I originally began drafting this as an email, as I’ve been using emails to individuals as a form of micropublishing lately, but it evolved into something I felt was worthy of a broader audience and so I’m sharing it here instead without revision.

Dear John,

I hope you're doing well out there in Kansas. Your signature twitter hot takes are a very welcome distraction for me. I'm over-caffeinated and feel like being extra and cracking my knuckles on the question, "Can books depict time?" as prompted by your tweet, “Books can’t depict time.” Like I said, it's not really something I can tackle in a tweet. The question is a complicated one that I believe is contingent on what we mean by "book", "depict", and "time". I feel as if I will inevitably fail to answer the question adequately, as I am a poor physicist, poor semiotician, and a poor philosopher. But as Luther says, "sin boldly", and so I shall fail. 

I'll begin by what we understand time to be, and even in this first sentence, we run into issues, for time seems to be related to understanding--but I'll return to the relationship between time and perception later on (if "later on" can be depicted in an e-mail) in this e-mail. From the perspective of physics alone, the relationship between space and time is... complicated, and from what I understand, something physicists and mathematicians are still trying to work it out. I begin with the relationship between space and time because the statement,  "a book cannot depict time" seemingly (though not necessarily) implies a book can depict space, so my first question was, "can there be space without time?" There are two main notions of time: time as a dimension of space, and  time as a numerical order of change. Light particles, not having mass, can move from one point to another, moving through space, without moving through time. In this sense, the order of point 1 to point 2 is solely numerical, not temporal or even non-simultaneous. The idea that experiments can be conducted in which time does not exist suggests that temporality is not a dimension of space, as the notion of spacetime (in which space and time are convergent properties) would otherwise suggest. But, this collapse of time as a dimension of space is on the sub-atomic particle level and we generally operate in the realm of traditional physics. For the sake of argument, let us still consider the idea that time is another dimension of space which describes how matter with mass moves through space. As I understand it, as long as objects (with mass) exhibit motion, there is a measured time that is an attribute, along with distance, of that motion. For time to not exist (in the sense that it cannot be measured), there must also not be motion nor mass, but a static array of shapes which we could spatially observe. The second notion of time as a numerical order can't (as I currently understand it), be proven or disproven, but must be accepted. It should be noted that time as a numerical order cannot be measured in the way that time as a dimension can be, but is instead attributed. 

There is physics, and there is philosophy. Many a philosopher has considered the question which basically boils down to, "If everything stops moving, if new events do not occur, does time still go on?" Aristotle says no, because time is a relationship between events, or at the very least, only has meaning to us when we observe new events as occurring. Plato says yes, time is a container that exists and proceeds independently of events, within which events are mapped. The Platonist view can be useful, as it allows for the existence of "empty time", wherein time, as observed through changes and new events, does not seem to occur from the perspective of those within the confines of a frozen state, but from an outsider perspective watching a static place from a place in which things are occurring, "empty time" could theoretically be measured and observed. There is also the perspective proposed by J.M.E McTaggart that the temporal order of the world does not "exist", but the appearance of time is merely appearance, perceived as past, present, or future in an often converging way, given that it must be said of all moments in time that they will be in the future when perceived in the past and in the past when perceived in the future, but are defined relative to points in time possessing these same properties. I think. That one confuses me. There are also two different views within philosophy about whether the identity of a 3D object is also temporally extended--whether, for instance, the identity of a 3D object like a bicycle, also extends into time as an attribute of its spatial dimensions. The first view basically states that the bike is the same bike at whatever point you observe. The second perspective is that the bike in 1995 is not the same bike as the bike in 2020--changes will have occurred which have altered its qualities and the context in which the bike exists is different. As to that question, I don't have a concrete answer, other than that I think both can be true. 

At this point, let us reframe the question you pose, and in fact break it into a few different questions: (1) Can a book depict the dimension of time (duration), as it is used to describe how matter moves through space? (2) Can a book depict numerical order? (3) Can a book depict time as a container within which events occur? (4) Can a book depict tense (the appearance of past, present, and future?) (5) Can a book depict time as that which alters the identity (change) of an object? These questions loosely correlate to the "elementary time experiences" as described by Ernst Poppel, with some exceptions. My addition, "time as a container", which he maybe didn't include because experience inevitably occurs within the container, may be a more pure definition of time that is not experiential, but I am including it because I think we must consider if it is possible to depict the container of time and furthermore, if a book can do so. He also breaks "numerical order" into "non-simultaneity" (in which no before/after is ascribed) and "order" (in which there is before/after). As mentioned before, it is possible that some of these criteria, such as tense, do not actually exist outside of appearance, but it will be necessary to determine if things that do not exist can be depicted.

