head honcho, but near it. Rose became more active in the fantasy performances, specifically through taking on more challenging themes and characters that support the shared fantasy. She stresses that she is “learning a lot through experimenting with things.” The development from other-worldly to othering fantasy is not always linear, even as many LARPers show such development. Some LARPers tend to switch between types. For instance, they may engage in entertaining LARPs once in a while, even when focused on more reflexive experiences. Wade, who stresses that

Types of fantasy performances  153 he prefers more thought-provoking performances, points out that “Sometimes you feel like . . . you need to be in a LARP where everything is just easy and fun.” Other LARPers seem to consciously choose to stick to a type of fantasy performance because of a preferred value that is gained. For example, in a discussion after a historical LARP, one of the LARPers pointed out that she used to really enjoy having reflexive experiences in LARP. However, nowadays she exclusively attends LARPs that she knows will be more entertaining, as she wants the experience to provide a break from her routine-filled, mundane life. In contrast, another LARPer told me that she exclusively attends very politically oriented games, as she is politically active in her real life and wishes to explore and develop this aspect through fantasy experiences. Different types of fantasy performances provide different value to performers. However, as I already noted, the same LARP can result in different types of experiences for its performers. Hence, the type of fantasy performance is intrinsically tied to the individual’s own performance and attitude, even as the performance is also dependent on various spatial, material, and structural characteristics. Next, I discuss the two types of fantasy performance in detail.

Comparing fantasy performances In the following sections, I explore other-worldly and othering fantasy performance through their comparison. I discuss the two performance types in terms of their set-up, performance of self and character, performance of interaction, performance of social space, and the aftermath of the performance. Setting up the performance Fantasy performances of LARP are based on a specific set of materials, which tend to involve elements of mediatised entertainment and geek culture. The themes of the fantasy performances and the elements used as their basis are not directly tied to a type of performance, as the type depends on subjective experience. Nevertheless, other-worldly and othering fantasy performances are connected to certain thematic tendencies, as well as to tendencies of using mediatised elements differently as the basis for the performance. Other-worldly fantasy performance Other-worldly LARP performances tend to be focused on amusement, often with the aim to engage with something seemingly not of the real world; something otherworldly. Chase describes such a performance: “It’s sort of like you get to change your persona and get out of the mundane . . . away from your normal world.” Other-worldly performances mostly involve positive emotions and leisurely experiences. The themes tend to be light, rarely delving into and sometimes even avoiding political or ideological topics. However, the performance does not need to be ‘fun’ in the common-sense understanding of the word. It can also be scary

154  Types of fantasy performances or shocking, but in a pleasurable way; the same way a horror movie may be fun to watch. For example, May described her experience at an overnight zombie LARP as “fun.” Hume (1984) similarly notes that unpleasant themes in fantasy can be pleasurable if accepted as such by individuals. The goal of other-worldly fantasy is thus to be entertained through pleasurable themes, but this pleasurability is of a subjective nature. In line with the focus on pleasure attainment, individuals often tie their personal desires and wishes into other-worldly LARP performance. For instance, Rose explains that she likes to “add things to the character that [she] would like to do [her] self.” As noted earlier, the incorporation of personal elements may make the performance easier to engage in. The personal endowment and easiness of engagement in performance are especially evident when individuals have a strong connection to the media being used, such as, through being a fan. For example, when attending a LARP based on the book series Narnia, many of the performers I encountered were big fans of the novels and had deep personal connections to them. The desires that are engaged in other-worldly fantasy performance go beyond stereotypical wish-attainment. Such desires do not include only positive, leisurely aspects of life, but may also involve other personal aspirations, such as resolving a specific tension, trying out scenarios, or reworking a specific type of relationship. Hence, the personal aspects tied into the performance may seem positive or negative from an objective point of view. Other-worldly performance tends to be almost directly based on performance familiar from a media franchise or fandom, such as Lord of the Rings, Narnia, or Harry Potter. These can involve specific fictional worlds or characters, historical events, or other more or less objectively verifiable worlds. The fantasy performance is still largely improvisational and does not follow a script, but the performance is set in quite strict, already existing parameters. Dot explains that such a setting provides “instant familiarity.” LARPers are often very familiar with geek culture, and, hence, things don’t necessarily need to be “explained in detail” when existing other worlds are used directly. For instance, I have attended Harry Potter-themed LARPs, in which characters and the fantasy world were borrowed from the book and movie franchise. These were not explained in detail to participants, but their knowledge of the fantasy world was assumed. This was not a problem, as all performers had extensive prior knowledge of the material through having read the books or even being avid fans. Because geek culture is used directly, elements of fantasy performance are not recombined that much, and performance elements borrowed from media are used with little change. In other words, individuals directly repeat performances that are already familiar to them through media consumption and are, thus, to some extent naturalised. The result is a setting for the fantasy performance that is very concretely defined and well-known by participants, but which also does not allow much editing or negotiation among participants, as a pre-existing, external ‘canon’ already defines the performance structure. This is very similar to the coherent ‘other worlds’ of fantasy that Tolkien (2001 [1964]), Manlove (1975), Saler (2012), and James (2012) wrote about.

Types of fantasy performances  155 It is important to note that other-worldly performance can also happen in LARPs created entirely by performers or through a more fragmented use of geek culture. I am merely noting that the other-worldly type of experience is more common in LARPs created out of direct use of media. I believe this may be linked to the fact that most geek culture used as basis for fantasy performances has often already been experienced as leisurely by individuals. Consequently, the atmosphere of entertainment may be transferred to fantasy performance when media performance is used directly. While this is somewhat out of the scope of my study, I would further suggest that other-worldly fantasy performance is more likely to take place in campaigns, that is, in series of LARPs that take place in the same setting with the same characters. Campaigns create continuity, and thus their own norms and structures, providing a solid ground for other-worldly performance with an almost naturalised performativity for fantasy. Othering fantasy performance Othering LARP performance tends to be thematically more serious, intense, and even negative in some ways. The performance is challenging and critical, focusing on events such as living in an occupied country or being a patient in a mental institution. May gives an example: May: I played this mentally ill character [. . .] and it was such a strong experience that I sort of felt sick afterwards because you are really inside the character’s head and try to act according. It’s almost a negative experience. [. . .] At the same time, it’s really interesting. The themes common to othering fantasy performance are ideological, political, psychological, and intertwined with real-life problems. Such performance often demands LARPers to take strong moral and ethical stances through their characters. For example, I attended a historical LARP set in Finland in the early 1900s, which required characters to make political decisions over siding with the Red Guard or the White Guard.2 Individuals do not find any type of perverse pleasure or entertainment in these performances. In discussing a “serious LARP,” a LARPer told me: “I can’t say it was fun, but it was interesting. It was an experience. I learned a lot.” People engaging in othering fantasy performances are thus concerned with an experience that allows them insight into a different context or perspective on life. For instance, a LARP may shed light on certain events in history, political regimes, or lives of certain subsections of society, such as mental patients, racial or gender minorities. Overall, othering fantasy performance can be quite alienating in its demanding themes, but it also encourages learning and reflection through the distance that it creates, as I will show in more detail later on. Othering fantasy performance is rarely directly based on entertainment and geek culture. Elements of media are rather mixed and matched or thoroughly

156  Types of fantasy performances extended, creating seemingly novel and unique fantasy worlds and characters. Consequently, performance is not based on existing, familiar bits of performance, but requires recombination of pieces of behaviours as well as thorough negotiation of the setting among performers. The shared knowledge base of geek culture is still tapped into, and may be used to describe or explain elements of the LARP. For example, I witnessed a discussion before a LARP involving vampires, in which LARPers decided on what powers the creatures will have by referencing various entertainment franchises, such as Underworld, Twilight, and True Blood. Another LARP I attended was roughly based on the TV show Deadwood, with the context and themes developed to be almost unrecognisable. Othering LARP performances tend to involve elements of realism through the common use of more ‘down-to-earth’ rather than other-worldly popular culture themes as its basis (although both are used). Nevertheless, the performances are rarely direct copies of reality, as they always involve dramatic, recombined elements that make the performance different somehow from real life. Hence, othering fantasy performance involves themes of everyday life, but these are not directly personal. Just like with other-worldly fantasy performance, it is important to note that othering performances can happen in LARPs based on direct use of media, but are more common in the piecemeal versions of fantasy performance. Moreover, connecting to my earlier suggestion about campaigns in the context of other-worldly fantasy performance, I believe othering fantasy is less likely to happen in campaigns. Structure and naturalisation of norms are bound to set in via repetition of performance, thus impeding the othering form of fantasy performance. Performance of self and character The performance of lived fantasy of LARP involves the negotiation of the roles of self and character. As I explain next, this negotiation emerges differently in otherworldly and othering fantasy performances, with the former focusing more on the self and the latter more on the character. Other-worldly fantasy performance Other-worldly performance commonly involves character performance that ties into the performer’s personal goals or desires. As I already noted, this is connected to the basis of the performance in leisurely and pleasurable themes. Sue provides such a perspective: “I must admit that I play a lot for myself, because I like planning what happens to the character and stuff like that . . . because it is your own character that is the centre of the game for everyone.” This does not mean other people are completely ignored or forgotten in this type of fantasy performance; the shared experience is still important. However, in other-worldly performances, LARPers do focus more on their own positive experiences and

Types of fantasy performances  157 emotions, as well as on engaging their personal desires, dreams, and wishes. In practice, this may emerge as individuals placing their own ideas and goals into ready-made characters, as Wade admits to doing: Wade: . . . in my last game I wanted to talk to one specific character, but he was constantly doing something else. And my character would not have had a reason to go and talk to him anyway. So there was no opportunity. So then I just sort of went up to him, grabbed him, and we went outside to the yard. I sort of forced it, but it was a really interesting conversation. In some ways, this can be seen as misuse or even abuse of metaplaying. Yet most performers will engage in and accept such behaviour to some extent, as long as it does not harm the overall performance. Taking on a different approach, individuals may partially or entirely write their own characters, sometimes consciously putting in their personal wishes and goals. Rose gives an example of this: Interviewer: You said you wrote this character yourself? Rose: Yeah. It was really interesting. Like you could add things to it . . . like I added abilities to predict the future. So it lets you do fun stuff like that. I thought that through that I can kind of explore things like . . . or like be involved with so-called secret sciences that have always intrigued me. But then living in a Christian environment, I’ve sort of felt that you can’t go meddle with that. And now I can sort of explore it as a mundane thing. That way . . . I can leave it in the game and peacefully explore myself in context of these things. So it’s like a safe environment. Other-worldly performance does not always involve self-written characters, as became evident earlier, but it is more common for these types of performances, as such an approach essentially lets you do “whatever you want” (Sue). While the self is not extended into the character in the same way that Stanislavski advocated in his art of perezhivanie, other-worldly fantasy performance does clearly build on the performer’s personal emotions, goals, and wishes. Elements of performance of self or a desired self are thus used to create and guide the fantasy performance, allowing one to play out or test out various wants and interests. I noted in the previous chapter that the differentiation between self and character emerges as an important aspect of LARP performance. This is also true for other-worldly LARP. However, the parallel performances of self and character seem to become easily mixed through the personal meanings and emotions taken on as part of the character performance. Peg explains that when the self and character share traits, emotions, and values, these become “difficult to differentiate.” Chase similarly notes that “they can get easily mixed up . . . what is the character’s and what is one’s own.” It is important to note that individuals do not lose

158  Types of fantasy performances sight of differentiation between reality and fantasy, thus never falling into what Tolkien (2001 [1964]) described as delusion. Parallel bodily, interactive, and social space performance is still strictly differentiated. However, other-worldly performance involves less clear distinction of elements of performance of self and character on an internal level, especially when the two are similar. This internal mixture of role performances may be explained by the particular structure of lived fantasy of LARP, in which acting and spectating are done in parallel by the same performer. In Stanislavski’s perezhivanie, the actor becomes emotionally involved through extending their self, while the spectator is infected by the created emotion. In performing both simultaneously, emotion and empathy may become too difficult to differentiate, especially in performance that takes on personal focus. Moreover, as elements of performance of self are used for building fantasy, the recombined performance becomes easily mixed with everyday life. Overall, the self emerges as the guiding or the dominant role in the parallel performances of other-worldly fantasy, as personal entertainment and desire are central aims for the performance type. It is more likely that the self and character roles become mixed in other-worldly fantasy performances, as the parallel performances of acting and spectating, which are anchored in the roles of character and self respectively, become overlapping and difficult to differentiate. I discuss this further in the next sections. Othering fantasy performance In othering fantasy performance, performers stress a distance and difference between self and character. As Hope explains: “When you look at yourself in the game, you don’t see yourself but the character [. . .] you know that’s not you.” Personal desires are of less relevance here, with performers specifically focusing on portraying the character in a way that fits the context and supports the overall performance. What’s more, othering fantasy involves performance of the character holistically, which means focusing on all aspects of living as that character. Hence, internal play, that is, the workings of the inner world of the character, becomes emphasised. The focus on portraying the character authentically requires a distinct understanding of what the performance of the character entails, through which the character is distanced and approached almost objectively. As Peg notes, “this way, it’s easier to keep your self and the character apart.” I suggest that the distanced approach to character performance is closely tied to the themes of the performance, which tend to be quite demanding. Because character traits are intense and heavy, individuals may want to distance themselves more clearly. In discussing attributes of intense characters, May says: “you want to keep them away from yourself . . . and out of your head.” Moreover, characters in othering LARP performance often provide a very different perspective on performance, as they are very rarely written by participants and are rather put together or at least closely guided by GMs. There is thus a lack of personal elements of self in the character, making the difference between self and character clearer.

