Research Bulletin: Reading and Student Stress

Mental health is a pressing concern for university students, with increasing numbers of students seeking mental health services in recent years. Dr. Shelby Levine and colleagues (2020) investigated whether recreational reading could improve the mental health of students by helping them fulfill core psychological needs. They hypothesized that recreational reading could decrease feelings of isolation and low competence, and serve as a form of resistance against restrictive academic environments.
At the beginning of the academic year, 201 college students reported their psychological distress, recreational reading goals, and autonomous motivation to read (i.e., of their own volition). At the end of the year, psychological distress and recreational reading achievements were measured again. The researchers discovered that psychological distress was much greater in all students at the end of the year. However, those who read more books had a smaller increase in distress than those who had read less. Further, autonomous motivation to read predicted a more ambitious reading goal, as well as more books completed by the end of the year. Lastly, the more books students read, the less frustrated they felt in terms of core needs, which led to less distress.
The authors conclude that fostering an intrinsic love of recreational reading in children and youth should be a key goal for parents and teachers. Based on their findings, promoting and supporting a love for reading could be an effective way to help students cope with the stressors of university.

Post by Shyamaly Vasuthevan

* For a copy of the original article, please contact R. Mar (see profile for e-mail).
 
Photo by Pixabay from Pexels. 

Kate Chopin's The Awakening

The Awakening, published by Kate Chopin when she was 49 years old, has become a literary classic, and an influential feminist novella. 

Here’s a brief summary. Edna Pontillier is on vacation on Grand Isle with her husband Léonce. In the novella’s eighth paragraph she walks up from a beach with Robert LeBrun, after bathing in the warm Caribbean Sea. On the island she also meets Adèle Ratignolle, mother of three small children, the first person with whom she ever talks about her feelings. Although to start with, Edna cannot swim, she learns to do so and feels liberated. She starts to think of rejecting assigned roles. By the end of the vacation, Edna and Léonce have grown apart, while she and Robert have grown close. To avoid what might happen, Robert moves to Mexico. Back in New Orleans, where she lives, Edna relinquishes her role as housewife, and becomes serious about her painting. Léonce takes a long business trip to New York, his mother looks after the couple’s two young children, and Edna moves into a place she calls the pigeon house. She spends a night with a man who’s a substitute for Robert, whom she thinks is still in Mexico. But he returns and visits her. After some awkward meetings, she kisses him. Although she says that he “must have forgotten that she was Léonce Pontillier’s wife,” she and Robert both declare their love for each other. Then a servant brings a message to say that Adèle Ratignolle is sick, so Edna goes to see her. When Edna returns, she finds a note from Robert. It says: “I love you. Good by—because I love you.” She realizes that he has departed, so she will be solitary. She returns to Grand Isle, removes her clothes, and swims out to sea. 

 

As well as this novella, Kate Chopin is known for her short stories. Her principal literary influence was Guy de Maupassant (whom she first read when she was about 35). “I read his stories,” she said, “I marvelled at them.” He spoke to her directly and intimately. She admired his escape from tradition, his rejection of hypocrisy. Her first short story was published when she was 39.

 

Although there had been myths, fables, and fairy tales, the literary short story dates back perhaps to 1842: Nikolai Gogol’s “The Overcoat.” The short story can be compared with the sonnet: eight lines, four lines, and two lines, with potential turning points between each set, after which we can see what had gone before in a new way. In Kate Chopin’s “The Story of an Hour” (1894) for instance, the protagonist first hears that her husband has died in a railway accident. She breaks down in tears, then goes to her room to be alone. There—turning point—she experiences “something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name”—a feeling of freedom. Then, towards the end of the story, she leaves her room and goes downstairs. There’s a turning of a key in the front door lock—final turning point—her husband returns; she dies of a heart attack.

 

In The Awakening, Kate Chopin uses techniques that are typical of poetry. Although she does this all the way through, an instance is in Chapter 10, when Edna finds she can swim, metaphors include: sea—liberation, learning to swim—accomplishment, actions previously not taken—actions that can now be taken, indoors is containment—outside are possibilities, lying in a hammock—comfort, coziness. There are also reiterated scenes of sleeping and waking. In addition, there are juxtapositions and contrasts. In Chapter 10, Edna’s walk down to the beach with Léonce contrasts with her return with Robert. In a more distant comparison, the novella’s first scene with Edna’s return from bathing connects with its last scene in which she swims out to sea. There are also scenes of emotion as inwardly experienced. For instance, as Edna finds herself able to swim “a feeling of exultation overtook her.” Early versions of such feelings tend to be vague. They then become more distinct; so exultation transforms into a feeling of freedom from the role into which Edna has been cast: wife and mother.

 

Kate Chopin. (1894). “The dream of an hour.” In P. Knights (Ed.), Kate Chopin The awakening and other stories(pp. 259-261). Oxford: Oxford University Press (current edition, 2000).

 

Kate Chopin (1899). The awakening. In P. Knights (Ed.), Kate Chopin The awakening and other stories (pp. 3-128). Oxford: Oxford University Press (current edition, 2000).

 

Nicolai Gogol (1842). “The overcoat” (C. Garnett, Trans.). In The overcoat and other stories (pp. 3-51). London: Chatto & Windus (current edition 1923).

 

Will and Testament

In 2016, when it was published in Norway, Vigdis Hjorth’s novel, Will and Testament, became a best-seller. Last year it came out in English, translated by Charlotte Barsland. 