Now then, before answering these questions or even discussing what it means to "depict", let us break down what a "book" is. There is, as you know and have drawn attention to through your projects, the issue of people conflating (ideas contained within the) "text" with "book", but of course a book is much more than its text, and does not necessarily contain any text. Additional components (may) include the styling of the textual and visual components (perhaps containing a narrative, perhaps vignettes), the arrangement of the text as it relates to itself, the potential incorporation of images, the structural form of the book as composed of a bound and ordered sequence of pages, a title, table of contents, dedication, acknowledgments, the object qualities of the artifact of the book such as shape and heft, and the annotations and damage to the artifact of the book left by the possessor/reader. A book may be (although this is up for debate), as in the xylotheque specimen, a book-shaped container holding objects. On the other hand, a book may be an electronic artifact of an arrangement of text lacking a tactile form. A great dane and a chihuahua may not be able to breed but they're both dogs. Arguably, there are also non-spatial, non-textual, and non-visual components which comprise a book, those things which make up its "breath of life" (and the locus of many of my personal critical concerns): the concept (or lack thereof) in the mind (or lack thereof) of the creator, the relationship of the concept to the sources which originate it, the act of composition, the laboring, the editorial process, the distribution, the process and depth of engagement incited in the reader, the attributes of the book that are uncognized, other paratextual elements like the often peripheral directions of thought the book prompts in the reader, the interpretation by the reader, the context in which the book exists and is interpreted, and the imprint left on the world outside of its own existence. All these things are components which make up that which we interpret to be a "book", though I can imagine many exceptions in which a book may be created without one or many of these components. Yet, even if the definition is arbitrary, I will choose to define "book" by its structural form: a bound and ordered sequence of pages containing text and/or images. It should be noted that this definition excludes both ebooks and audiobooks.

Many of the attributes and components of a book that I listed are subject to time. Nearly all of the "breath of life" components I mentioned are processes which occur or are experienced through time. The artifact of the book may become yellowed, ripped, damaged, appreciate in value, or gain notes and transcriptions over time--that is, it is subject to change (5). Structurally, the book as we defined it is composed of a sequence that is numerically ordered (2), which cannot be apprehended simultaneously, but which may not necessarily be apprehended consecutively and certainly are not apprehended over the course of a finite duration, as in film, television, or music. This is not to say that these temporal qualities such as decay or sequence that occur in the object of the book cannot be depictive, but we must be careful not to conflate the book as a time-conditional object which derives from time-processes with an object which necessarily depicts time, or even has the potential to do so. 

Strangely, for me, the most difficult term in the sentence to grapple with has been "depict", at least with respect to the concept of "time". The broad definition of "depict" would be to represent something such that it can be understood through imagined or experienced senses. Time is observed/understood relationally--a duration measured by the progression of a clock, an order as an arrangement of a number of events, the past as relative to the present, and change in state of being as observed in comparison with what state a being was in at another point in time. It is only the proposed definition of time as the container of events and their relationships that is not experienced in this way, for that definition of time is independent of our experience when we are existing within it. Experiential time is not the assemblage of events, but the very relationship between the events within the assemblage. So the question arises: does the implication of a relationship through the depiction of an assemblage qualify as a depiction of the relationship? It is an inherent quality of a depiction to be incomplete. A depiction of a tree is not a tree--it cannot be smelled or touched like a tree, it inherently lacks some quality. A scale model depicting a building would be useless were it the size of the building it depicts. In assessing whether or not implication is an acceptable partiality, such that implication can be defined as a form of depiction, let us consider Kanizsa's triangle, in which spatially separate fragments give the impression of a defined white triangle. In this example, it is the spatial relationship of the fragments to each other which allows us to visualize the triangle--implication functions as the medium of depiction. It might be countered, "this is a depiction of an arrangement of three pac-man shapes and three v-shapes", but it is their relational arrangement that is necessary to create the image of the triangle, and it is the triangle which stands out above the shapes which lead to its implication. One could also counter, "this is a depiction of an optical illusion", but it is in fact an optical illusion, not a depiction of an optical illusion. The optical illusion is the medium through which the depiction of the triangle occurs. There could be a scenario where this particular optical illusion could be a symbol for the concept of what an optical illusion is, but in that scenario it would depict the concept of an optical illusion.

