Beyond the Metaphor: Conceptualizing Children’s Literature as (part of) a Rhizomatic Network

3.1 Storyworld

In spite of »embrac[ing] intertextual equality, reject[ing] old hierarchical distinctions, and seek[ing] to blur the boundaries between adaptations and related forms« (Cardwell 2018, 12–3), much of the adaptation studies scholarship has focused on novel-to-film adaptations, and children’s literature scholars are no exception (McCallum 2018; Hermansson 2019; Meeusen 2020). Commenting on Hutcheon’s A Theory of Adaptation (2006), Kamilla Elliott suggests that »opening the field beyond the usual suspects of literature, theatre and film to include ›video games, theme park rides, Web sites, graphic novels, song covers, operas, musicals, ballets, and radio and stage plays‹« results in fluid and »unclear borders and boundaries« (Elliott 2013, 30–1). Elliott concludes that »Hutcheon’s theory is more pastiche than system« (ibid., 31), copy-pasting method from one field to another instead of accounting for the specifics of the adaptation at hand. Such an undertaking, though desirable, is not without risks, as Deborah Cartmell and Imelda Whelehan warn »in the attempt to anticipate every possible permutation of the relationship between one storyworld form and another we attempt a list that will never be exhaustive but is, frankly, exhausting« (Cartmell/Whelehan 2010, 22).

The rhizomatic network has the merit to propose an overview of as many versions of a storyworld as one can collect and connect, not in an attempt at exhaustivity, but rather awareness and inclusivity of even the more borderline cases. For instance, Hutcheon wonders: »would a museum exhibit be an adaptation?« (Hutcheon 2008, 172). From the perspective of the rhizomatic network, a museum exhibit would be a node like any other, connected to the work(s) from which it derives, yet situated in its own unique context of production and reception. Figure 3 gives an inexhaustive overview of different versions of the Bear Hunt storyworld that I have been able to collect. Though the rhizomatic network is a random-access and non-hierarchical model, indicating chronology by means of arrows is not necessarily incompatible with those features. While the arrows provide more context on the production processes and signal directions of influence (after Blankier 2014, 110), the random-access nature of the rhizome emphasises that it has no bearing on the audience’s consumption processes.

Fig. 3:

The network of some Bear Hunt versions.

Instead of making an attempt at terminological clarity and uniformity, the network foregrounds the idea of connection and frames intermedial adaptations and translations as »processes in which connections are established between two different modes of representation« (Schober 2013, 89), thus creating a »new set of relations« whereby »something unique is produced« (Cartmell/Whelehan 2010, 22). In that respect, transmedia storytelling is a particularly relevant concept when addressing the way(s) in which the new product is unique, as it refers to »stories that unfold across multiple media platforms, with each medium making distinctive contributions to our understanding of the world, a more integrated approach to franchise and development than models based on urtexts and ancillary products« (Jenkins 2006, 293). It should nonetheless be mentioned that »transmedia« does not fully account for all the versions of the work in the rhizome. The French dub of an animated film, for instance, does not change medium. In that case, the storyworld does not cross medial but linguistic and cultural boundaries. In that respect, Klaus Kaindl’s translation taxonomy (2013) offers a broader overview of modal and linguistic shifts. Kaindl uses the term »translation« as encompassing adaptation processes, and his model consists of intramodal intracultural translation, intramodal transcultural translation, intermodal intracultural translation, and intermodal transcultural translation. This model could be supplemented with the parameters »intramedial« and »intermedial« in order to incorporate the change of medium that is suggested by the concept of transmedia storytelling. According to that model, the French dub of the Gruffalo animated film would be an intramodal (within the same mode; aural), transcultural (in a different language; from English to French), intramedial (within the same medium; animated film) translation of the English dub.