The story’s protagonist is Bergljot. Other characters include her elder brother, Bård, and her two younger sisters Astrid and Åsa, along with their mother and father. At the beginning of the novel, Astrid phones Bergljot, to say that their mother is in hospital, but is “all right.” She had taken an overdose, not for the first time. Astrid goes on to say that Bård had discovered that their father had transferred ownership of the family’s two seaside cabins to the two younger sisters, so there’s a “row” (the fifth word in this novel). In his will the father had specified that, at his death, instead of a cabin, Bård and Bergljot would each get a financial equivalent—a compensation, except that it isn’t.

Bergljot is a theatre critic and magazine editor, who is also working on a thesis on modern German drama. Twenty-three years earlier she’d abandoned her family of origin, and had as little to do with them as possible; all except Astrid, with whom she has been in touch during the six months that precede the events with which the novel starts. Bergljot married a “nice, decent man,” with whom she had three children. 

This is a novel of inwardness, told by the first-person narrator, Bergljot. In its thoughts and language, this novel is as good as anything since Virginia Woolf, but in addition—and this makes it special—the inwardness is connected and interconnected with Bergljot’s relationships: what a person can talk about and what a person can not. And to whom, and when. Vigdis Hjorth invites us readers into Bergljot’s mind. We take on her concerns and mentally engage with members of her family of origin, with her children, with her lovers, with her friend Klara. 

At the centre is a family secret. Among the siblings, Bård is on Bergljot’s side. He, too, has abandoned the family some twenty years previously. 

So what is the secret? If you don’t like spoilers, you had better not read on; you could just read the book. (Some people are perfectly happy with spoilers; see OnFiction 3 April 2017, because they can help us to decide whether to read or watch, and if we do so, we can perhaps engage in the story more deeply.) 

So here’s the spoiler, the secret. Bergljot comes out with it. This happens two thirds of the way through the novel (p. 184). Bergljot, her siblings, and their mother, meet with an accountant, to discuss the business interests and the will of the father, who had died three weeks before this meeting. Bergljot has written out, very carefully, what she wants to say at the meeting, on two pieces of paper. She starts to read. 

Astrid knows what’s coming. “Now is not the time or the place,” she says (p. 187). But Bergljot continues.

I’ve been scared of Dad my whole life, I continued, I didn’t realize how much until 17 December last year when he died. I experienced a physical sense of relief. When I was between five and seven years old and repeatedly sexually assaulted by Dad, he told me that if I ever told anyone then he would go to prison or Mum would die.

You’re lying, Mum shouted.

I didn’t say anything, I said, I repressed it. I was silent but my life became increasingly self-destructive and chaotic as everything that I had repressed began to surface. I realised that I needed help and I got it, after several tests I eventually qualified for free psychoanalysis … I told Mum what had happened, she refused to believe me. As did my sisters … (p. 188).

In these days of the #MeToo movement, recognition of this issue has increased. But rather than a focus, which has now become common in news-stories, on who remembered what, along with accusations, excuses, and denials, this novel invites us to consider what kinds of implications might occur for a woman who has been abused as a child, for her relationships with her parents, her siblings, her friends, her lovers, her children. Vigdis Hjorth visits all these issues, enabling us to think about ramifications, and interconnections. 

The centrepiece of this novel is that it’s when she is an adult that Bergljot comes to remember that her father had sex with her when she was five or six years old. But this novel is not really about the plot. Instead it’s about the inner dynamics of Bergljot’s mind, about how events and relationships affect and permeate her inner thoughts and emotions. Vigdis Hjorth is brilliant at letting us see how things go in the opposite direction as well: how Bergljot’s inner thoughts and emotions, affect her relationships—with everyone. 

Bergljot feels that her life has been undermined. Her mother denies everything, and responds to Bergljot with hostility. Two other people believe her: Bergljot’s brother Bård, and her friend Klara. Her youngest sister, Åsa doesn’t believe her. Her closest sister, Astrid, the novel’s second main character, is a human rights lawyer. She doesn’t know whether to believe Bergljot and Bård, or their mother, father, and younger sister. She tries her very, very best to consider everyone, in the most utterly fair-minded, totally irritating, way. 

And the reader? As we go along, we take in Bergljot’s thoughts, receive her phone calls and text messages, enter the circumstances depicted, and make them our own. They take on the kind of urgency that is important when we read a novel. We think about them, reflect upon them …

Vigdis Hjorth, Will and Testament (2019) translated by Charlotte Barslund. London: Verso.

Shakespeare and Love

In Stratford on Avon, in 1582, William Shakespeare, at the age of 18, married Anne Hathaway, who was 26, probably because she was pregnant. They had three children: Susanna, born in 1583, then twins Judith and Hamnet, in 1585. Soon after this, William left Stratford. He moved to London, where he lived for more than 20 years, first joining a theatre company called the Lord Chamberlain’s Men, in which he became an actor and their principal playwright. In 1609, William’s 154 sonnets were published. The first 17 of these seem to have been commissioned; they are addressed to someone known as “the young man.” They were written to try and persuade him to marry, so that he could pass on to children his beauty which otherwise, would be lost when “forty winters” would “besiege” his brow. The next 109 sonnets are about William’s relationship, probably an affair, with the young man, which seems to have started when William was maybe 28, and the young man perhaps 18. 

The group of 109 sonnets (18 to 126), as Helen Vendler explains in her brilliant book of 1997, draws on conversations and interactions between William and the young man. Then, beginning with Sonnet 127, come 27 sonnets about William’s affair with a woman called the Dark Lady, perhaps, Emilia Lanier, England’s first published woman poet, (see Michael Wood, 2003).