Types of fantasy performances  159 Performing a character that is distinctly differentiated from the self can be quite challenging and arduous, as more effort has to be put into staying true to the character through bodily performance and interaction. The hard work does have its rewards, though. Wade explains that such performance can be “genuinely surprising,” and Sue stresses that it can “push you to do something different.” Dawn adds that taking a completely different perspective is more freeing in terms of opening new points of view and questioning one’s own everyday life, as it forces you to look at things anew. Othering fantasy performance thus supports individuals in stepping out of their own limitations, structures, and meanings. This is aided by the focus on internal play, as it allows performers to delve deeper into novel worldviews. As I will show later on, the greater distance that is created between self and character further supports deeper reflection on the self, norms, and structures of reality, resulting in vivid learning experiences. While the separation of self and character is similar to Meyerhold’s predstavlenie, it is not as rationalised and unemotional. Following McConachie’s (2008) ideas, the performance is deeply emotional and empathic, even as it is distanced. Emotions and experiences of the character are clearly felt, but approached impersonally, as the performer distinctly pushes the performance away from their self. The self still experiences emotional and bodily responses, but separately from the character; these are also less pronounced externally, as the focus of the performance is not on personal wishes, but on the portrayal of the character in a way that fits the shared performance best. As I discuss in the next section, performance of self in othering fantasy performance almost exclusively comes into play as internal reflection and negotiation of performance, with bodily performance of self being toned down to a minimum (with the exception of emergencies). The character thus becomes the dominant role of othering fantasy performance. Acting and spectating are clearly distinguished, and the performance of roles of self and character emerge as the focal point of differentiation between the parallel performances of fantasy and reality. Performance of interaction In Chapter 5, I suggested that interaction in fantasy performance involves both acting and spectating. These are negotiated and emphasised differently in the two performances. Moreover, interaction in other-worldly fantasy tends to be more reactive, while interaction in othering fantasy tends to be more proactive. Other-worldly fantasy performance In terms of interaction, performers of other-worldly fantasy often focus on reacting to other individuals, to the context, as well as to material and immaterial elements of the social space. For instance, Dawn explains that she rather enjoys being “a bystander or quiet observer through [her] character.” As I noted earlier, this approach is especially typical of performers new to LARP and of more experienced participants wanting a leisurely experience. When talking about her first

160  Types of fantasy performances LARPs, Rose stressed that she did not want to be very active, but rather wanted to have many elements to react to: Rose: . . . it’s much easier that way. [. . .] I think it really helps if you have things to react to, like concretely react to. Otherwise you have to be active yourself and sort of search for it and that doesn’t amount to anything. The focus on reactive performance does not mean that performers are physically or emotionally passive, or that their performance is unresponsive, as Todorov (1970) and Jackson (1981) have implied in the context of marvellous fantasy. Nevertheless, individuals do take less initiative to create action themselves, rather waiting for something to respond to. As other-worldly performance is reliant on external stimuli to which to react, the setting and the social space of the performance need to be well developed and engaging. This ties into the direct use of geek culture and its concrete other worlds, as these provide familiarity, depth of detail, and pre-existing sets of behaviours. Through the emphasis on social space, it is the fantasy world, rather than the characters, that becomes the focus of performance. Moreover, other fantasy characters emerge as part of the social space to react to. Hope describes such an experience: “When everyone becomes their specific character, you get the exact environment that you want to be in, you’re there.” Because other-worldly fantasy is more reactive than proactive and emerges as the repetition of performances familiar from media consumption, the performance takes on a rather individualistic nature. Auslander (2008) theorises that media-centric culture creates communities through individuals connecting to a specific medium, and not to one another. Something similar happens here, as, through connection to familiar geek culture performances, fantasy performances are shared to an extent, but remain individual interactions with entertainment and geek culture elements. Hence, individual fantasy becomes dominant in this type of performance. Other-worldly performance further involves frequent switching between bodily performance of acting and spectating (and thus between the make-believe and reality frames). LARPers often go OFF-game during the performance, discussing various issues of both the make-believe and reality frames. This includes organisational aspects of the LARP, but also issues pertaining to the structure and interaction within the other world created through the LARP. In other-worldly performance, the negotiation may include even minor aspects of the game. Chase explains how OFF-game was used in a Harry Potter-themed LARP to negotiate magic: “You have to OFF a lot, for example if you wanna do a spell right. So if you trip someone [IN-game with a spell], then the other guy needs to react in the right way.” In other-worldly fantasy performance, the negotiation of parallel frames and parallel performances is thus done externally among players, rather than internally by the individuals themselves. Resultantly, mannerisms and physical body movements are not stressed as much in the performance of character or in interaction

Types of fantasy performances  161 among characters, because any element can be discussed in the reality frame for clarification. Through this, performers end up having an almost objective, holistic understanding of the performance throughout its duration, as other performers’ perspectives and various events that the character is not aware of are discussed among LARPers in the reality frame throughout the performance. This reflects Badiou’s (1990) ideas of the spectator having an objective position of knowledge in theatre performance. Frame switching is not always voluntary. Sometimes, specific elements of the LARP require OFF-game discussion, like the performance of magic described by Chase. Comical situations made possible by the light themes of the performance may also cause performers to “drop out of character” (Dawn). At times, LARPers may even try to intentionally push each other’s limits through humorous performance that results in players laughing out of character. While the structure of parallel performances of fantasy remains intact, continuous switching between frames of interaction and bodily performance of the two roles results in difficulties for the performer to completely differentiate acting and spectating. The differentiation is further made difficult by the roles of self and character becoming easily internally mixed. Elements of the parallel performances start to overlap, and bleed can occur more easily. I suggested earlier that the role of the self is more dominant in other-worldly performance. In line with this, spectating emerges as the dominant of the two parallel performances, as performance is structured through external negotiation among spectators in the reality frame, and is more oriented toward individual fantasy in the form of personal goals outside the make-believe context. Othering fantasy performance In othering fantasy performance, individuals take more initiative in interaction by focusing on creating elements to react to both for themselves and for others. Hope stresses that it is a matter of taking things into your own hands: “You can do a lot more with the character than what you’re given [. . .] it’s a type of application, improvisation.” May explains that taking on such an active perspective creates a much more interesting experience: “I often like having someone to throw things around with. Otherwise you might just get stuck. [. . .] So it’s good that people are like ‘here I am and I’m gonna do this thing like this’.” As I noted before, othering fantasy emerges as re-combination of performance elements rather than the repetition of behaviours and structures familiar from media. Hence, the performance requires more active negotiation and legitimisation in order to exist as something understandable to all participants. This results in an interaction-oriented performance, where shared fantasy becomes prioritised over individual fantasy. Performers of othering fantasy thus take on an active role in continuously producing fantasy, driven by a desire to co-create a holistic experience that works for everyone. Othering fantasy further tends to involve little bodily frame switching, with performance mostly taking place within the make-believe frame. LARPers rarely

162  Types of fantasy performances go OFF-game to discuss IN-game or OFF-game issues, and any ambiguities are resolved through character interaction or character introspection. Dawn explains: “It’s OK if people discuss things OFF-game [. . .] and it’s fun if people make stupid jokes during the game . . . but it’s better if you stick to the game world. Because that creates the atmosphere.” May adds that if you “go OFF-game a lot, the game experience becomes really fragmented.” As becomes evident, frame switching is not welcomed in othering fantasy performance, because the aim is to sustain a continuity of interaction in the make-believe. I noted in Chapter 5 that bodily performance of fantasy allows it to be experienced as more real or authentic. The lack of bodily frame switching seems to further support this experience. It is important to note that bodily switching between acting and spectating does take place in othering fantasy performance, but it is not common. Both spectator and actor are always present internally, with the self ready to spring into action bodily when needed. Because performance elements are not discussed in spectating, more weight is placed on interaction through bodily performance within acting. This includes direct interaction among characters, but also other forms of communication, such as gestures, movements, and mannerisms. Moreover, a lot of the time, performers are required to deal with situations on their own through internal play and metaplay. Othering fantasy thus emerges as acting-driven performance, with its shared aspect being created in subjective interaction as and among characters, rather than via objective discussions of performers as their selves. Without the structuring of performance through spectating, othering fantasy performance has the freedom to evolve in completely unexpected, novel and interesting directions. However, the lack of interaction through spectating also leaves room for a lot of misinterpretation, which can result in loss of the clarity that many individuals cherish in LARP performance. Moreover, there is greater possibility for the performance to spin out of control. Of course, LARP does retain its safety mechanisms, which I discussed in Chapter 4. However, performers may abstain from their use for many reasons. For instance, they may want to sustain continuity of performance, or, with the lack of frame switching, individuals may not experience the negative aspects until it is too late. Individuals are nevertheless encouraged to stress safety in any situation. Interestingly, while self and character are clearly differentiated, their comparison during performance is less likely. I believe this is connected to the unbroken continuity of fantasy performance and the dominant role of acting. The focus of performance is on actively co-creating holistic fantasy, and hence little room is left for comparison of the parallel performances. As I will discuss later on, individuals tend to attain a full picture of the othering fantasy performance only after it is over, with in-depth comparison of the parallel performances occurring mainly in the aftermath of performance. Overall, othering fantasy emerges as a continuous, acting-driven performance that is focused on shared fantasy and a minimal amount of bodily frame switching. Because there is little OFF-game discussion among spectators, LARPers are pushed to work things out on their own or through interaction as characters.

Types of fantasy performances  163 Consequently, the performance entails less comparison of parallel performances and less shared clarity among performers during its performance. Individuals further do not obtain objective, holistic understanding of the fantasy performance, but only have the subjective point of view of their character during the performance. This is similar to Badiou’s (1990) ideas of acting as subjective, limited performance. Performance of social space Within other-worldly and othering LARP performances, individuals negotiate social and material space of fantasy in different ways. The former tends to involve a very strict given structure, while the latter engages in a more vague social space that emerges through continuous co-creation. Other-worldly fantasy performance As I described above, other-worldly performance often involves the direct use of familiar elements of media and geek culture. In consequence of this familiarity, individuals come to the performance with a deep and detailed pre-existing knowledge of the social space. Rose explains: “when the LARP is based on something you know . . . I like it . . . there’s a clear environment and everyone reacts to it in that same way.” Performers of other-worldly fantasy are placed in a ready-made and almost objective world, which, in its familiarity and logic, enhances the clarity and sharedness of the performance. This is similar to Saler’s (2012) idea of contemporary fantasy focusing on other worlds that are rationalised and straightforward. To illuminate another parallel, in art of perezhivanie (Stanislavski 1953), actors are placed in a perfectly ordered, otherworldly structure to be fully believed in. While allowing easy access, the familiarity also results in quite a strict structure. Performers are more likely to become demanding about the details of the performance, often disapproving when things are not (sometimes literally) by the book. Rose explains this in the context of a Lord of the Rings-themed LARP: “When you are so familiar with the world . . . you easily become critical about what people are supposed to look like and how they’re supposed to be.” Dot elaborates on this idea in more detail in the context of Harry Potter-themed LARPs: Dot: I’m always really critical about what is suitable for the world that is in the LARP and when we play a [Harry] Potter game then I’m like “we have to go by the books,” so like if there are things that aren’t in the books or if it’s different in the books or if somebody comes up with something really weird . . . and really important for the LARP, but what was in the books wasn’t like that at all . . . then I get like “noooo!” [. . .] we need to stick strictly to that world because there’s already a lot of material around it so you don’t need to start developing anything around it. It just really pisses me off!

164  Types of fantasy performances As becomes apparent, the type of structuring of social space can get quite emotional because of possible existing strong ties to the media being used. This is interlinked with the use of personal desires as part of other-worldly fantasy performance. In adhering to the structure of the fantasy world strictly, considerable focus is placed on the material and spatial elements of the performance. This includes material props, but also various special effects, such as lights, music, and sounds. The propping of spaces and characters is usually very detailed, aiming to be as realistic as possible for its context. This realism is contextual, meaning that it does not need to be like real life, merely faithful to the material it derives from. LARPers point out that such propping makes the fantasy social space feel more authentic and believable. Stanislavski (1953) has similarly stressed that the details of the material and social context in theatre performance support the creation of a believable other world that is alive. The material elements of the make-believe frame are clearly set apart from objects and spaces that are seen as part of the reality frame. “It has to be like a different world,” says Rose. The two parallel social spaces thus seem to be strongly associated with and kept apart through their respective spatial and material elements. As Dot points out, “it’s important that the props are different from normal things [. . .] it disturbs me otherwise.” While experienced as real, the fantasy performance thus never becomes a part of reality, as the performance of the social space of make-believe is clearly divorced from reality through a distinct, material difference. Consequently, the differentiation of the parallel performances of fantasy takes place more vividly in the differentiation of social spaces, with especial focus on their material characteristics. This focal point in differentiation of parallel performances, in combination with the frequent bodily frame switching, may further aid the overlap of self and character noted earlier: roles and types of interaction change, but the material appearances of individuals are unable to keep up, as individuals cannot prop or deprop every time the frame is changed. As a result, spectators often find themselves interacting in the material setting that is associated with the frame, in which the actor should be prevailing. Othering fantasy performance The social space of othering performance is not thoroughly familiar to individuals beforehand. As noted, the performance is usually not directly based on media. Moreover, while some rules and guidelines are always given as the basis of the performance, these tend to be based on a mixture of media elements that are generally quite open to interpretation. Hence, no pre-existing, objective other world is being repeated, with performance avoiding ‘correctness’ of detail or strict structures. The social space of othering fantasy performance is flexible and emergent, coming into existence only as it is performed. As no coherent entities are provided up front, many details are left out, with performers having to ‘fill in holes’ as they