Not only is each version of the storyworld different in terms of parameters such as medium, language and genre, but there is also »a wider communicative context [to adaptations] that any theory of adaptation would do well to consider« (Hutcheon 2006, 26), which includes temporal, geographical, ideological, and socio-cultural factors. The complexity of that context cannot be understated. As Colin MacCabe points out: »the number of variables involved in any adaptation approach[es] infinity« (MacCabe 2011, 8).

From the consumer’s perspective, the experience of the network is much different. For one, the awareness and construction of an »adaptation« arises from the consumer’s knowledge of the network of a particular storyworld. Regina Schober argues: »In order for an adaptation to be identified as such, and to acquire its status as an adaptation, there must be an active process of forming specific connections to a reference medium either on the production or the reception side« (Schober 2013, 90; my emphasis). This point can also be made regarding translations: although paratextual information (usually) provides somewhat clear indications that a picturebook is a translation, not all readers – especially children, even more so if they cannot yet read – will be aware of it. Media such as films and video games require knowledge of their production context or a thorough reading of the DVD box or video game credits to be aware of their status as translations.

The network exists as a passive construct, but becomes an active and organic entity as the consumer makes their way through the different versions of a work, effectively making connections. And even then, its random-access quality and the fact that »[e]ach … entry needs to be self-contained« (Jenkins 2006, 96) mean that the consumer can access any number of nodes in any order, including only accessing one. However, »[r]eading across the media sustains a depth of experience that motivates consumption« (ibid.). This goes back to Martin’s example: any version of the Charlotte’s Web is Charlotte’s Web, and the combinations of all versions of Charlotte’s Web is Charlotte’s Web. While forces such as canonisation, fidelity and nostalgia still hold sway on the part of the audience and tend to place some versions of the storyworld above others in terms of prestige and/or authority, the rhizomatic network is non-hierarchical. As such, it reflects the experience of »consumer children who no longer view the printed text as the only way to experience [the work, because] multimedia adaptations have been the normal publishing practice in their lifetime« (Martin 2009, 88), thus framing each version of the storyworld less as »a resuscitation of an originary word than a turn in an ongoing dialogical process« (Stam 2004, 25).

3.2 Context

According to Adami and Ramos Pinto, the context of a work includes »participants in each of these processes [design, production, distribution/circulation], and the social and semiotic resources available to make signs and meanings« (Adami/Ramos Pinto 2020, 73). In Figure 4, I propose a visual representation of the context of the Bear Hunt film, which includes individual participants such as Michael Rosen (as scriptwriter), Helen Oxenbury (as scriptwriter), Joanna Harrison (as filmmaker and scriptwriter), Robin Shaw (as filmmaker), and Olivia Colman (as voice actor), as well as organisations as participants: Channel 4 (the network broadcasting it) and Lupus film (the studio producing it). Adami and Ramos Pinto further argue that social and semiotic resources are tied to the medium and its context of production and distribution (in this case: animated film broadcast on TV). To further illustrate that networks are not self-contained but rather interconnected with other networks, Michael Rosen and Helen Oxenbury are also part of the context of the picturebook, respectively as author and illustrator. Both are also part of the context of the song, Rosen through his live shows and Helen Oxenbury as the illustrator of Alison McMorland’s vinyl cover. In addition, Joanna Harrison started her career as a storyboard artist on Raymond Brigg’s adaptation of The Snowman (1978), which is connected to the Bear Hunt through her, as well as through their genre (Christmas film) and broadcasting context (films broadcast on Christmas Eve on Channel 4). At the level of the text, the use of a scarf as a token of remembrance tied to loss and grief in the Bear Hunt film may be an intertextual reference to a similar use of the scarf in the Snowman film. Those common traits result in the two films often being compared or mentioned alongside one another. This brief example illustrates Karen Coats’s statement that »the site of a text’s production, form, and audience response are webbed and mutually informing« (Coats 2017, 222).