In his plays, William Shakespeare depicts memorable characters such as Hamlet, in the play of that name, and Rosalind in As You Like It. But these characters are out there, on the stage, whereas the Sonnets seem more interior, more personal. One may infer that when the young man had sex with others, William was devastated, so then he went and had sex with others as well, which seems to have increased his own anguish … 

So, here is Shakespeare’s Sonnet 27:

Weary with toil I haste me to my bed,

The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;

But then begins a journey in my head

To work my mind when body’s work’s expired;

For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,

Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,

And keep my drooping eyelids open wide

Looking on darkness which the blind do see:

Save that my soul’s imaginary sight

Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,

Which like a jewel hung in ghastly night

Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.

Lo, thus by day my limbs, by night my mind,

For thee, and for myself, no quietness find.

The sonnet is a verse form designed to express the emotion of love. Its general structure is eight lines, four lines, two lines (as shown above). Between each group are potential turning points. The first of these, in Sonnet 27, is between the first eight lines, about William’s inability to sleep, and the next four lines about his “imaginary sight” of the young man. The second occurs with the change from lines 9 to 12, to the final couplet in which, when William thinks of the young man, the experience is of anxiety.

In her discussion of this sonnet, Vendler points out parallels: day—limbs, night—mind, day of travel—night of pilgrimage, no quietness for the young man—no quietness for William. Then, she says, glimmering behind some of the words are others: behind “zealous” may be ”jealous.” And, as she explains, William’s night is arduous: “But then begins a journey,” “To work my mind,” “Intend a … pilgrimage,” “keep my … eyelids open,” “Looking on darkness,” “Save that my soul’s … sight,” “Presents thy shadow,” “Lo thus … no quiet.” As when any of us is unable to sleep, each insomniac phase is followed inexorably by another, without respite of “dear repose.”

William, here, seems to have been anxious because he had to leave London for work, and wondered what the young man may have been up to. Although, in the first eight lines he makes a mental pilgrimage to an image of the young man, with the first turning point what William meets, mentally, is a “shadow:” a word which at that time could mean “actor” on a stage, and also “outward behaviour” which Shakespeare tended to contrast with “substance,” meaning inward truth. So the night is “ghastly” because, with the second turning point, although though the poet is awake, alone in bed, perhaps the young man is also awake, in bed with someone else.

Helen Vendler (1997). The art of Shakespeare's sonnets. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Michael Wood (2003). Shakespeare. New York: Basic Books.

Image: Shakespeare from the First Folio of 1623

Extreme Music and the Processing of Anger

Extreme music, such as punk or heavy metal, is associated with anger and arousal due to its chaotic instrumentation, fast tempo, negative lyrical themes, and emotional vocals. Two opposing viewpoints in the literature suggest that extreme music either (1) elicits anger through arousal or (2) allows the listener to process existing anger through arousal. Sharman and Dingle (2015) set out to examine how listeners of extreme music process anger in an experimental design.

People who enjoy listening to extreme music (N = 39) were first induced to feel angry and then assigned to one of two possible conditions, either sitting in silence or listening to extreme music of their own choice for 10 minutes. Physiological arousal was measured in each condition and self-reports of emotional state were gathered before and after the anger induction. In the music condition, the researchers found that participants had a higher mean heart rate than participants who sat in silence, suggesting that extreme music sustained the arousal created by the anger induction. This view was also supported by participants’ own reports, with 79% of participants reporting that they listen to music to fully experience anger when angry. However, self-report ratings of relaxation did not differ by condition and 69% of participants also reported listening to music to calm down when angry. These findings are consistent with the idea that listeners of extreme music use it to match their emotions and emotion-regulation goals. 

There were also some interesting results outside of those related to anger. Ratings of inspiration were higher in the music condition compared to the silence condition, for example. Participants also reported a variety of positive emotional effects for music and all chose to listen to extreme music of their own accord during the music condition. For the often misunderstood genre of extreme music, these findings would seem to support a less negative and stigmatizing view of extreme music fans. This study has provided interesting insight into the emotional processes of extreme music fans and more research should be conducted on the nature of emotional processing and musical preferences.

Reference:
Sharman, L., & Dingle, G. A. (2015). Extreme metal music and anger processing. Frontiers in Human Neuroscience, 9, 272.

Post by Shayan Asadi.

Research Bulletin: Role Playing Videogames and Complex Emotions Like Guilt

Have you ever felt so caught up in a narrative experience that it had a strong emotional impact on you? A recent study by Chad Mahood and Michael Hanus (2017) attempted to better understand this phenomenon, known as narrative transportation, and how it relates to videogames. Specifically, they wondered whether transportation into a role-playing videogame can lead to feelings of guilt, when players play an immoral character. Two major predictions were made: (1) playing an immoral character should lead to stronger feelings of guilt compared to playing a moral character, and (2) transportation should lead to stronger emotions. The researchers were also interested in whether playing an immoral character would promote more aggressive tendencies, compared to playing a moral character. 

In this study, participants watched a short backstory depicting an immoral or moral character whom they then got to play after receiving instructions to imitate that character or no such instructions. Measures of emotion, transportation, aggression, and perceptions of violence were collected from participants after they played the game as this character. The researchers reported two major findings: (1) participants felt guiltiest when instructed to play as an immoral character, and (2) participants experienced feelings of guilt only if they were transported into the game. Playing as an immoral character also produced aggressive thoughts, such as reporting an inclination toward rudeness, threatening behavior, and using physical force.