Types of fantasy performances  165 perform fantasy, both internally and in interaction with others or the social space. Individuals build on each other’s performances through character interaction to create a working structure: a shared fantasy and its social space. Continuous negotiation of social space can be quite arduous, but becomes easier as the performance develops. May explains: “The world might be different, but it is what it is and that’s where we are and we just have to go with how things are. Once it gets going, it’s easy to follow.” As May exemplifies, the social space often develops its own norms and structures, which are not naturalised, but can nevertheless become familiar to performers. Through this, the performance of social space can become revelatory, as performers come to consciously witness how various normative structures emerge. While the starting point of the othering performance is similar to Brecht’s (1965) and Meyerhold’s (1968) ideas of montage, the performance is not experienced as fragmented. Othering fantasy does result in a vague perspective on the make-believe as a whole during the performance, but the character performance in it is clear and coherent, tying back into the continuity created by a lack of bodily frame switching. Perhaps the montage is only visible from a more objective, non-participating point of view, a perspective that is not present in lived fantasy performance. The loose attitude towards the social space structure is also seen in the role of material and spatial elements. Propping is still present in the performance of spaces and individuals, but there is much less focus on its presence and detail than in other-worldly fantasy performance. Sue talks about how material elements are “filled in” within fantasy performance, similarly to the emergent social structure: “sometimes you really don’t need the space to look like where you are [in the LARP] like a war wagon can just be a couch. [. . .] It doesn’t need to be more than that couch.” Although rare, some performances go as far as using no props at all. For instance, I attended a LARP where the only propping of the space involved rearranging the furniture of a community centre. Because the social space of make-believe in othering fantasy performance is quite vague and subjectively experienced, both in terms of its material and immaterial structures, it is not always clearly differentiated from the social space of reality. Many details may overlap, and elements of the make-believe social space may be filled in by characteristics of reality when missing. This supports my earlier proposition that the focus of differentiation of the parallel performances of othering fantasy is more pronounced in the performance of self and character. After the performance Other-worldly and othering fantasy performances differ in their aftermath and in its negotiation, resulting in different amounts of bleed and PLD, as well as in different ways of reflecting on and learning from the performances. As I discuss below, reality investment also emerges differently in the two types of fantasy performance.

166  Types of fantasy performances Other-worldly fantasy performance Other-worldly performance provides leisurely, positive experiences that allow performers a break from the chaos of everyday life. Yet, for a number of reasons pertaining to the form of the performance, individuals become easily attached to other-worldly fantasy: the performed character is personal and easily mixed with the self; the performance often involves personal wishes and desires as well as favourite media; the fantasy performance is very appealing and often emerges as a positive, leisurely experience. Consequently, individuals have a hard time distancing themselves from the fantasy performance, with bleed occurring more easily. The distancing and differentiation are further made difficult by the frequent bodily oscillation of acting and spectating during fantasy performance. Other-worldly performances are more likely to result in post-LARP depression (PLD). In answering a question about whether she experiences PLD, Sue says: “Always. I always get PLD. Especially when the character’s life is somehow better that my own . . . or like they are people who you would rather be . . . so you miss it.” PLD usually emerges as a longing for one’s character, their social ties, or other aspects of the performance. As Sue suggests, longing is more likely to take place when the character is “doing better” than the self, yet it can also emerge in connection to aspects that seem objectively negative, but have somehow left a strong emotional imprint on the performer as their self. PLD is further to be strongly tied to bleed of emotions and experiences. In discussing a LARP, which involved a lot of bleed, Rose says: “It was a pity it ended. I just would have liked to continue being that character and sleep the night and continue again . . . to know what happens! Now they’re left to their own fortune.” As I noted earlier, bleed is quite likely to take place in other-worldly fantasy performance, because of the use of personal characteristics and desires as part of character performance as well as the vague differentiation between self and character. PLD could be described as akin to nostalgia. Previous research has suggested that fantasy always involves nostalgia, as it entails a return to origins (Armitt 1996; Cramer 2010). On the surface, other-worldly fantasy performance would seem to tap into atemporal nostalgia typical of contemporary culture, which induces a longing for ideals that never existed. However, I would argue that the nostalgia of PLD is actually a version of the ‘classical’ nostalgia that takes the form of longing for far-away places.3 Other-worldly fantasy allows individuals bodily, material performance of another reality. Yet, the performance of fantasy itself is not nostalgic; nostalgia only steps in after the performance as a wistful longing for a time and space that were momentarily performed and thus real within the make-believe frame. However, because of the ephemeral nature of the bodily fantasy performance, this world is never reachable again. As a result, PLD emerges as nostalgia for a place that no longer exists. Rojek (1995) described nostalgia as pandering to people’s longing for stability and security. Reflecting this, other-worldly fantasy seems to strongly answer the need for clarity during its performance, which individuals also become nostalgic for once the performance is over.

Types of fantasy performances  167 Other-worldly fantasy performance allows individuals to momentarily interact with personal desires and wishes through stepping into a world that, through its structure and materiality, seems separate from reality. However, the desires are rarely linked back to real life, remaining caught temporally in the ephemeral performance. The value of other-worldly fantasy is thus in experiencing one’s desires within the performance of an other world. Such value is temporary and experienced only during the performance, which takes place in a distinctly different social and material space. I discuss the outcomes of the performance in more detail at the end of this chapter. Some learning and investment into reality may take place, but this is quite fragmented and spread throughout the performance. Moreover, the personal focus on pleasurability often takes precedence. This can be especially seen in the way debriefs and discussions after other-worldly fantasy performance take place: individuals often focus on sharing personal and pleasurable experiences, such as their triumphs and successes. Othering fantasy performance Othering fantasy performance involves little bleed and consequent PLD because of aspects of the form of performance that help keep it distant. These include the strict differentiation of self and character, the demanding and sometimes negative themes of the performance, and the lack of focus on materiality and space as well as on personal wishes and desires. Moreover, the created continuity seems to aid the lack of bleed through clarifying the difference between performances by separating them temporally. Othering fantasy performance tends to have more learning outcomes, with individuals investing into reality more clearly. Because of infrequent frame switching, performers have to figure out what and how to perform on their own, resulting in active, bodily learning experiences. During a discussion after a LARP, a performer pointed out to me that attending LARPs with more serious themes really “opened her eyes to a lot of things.” She went on to explain how LARP “pushed her to become a feminist,” as the performances caused her to “realise how structures are often built around men.” Similarly, LARPers have pointed out having learnt about and reflected on various political, cultural, and social elements and structures. Wade explains becoming “more open to things,” and Rose talks about “developing as a person.” As I discuss at the end of this chapter, this deep reflection on and comparison of fantasy performance to everyday performance ties into the specific form of othering fantasy. The structure of othering fantasy performance results in quite little discussion of and reflection on the parallel performances of reality and fantasy during the performance. These processes are rather concentrated in the aftermath of the fantasy performance. After the performance is over, individuals gain a holistic understanding of actions and interactions that took place within the fantasy performance through introspection and through debriefs with other performers.

168  Types of fantasy performances Individuals ‘fill in’ elements of performance they did not have access to as characters, see how their own performance fit in the fantasy performance as a whole, and gain perspectives on how their actions and interactions influenced and were received by others. As May sums it up, performers end up “getting a hang of the entirety” after the performance is over. Hope explains that LARPers enjoy sharing their experiences with others, as everyone gains a lot out of the interaction: “It’s a great feeling to get to share with others what happened to you and hear what happened to them. And just really everything that happened.” Debriefs after othering fantasy performance tend to be somewhat analytical, and may involve quite deep discussions of the performance and its impact on both self and character. Performers often ask questions about their own performance in order to gain understanding of how it was received and understood. The negotiation of the fantasy performance thus continues even after the performance is over, in the form of retrospectively building up a totality of the fantasy that one had engaged in. Combined with the active individual meaningmaking throughout the performance, this allows for more in-depth reflections and consequent learning, as individuals can compare the parallel performances in detail as totalities. This active reflection may further alleviate the possible PLD and nostalgia, as, while the fantasy performance may be over, individuals continue to negotiate it and learn from it. Overall, the full value of othering fantasy performance can be said to be found after it takes place. I elaborate on this below.

Differing fantasy performances Comparing the two types of fantasy performance has allowed me to highlight their characteristics and differences, as well as gain more nuanced understanding of fantasy performance overall. It becomes evident that various elements of fantasy performance, while retaining the structure I proposed earlier, can be performed and weighted differently, which leads to varying outcomes for the performance and its performers. I summarise the characteristics of the types of performances in Table 6.1, including both the empirical findings described earlier and the analyses of these that I discuss below. The proposed typology reflects theorisations proposed by previous research. For instance, Attebery (1992) suggested that fantasy could be explored both as a mass-produced supplier of wish fulfilment and as means of constructing reality. Radway (1991), in the context of romantic fantasy, wrote that fantasy can be a way for individuals to come to terms with, but also a means of resisting everyday life. The fantasy performance types that I propose further reflect the work of Hume (1984), Todorov (1970), and Jackson (1981), as well as Stanislavski’s typology of aesthetic performance. I reflect on these in more detail in the next sections. In practice, the performance of fantasy is rarely defined by either extreme. The proposed typology should rather be seen as sets of performance elements that are combined, recombined, tweaked, and adjusted to fit the context and the subjective experience of the performer. Engaging in fantasy performance thus

Table 6.1  A comparison of other-worldly and othering fantasy performances Other-worldly fantasy performance

Othering fantasy performance

Basis of performance Themes of performance Performing self and character

clearly and thoroughly pre-defined structure leisurely, amusing, entertaining, light spectator dominant may become self-oriented parallel performances may become mixed more easily

vague structure

Performing interaction Performing social spaces

spectating dominant mostly reactive strict, pre-defined, detailed emphasis on materiality and space the focus of performance

Negotiation of parallel performances

more pronounced in performance of social spaces bodily frame switching and negotiation among spectators common internal negotiation of parallel performances heavily tied to bodily frame switching fragmented strictly delimited focus on individual fantasy mainly through clear, pre-existing structures of performance externally negotiated in spectating present before, during, and after performance assured during performance through bodily frame switching and predefined structures of performance

Overall form of performance Legitimisation of performance

Clarity of performance

serious, challenging, negative, intense actor dominant distinctly self-less parallel performances clearly differentiated and distanced emphasis on strict, bodily performance of character the focus of performance acting dominant mostly proactive co-created and emergent little focus on materiality and space parallel performances may become mixed more easily more pronounced in performance of roles and their interaction bodily frame switching and negotiation among spectators uncommon internal negotiation of parallel performances is stressed and distinct from bodily frame switching continuous and reiterative not strictly structured, emergent focus on shared fantasy mainly through interaction during performance via recognition of and appropriate response to performance internally negotiated in acting present only after performance emerges during performance through performance, especially through performance knowledge and the continuity of performance (continued)

170  Types of fantasy performances Table 6.1 (continued) Other-worldly fantasy performance

Othering fantasy performance

Use of familiar elements

direct use of entertainment media and geek culture

Shared characteristic of performance

explicit created through bodily frame switching and direct discussions among spectators engaging in personal desires relief from chaos of reality value available only during performance

fragmented use of elements of media and everyday performance, resulting in seemingly novel performances implicit created through bodily performance of actors with the aim of shared fantasy

Outcomes and value of performance

active learning about how performance and its meaning are built up long-term investment into reality value available mainly after performance

creates a unique, subjective performance each time. Reflecting Vahtangov’s (1984) ideas of combining the two ‘sides’ of Stanislavski’s typology of theatre, it may be most fruitful to balance the two types of performances. Nevertheless, the various elements of the performance types do tie into and influence one another. It is thus more likely to see performances made up of sets of elements in the forms I propose. It is further important to note that while fantasy seems to be divided into entertainment and non-entertainment, leisure and learning, fun and seriousness, the fantasy performance itself should not be equated with any of these. Elements of entertainment or learning can become intrinsically tied into or emerge from the performance, but these are never the performance itself. Moreover, one type of fantasy performance is not more important or gratifying than the other, unlike many have suggested through deprecating entertaining fantasy (Campbell 1987; Brecht 1965; Jameson 2005). The experiences are rather gratifying and emancipatory in different ways, as I show below. Next, I sum up the findings of this chapter and theorise about the two fantasy performance types in more detail. Engagement with personal desires through other-worldly fantasy To reiterate, other-worldly fantasy performance usually involves light and leisurely themes that connect to performers’ personal characteristics and wishes. Elements of media are often used directly as a basis for the performance, resulting in a fantasy social space that is extremely familiar and detailed, but also strictly bound because of the pre-existing knowledge of and relationship to it. In connection to