As mentioned in section 1, network representations are simplified and fail to provide certain information. Notably, crucial spatio-temporal information is missing. Such information is important in order to gain a better understanding not only of the full context of a given node, but also of the relations between nodes. For example, whether a retranslation is »hot« or »cold«;^[5] whether technological advances need to be taken into account between the film and the video game; whether the initial audience of the picturebook is the same as that of the film.

Fig. 4:

The context of the Bear Hunt film as a rhizomatic network.

Conceptualising the context of production and reception of children’s literature as a network also helps shed light on the notion of »core« of a story (sometimes also expressed as »essence« or »spirit«). While such elusive terms suggest that the core is a quality inherent to the storyworld, a study conducted by Barbara Herrnstein Smith in 1980 on 345 variants of Cinderella led to the conclusion that: »it was difficult to establish a common core beyond a very general level. […] even if there was some consensus […] this would be because the people producing this basic story had a similar background, and similar purpose« (Brownlie 2006, 149; my emphasis). This displaces the idea of core from the storyworld and its different versions to their respective contexts of production and reception. Much like the hole in a donut is a hole because of what is around it, what creates the similar core of a storyworld is a similar context, not an inherent quality.

3.3 Text

Moving from the context to the text – or multimodal ensemble – Hartmut Stöckl makes the argument that multimodality can be modelled as a »networked system of core modes, medial variants, peripheral modes, sub-modes« (Stöckl 2004, 9). However, his proposed model is »a hierarchically structured and networked system, in which any one mode can be seen to fall into sub-modes which in their turn consist of distinct features that make up the sub-mode« (ibid., 12; my emphasis). More recent models, such as Pérez-González’s (2014), follow a similar hierarchical structure. It is not so surprising that hierarchy is inherent to multimodality, as multimodality functions with broader categories and more fine-grained ones in order to provide the necessary nuance and precision. For instance, the aural category encompasses the modes »voice«, »music«, and »sound effects«, and the mode »voice« can be divided into sub-modes including »pitch«, »volume«, »tone«. Across levels, however, no node is more important than the others. It is especially important because, just like the printed text, the textual mode has benefited from more attention and prestige, as it supposedly has »the highest ›reach‹«, the ability to »serve the widest range of communicative functions« and to enable »the highest, most complex forms of thinking« (Jewitt/Bezemer/O’Halloran 2016, 3). This assumption underpins part of the book-to-film discourse in adaptation studies, which focuses on what media can and cannot do (see Lindsay 1915; Bluestone 1957; Chatman 1980). However, researchers working with multimodality have pointed out that it is not so much about which mode is »better« than the others, but about the different meaning-making potentials offered by each (Jewitt/Bezemer/O’Halloran 2016, 3). By being non-hierarchical, the rhizome model visually emphasises that modes exist alongside one another and in combination with one another, and therefore resists text-centred approaches. While, in practice, multimodal ensembles are experienced as »wholes«, it is useful for researchers in the field of multimodality to be able to have an overview of the different resources involved in the creation of a given semiotic product. As such, the random-access nature of the rhizomatic network makes it possible to focus on any element of that whole, or combinations thereof, depending on the research at hand.

Since one of the goals of this article is to propose a useful way of conceptualizing multimodality as a rhizomatic network, it is important to acknowledge the other forms that naturally emerge and that could supplement that representation. In Forms, Caroline Levine evokes four different forms that are »particularly common, pervasive – and also significant […] political structures that have most concerned literary and cultural studies scholars« (Levine 2015, 21): whole, rhythm, hierarchy, and network. Conceptualising multimodality as a hierarchy and as a whole offer complementary approaches, insofar as the former reflects the top-down, theoretical breakdown of meaning-making resources into categories and sub-categories, while the latter reflects the experience of the consumers, who experience the »synergy« (Sipe 2012) of modes and the meaning resulting from their combinations.