The results of this study provide pioneering support for the claim that videogames can create feelings of guilt. It also supports the established connection between videogame violence and aggressive tendencies. There are, however, limitations to this study that must be considered. For example, receiving instructions on how to play a character is not how videogames are actually played. Moreover, the results reported were not large in magnitude and it is not clear to what degree they would reflect real world effects. Despite these limitations, videogames appear to have the potential to produce feelings of guilt, and this study is a useful stepping stone toward further research.

Posted by Sean Morse

References

Mahood, C., & Hanus, M. (2017). Role-playing video games and emotion: How transportation into the narrative mediates the relationship between immoral actions and feelings of guilt. Psychology of Popular Media Culture, 6(1), 61-73. doi:10.1037/ppm0000084

* For a copy of the original article, please contact R. Mar (see profile for e-mail).

Black Box → Illuminating Experience: Beginning to Uncover How Video Game Players Transform Negative Emotions into Valued Experiences

Julia Bopp, Elisa Mekler and Klaus Opwis (University of Basel) conducted an exploratory study on video-game player experience. The authors explored emotionally moving experiences, noting how little research has been done on seemingly negative, but still valued, emotional experiences along with those characterized by mixed emotions. A total of 121 participants, of whom 23.1% were female, were recruited from various online gaming forums. Participants were asked to describe an “emotionally moving experience [they] had with a digital game” (p. 2998), and to make attributions as to its cause. They were then asked to rate the features of this experience, divided broadly into enjoyment, appreciation, emotion, and need-fulfillment. 

Sadness was prominent in these moving experiences, with sad emotions predicting a participant’s level of both appreciation and enjoyment of the experience. Appreciation is tied to an acknowledgement that there is some deeper meaning behind something. The researchers thus concluded that a part of players’ appreciation and enjoyment derives from feelings of sadness, as can be seen in one participant’s account of their experience: “‘Never has a video game presented the story of the hero, who sacrifices himself, this beautifully and this touching. I will never forget this moment!’” (p. 3001). These kinds of positive responses to sad situations are perhaps driven by players’ need to experience emotions. 

Another interesting result was the paradoxical role of loss of agency, or loss of direct control within a game. Agency was related to enjoyment and happiness, whereas loss of agency was associated with sadness. However, sadness was also a predictor of both enjoyment and appreciation. In one case of loss of agency, a participant reports having had “…to torture that guy. I really hated it and did not want to do it but the game didn’t leave the choice to me…It was really disturbing’” (p. 3002). However, Bopp and colleagues (2016) noted that for another participant, having no choice but to bury a brother makes for a highly emotional and vivid experience (p. 3003), which participants value. Thus, choosing to take away a player’s agency during a game should endeavor to strike a delicate balance between evoking just enough sadness to enhance appreciation and enjoyment, but not so much loss of control as to erode the happy affect and enjoyment borne of autonomy.

Posted by Krithika Sukumar.

* For a copy of the original article, please contact R. Mar (see profile for e-mail).

Bopp, J. A., Mekler, E. D., & Opwis, K. (2016). Negative Emotion, Positive Experience?
Emotionally Moving Moments in Digital Games. Proceedings of the 2016 CHI Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems. 2996-3006.

The Arts and Empathy

Last night I participated in a wonderful symposium on the relation between the arts and empathy, organized by Roots of Empathy and hosted at the Bata Shoe Museum. The panel consisted of Cameron Bailey (Artistic Director, Toronto International Film Festival) and Martha Durbin (Chair, Board of Trustees for the Royal Ontario Museum), along with myself. Dr. Ellen Winner (Boston College) was also an intended participant via Skype, but unfortunately the technology did not cooperate. Mary Ito (CBC, Roots of Empathy) did a wonderful job as moderator, guiding us through a discussion of how various forms of the arts might possibly help to foster empathy with others, particularly those who are different from ourselves and often members of vulnerable populations. So many interesting ideas got bandied about, but a few broad ideas stood out to me:

1. How might different forms of art, such as theatre, film, historical artifacts, and even non-representational/non-figurative abstract visual art potentially provoke and challenge people to take on the experiences of others who live quite different lives from our own?

2. Does art attract empathic people? Does it foster empathy in people who come to art? Or could both things be true simultaneously?

3. Why do some instances of art succeed in encouraging the audience to empathize with someone quite different from him or herself, whereas other instances of art might fail to do so?

4. How might art affect children differently from adults, with respect to the promotion or engagement of empathy?

This night was also a reminder to me of the absolutely fantastic work that Roots of Empathy does throughout the world. For those who don't know, Roots of Empathy is a program in which young schoolchildren, often those living in under-served neighbourhoods, are guided through a series of lessons centred around visits by a parent and her baby. I had the very good fortune of witnessing the program in action and I have to say it's absolutely amazing. You can read more about my take in a previous post. Please consider supporting this wonderful organization in any way you can. For those interested in making a financial contribution, it is possible to do so here.

A huge thank you to the organizers for allowing me to a part of this, Mary for her deft moderating skills, and Cameron and Martha for fostering such an interesting and entertaining discussion.

Research Bulletin: Do "You" Feel Things More Deeply than "I"?

You enter the room, spot the glances of your peers and know, that you are about to overcome your greatest weaknesses.