Types of fantasy performances  171 this, a lot of focus is placed on material and spatial elements of the performance. Performance further emerges mainly as reactive to other individuals and elements of the space, with characters being largely perceived as part of the fantasy social space. The performance involves frequent bodily frame switching, as a result of which reflection becomes fragmented, while the performance of self and character may bleed into one another, leading to nostalgia for the ephemeral fantasy world. All in all, the performance is focused on creating a well-defined other world, in which performers stress individual fantasy and personal desires. In terms of the structure of performance, spectating becomes the dominant of the two parallel performances through focus on self and through frequent bodily frame switching. This allows for seemingly objective understanding of the performance as well as absolute control of it by the spectator. The performance of other-worldly fantasy emerges as similar in many ways to Stanislavski’s (1953, 1989) perezhivanie. Just like this aesthetic performance, other-worldly fantasy stresses the authenticity of a perfectly ordered world, focusing on an abundance of detailed physical and spatial elements. Both performances aim not to stray from an ‘original text’ used as its basis (or use of geek culture in the case of other-worldly fantasy). Nevertheless, the performances do involve some important differences, which help illuminate aspects of other-worldly fantasy performance. Unlike in perezhivanie, the self is not the starting point of the fantasy performance. Yet, in taking on personal emotions and wishes as part of the performance, the self clearly becomes an important part of other-worldly fantasy. Personal ideals and desires are momentarily realised, and familiar structures of fantasy are made real through their performance. In Stanislavski’s (1953) terms, the movement of the performance is from fantasy to reality, that is, the make-believe is experienced as though it were real. Nevertheless, there is a clear aim to differentiate self and character from a self-less position, which is uncharacteristic of perezhivanie and more distinctive of Brecht’s ideas of rational separation of role and self. In perezhivanie, the difference between spectating and acting is upheld physically through spatial arrangements as well as psychologically through actors ignoring the everyday world and the spectators in it. In other-worldly fantasy, the actors and spectators share the physical space and even the bodies of individuals, yet are psychologically never united; actors recombine their selves, and spectators empathise as their selves. Moreover, as spectating and acting are done by the same individuals, the felt emotion and empathy of it are performed simultaneously, thus becoming easily mixed. In critique of the above approach, Brecht (1965, 2000) argued that the selfevident fantasy world of perezhivanie gives access to desires and ideals, but does not account for the process of attaining them. Consequently, the performance is either limited to the individual’s experiences or eradicates the self completely by mixing self and character. Other-worldly fantasy does echo these sentiments. However, this does not necessarily have the negative effects that Brecht feared. Other-worldly performance is indeed self-evident and clear, but this can become a central strength of the performance. Individuals stress enjoying such a thoroughly

172  Types of fantasy performances defined performance, as, unlike in real life, it allows full understanding of its structures and meanings, thus creating a break from the perceived chaos of mundane life. Additionally, while the experience does become limited to one’s personal experience through focus on individual fantasy, understanding of this performance takes on a holistic form, allowing clear, objective overview of what takes place. This can create a very interesting and insightful experience with continuous access to various points of view on the performance. Lastly, the fear of mixing self and character is consciously present in performers’ narratives, which means individuals are aware of the problems of role overlap described by Brecht and Meyerhold. Normally, an immense effort is made to separate the roles by performers of fantasy, but, in line with Brecht’s thoughts, other-worldly fantasy seems to be a fertile context for emotional bleed between parallel performances. Discussing the separation of spaces for actors and spectators, Brecht suggested that the lack of connection of the two ‘realities,’ reality and fantasy, results in a loss of contact between the spectator and actor, leaving both unchanged and not wanting change. A lack of contact does not become a problem in other-worldly fantasy, as acting and spectating are performed by the same individuals. However, the performance does involve less reality investment, which I believe to be due to the fragmented nature of reflection and the focus on personal desires. I elaborate on this later on. Brecht was further wary of focus on material elements, which emerges as a central aspect of other-worldly fantasy performance. Brecht was of the opinion that stressing materiality causes aesthetic performance to become hallucinatory and fake; a harmful illusion to both its spectators and actors. In other-worldly fantasy, performance does not become delusional because the social spaces of fantasy and reality are kept clearly and consciously apart. Yet, as I have shown, performance of roles may become overlapping in this performance, causing bleed and nostalgia. In addition to parallels with Stanislavski’s aesthetic performance, otherworldly fantasy shares similarities with various fantasy types explored by literature studies. These are often described as pleasurable fantasy that involves an unengaged and unresponsive audience. For instance, other-worldly fantasy performance is similar to Todorov’s (1970) marvellous, which he described as idealised fantasy placed in an other world, and Hume’s (1984) illusion, which is a comfortable, idealised other world that one can step into. Both are described as consistent and logical, but unquestioned by individuals as well as supported by full belief and separation from mundane life. Hume (1984) points out that such fantasy is easier: it does not educate or even fully engage individuals, but fulfils desires and comforts individuals, resulting in immediate gratification. While similar characteristics can be found in other-worldly fantasy, the performance is not as pointless and empty as illusion and marvellous are described to be. Individuals are not completely taken in by the fantasy, as elements of contrast and comparison always remain. However, similarly to the above-described concepts, other-worldly fantasy does not actively challenge individuals or influence their everyday lives.

Types of fantasy performances  173 While seemingly lacking educational and reflective aspects, I would stress that other-worldly fantasy performance is not as meaningless, as many scholars seem to fear. Walkerdine (1986) points out that researchers often have a disregard for leisurely fantasy, “seeing the pleasure of ‘the masses’ as perverse” (p. 196). She criticises this, stressing that there is great value in individuals connecting to their personal desires and needs. Holtorf (2010) similarly writes that fantasy with focus on entertainment may not cause individuals to reflect, but can still provide a pleasurable and meaningful experience through the created emotions. In line with these ideas, I suggest that the other-worldly fantasy performance does serve its own purpose and has its own function. I explore and develop this idea further next. I begin by discussing how the characteristics of fantasy performance, which I proposed in Chapter 5, emerge in this type of fantasy performance. Negotiating the non-naturalised performance Negotiation of parallel performances in other-worldly fantasy takes on an external form, that is, it mainly happens through interaction in the reality frame. The external negotiation is possible through frequent bodily switching between reality and make-believe frames, which results in spectating-driven performance. This creates a continuously holistic, almost objective perspective on the performance anchored in the role of spectator. In addition to its external and discursive form, the negotiation of the parallel performances of fantasy and reality is more pronounced in the performance of social space. The two frames of performance, reality and make-believe, are strongly associated with spatial and material elements, the latter of which applies to physical attributes of both places and people (characters are approached as elements of the performed make-believe social space). The focus on social space in differentiating between the parallel performances is crucial for keeping away delusion. Because of the dominance of spectating and the focus on individual fantasy, the parallel performances of roles in other-worldly fantasy may become overlapping and even mix. Roles and types of performances oscillate, yet their material elements cannot change as frequently because of practical reasons. Hence, differentiation between parallel performances by means of reflection alone is difficult, with materiality of social space emerging as a central anchor for the dual performance. This reflects the idea of the spatial fourth wall of theatre described by Stanislavski; the fourth wall that Brecht actively advocated be broken. As the material space is an important point of focus in negotiating the dual form of fantasy performance, I believe that breaking the fourth wall in other-worldly fantasy would cause the fantasy performance form to collapse and become delusional. Pre-existing, articulated clarity of performance Clarity is a central and heavily stressed aspect of other-worldly fantasy performance, taking form in a well-articulated, thorough, often pre-existing, and

174  Types of fantasy performances previously familiar performance structure. Such a structure creates a secure and approachable environment for its performers by limiting the number of choices and possibilities open to them during the performance to a small, familiar set. The clarity is set up through detailed background materials and the direct use of geek culture and entertainment media as a basis for performance. Moreover, clarity is thoroughly established before the performance starts and is in place throughout the performance, upheld through bodily spectating. The result is a continuous, holistic, seemingly absolute understanding of what goes on in the performance, where any arising issues are instantly resolved through external discussion among individuals. Other-worldly fantasy performance is thus recombined explicitly and externally together with other performers through a seemingly objective point of view of the spectator role. This answers the need for clarity and control that Fjellman (1992) and Urbany (2014) suggest is dearly missed by individuals in contemporary culture. Use of familiar elements to legitimise performance Other-worldly fantasy performance involves quite a direct use of familiar geek culture elements, sometimes borrowing entire narratives, characters, and/or worlds. Because the basis of performance is so familiar and thus already forms an emotional and experiential entity within individuals’ minds, a seemingly complete essence of a structure of an other world is transferred to the fantasy performance. Other-worldly fantasy is therefore extremely clear, because it is well-known by performers before they begin performing it. I noted earlier that fantasy performance becomes legitimised through interaction among characters. In other-worldly fantasy, legitimisation rather seems to take place through the familiar media elements being used, with an especial focus on the detail of social space, both material and immaterial. The other world being performed can be ‘objectively verified’ through its source media, allowing a distanced, neutral point of view, from which to legitimise performance. Such an approach to legitimisation of performance extends into performance among characters, as these are approached by performers as part of the fantasy social space. Other-worldly fantasy performance thus emerges as repetition of media performance rather than ephemeral action. In other words, individuals do not recombine elements of performance, but knowingly repeat whole sets of them directly and in detail. This legitimises fantasy not only within, but also outside the performance: as fantasy is performed in accordance with imagery and narratives produced by media, it is accepted within the wider cultural context as a form of fantasy one can engage with. This legitimisation may, however, hinder reality investment. As Attebery (1992) explains, in the contemporary cultural context, fantasy is often stigmatised, connected to entertainment, and hence strictly separated from reality. As other-worldly fantasy performance becomes closely linked to this popular, mediacentric idea of fantasy, it is also linked with the distinct separation of fantasy from

Types of fantasy performances  175 reality, impeding possible learning outcomes. As I will show in the following passages, other-worldly fantasy performance nevertheless has immense value for its performers in other ways. Shared performance, individual fantasy Each performer’s similar understanding of the performance is an important aim throughout the performance of other-worldly fantasy. Therefore, the shared quality of the performance is made very straightforward and understandable. This begins in the clear, often previously familiar materials used for the basis of performance. The clear sharedness continues in performance being explicitly shared throughout its duration, mainly by means of bodily frame switching, through which performers can discuss the performance of fantasy as well as examine and clarify every detail of the performance. Performers thus continuously retain a seemingly objective and holistic perspective on what goes on in the performance through articulated, direct communication among performers as spectators. Because performance is shared through external communication, there is no need for the transfer of bodily performance knowledge, that is, bodily and interactive understanding, in the make-believe frame (see Schechner 1988). Schechner (1988) suggests that communal performance in contemporary culture disintegrates without performance knowledge. Similarly, in other-worldly fantasy performance, there is no need to build up or perform sharedness bodily, as it is provided directly through discursive means. This ties into the focus on individual fantasy: performers clearly connect to the same objective other world, but do not connect to one another. Auslander (2008) has theorised that most consumption of media performance today takes such form. Other-worldly fantasy performance could thus be described as a form of media consumption. Outcomes of other-worldly fantasy performance Other-worldly fantasy creates a comfortable experience with a strong focus on place. Performance mainly emerges as interaction with an unreal place (an other world), in which performers seemingly gain control of the structures of performance through their explicit articulation and prior familiarity. Other-worldly fantasy is structured in a straightforward manner and is often based on the repetition of performance elements familiar from media, thus tapping more heavily into the characteristics of clarity and familiarity. Within its clear and safe space, other-worldly fantasy allows individuals to engage in the performance of their own desires. This focus on desire attainment is very much in line with the psychological and psychoanalytical view on fantasy as wish-fulfilment and desire (Žižek 1989, 1997) or daydreams (Campbell 1987). Moreover, the entertaining and pleasure-seeking performance is, at least on the surface, quite similar to the dominant or even stereotypical view on fantasy in contemporary media, that is, fantasy as pure entertainment. This may be due to its strong connection to media consumption.

176  Types of fantasy performances The focus of the performance type on space and place supports and helps provide a pleasant, pleasure-seeking experience. Zukin (1991) theorises that fantasy spaces provide a feeling of clarity and safety, in which individuals can interact with desires. She further suggests that, in these spaces, individuals are pacified and desensitised by desires pre-fabricated by and embedded into the fantasy context. In line with these ideas, Walkerdine (1986) explains that fantasy based on mass-produced media involves escapist fulfilment of dreams that tap into already existing desires of individuals. However, these desires are only accessible within the context of fantasy, and cannot be reached or understood outside the particular activity. Reflecting the above ideas, other-worldly fantasy allows individuals to become actively involved in a live performance of their own desires. However, following the performance’s basis in familiar media, desire takes on very specific form that is pre-defined by norms of entertainment, geek culture, and everyday reality (reflecting the work of Zukin 1991 and Walkerdine 1986). Other-worldly fantasy thus taps into performativity, emerging as already a part of the performers’ naturalised symbolic order. Because the structure of other-worldly performance is stressed to be unreal and objectively verified as different from reality, the performance of desire emerging within it becomes possible only in the ephemeral setting of fantasy, confined to its temporality and spatiality. The performance is thus trapped in its specific social space by its existing normative (and possibly stigmatising) link to it. Through taking on familiar and clear sets of norms directly, performers unreflexively repeat the power structures that govern these. This results in the repetition of norms similar to that of everyday life, but in a different social space. In line with this, Mackay (2001) has argued that individuals can never escape reality through fantasy, as their structures are too similar. He believed that the result of fantasy is not delusion, but rather a short-term pain alleviation through immersion into structures of power that resemble those of everyday life. Something similar takes place in other-worldly fantasy performance. Individuals are neither delusional, as they continuously reflect on the dual nature of performance; nor do they escape reality, as the fantasy performance is linked to personal desires already present in reality, with reality being continuously performed in parallel. The result of other-worldly fantasy is rather a delimited performance that momentarily fulfils pre-defined desires, yet fails to link back to everyday performance or to challenge individuals and the normative structures they live in. While not stepping out of or investing into structures of reality, the performance does answer a need that individuals have. Other-worldly fantasy allows individuals to acknowledge, perform, and thus possibly test out desires from their real lives within a context of clear, familiar structures. Brooke-Rose (1981) wrote that, in contemporary culture, we are faced with a ‘burden’ of meaninglessness in that individuals become aware of a lack of meaning in their reality. She proposed that to escape meaninglessness, we endow reality with significance through desire. In parallel, Fjellman (1992) suggests that contemporary life is often experienced as chaotic by individuals. He theorises that clarity and control may be