As mentioned previously, several typologies of modes and sub-modes exist depending on their field of application. In this article, I makes use of the following modal categories: visual, textual, aural (Oittinen/Ketola/Garavini 2017), as well as tactile and olfactory. In order to refine my analysis, I also use the term »sub-modes« (Stöckl 2004; Pérez-González 2014). For instance, an image is a visual mode, and its sub-modes include colours, lines, shading and perspective.

Since meaning arises from the synergy of all modes and sub-modes, the connections between them are a given. It is, therefore, not useful to represent those in practice. Instead, I propose to use the rhizomatic network model to highlight salient connections between (sub-)modes in order to foreground interesting dynamics and combinations. The rhizomatic network makes it possible to highlight certain connections, combining bottom-up and top-down approaches. Through the former, I observe the resources used in a specific product of children’s literature and how they connect to create meaning. Through the latter, I consider the rhizomatic network of modes through a specific lens, or research question. Looking at the scene in which the mouse meets the Gruffalo through the network model illustrated below (Figure 5 and 6), I want to demonstrate that the multimodal arrangement of the scene strengthens the threat that the Gruffalo represents.

The hybrid model based on Bar-Yam’s (2002) combines hierarchical features with lateral rhizomatic connections. Figure 5 shows the modal categories and the sub-modes, and highlights lateral connections. Figure 6 removes the hierarchical aspect. As a result, some nodes appear to be floating or to not be connected to all the nodes. This is because of the postulate underpinning this model, i. e. that all modes are connected to begin with (bottom-up). I have therefore only mapped the connections relevant to my study (top-down).

The three nodes at the top represent the main modal categories combined in that scene. To make meaning, it uses textual, aural, and visual resources, in this case: text, voice and illustrations. Their respective sub-modes are connected to them through dotted arrows while lateral connections between sub-modes are represented by full arrows. The arrows, once again, highlight the direction of influence. For instance, a sudden change in font size can influence the volume of the reader’s voice. Likewise, the rhythm encoded in the text will prompt a certain reading rhythm. The character design, their facial expression, body language, attributes, and physical appearance can prompt certain intonations or voices: the Gruffalo is likely to speak in a more booming voice than the little brown mouse.

Fig. 5:

Modal and sub-modal combinations in a scene from the Gruffalo.

Fig. 6:

Sub-modal combinations in a scene from the Gruffalo.

In this part, I would like to invite the reader to dig their copy of the Gruffalo from the dusty box in their basement or attic and follow along. Looking at the composition, the Gruffalo is in the foreground, in immediate proximity to the mouse – and to the reader. The creature looks scary (character design, reinforced by a bird flying away from the Gruffalo) and hungry (facial expression; its tongue is out). The mouse pauses (the shadow under the mouse almost suggests that it stopped mid-stride, or alternatively that it jumped in fear) and looks afraid (body language and facial expression) as the Gruffalo walks in its direction (composition), and against the reading direction, thus blocking both the mouse and the reader in their idle progression. The layout of the text is uneven: there is a lot more text on the left (mouse’s side) than on the right (Gruffalo’s side), which conveys a sense of urgency. The reader has time to read the lengthy text under the mouse but once they reach the side of the page where the Gruffalo is, there is very little text, as the threat is imminent. The length of the text, combined with the imminence of the threat may also influence the reading speed of the text (reading faster as the Gruffalo approaches). The metric used in the written text prompts readers to read rhythmically, while the sense of urgency conveyed by the mouse’s body language can increase reading speed. The change of font size on the »Oh!« (and punctuation) suggests surprise. In addition, the character design and facial expression of the Gruffalo might prompt metacommentary during the read-aloud process, reinforcing its threatening presence, and so might the mouse’s body language and facial expression.

While a bottom-up approach emphasises the wealth of modes and sub-modes involved in the meaning-making process, a top-down approach helps refine it and focus on the nodes and connections that are relevant for the question at hand. In this case, I have decided not to include such sub-modes as perspective, lines or colours, as they were less relevant to my analysis.