What does this line mean to you? Did you feel present? Empowered? Fearful? Some sort of emotional reaction would seem likely given the gravity of these words. But, intriguingly, it might not be the most obvious words in this sentence that drive your emotional reaction. Reading something like “overcome” or “greatest weaknesses” can certainly prompt strong feelings but this might be particularly the case thanks to the personal pronoun “you.” Based on fascinating research by Tad Brunyé and colleagues, It seems that reading something in the second person (using “you” as the pronoun) can elicit stronger reactions compared to reading an identical text using the first-person (i.e. “I”) (Brunyé et al., 2011). 

When we read a story, we don’t simply come to understand the information contained within the piece. Reading a story also involves imagining the events described and implied. In effect, we build a model in our minds of what’s going on in the story, known as a “situation model.” Situation models represent a wide range of information from the story, including how things look, smell, and feel, along with the emotions and actions of characters. It is these models that prompt us to embody the narrative, or feel as if we are a part of them, and all of this can be enhanced by the pronouns used. It has been shown that using the second-person (i.e. “you”) is more effective at having readers see things from a character’s perspective; compared to the first-person (i.e., “I”) or third-person (i.e., “he”). 

In a recent study, it was suggested that readers develop more in-depth situation models when they put themselves in the shoes of the characters in the story (Brunyé et al., 2011). This theory was tested by observing how readers represent events that either use “you” or “I” when describing the protagonist. In the experiment, each of the 48 native English-speaking undergraduates from Tufts University were told to read 8 passages, 4 of which used “you” as a pronoun and 4 of which used “I” as a pronoun. How well people understood each passage was measured by having people respond as quickly as possible to some yes-or-no comprehension questions. Importantly, arriving at the correct answer required participants to make some inferences regarding what was represented by the text, rather than simply remembering the text itself. In addition, before and after each passage read, emotions were measured. 

What the researchers found was that when “you” appeared in the passages, readers answered the comprehension questions more accurately and more quickly, compared to when they read the passages using “I.” This result was true only for information about the space described in the story (e.g. was the desk at the corner of the room?). Reading passages that employed “you” as the pronoun also resulted in greater shifts in emotion as a result of reading the passage, relative to the “I” passages. In other words, using the second-person (i.e., “you”) led readers to experience more profound emotions. 

It appears that stories that use the second-person may produce more emotional experiences in readers. But, why is this? The researchers suggest that reading about “you” can prompt readers to place themselves in the shoes of the characters they read, therefore thinking of themselves as being in the situation described and as a result, feel these emotions more profoundly. 

These findings might be useful for writers looking for a leg up in producing an emotional reaction in readers. Helping readers to feel a part of the story and see things from a character’s perspective, such as using “you” instead of “I,” will certainly help!

Posted by Michelle Vinitsky

References

Brunyé, T. T., Ditman, T., Mahoney, C. R., Augustyn, J. S., & Taylor, H. A. (2009). When you and I 
share perspectives: Pronouns modulate perspective-taking during narrative comprehension. Psychological Science, 20, 27-32.

Brunyé, T. T., Ditman, T., Mahoney, C. R., Taylor, H. A. (2011). Better you than I: Perspectives and 
emotion simulation during narrative comprehension. Journal of Cognitive Psychology, 23, 659-666.

Research Bulletin: Empathy and Fantasy Role Playing Games

Negative stereotypes about “gamers”, those who play all kinds of games (e.g., videogames, boardgames, etc.), are everywhere. Indeed, those who “game” are often thought of as lazy, nerdy, or even out of touch with reality. Yet while we often clump gamers together as one big group, the act of gaming can actually encompass countless different types of activities appealing to a wide variety of different people. One particularly interesting type of gaming is the fantasy role-playing game (RPG), in which players create their own fictional characters as well as develop the fictional worlds where those characters exist.

  

Playing a fantasy RPG, then, is a little bit like doing improv in drama class: players create characters (deciding upon the characters’ qualities, attitudes and beliefs) and play “make believe” with others embodying their own characters. And just as drama classes have their benefits (Schellenberg, 2004), research is beginning to show that there may be some positive aspects to playing fantasy RPGs, which so far seem to have flown under the radar. Specifically, because this type of gaming requires players to take another’s perspective, it has been suggested that people who play fantasy RPGs may have a higher capacity for empathy: the ability to share in someone else’s thoughts, feelings, and perspective on the world (Davis, 1994; Wondra & Ellsworth, 2015). 

Recently, a study was conducted that examined this very possibility (Rivers, Wickramasekera II, Pekala & Rivers, 2016). Researchers measured levels of four distinct types of empathy in a group of self-proclaimed fantasy RPG-players, as well as how “absorbed” (i.e., “lost in the story”) they tended to feel while playing. When the authors compared these levels to the general population, they found that fantasy RPG-players scored significantly higher than average on every facet of empathy. In addition, the more absorbed a player reported being, the higher their self-reported empathy and vice versa. Intriguingly, the authors note that this association between engagement with stories and engagement with people is found not only in the “gamer” population, but also in the general public. So, gamers tend to be more empathic the more they become immersed in the game, and the same is observed among those who have a tendency to become highly immersed in other types of fictional stories. These results are correlational, of course, and so it is not clear whether the act of playing fantasy RPGs improves empathy, whether more empathic people gravitate toward these types of games, or some other factor plays a role.

Of course, the stigma behind gaming remains, but it’s time to pay attention to its advantages. Although many of us are quick to dismiss gamers as out of touch, we may in fact be the ones missing out on a crucial skill of human connection. 

Posted by Shaina List.

Davis, M. H. (1994). Empathy: A social psychological approach. Boulder, CO: Westview Press.