Types of fantasy performances  177 found in fantasy experiences. Similarly, other-worldly fantasy provides clear, ephemeral meaning for individuals within a clearly delimited space and time that offsets the perceived chaos and meaninglessness of reality through allowing engagement with desire in a clear and controlled manner. The momentary relief from chaos is comforting, but cannot be invested into reality because of the strict differentiation of social spaces that allows the performance to emerge in the first place. Other-worldly fantasy thus does have value, but it can only be tapped into during the performance. Other-worldly fantasy performance involves quite little reality investment. This lack of investment seems to be hindered by the following elements of the performance type. First, the comparison and reflection of parallel performances become very fragmented in other-worldly fantasy through continuous bodily switching of roles and the focus on spectating. This allows individuals to gain a holistic understanding of the performance of make-believe during fantasy performance, but not a continuous experience that would allow structures and norms to become visible. Second, because the performance is based in geek culture and entertainment media, it becomes limited to these objectively existing structures. Not only does performance become a repetition of pre-defined norms and desires created by media, but it also becomes clearly set apart from reality through the existing stigma attached to fantasy in wider culture as distinct from reality. Furthermore, within performance based on pre-existing media, the social space of fantasy and the characters in it seem immutable, endorsing the idea of an unchangeable fantasy, and, through comparison of performances, an unchangeable reality. Third, reality investment may be impeded by a lack of othering. Following Butler (2009), living socially implies a dependence on other people; a ‘we’ or ‘I’ cannot exist without the other. Through a focus on spectating, the different instances of the other (self and character; character and other characters; self and others’ ‘real’ selves) in the performance of fantasy are explicitly negotiated among performers, as well as pre-defined and limited in their negotiation to a well-defined and detailed performance structure. Moreover, as there is a possibility of character and self mixing, the instance of othering between self and character may be eliminated altogether, while the othering through characters and others’ real selves may become directed at the same role of self/character. Consequently, the performance becomes less ‘self-less,’ as roles may become unified, impeding reflection and comparison. Fourth, focus on materiality and place plays an important role in blocking reality investment. Following Butler (1990) the experience of reality is intertwined with its materiality, causing the former to be experienced as pre-existing. With otherworldly fantasy stressing materiality, its performance becomes tied to and caught in its seemingly pre-existing physical form and context (following Walkerdine 1986; Zukin 1991). Indeed, the contexts do seemingly pre-exist the performance in the various source media used as a basis for the performance. Other-worldly performance and its meanings thus become trapped in their material, spatial, and ephemeral context. This helps explain why the value of other-worldly fantasy is available only during its performance.

178  Types of fantasy performances Fifth, the intense nostalgia that is likely to ensue from other-worldly fantasy performance may hinder reflection. As noted, the leisurely performance of desires in other-worldly fantasy becomes caught in its context. Therefore, once the performance is over, its value is no longer reachable in other contexts, with nostalgia setting in for the lost, ephemeral performance that becomes caught in the temporality and spatiality of its place. This longing may overpower reflection and impede reality investment. In connection to this, consumer culture research has often proposed fantasy to be a part of or occurring within Utopia (Belk and Costa 1998; Kozinets 2002; Rose and Wood 2005). However, as becomes apparent, the setting of the fantasy performance emerges as a concrete place and is, in itself, not perfect or ideal, even as it involves individuals’ desires. Fantasy may, nevertheless, become experienced as Utopia-like afterwards, through intense nostalgia that idealises the focus of its longing. All in all, individuals are neither liberated from reality nor escape reality through other-worldly performance of fantasy, but rather become enabled to perform their existing desires within clearly defined material and normative structures. Performers seemingly gain control through detailed, objective understanding of the performance; the performance is clear and comforting, providing momentary relief from the chaos of everyday life. However, since the power of its structures remains unrecognised, the performance repeats existing norms and power relations, trapping individuals as well as their desires in the same structures they appear to be stepping out of. Other-worldly fantasy performance reassures governing reality and creates nostalgia for the ephemeral, retrospectively idealised other world. Gaining agency in reality through othering fantasy To provide an overview of othering fantasy, the performance involves serious, intense, and even negative themes, and is based on a recombination of entertainment media and geek culture elements. Hence, othering fantasy does not repeat familiar performances, and involves few pre-existing emotional or experiential ties. Moreover, personal desires are often put away, with performers focusing on shared fantasy through performance as characters. The performance is active in interaction and includes hardly any bodily frame switching, resulting in a performance of make-believe that is felt to be continuous and thus authentic. Othering fantasy performance rarely focuses on material and spatial elements, with the centre of attention rather being the internal negotiation of role performances of self and character as well as the authentic, bodily performance of the latter. Because of the focus on shared fantasy, as well as the absence of bodily frame switching and external negotiation of performance, acting becomes the dominant of the two parallel performances. As a result, othering fantasy does not involve objective holistic understanding, with performers being pushed to figure out the form and meaning of performance on their own. However, these aspects seem to also allow for deeper reflection and investment into reality after the fantasy performance is over.

Types of fantasy performances  179 Othering fantasy performance is similar in its form to Meyerhold’s and Brecht’s predstavlenie type of aesthetic performance. Both focus on bodily movement, while approaching material and spatial elements as well as their detail as being of less importance. Moreover, power over the performance and its meaning is given to the performers, rather than being based in a structure or script. Performers thus become co-creators of the fantasy world that does not pre-exist its performance. Similar to predstavlenie, othering fantasy performance begins as a montage of performance elements; both performances do not provide scripts, leave out details, and demand individuals to figure out the meaning of performance on their own. The meaning and structure thus emerge only as they are performed among individuals. However, in contrast to predstavlenie, othering fantasy develops in its performance into a continuous experience that stresses the performance of the inner life of the character. It could be described as ‘living through’ fantasy that is present in Stanislavski’s perezhivanie. Lewis (2007) has suggested that even in a performance oriented towards doing rather than a frame, a plot can emerge as a side-product and become significant. It is then possible that the montage present throughout predstavlenie is only visible from a spectator point of view, a role that is not bodily performed during othering fantasy. From the actor’s perspective, the montage turns into continuity of performance through the repetition and legitimisation of performance by all performers. During performance, both predstavlenie and othering fantasy keep the self and character strictly apart, with the authentic, detailed bodily movement of the latter being of central importance. Yet, othering fantasy is not emotionally disconnected in the way Brecht advocated; performers of othering fantasy clearly take on the character both bodily and emotionally. This is in line with McConachie’s (2008) suggestion that rational performance requires emotion to be engaging, as well as reflects Stanislavski’s focus on the inner world of character in performance. Othering fantasy performance thus combines predstavlenie’s rational distance and focus on imitation of movement with perezhivanie’s emphasis of the character’s inner emotional life. Othering performance nevertheless shifts away from the self and personal wishes seen in other-worldly fantasy, and turns to the embodiment of the character in a way that fits and supports the shared performance. In terms of outcomes of the performance, both predstavlenie and othering fantasy have great potential for reflection and learning. Meyerhold (1968) explains that learning is prompted in both actors and spectators by the montage of performance, which I already addressed. Montage provides no direct structure or meaning, thus pushing individuals to figure things out on their own and allowing for active learning to take place. This is in some ways similar to Schechner’s (1982) communication of performance knowledge, as both stress learning through bodily, communal doing. Brecht (1965, 2000) elaborates that conscious questioning and reflection also require alienation, or the V-effect. The same process is seen in Hume’s (1984) disillusion fantasy, which aims to challenge and disturb individuals in order to bring forth the limitations of reality. Likewise, Todorov’s (1970) uncanny aims to

180  Types of fantasy performances shock individuals through the use of unappealing elements. As I explain below, alienation emerges differently for spectators and actors. Brecht suggests that, for the spectator, alienation is about facing grotesque themes that are not clear, familiar, or self-evident. The performance moves from reality to fantasy in that it makes the more realistic elements of performance seem strange and unreal. Similarly, in othering fantasy unimaginable recombinations of performance are performed bodily, with the immutable essence of these performances becoming shattered. The performativity of roles, norms, and realities becomes broken, pushing performers to recombine normalised performance in new ways. Further reflecting predstavlenie and the spectator’s alienation in it, othering fantasy performance tends to involve serious and negative themes that result in intense experiences, although these are usually not quite as extreme as the V-effect. Othering fantasy is bodily, engaging, and challenging, but it is not hostile, disengaging, defamiliarising, or shocking. It does not erode or disturb people’s understanding of reality, but encourages confrontation and change. The fantasy performance distances its performers from their selves and their everyday lives, providing them with new perspectives and allowing them to see previously unperceivable limitations and structures. For the actor, Brecht says, alienation requires conscious experiencing of a thirdperson point of view, as well as a lack of empathy with and a lack of immersion into the character. While performers of othering fantasy certainly distance their self from their character, they also empathise with the latter, which results in extremely emotional experiences. This is in line with Hume (1984), who believed that alienation does make a claim to emotions, while providing a reflective and rational stance toward make-believe worlds. Brecht feared that empathy would easily create passivity and cause individuals to be deluded by the illusion of fantasy. McConachie (2008), however, is firm about the idea of emotion and empathy being necessary elements of performance, as they support rationality, attention, motivation, and co-creation. My findings support this point of view. Within othering fantasy, individuals do distance themselves and take on a more rational, reflexive perspective toward their characters and their selves, yet both are experienced with emotion and empathy by means of bodily performance and living through the performance. The character experiences emotion, and the self empathises. Brecht (1965) and Meyerhold (1968) stress that learning also requires the performance to eradicate the fourth wall, as this allows communication of actors with spectators rather than to them. Othering fantasy does, to some extent, materially break the fourth wall in that reality and make-believe spaces become overlapping through a lack of focus on material, physical, and structural elements. However, at the same time, the performance makes the fourth wall clearer between the performances of roles and interaction. Bodily frame switching is discouraged, with spectating and acting becoming strictly differentiated. In this characteristic, the performance is thus similar to Stanislavski’s perezhivanie, as characters and selves experience emotions separately, on either side of the fourth wall. I propose that this fourth wall is necessary, as a complete lack of differentiation between

Types of fantasy performances  181 reality and fantasy would render the latter non-existent (see Tolkien 2001 [1964]; Armitt 1996). Following these ideas, I would argue that a fourth wall is necessary for any type of fantasy to be performed, as, otherwise, it cannot be differentiated from reality performance and can even become delusional. However, this fourth wall is not always spatial or material, but can also emerge internally or interactionally, just like the strict separation of roles and associated interaction in othering fantasy performance. Stanislavski (1953, see also Carnicke 1998) critiqued predstavlenie, proposing that it is effective in shocking and surprising the audience, but lacks long-term significance because it does not create belief in or explanation of fantasy. As a result, he argues, individuals are disconnected from both quotidian life and the fantasy performance. In reflecting on this critique, I would, first, stress that belief may not be a necessary aspect of fantasy performance. As I concluded in Chapter 5, it may be more important for performers to take fantasy seriously, rather than to believe in it. In othering fantasy, little focus is placed on social space and detailed material elements, yet the performance of character and interaction are taken very seriously. Second, while othering performance does not necessarily have direct connection to performers’ real lives, it definitely has long-term influence on them. The lack of explanation during fantasy performance critiqued by Stanislavski allows active learning by pushing individuals to figure out the meaning and structures of performance on their own. Once the performance is over, individuals are further encouraged to create explicit, shared meaning as spectators. This results in clear, sequenced comparison of performances of fantasy and reality, as well as consequent learning about normative structures and meaning creation within them; something that can be later used in everyday settings. All in all, othering fantasy performance emerges as an intense experience that allows performers to live through fantasy, but also pushes them to figure out meaning for themselves, thus resulting in reflection and learning. However, as Dolan (2005) explains, performance cannot create change in itself; it can only provide motivation or an incentive. Badiou (1990) agrees, proposing that aesthetic performance can only be formed in a way that shows social structure at a distance or from a new perspective. Similarly, othering fantasy performance does not change norms of society at large, but it can have immense impact on performers’ understanding of and attitude towards such norms. Furthermore, while the performance cannot in itself create change in an individual, I propose that othering fantasy is very likely to incite active change in its performers because of its specific characteristics. I explore these next in more detail. Once again, I begin by taking a look at how the characteristics of fantasy performance play out in this form. Negotiating the non-naturalised performance In othering fantasy, the parallel performances are most clearly and distinctly differentiated through the performance of roles, that is, the performance of self and character. Because of rare bodily frame changing and the resultant lack of external negotiation of performance among spectators, a lot of focus is placed on strict