Rivers, A., Wickramasekera II, I. E., Pekala, R. J., & Rivers, J. A. (2016). Empathic features and absorption in fantasy role-playing. American Journal of Clinical Hypnosis, 58, 286- 294.

Schellenberg, E. G. (2004). Music lessons enhance IQ. Psychological Science, 15, 511–514.

Wondra, J., & Ellsworth, P. (2015). An appraisal theory of empathy and other emotional experiences. Psychological Review, 122, 411–428.

Stories of the Earth: Prince reminds us how much care it takes to live with each other

The week of Earth Day was intense in Minneapolis this year. Earth Day eve, already a time of pensive introspection given the reminder of climate change this year has been (the pile of street snow that usually would not be melted at the end of my driveway for another month has been gone for over two months already!) and ongoing struggles with dire racial inequalities, also brought the news of Prince's death. As my hometown's most notable hero, Prince has inspired not only the overnight purplization of the city (everyone I encountered on Earth Day was wearing purple, and murals like the one pictured went up immediately), but also an Earth Day sung in and out with all night mourning dance parties. 

I will remain brief and encourage readers to go back to watching amazing Prince music videos and sharing their stories with friends, but will also share a quick reflection of my own. Listening to and watching the outpouring of remembrance and appreciation amongst all my friends (most of whom grew up here, in the inspiring and liberating purple shadow -- and who are giving bookish tributes, #princerevelry, and more), a significant part of what I am hearing echoed is the caring work that makes it possible to live with each other. Van Jones emotional remembrance perhaps has made this most visible for people, opening up the view to Prince's humanitarianism, if they hadn't been paying attention to visible work such as Planet Earth or his more subtle involvement building and funding Green for All and #YesWeCode. Watching those music videos (such as this one with Beyonce) in this light reveals ways of listening and responding that seem important to learn from (this moment, this move!) -- they make Prince so sexy and so loved partly because they show graceful and creative ways of acting on paying attention and caring. 

Caring enough to continue living here seems like one important way to practice our celebration of Earth and its communities, and trying to pay attention, then figuring out what to DO about what we've noticed, like Prince, seems a good tribute.

Are shrubs the hipster scented candle? Shrubs and Fermentation, part 2 of 2

As I should perhaps have explained in my prior essay struggling through the social justice implications of sugars and flavorings, shrubs are intense extractions of aromatic compounds from plant matter, contributing a much wider and more idiosyncratic flavoring of beverages. They are often extracted by the combination of fruits, herbs, and spices with sugar and cider vinegar, the active bacterial cultures of which continue to ferment the sugars and fruits, creating novel but recognizable flavors—often from produce that might otherwise have spoiled, such as softening fruits.

Given contemporary interest in mixology, shrubs represent a rediscovery of longstanding folk foodways, such as making switchel (highlighted in the haying scene featured in my childhood copy of the Little House on the Prairie cookbook, for example). They are often also used to perform claims about the tastes of place, taking advantage of locally characteristic flavors and preserving them in relatively storable — and marketable — ways.

Shrubs are also an excellent example of what are often characterized as hipster approaches to consumption and production, emphasizing artisanal craft and unique and intense experience, particularly in the mundane materiality of everyday life. As part of a recent project exploring the uses of edible signal species of climate change, I have been learning about shrubs, and experiencing their intensity has led me to pose this question about whether they represent something like a hipster version of scented candles, a question I think is interesting beyond the superficial similarity of enjoyable aroma.

As a person who has always avoided artificial scents because of unpleasant effects such as headache and respiratory tract pain, I have often been dubious about the appeal of cinnamon-scented stores, smelly candles and fruity personal care items, and air fresheners in general. (And research on the effects of phthalates and other substances used in these scented products reinforces my concern and suggests that people with heightened chemical sensitivities to such substances may well be providing coal-mine canary services to the broader populace.) However, the half hour I spent sniffing at my first shrub once it had brewed (when I had rescued impulse-buy strawberries and some leftover parsley) gave me a sudden appreciation for the sensory pleasure that scented candles must provide for others less punished by them!

Recognizing the joy and beauty of this sensory enjoyment — whether it's a more protected and less acute one, or a more sensation seeking version — makes me also recognize some of the social dynamics caught up in the celebration of the invitation to inhabit a particular place through the senses, or the deriding of poor taste around someone else's scent preferences. As with the precious approach to many food and "lifestyle" choice, things like scent can be used not only for enjoyment, but to perform that enjoyment in ways that signal class positioning as well as empathy for other (as with sugar boycotts). Implications for the ways we craft narratives of of the senses may include more attention to the way we invite others to share or explore our experiences of sensory delight, without dismissiveness or judgment and with attention to the embedding of privilege in foodie preciousness. (A wonderful film treatment of taste this evokes is The Taste of Others!)

Trivial Liberation? Shrubs and Fermentation, part 1 of 2

I have often wondered about the role food stories play in organizing people's food behaviors. I'm particularly interested in the intersection between exploratory experiments with food -- prone to being consumed by detail oriented foodie enthusiasm -- and more social justice motivated food actions. It seems that storytelling habits that reinforce trivial aspects of improvement along the food chain can risk undermining more liberatory efforts. At the same time, though, fun food enthusiasms can provide venues for practicing comfort with the significant challenges of liberating food production from the considerable oppression currently found in food production, harvesting, processing,  preparing, serving, and associated clean-up.

I have been considering how to engage those tensions recently as I have learned about a foodie trend that may be particularly characteristic of the current moment in our food culture: shrubs. 

Shrubs have many layers of taste and story. As I've discovered with pies, shrubs can be considered at a basic level to be something to do with fruits that might not otherwise be usable, which is how I discovered them. I returned home from my first visit to Georgia recently with the remnants of an impulse buy of strawberries: they weren't very good, but the amount of labor and resources that go into strawberries meant I didn't want to waste them. I realized that this was a moment to look into those delicious flavors I'd seen popping up at what appear to be a new manifestation of soda fountains bubbling up in hip neighborhoods. And this turned out to be a fruitful insight! Steeped with sugar and apple cider vinegar, which itself continues to ferment the sugar and fruit sugar along with whatever herbs and spices one adds, this process provides a potent flavoring, a spoonful of which can replace a whole can of soda in terms of flavor.

But it takes sugar! Here's where I find myself jumping on the schoolyard seesaw of food justifications. Sugar is such a high impact food, both for the people involved in growing and processing it, and on the ecologies it affects -- as the historical Wedgewood pattern pictured reminds us, from an era when sugar was recognized to be a significant driver of the Atlantic "triangle" trade that enslaved people (in part to create the sugar for tea to drive industrial workers, too). But processes like this kind of fermentation, although they may be making me buy more sugar at the outset, may use so much less over time, if I can replace sugar additions with smaller amounts of this more flavorful creation.  It's also more complex -- possibly even more DIFFICULT -- in flavor, so it's something one might appreciate in smaller servings anyways. But even if it also gives me an added use for citrus peels I would have otherwise discovered, still, it's SUGAR. This tendency to get stuck on a seesaw is a dialectical narrative structure I find instructive when thinking about the food movement. 

One of the things it helps highlight is how even if these foodie rabbit holes help familiarize people with many dynamics of food production they might otherwise not have noticed, no amount of personal choice is likely to create adequate change unless it is organized into collective movements to actually improve the conditions of food production and build supportive regulations. The plates with these Wedgewood patterns above supported Abolitionists as they both organized mass boycotts of sugar produced through slavery (involving both alternative sources in contexts where people were consuming what sounds like remarkably high amounts of sugar and also going without sugar at all in many cases) at the same time that they shaped the legislation that eventually abolished slavery in the U.K. and eventually the U.S. 

Taking Up Space: Embodying Formations of Visionary Fiction

As I have noted in the past, I study with an organization that provides yoga training in the context of disability, and every year, they hold a month-long "Kiss My Asana" yogathon, which I take as an opportunity to explore embodied experience more deeply, particularly how every body can access the most experience. Following the lead of Matt Sanford, who runs MindBody Solutions, I'm organizing my yogathon practice around creating context where it is possible to try to take up as much space as possible -- a feeling I think can be easiest to access through poses that encourage you to push out like a star. 

Last weekend's amazing Formation video repeatedly featured this star-spaced theme -- combining the physical act of making space with attention to the social relationships that challenge or support this space making, something I'd like to stay a few more things about, given that moving the yogathon to February from its prior location in April has placed it squarely in Black History Month.

This child takes this space in front of a line of riot police, which gives a sense of how this act of reaching out can take different kinds of effort, since the star-reaching, dry-swimming, afro-maintaining dance formation in the pool is obviously not easy.

Beyoncé is obviously very powerful -- and part of what has made Formation rock the internet is not just the power of star poses, but their particular use: pitting that power in both powerful and vulnerable ways against oppression:

Splayed out on a police car as it submerges in a New Orleans flood, after asking "Stop shooting us," or restaging plantation representations, she enacts what Adrienne Maree Brown describes as important visionary fiction, showing possibility and what the space it inhabits looks like:

Research Bulletin: Do "Emotional Rollercoasters" Make Stories More Persuasive?

Researchers have long been interested in how what we read influences what we think. Many of us may find, for instance, that the plot of a novel sparks our interest in a controversial issue or that its characters help us to see perspectives we hadn’t considered. But how do the stories we read change our attitudes and what makes a given story more likely to do so? Although scientists have put forth many ideas to answer this question, our emotional engagement with stories appears to be a key component to their influence. For example, our attitudes may change in response to a story because of the particular emotions it provokes and strong emotional responses may also motivate us to share the stories we read with others (e.g. Dunlop et al., 2010; Heath, Bell & Sternberg, 2001). 

A recent theory by Robin Nabi (UCSB) and Melanie Green (Buffalo) suggests, however, that the way our emotions change as we engage with stories may be equally important (Nabi & Green, 2015). In other words, shifts in how we feel as we engage with a story might evoke subsequent shifts in our opinions and attitudes -- making those shifts more powerful and long-lasting. In their article, "The Role of Narrative's Emotional Flow in Promoting Persuasive Outcomes", Nabi and Green (2015) propose several intriguing possibilities for how this may take place. 

First, we must choose to attend to a message in order for it to be persuasive and the desire to change our own emotions may play a role. As Zillman's (1988; 2000) mood management theory suggests, we choose messages that we think will evoke a desirable mood -- for instance, we may choose to read comedy to “perk us up” when we’re sad. Secondly, emotional shifts may influence how we process the stories we're engaged with. The authors give the example that points of emotional change within a story may take up more of our mental energy, and this means we are less likely to argue with its underlying message. Ultimately, this effect makes the story more persuasive. Finally, it is suggested that a flux of emotional experience may change the way we interact with a story's message after we're finished reading. We may, for example, engage in further research about a topic from the story that caught our interest. The authors explain that this is more likely to occur when the events within a story are perceived as novel or surprising and that such events are often tied to emotional changes.   