182  Types of fantasy performances internal differentiation of roles, with acting and the actor role becoming dominant. This focus of differentiation of parallel performances is further made necessary by the vague distinction between parallel social spaces as well as their material, spatial, and structural elements. Because parallel social spaces may overlap, differentiation of roles helps uphold structural integrity of fantasy performance. As I noted earlier, the fourth wall becomes eradicated materially, yet its performance remains on an internal level. While othering fantasy performance may seem to be identity-focused in stressing role performance, it actually moves away from such concerns. Building on Levinas, Butler (2009) writes that through obligation to others, individuals lose the notion of their selves. Something similar takes place in othering fantasy performance: in focusing on shared fantasy (i.e., creating fantasy that works as a whole for others) through character performance and interaction within the make-believe frame, performers shift focus entirely away from identity and its desires. The parallel structure of performance remains, but it becomes extremely self-less. The negotiation of identity issues may emerge, but only as an aftereffect of performance. Clarity of bodily performance Othering fantasy performance does not allow objective or holistic clarity throughout its performance. The performance is limited to a subjective point of view of the character through a focus on acting as well as a lack of bodily frame switching and external discussion of performance among spectators. Hence, othering performance involves uncertainty and requires continuous, individual meaning-making. I suggest that the need to create meaning and structure individually through performance itself pushes individuals toward bodily acting that strives for clear communication of performance knowledge (see Schechner 1982). Hence, while there is no pre-existing, externally articulated, or objectively shared clarity, clarity does emerge through focused, bodily performance of role and interaction. This is supported by the overall emphasis on shared fantasy, allowing for legitimisation of performance to take place, as I elaborate further below. Explicit, articulated clarity of performance can be attained for othering fantasy performance after it is over. Individuals discuss the performance afterwards, gaining new perspectives on their own performance and the performance at large through reflection and discussions. Consequently, performers co-create clarity and meaning twice, first individually through performance knowledge during the performance of fantasy, and then in a shared manner through articulated discussion after the performance is over. This allows for clear-cut comparison of performances as totalities, thus shedding light on the performativity of structures, their emergence and meaning-making. Use of familiar elements Othering fantasy does not use geek culture or media performance directly as its basis, rather mixing and recombining elements as well as sometimes taking on

Types of fantasy performances  183 elements of everyday performance. Reflecting Auslander’s (2008) work, the recombination and saturation of media elements masks their repetition, making the performance seem novel. Moreover, having little direct association with familiar performance of leisure and amusement, fantasy performance becomes more serious and thus also seemingly more realistic. While not directly emulating media, a link to mediatised performance nevertheless remains in othering fantasy, as its elements are recombined to create the performance. Butler (2004) suggests that we can only question or interrogate something through terms and concepts already known and intelligible to us. Similarly, Bammer (1991) proposes that fantasy is nothing more than a reconstruction of structures we have been taught. As a result, we unknowingly or even unwillingly copy the structures of reality that we live by in fantasy performances. Similarly, othering fantasy performance does not disconnect from or oppose norms of everyday life and media, but rather connects to these in new (and possibly unexpected) ways through recombining their elements. This novel connection allows for seeing performance in new light and thus gaining better understanding of its structure and function. Shared, but not articulated Othering fantasy places great emphasis on shared performance. However, the shared characteristic is not pre-given or based on pre-existing familiar structures, and neither is it clearly articulated or discussed among performers as spectators during the fantasy performance. Similar to the performance of clarity, the sharedness of othering fantasy emerges through active individual negotiation and the co-creation of meaning through performance knowledge. The sharedness takes form in unspoken norms that manifest via acting, as well as via bodily performance and interaction as characters. While emergent and not following a pre-defined structure, the norms strictly guide fantasy performance. Interestingly, such unarticulated sharedness is experienced as more meaningful and authentic by performers, perhaps because it arises organically through performance knowledge, thus reflecting processes of everyday, real performances. Sharedness plays a central role in legitimising performance within othering fantasy. As there is no objective structure or possibility for discussion of the performance as spectators, performance is legitimised exclusively through acting, via other performers’ acknowledgement, recognition, and appropriate response to performance. Moreover, performers are unable to verify this legitimisation until the aftermath of the performance, with bodily performance of others as well as its internal personal evaluation by performers being the only source of legitimisation during the performance itself. The shared meaning of othering fantasy performance can be confirmed and possibly edited afterwards. Once the fantasy performance is over, performers are able to gain new perspectives on the shared performance through reflection and discussion with others, comparing what elements of the shared understanding

184  Types of fantasy performances they got ‘right’ and what they did not. Such a method of trial-and-error allows performers to actively learn about how performance and its meanings are formed, allowing deeper reality investment. Outcomes of othering fantasy performance Othering fantasy involves a focus on character performance as well as the emphasis of interaction and bodily performance for the sake of shared fantasy. Performance is other-directed, with the reflection on the other being strongly present in all its accounts: self and character, character and other characters, self and other performers. Through this explicit othering and a strong focus on obligation to others in creating a good, shared performance, the performance tends to privilege acting and become entirely self-less. Othering fantasy performance emerges as a relational process in performers’ awareness that focuses on connecting with the other (in its multiple instances) via transfer of bodily performance knowledge. Moreover, as disruption of performance is unlikely in the form of bodily frame switching, the performance is experienced as continuous and shared, even as it is not directly articulated or explicitly pre-defined. Nostalgia is less likely to take place after othering fantasy performance, because of the lack of investment of personal desires and the strong focus on differentiation of role performances, which results in distinct separation of the emotions and experiences of spectator and actor. The lack of nostalgia may be further linked to little emphasis being placed on materiality and pre-existing social structures, as well as the consequent vague differentiation of parallel performance of social spaces.4 Through this, a strong idea of place does not emerge as part of the fantasy performance. As I showed earlier in connection to other-worldly fantasy performance, nostalgia is likely to result from fantasy performance that focuses on place. Othering fantasy further does not allow individuals to fall into comfortable, leisurely repetition of performance, as media are not used directly. The lack of clear holistic understanding of performance pushes individuals to negotiate meaning and figure out how to perform on their own. Performers of othering fantasy end up having to consciously recombine performance from scratch (although somewhat guided by the limitations of the specific performance) as well as reflect on and edit this process throughout the performance. Consequently, performers explicitly learn how to repeat, recombine, structure, and possibly change performance. In other words, they learn about performativity of performance by having to directly engage in its creation. Just like Brecht (1965) and Meyerhold (1968) advocated in the context of aesthetic performance, a lack of clear structure or narrative disturbs individuals and forces them to be active in order to reach understanding. This active, bodily learning inherent in othering fantasy encourages investment into reality, which I described in Chapter 5. While othering fantasy does not repeat pre-existing performances directly, it is, nevertheless, bound by existing performance structures through a basis in recombination of performance elements that are borrowed from media and everyday life. Following Butler (1990, 2004), individuals cannot get away from the structures

Types of fantasy performances  185 that they have been acculturated into, because these will always serve as the basis for or background to future performances. In like manner, Mackay (2001) theorises that individuals are unable to perform something completely outside of what they know, with the power structures of reality and make-believe therefore emerging as very similar. Hence, othering fantasy never fully escapes reality. However, what othering fantasy performance does allow is looking at performance of reality anew. Individuals can become freed from the blindness to the power that normative structures have by understanding how these work and consequently also how these can be changed through individual performance. The newfound understanding of performativity thus opens up the possibility of agency for performers. Following Butler (1990, 2004), individuals create and reproduce a seemingly pre-existing, immutable idea of reality by repeating the same performances over and over. Building on this, Butler proposes that agency emerges as an awareness of how performance is structured and repeated, which allows for said performance to be repeated differently or not repeated at all. Agency can therefore be approached as the ‘hiatus of iterability’ of performance, or, in other words, the breakdown of its unreflexive performativity and repetition (Butler 1993). Similarly, othering fantasy performance pushes individuals to gain understanding of how performance is performed, breaking its naturalised and unreflexive nature, as well as shedding light on various elements that limit and enable its emergence. The agency gained through othering fantasy performance is not present in the make-believe context, as this is guided by a focus on shared fantasy. Agency rather emerges in the aftermath of the performance in the reality frame. As I noted earlier, the value of this type of fantasy performance is weighted toward after the performance is over. In becoming aware of and thus better understanding the structures of performance that are in place both in the make-believe and in reality, individuals gain the agency to challenge and recombine norms of their everyday lives. While this does not, in itself, push performers to actively change their realities, it does provide a strong incentive to do so. It becomes especially difficult for performers to return to their realities without contesting them when they become aware of norms and structures they are not fond of or ones that significantly affect their lives. What this points to is that emancipation through fantasy performance is possible. However, it emerges not by means of escape from structure, but through becoming aware of and breaking the naturalised repetition of the performance of that structure. Of course, in practice, individuals cannot instantly change their social contexts at large. Yet they do become capable of changing their own understanding of it, their own engagement in it, and, hence, their own position in it. This results in a completely new individual approach to and performance of reality, which can, in turn, create a ripple effect of change throughout the social structure. The active, bodily learning as well as the agency created through it are supported by the following characteristics of othering fantasy performance. First, the focus on differentiating between fantasy and reality through the performance of roles directly supports the emergence of agency. Debord (2009) has pointed out that to gain agency, we should reproduce ourselves rather than the things that enslave us, that is, the social and cultural structures of reality. In a similar

186  Types of fantasy performances vein, Passoth, Peuker, and Schillmeier (2012) suggest that agency is a relational outcome of social performance. The emphasis on roles and their interaction in differentiating parallel performances of othering fantasy separates the self from the performance more distinctly, resulting in a self-less performance that allows for both the self and the character to clearly become an other to be reflected on. Second, the lack of focus on space and materiality helps disconnect performance from its seemingly pre-existing material essence. Through focusing less on social space and more on the relational performance in it, the performance of make-believe social space may become vague and mixed with elements of reality. While this may create bleed between the parallel performances of social space, it also points to their similarity and comparability, which allows performers to begin perceiving their reality as mouldable. Butler (1993) points out that fantasy is more likely to render reality as frail when it is less distinct from it. Similarly, in othering fantasy, the structures of make-believe and reality are perceived to be similar, with the recombinable and emergent nature of the former thus also becoming a possibility for the latter. Through this, the physical fourth wall between acting and spectating is eradicated, just like Brecht and Meyerhold advocated. Nevertheless, an internal fourth wall always remains, emerging as clear separation of roles and their frames of interaction. The differentiation keeps the possibility of delusional fantasy performance at bay, and allows individuals to reflect on, learn about, and influence their performance. Third, the focus on bodily performance and interaction based on performance knowledge incite active engagement, supporting the created agency and investment into reality. Butler (1990, 2004) writes that reality is imposed on individuals through embodiment of norms, with the body emerging as seemingly having immutable, pre-existing essence that defines the self and its behaviour. In changing the unchangeable through bodily fantasy performance and thus destabilising reality on a fundamental level, the performative nature of reality becomes more clearly visible. Fourth, reality investment is aided by the consistency of performance, which is created through a lack of bodily frame switching and resultant lack of fragmentation of performance. Performers gain a sense of consistency in the performance of the make-believe frame, but remain reflexively conscious of the performance. This is because fantasy performance has time to build up continuity and norms through uninterrupted reiteration without unfolding into full-blown performativity. Individuals do not have holistic, objective understanding of performance throughout its duration, but become capable of observing the process of meaningmaking through internal dual performance as well as the distinct differentiation between and distance from both roles of self and character. Furthermore, the consistent nature of othering performance gives performers the opportunity to observe structures and meanings being built up in a manner quite similar to everyday performance, that is, through bodily performance and interaction that is not directly guided by objective spectating. These processes thus emerge as more directly applicable to individuals’ everyday lives. Fifth, learning and agency are supported by the sequenced bodily frame switching, which is closely linked to the above-described consistency of the performance. Bodily performance in othering fantasy first primarily takes place in

Types of fantasy performances  187 the make-believe frame, after which the performance is thoroughly discussed in the reality frame. As a result, individuals first piece meaning together individually through performance knowledge, and then re-combine it communally via direct communication and reflection, getting feedback on how their individually negotiated meaning was received and how well it worked in terms of the overall, shared performance. In concentrating reflection and discussion in the aftermath of the fantasy performance, individuals are able to compare their own parallel performances as totalities, gaining sight of larger patterns and structures. Although distanced and self-less, othering fantasy performance thus still becomes personal, but only in the long-term, as it is reflected on and connected to one’s everyday life. Consequently, the value gained from this type of fantasy performance is only available after the performance is over. All in all, othering fantasy performance supports investment into reality by means of agency that emerges through the bodily, active learning processes inherent in the performance. Such fantasy gives light to the malleable nature of reality through focusing on performance of role and interaction directed at shared fantasy, and through placing less emphasis on material, physical, and spatial aspects of performance. By pushing individuals to reflexively create their own meaning in contexts similar to everyday life, othering fantasy performance allows performers to become better informed about the structures of performance that govern their reality, giving them opportunities to question these structures and engage in them differently.

Notes 1 It has taken a considerable amount of time to develop these concepts, and I have therefore presented different versions of them in previous work. Most notably, I have previously discussed the types of performance as entertainment-driven and exploration-driven fantasy performance (Seregina 2014). 2 A brief overview to those unfamiliar with Finnish history. Sparked by the Russian revolution of 1905, the Red Guard emerged as a paramilitary unit of the Finnish labour movement. The White Guard was a voluntary militia, which, while officially politically neutral, was largely anti-leftist. 3 This only later developed into the nostalgia we understand as the yearning for the past; see Jameson 1991; Higson 2014. 4 It is important to note that while there is no pre-existing strict social structure, othering fantasy performance is still limited and bound, first by the character role, which is taken on seriously, and then by emergent norms of shared performance.

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7 Conclusions

The aim of this book was to explore the subjective experience of bodily, lived performance of fantasy. Through building on work from various fields of research, through exploring how fantasy is linked to numerous other concepts and phenomena, and through empirically studying live action role-playing games, I have provided a perspective on how individuals engage in fantasy performance. Fantasy is a phenomenon that is very reflexive and thus extremely cognitive. However, in its performance, fantasy is also interactive, bodily, as well as deeply synchronised with material and spatial elements of its context. This is not just fancy-free entertainment that is used for attaining personal desires, but also explicitly reflexive performance that results in the development of self and deep engagement with one’s surroundings. Overall, fantasy emerges as a complex performance, which differs from that of everyday life in its form and in its attitude toward reality. I propose that fantasy performance can be described as non-naturalised behaviour, during which individuals consciously and reflexively engage in two parallel performances, that of reality and make-believe. The two performances are anchored in different roles, and take place in different frames of interaction, with the explicit awareness of these parallel performances resulting in a self-less position that is distanced to and reflexive of both reality and make-believe. On an internal, cognitive level, the duality of performance is continuously negotiated during the performance of fantasy. This allows for the possibility of bodily frame switching, with interaction and bodily performance only taking place in one frame at a time. The awareness of the two performances is guided by the articulated and sometimes explicitly discussed clarity and shared quality of fantasy performance, as well as the basis of performance in a recombination or even direct use of familiar elements of entertainment media and geek culture. From a subjective point of view, there is no strict division between fantasy and reality as spatially, materially, or even mentally distinct, because fantasy performance becomes a matter of form of performance as well as the legitimisation of this performance by others. Therefore, the same performance can be fantasy or reality depending on how it is approached and who is approaching it. Reality can become fantasy through dual performance and its social legitimisation, while fantasy can become reality through the loss of dual vision as well as individual and shared reflexivity. From a subjective, participating point of view, fantasy performance is experienced as real by its performers, as it results in authentic emotions, reactions,

Conclusions  191 and experiences. However, while fantasy and reality may gain equal value for individuals, they do not become equivalent to or blurred with one another, as individuals clearly distinguish the two. Hence, reality and fantasy as performances only become blurred from a non-participating point of view. Performers explicitly differentiate fantasy and reality, but the two are not strictly separate in terms of the underlying performance structure. Through performing familiar elements in unfamiliar recombinations within fantasy, individuals repeat normalised power structures and relational constellations that they are acculturated into in reality (and thus possibly blind to). This inadvertent repetition of structures becomes a central strength of fantasy performance. The dual, parallel structure of fantasy performance and the acute awareness of both of the performances in a clear and shared manner allows individuals to compare and reflect. Because both of the parallel performances share certain structural and normative elements, performers are thus able to explore their similarities and differences, learning how performance and its meaning are built up. As a result, individuals come to better understand the performances they are embedded in, gaining the possibility to invest into their realities through approaching performance differently or even changing it altogether. Žižek (1997) proposes that fantasy involves an intersubjectivity that attempts to answer the question “What does society want from me?” (p. 9). Based on my findings, I suggest that fantasy performance also allows individuals to gain an answer to this question through shedding light on how social structures are performed and through providing the tools to mould one’s own position in these performances. Hence, fantasy performance does not in itself trickle back into or shape reality, but it can spark shifts in norms and in culture by revealing how these work. Fantasy does not disturb the rules, as Jackson (1981) has suggested, but it shows us the rules, leaving us to use that knowledge as we please. A liberating, political potential nevertheless emerges. The disturbance of rules through fantasy can emerge in different ways, depending on the performance type. The types differ in a variety of structural, material, spatial, interactional, and personal characteristics of performance. In this research, I proposed a typology of performances, other-worldly fantasy and othering fantasy, the exploration of which provided a clearer understanding of what the performance of fantasy allows individuals to do. Moreover, the typology shed light on how various elements of the performance influence individuals’ experiences. Among other things, the typology provides insight into the relationship of fantasy performance to the organisation of space, the formation of shared experience and communities, and the use of predetermined or familiar materials for control of performance. Most importantly, the different ways of structuring fantasy performance result in very different outcomes for performers. Other-worldly fantasy allows individuals to perform their desires, but only within the well-defined limitations of fantasy performance, which are often previously familiar from entertainment media and geek culture. The performance mainly focuses on individual fantasy within a comfortable, strong experience of place that allows for relief from the chaos of reality, but is also strictly guided by its constructs, thus reassuring power structures of reality. Othering fantasy performance creates a basis for reality investment and agency through active,

192 Conclusions bodily learning processes. These are incited through a continuous, unfragmented performance, in which individuals have to figure out how to perform fantasy on their own within a vaguely specified context. The focus is on shared fantasy and bodily performance, with little focus on space, place, or personal desires. It seems that the form and focus of differentiating parallel performances of fantasy is of specific importance in terms of performance outcomes. In focusing on materiality and place, fantasy has more potential for becoming personal, as well as focused on self and one’s desires. The performance does allow freedom to interact with desires, but this freedom is strictly limited by the context of its performance and thus largely untransferable outside it. Value is thus confined to the ephemeral, spatially and temporally bound performance. In focusing on role and interaction in differentiating parallel performances of fantasy, there is a greater emphasis on shared experience and on critical distancing of self. This results in active, bodily learning and reflexivity, which allows for the possibility of challenging and changing one’s reality. The value of such performance only emerges after the performance is over, but may have more long-term influence. Tolkien (2001 [1964]) wrote that fantasy involves not being a slave to reality. I have shown that lived fantasy performance becomes a way of resisting reality, which can take place either by avoiding reality and thus remaining true to its structures, or by becoming almost painfully aware of reality and thus learning how to change it. Following these findings, emancipation can take on different forms as part of fantasy performance. Firat (2001) and Holt (2002) suggest that, within contemporary consumer culture, emancipation and escape are impossible, as all meaning becomes defined by the logics of consumption and the market. Kozinets (2002) agrees that escape is impossible, but proposes that temporary, localised, and individualised liberation may be possible in “conjuring up an alternative social realm that convincingly appears distanced from, outside of, or subversive to dominant market logics” (p. 36). Something similar emerges through other-worldly fantasy performance, which results in desires being spatially and temporally bound to their performance. Such fantasy performance is evident in many mundane settings, often emerging in various branded commercial spaces, such as theme parks, fairs, or experience stores (e.g., Peñaloza 1998; Kozinets et al. 2004; Diamond et al. 2009). Reflecting characteristics of other-worldly fantasy performances, these fantasy experiences tend to be clearly tied into space and materiality. Moreover, a lot of the time, the settings are strategically designed to support and enhance fantasy, for example, through the use of entertainment scripts or a direct basis in specific media narratives. Such experiences provide individuals with temporary and localised emancipation from everyday life, as well as a context, in which to play around with and test their desires. Hence, through other-worldly fantasy, individuals never escape consumer culture, but end up reinforcing it. I propose that fantasy performance can alternatively result in more long-lasting emancipation. This emerges in performances less focused on materiality or spaces, and more directed toward role performance and shared performance. As is evident in the case of othering fantasy, emancipation emerges here through focus on the success of the overall performance, on the new orientation toward

Conclusions  193 reality, and on the resultant understanding of how one’s place in this reality works. Other examples of such emancipation include various developmental or educational experiences, such as in individuals building self-understanding through fandom (Seregina and Schouten 2017) or in creating communitas through extraordinary experiences, such as commercially organised white-water river rafting (Arnould and Price 1993). Following Armitt (1996), power and oppression are closely tied to the idea of defining what is real. Hence, in re-defining the real, fantasy can become a central source of power. Moreover, Meyerhold (1968) suggests that we should not try to master reality itself, but rather master ourselves by understanding our attitude toward reality. In line with this idea, the more long-lasting emancipation emerging from fantasy performance becomes a matter of awareness, reflection, and resultant new orientation in performance, which gives individuals the tools to master their realities through their own acknowledged performance in them. These findings provide a new perspective on questions raised by Agnew (1986), Kozinets (2002), and Mackay (2001) about the function of fantasy in everyday life. It becomes apparent that fantasy performance can both reinforce existing structures, as well as provide the tools to subvert these structures through their explicit awareness. Understanding how fantasy is performed becomes of exceeding relevance in the contemporary Western cultural context, where companies are increasingly using fantasy as part of thematisation and design, and, at the same time, individuals are incorporating fantasy into their lives through various personal and communal activities. Both the producers (i.e., companies, marketers, designers, but also teachers, subculture communities, event organisers, or even artists) and the consumers of fantasy would greatly benefit from deeper understanding of how fantasy can be and is being experienced, as well as how it can be performed, structured, and engaged in. Producers and consumers have equally important influence on the performance of fantasy as well as its outcomes both for themselves and for others, thus helping create different experiences, provide different types of value, and answer different needs. In providing deeper understanding of lived fantasy performance, this research also provides methodological tools for exploring experiences and interaction. More specifically, I provide an example of using performance and especially aesthetic and theatrical performance as an approach to understanding contemporary culture. I suggest that processes of acting and spectating similar to the ones I have described here could be found in other contexts. Exploring how individuals take on different roles as well as different types of performances and their combinations as part of performances can help in understanding various cultural processes and phenomena. Furthermore, engaging in aesthetic performance and the creation of art were important methodological aspects of the research. Hence, I hope this work will inspire exploration and development of so-called alternative research methods, possibly by means of cross-disciplinary collaborations. I believe that taking on novel practices for engaging with research contexts, analysing data, as well as disseminating and representing findings holds within itself exciting new possibilities for developing knowledge and understanding human nature.

194 Conclusions In conclusion, I want to stress that in examining fantasy, we also further our understanding of the subjective experience of reality, society, and shared meaning. I hope that in giving insight into experiences of lived fantasy performance, this study inspires exploration of ideas, experiences, and understandings through new perspectives and through novel methods.

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Index

Page numbers in italics refer to figures. Page numbers in bold refer to tables. Abercrombie, Nicholas 34, 121 acting 119–122, 136–138, 151, 158, 160–162, 166, 171, 193 Activist Disillusion 23 Activist Self Investment 23 aesthetics 44 aesthetic theatrical performance 62–66 aftermath 63, 74, 98, 183 agency 4–5, 137, 178–187 Agnew, Jean-Christophe 6–7, 33–34, 193 Ahuvia, Aaron C. 3 alienation 180 Andersson, Erik 18 archetypes 142 Aristotle 67 Armitt, Lucie 5–7, 38, 42–44, 135, 193 Arnould, Eric J. 1, 3, 5, 9, 50 art-based research 13, 17–24 Askegaard, Søren 24 Attebery, Brian 5–6, 38, 40, 42, 44, 47, 76, 139, 141–142, 144, 168, 174 Auslander, Philip 35–36, 49, 58, 62, 103, 111, 116, 160, 175, 183 Austin, J. L. 13

Blanchette, Annie 141 bleed 107–108, 118, 122, 146, 152, 161, 165–167, 186 Bleiker, Roland 18 blurring of boundaries 37–38, 191 bodily aspect of performance 143–144; see also frame switching bodily preparation 82–83, 101–103 Bøkman, Peter 8 Borden, Iain 123 Borer, Michael Ian 1 Borghini, Stefania 3 Boruah, Bijoy H. 39–40, 138 Bould, Mark 42 Bowman, Sarah Lynne 8 Brecht, Bertolt 64, 66–70, 107, 112, 121, 143, 165, 171–173, 179–180, 184, 186 brief 89–92 Brock, Timothy C. 48 Brooke-Rose, Christine 38, 176 Brown, Stephen 43 Burgin, Victor 37 Butler, Judith 13, 58–60, 102–103, 113, 125, 135, 144, 177, 182–186

Badiou, Alain 40, 63–65, 120, 137, 139, 161, 163, 181 Bakhtin, Mikhail 33, 127–128, 138 balanced theatre 70–71 Bammer, Angelika 43, 49, 183 Baudrillard, Jean 6, 36–37, 61, 103 Bauman, Zygmunt 3 Becker, Howard S. 24 behaviourism 68 Belk, Russell W. 3, 9, 102, 141 Berger, Peter L. 117 biomechanics 68

campaigns 12, 155 Campbell, Colin 3, 33–34, 41, 43 Carlson, Marvin 12, 14–15, 57–58, 60, 129 carnival/carnivalesque 33, 127–128, 138, 145 Carroll, Noel 41 Casey, Jim 5, 48 casting 75 character: building up fantasy 101–103; discerning self from 106–109; getting a 74–76; learning from performance of 109–111; negotiating interaction and

196 Index 117–119; negotiating self and fantasy 111–112; performance as 156–159; performing fantasy 103–106; preparing for 77–83; self-written 157 Chekhov, Mikhail 64, 66, 69, 93, 112, 136 Chronis, Athinodoros 1, 9, 50 clarity: of performance 141; sense of 111 Cohen, Stanley 1, 38, 42, 142, 145 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor 40–42, 138 Collingwood, Robin George 18 combat 91–92 Conquergood, Dwight 12, 15 consumer culture 2–5, 35–36, 42, 49, 135, 192 contacting 85–86 Copier, Marinka 46 Costa, Janeen Arnold 9, 102, 141 Cramer, Michael A. 43, 141 crossplaying 104 Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly 105 cues 121 cultural context and limitations 24–25 data collection and analysis 15–17 Debord, Guy 185 debrief 95–97, 167–168 delusion 158, 173 Denzin, Norman K. 12, 15 depropping 94 desire 3, 44–45, 170–178 Desynchronised 20 discourse, performance as 13 disillusion 48, 179 Dolan, Jill 43, 58, 181 Donald, James 37 dramatic theatre 66 dreaming 45 duality: of interaction 118; of performance 128–131, 140–141, 145 Dungeons & Dragons 9 Eco, Umberto 38, 43, 142 Eisner, Elliot 17 El-Manstrly, Dahlia 13 emancipation 192–193 entertainment media 9, 49, 103, 111, 114, 123–124, 139, 174, 177–178, 190–191 epic theatre 66, 68 Escapist Extension into Context 23 ethnography: method of 12–13; of performance and RPG 15 experiences: dealing with 97–98; shared 142–143