In short, it appears that it is not only emotional quality or depth that influences whether stories can change our attitudes, but also the "twists and turns" of emotions that make stories more persuasive. And in our increasingly complex world, the means by which stories harness the power to open our minds and spark change is certainly a topic worthy of further study.

Post by Shaina List

* For a copy of this article, please contact R. Mar (e-mail in About section).

Dunlop, S. M., Kashima, Y., & Wakefield, M. (2010). Predictors and consequences
of conversations about health promoting media messages. Communication
Monographs, 77, 518–539. doi:10.1080/03637751.2010.502537

Heath, C., Bell, C., & Sternberg, E. (2001). Emotional selection in memes: The case
of urban legends. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 81, 1028–1041.
doi:10.1037/0022-3514.81.6.1028

Nabi, R.L. & Green, M.C. (2015). The role of a narrative's emotional flow in promoting persuasive outcomes. Media Psychology, 18:2, 137-162. doi:10.1080/15213269.2014.912585

Zillmann, D. (1988). Mood management: Using entertainment to full advantage. In L.
Donohew & H. E. Sypher (Eds.), Communication, social cognition, and affect
(pp. 147–171). Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum.

Zillmann, D. (2000). Mood management in the context of selective exposure theory.
Communication Yearbook, 23, 103–123.

Research Bulletin: Engaging with Compelling Stories and Promoting Prosocial Behavior

Deep engagement in a narrative is sometimes known as “transportation”, based on the metaphor of being transported into a narrative world (Gerrig, 1993). This includes our level of immersion in a narrative, including our ability to understand, pay attention to, and have strong emotional experiences in reaction to characters and events in a narrative. Being deeply transported into a narrative also makes us more likely to be persuaded by the themes embedded in the story. Kelly A. Correa, Bradly T. Stone, Maja Stikic, Robin R. Johnson, and Chris Berka (Advanced Brain Monitoring, inc.) set out to find whether narratives could promote prosocial behaviour, such as donating to a charity. Their study involved participants (N = 49) watching a video of a professional storyteller telling one of two possible versions of a story, with both stories having a theme of fairness and justice. The two versions of the story differed in the level of injustice present at the story’s resolution, along with the degree of empathy elicited toward the protagonist and antagonist. While watching the video, the researchers monitored the heart-rate of the participants to gauge their emotional reactions to the story. After viewing the video, participants completed questionnaires about the narrative and their level of immersion in the story. Lastly, participants had the opportunity to donate to a charity of their choice at the end of the study (out of a selection of 3 possible charities). 

The researchers found that the level of injustice portrayed in the story had an effect on participants’ decision to donate. Only 21.7% participants who listened to the version of the story with the unjust resolution donated, compared to 46.2% of the participants exposed to the just resolution. Additionally, participants’ emotional states and the variability in their heart rate predicted their donation behaviour. 

This study provides evidence that narratives can persuade and influence concrete prosocial behaviour. It also highlights how emotion plays an important role in motivating the behaviours endorsed by a story. 

Correa, K. A., Stone, B. T., Stikic, M., Johnson, R. R., & Berka, C. (2015). Characterizing donation behaviour from psychophysiological indices of narrative experience. Frontiers in Neuroscience, 9:301. doi: 10.3389/fnins.2015.00301

Gerrig, R. J. (1993). Experiencing narrative worlds. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

Post by Lilach Dahoah-Halevi

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Harry Potter in the fMRI Machine

How do readers immerse themselves in thrilling passages of novels and short stories? Some principles are clear. First the writer depicts a protagonist whom readers like. Next, usually by the agency of an antagonist, the protagonist is put in danger. The reader experiences empathetic fear on behalf of the protagonist, and reads on to see how he or she will fare. In cognitive studies of literature, this experience of becoming engaged in a story is called immersion, or becoming lost in a book.

In a study of the brain regions involved in thrill-based immersion, Chen-Ting Hsu, Markus Conrad, and Arthur Jacobs, of the Free University of Berlin, had people in a functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging  (fMRI) machine read brief passages (each four lines long) selected from Harry Potter books to be either fear inducing or neutral and, after each passage had been read, they collected ratings of how the participants felt during reading. Participants had to have read at least one Harry Potter book previously, to take part in the experiment.

The researchers found that immersion was significantly higher for the fear inducing passages than for the neutral passages, and that the main area of activation in the brain was the mid-cingulate cortex. It has been proposed that this region is associated with empathy for personal distress. In the fear-inducing passages used in this study, rather than emotions being labelled there was an emphasis on actions associated with these emotions. Emphasis on action-based aspects was thought to be important in engaging the readers, and it connects with the hypothesized function of the mid-cingulate cortex in motor rather than sensory processes. 

The induction of empathetic fear in readers isn’t the only process by which readers become engaged in stories but the fact that the thriller genre has become popular indicates that for many it is a significant one. For immersion to occur it seems important for readers to experience emotions, not the emotions of the characters but their own emotions, perhaps empathetically, and by imagined actions, in the circumstances that protagonists enter.

Hsu, C.-T., Conrad, M., & Jacobs, A. M. (2014). Fiction feelings in Harry Potter: Haemodynamic response in the mid-cingulate cortex correlates with immersive reading experience. NeuroReport, 25, 1356-1361.

Image: Activation of mid-cingulate cortex during reading of fear-inducing passages in Fig 1b of Hsu et al.’s study.