Exploring Fantasy as Part of Consumption 21 fantasy: approaches to 41–50; belief in 39–41; in contemporary consumer culture 2–5; defining and delimiting 5–7; defining lived 139–143; description of 1; experiencing lived 130–146; gaining agency through othering 178–187; historical discourses of 32–37; investing into reality through 143–146; as lived bodily experience 50–51; othering 155–156, 158–159, 161–165, 167–168; performing 136–139; in relation to reality 37–39; role of 1; spectating, acting, and ‘fourth wall’ in 119–122; understanding of 32 fantasy community 116–117 fantasy context 129–130 fantasy performance: comparing 153–168; differing 168–187; frames of 131–134; interaction in 112–122; legitimisation of 113–114; negotiating levels of reality in 128–130; othering 135, 169–170, 184–187, 191–192; other-worldly 153–161, 163–164, 166–167, 169–178, 191–192; roles in 134–136; self in 101–112; shared 115; social space in 122–130; types of 151–187 fantasy place: building up 124–125; engaging in 125–126; performance of 122–124 fantasy selves 4–5 fantasy world and place, performance of 122–124 Fernandez, Karen V. 50 fiction, paradox of belief in 39–40 fictional reality 129 Fine, Gary Alan 1, 6–8, 10, 15, 32, 40, 46, 49, 63, 111, 119, 129–131, 133–135, 137, 143 Firat, A. Fuat 3, 37–38, 133, 192 Fiske, John 128, 142 Fjellman, Stephen M. 36, 141, 174, 176–177 flow 105 Fordism 67 Foucault, Michel 50 ‘fourth wall’ 68, 119–122, 173, 180–181, 186 Fragments of Me 19 frame alignment 89 frame/frame analysis 21, 60–61, 129–133 Frames of Performance 21

Index  197 frame switching 161–162, 167, 171, 175, 180, 182, 184, 186–187, 190 Freud, Sigmund 44–45 Fuchs, Thomas 106, 108

iskusstvo perezhivaniya 66–68, 138, 157–158, 163, 171, 179–180 iskusstvo predstavleniya 68–70, 138, 159, 179–181

game (LARP): after 94–98; context of 129; materials for 76–77; preparing for 85–89 game master (GM) 12, 75, 77, 90, 98 gaming theory 46–47 Gendler, Tamar Szabó 40 Goffman, Erving 1, 13, 21, 38, 46, 57–61, 63, 65, 102, 111, 114, 117–118, 120–123, 126, 129–134 Grayson, Kent 7, 38, 133 Green, Melanie C. 48 Grotowski, Jerzy 64, 121

Jackson, Rosemary 5–6, 41–42, 44–45, 47–48, 160, 168, 191 James, Edward 5, 9, 42, 50, 154 Jameson, Fredric 6, 34, 41, 43 Janssens, Maddy 24 Jenkins, Rebecca 50

hair 86 Hampton, Ronald D. 1, 9, 50 Handelman, Jay M. 4 Harwood, Stephen A. 13 Hatcher, Evelyn Payne 24 Hendricks, Sean Q. 10, 46 Hervey, Lenore W. 17 heterotopia 50 hiatus of iterability 185 Higson, Andrew 43 historical re-enactment 102 Holbrook, Morris B. 44 Holt, Douglas B. 3, 192 Holtorf, Cornelius 173 Holttinen, Heli 24 Hoogland, Reneé C. 1, 143 Huizinga, Johan 46, 113 Hume, Kathryn 5–6, 33–34, 36, 44, 48, 142, 154, 168, 172, 179–180 hyperreality 38, 61 ideal self 136 Illouz, Eva 35, 41, 116 illusion 48, 172 Illusion of Escape 23 imagery 43 Imaginary-Entertainment Environments 49 imagination 41–42 infinity loop 20, 62, 130 IN-game 90–94 interaction: performance and 59–60; performance of 159–163; theatrical performance and 64–65 internal play 102 intimacy 92 ironic imagination 35, 41 Irwin, William R. 2, 47

Kaplan, Cora 35, 37–38, 43–44 Katovich, Michael A. 9 Kennedy, Dennis 65, 120–121, 129, 137 Kinkade, Patrick T. 9 Klinger, Eric 7, 45 Kovakovich, Karson 40 Kozinets, Robert V. 5–7, 43, 50, 192–193 Lacan, Jacques 19 Laing, Ronald D. 44 Lamarque, Peter 40 landscapes, fantasy 49–50 language 24 Laplanche, Jean 44 Lastovicka, John L. 50 learning from performance 109–111, 127, 167, 181 Leavy, Patricia 17 Levinas, Emmanuel 182 Levy, Sidney J. 5 Lewis, Pericles 179 liminality 127, 138 liminioid 127 Lin, Erika 82, 117, 119, 131 Linnet, Jeppe Trolle 24 literary fiction 35 literature 47–48 live action role-playing games (LARP): after event 98–100; description of 2, 8; before event 74–83; during event 84–98; exploring fantasy through 7–12; in Finland 10–12; getting to 84–85 Longhurst, Brian 34, 121 Lord of the Rings (Tolkien) 42 Luckmann, Thomas 117 Mackay, Daniel 2, 6–9, 14, 32, 34, 38, 49, 62, 114, 119, 124, 145, 176, 185, 193 Maclaran, Pauline 4, 43 magic circle 46, 134 Magic: The Gathering 9

198 Index make-believe frame 132–134, 136–138, 164, 187 make-up 86 Manlove, Colin N. 38, 42, 47, 154 Marketed Memory 18 Martin, Brett A. S. 3, 9, 46 Martinec, Radan 7, 38, 133 marvellous fantasy 160, 172 materiality 58, 102, 172–173, 177, 186, 192 McAlexander, James H. 3 McAuley, Gay 62, 65–66, 120–122, 124–125, 129, 133, 137 McAvan, Emily 37 McConachie, Bruce 64, 70, 121, 124–125, 159, 179–180 McGonigal, Jane 41, 47 McKenzie, Jon 13–14, 57, 61 McLuhan, Marhsall 34, 44 meaninglessness 176 media 48–49, 142, 175–176, 183 meet-ups 83 Mendlesohn, Farah 47, 50 mental preparation 82–83 Meriläinen, Susan 24 Meskin, Aaron 40 metaplaying 105–106, 157 Meyerhold, Vsevolod 64, 66, 68–70, 112, 121, 138, 143, 159, 165, 172, 179–180, 184, 186, 193 mimesis 44 Minakov, Igor 36 Molesworth, Mike 50 montage 165, 179 Montola, Markus 47, 146 Muniz, Albert M. 3 naturalism 69 negative experiences 97–98 neutrality 125 Newtonian mechanics 67 Nixon, Elizabeth 50 Noble, Richard 43 non-naturalised performance 140–141, 145, 173, 181–182 non-player characters (NPCs) 12, 75–76 norms, dual function of 60 nostalgia 43, 99, 151–152, 166, 168, 178, 184 Nostalgia series 18 novel 35, 47 objects 50 ‘objet petit a’ 19 Objet Petit a 20

Of Bittersweet Utopia and Nostalgia 22 OFF-game 90–91, 114 OFF-space 89 O’Guinn, Thomas C. 3 othering fantasy performance 135, 155–156, 158–159, 161–165, 167–170, 178–187, 191–192 other-worldly fantasy performance 153–161, 163–164, 166–167, 169–178, 191–192 other worlds 42 Otnes, Cele 5 ‘paradox of belief in fiction’ 39–40, 138 parallel performances 20 participatory frame 131–133, 141 Paskow, Alan 6, 40–41, 45, 112, 122, 128, 145 passivity 120 Passoth, Jan-Hendrik 186 Patton, Cindy 14 Peñaloza, Lisa 5 performance: aesthetic theatrical 62–66; after 165–168; clarity of 141; clarity of bodily 182; description of 14; engaging with 57–61; familiar elements as basis of 142; familiar elements to legitimise 174–175; familiar elements used in 182–183; interaction and 59–60; preexisting, articulated clarity of 173–174; self and 59; setting up 153–156; shared 175, 183–184; social and aesthetic 61–62; social structure and 60–61 performance knowledge 110, 175, 179, 187 performance theory 2, 12–14 performative, description of 14 performative utterances 13 performativity, description of 13–14 personal front 102 pervasive gaming 47 Peuker, Birgit 186 photogenic media 35, 48 Piaget, Jean 7, 46 Pitches, Jonathan 62, 66, 69 placelessness 125 Plato 69 play 7, 45–46 ‘plunging into the character’ 93 Pontalis, Jean-Bertrand 44 Popat, Sita 62 post-LARP depression (PLD) 22, 98–99, 107–108, 122, 152, 165–168 postmodernity 36 pre-established patterns of action 57

Index  199 pre-industrial society 33 presentational reality 129 Price, Linda L. 5 primary framework 60–61, 65, 123, 129, 131 printing press 34–35 props/propping: building character with 101–102; description of 86–88; physical spaces and 124–125; preparation of 78–82; social space and 164 proto-performance 63, 74 psychoanalytic approach 44–45 quasi-belief 40 Radford, Colin 39 Radway, Janice A. 35, 168 rational performance 179 reactive performance 160 realism 69 reality: fantasy as departure from 6–7; fantasy in relation to 37–39; negotiating levels of 128–130 reality frame 131–134, 136–137, 187 reality investment 21, 38, 144–146, 165, 167, 174, 177–178, 186 Reality Investments 22 recognition 113–114, 119 reflection 151–152, 171, 173, 178, 187, 193 reflexivity 107 Relph, Edward 122, 125 remeslo 66 research approach and methods 12–24 resynchronising time 108 revision 48 ritual process 13 rituals 33 Rojek, Chris 166 role-playing games (RPG) 7–10 Rook, Dennis W. 5 Rose, Randall L. 39, 115 ‘rule of the bigger drama’ 93, 114 rules: disturbance of 191; for LARP 90–91 safety and security 90 Salen, Katie 134 Saler, Michael 1–2, 6, 9, 33–36, 38, 40–42, 47–49, 112, 115, 126, 128, 141–143, 145, 154, 163 Santalainen, Timo 24 Schechner, Richard: on duality 128–129; entertainment media and 111; on fantasy 1–3, 7, 38, 44, 46; flow and 105; frame analysis and 132–133; infinity loop and 20, 62; on liminal space 127; on

meaning 36; performance aftermath and 98; on performance knowledge 175, 179; performance knowledge and 110, 143; performance theory and 12–14, 41, 57–64, 66–67, 74, 84, 112, 136–137; on recognition 114; on self 135; on symbolic time 123; on theme parks 130 Scheff, Thomas J. 60 Schillmeier, Michael 186 Schouten, John W. 3, 5, 135 Scruton, Roger 40 self: negotiating interaction and 117–119; performance and 59; performance as 156–159; roles in fantasy performance and 134–136; theatrical performance and 63–64; unity of 134 Sherry, John F., Jr. 3, 15 signing up 74–76 simulation, techniques for 91–92 Slater, Don 34, 141 social and aesthetic performance 61–62 social limits 126 social performance 14 social reality 129 social space: negotiating two 126–128; parallel 182; performance of 163–165 social structure: performance and 60–61; theatrical performance and 65–66 space, organising 88–89; see also venues Spatial Dissonance 18 spatiality 36, 49, 58 spectating 119–122, 136–138, 151–152, 158, 160–162, 166, 171, 177, 193 speech-act theory 13 Stanislavski, Konstantin 25, 64, 66–71, 112, 124, 135, 157–158, 164, 168, 170–171, 173, 179, 181 Stenros, Jaakko 146 Stevens, Lorna 4 Steyaert, Chris 24 stigma 6, 11, 34, 38, 174 St. James, Yannik 4 Strasberg, Lee 64, 66 subculture community 116–117 suspension of disbelief 40, 138 symbolic time 123 Tainio, Risto 24 Taylor, Laurie 1 Taylor, Shirley F. 4, 38, 42, 142, 145 Taylorism 67–68 Temporal Ambivalence 18 temporality 19, 58, 106, 111

200 Index theatrical performance: interaction and 64–65; performance theory and 14; self and 63–64; social structure and 65–66; Stanislavski’s typology of 66–71 thematisation 4 theme parks 130 Thompson, Craig J. 3 Todorov, Tzvetan 47–48, 160, 168, 172, 179–180 Tolkien, J. R. R. 35, 38, 40–45, 47, 128, 141, 143, 145, 154, 158, 192 Traill, Nancy H. 44 transgression of norms 38 Turner, Victor 13, 20, 33, 36, 44, 60–62, 127, 138 Ulusoy, Ebru 3 uncanny 47–48, 179–180 Urbany, Joel E. 141, 174 Utopia 4, 42–43 Vahtangov, Evgenii 66, 69–71, 138, 170 V-effect 179–180 Venkatesh, Alladi 3 venues 84–85, 88, 124; see also space, organising

Vint, Sherryl 42 vision 48 Waern, Annika 146 Walkerdine, Valerie 173, 176 Walton, Kendall L. 40–41, 45, 49, 102, 112, 115, 120, 125, 128, 135, 142–143, 151 Waskul, Dennis 8–9, 46 Weinberg, Jonathan M. 40 Weston, Michael 39, 138 Williams, J. Patrick 10 Winkler, W. Keith 10 Wolfe, Gary K. 39, 42 Wood, Stacy L. 39, 115 workshops 83 Wyllie, Martin 106, 108 Yanal, Robert J. 39–40, 143 Zazzali, Peter 68 Zimmerman, Eric 134 Zipes, Jack 48, 135 Žižek, Slavoj 32, 38, 45, 140–141, 144, 191 Zukin, Sharon 2, 4, 49–50, 122, 176