Considering visual depictions of spatial experiences, it is easy to conceive of (to depict in the mind) a depiction of a tree--and why is it always a tree or an apple that we imagine as examples? Are we really so biblical? Regarding how a book may depict time, let us assess its various components (remaining rigorously careful not to conflate its components with its essence). When it comes to the use of text, language may be used to prompt visual depictions in the mind of the reader--I can describe for you a weeping willow tree, with silvery leaves wavering under light wind from branches too jaded to care and gnarled bark that has seen it all, and you can imagine the tree. A narrative of the willow tree as having caught ablaze, reduced to ash and reborn as humus linguistically describes a sequence of events that occur within time and demonstrates changes in state (5). The implication of time is dependent on how these events are organized, similarly to how the arrangement of components within the optical illusion implies a triangle. The construction of a textual narrative itself is dependent on the arrangement of a sequence of events (2) and changes (5) that are implied to be induced by time. It can then be said that a textual narrative not only can imply and therefore depict time, but that it is dependent on doing so. A linguistic narrative does not a book make, but as a potential component of a book, does demonstrate that a book can potentially depict time, or at least, experiential time as posed by questions (2) and (5). 

However, as established previously, definitions of time are variant and so we must also interrogate if a book can depict experiential time as duration (1) and time in tenses of past/present/future (4), as well as the potential for depicting time as a container (3). The issue with communicating the experience of time as duration (1) and tense is that these forms of time are intertwined with memory and perception. With regards to duration, one could write in a book "three hours elapsed" or, "When Adam had lived 130 years, he had a son in his own likeness, in his own image; and he named him Seth. After Seth was born, Adam lived 800 years and had other sons and daughters. Altogether, Adam lived 930 years and then he died." Does the phrase "three hours elapsed" allow the reader to understand and imagine the elapsing of three hours in the same way that the phrase "an apple with a bite taken out of it" allows the reader to understand and visualize an apple with a bite taken out of it? Is the phrase "Adam lived 930 years and then he died" meaningful to us in visualizing a life which lasts 930 years? To both of these questions, I would say, yes and no. With both of these phrases, we can understand based on our conventions of measuring, what they mean--"three hours", meaning the time it takes for the hour hand to move around a clock three times and "930 years", meaning the time it takes for the earth to move around the sun (or sun to move around the earth, if you're feeling spicy) 930 times.

Where such metrics fail us is when we attempt to convey the feeling, the significance, of what it means to experience three hours or 930 years. It could be considered a question of the difference between denotation and connotation, but in the instance of a duration of time, it often seems as if the feeling of experiencing a duration of time supplants the literal definition of the duration. It is well-accepted that the impression of the rate at which time passes is not consistent throughout what we do. A minute spent planking can feel longer than an hour spent scrolling through a phone. We may turn to the wisdom of the song "Seasons of Love" from the hit musical RENT (I'm really sorry for doing this) to understand that the experience of time passing through a year of human life is more than the number of minutes which elapse, characterized by what occurs--by temporal cycles like daylights, sunsets, midnights, cups of coffee, yes. But also by subjective and variable experiences like laughter, strife, what we learn, the tears we cry. There are a number of interesting literary works which endeavored to depict the feeling of moving through time. The Hole by Jose Revueltas, a novella describing a scheme to smuggle heroin into a Mexican prison, sets out to place its events in real-time (at the pace of reading). Blue Self-Portrait by Noemi Lefebvre depicts the drifting reflections of its narrator on a flight from Paris to Berlin, attempting to capture the way memories play out (4) in a real-time progression. Of course, because a reader of a print book is not bound to read at a certain pace nor read the entire book consecutively or in one sitting, the progression of time within these books, which I will term "narrative-time", is almost entirely certain not to map 1:1 alongside the progression of real-time. Assuming that within the span of an hour x number of things occur, a book may depict the pacing and feeling of experiencing an hour through the depiction of x number of things, and in this sense could be considered depictive of a duration, or how that duration is experienced. It should be noted that the component of the book doing the work of depicting in this sense is also not purely linguistic description of time contained in the text, but the formation of a narrative. 

The use of ekphrasis within a text is a potential method of distorting time and the perception of reality through a distortion in the level of attention from that which we might give when observing the same events in another form of media. A formative case of this for me was Vi Khi Nao's exercise Sheep Machine, an ekphrastic text which, as I wrote in my 2018 review of the book, "transliterates into poetry each second of a short film by Leslie Thornton of sheep grazing in the Swiss Alps as cable cars ascend in the background, as seen through a pair of binoculars in which the left lens is undistorted and the right lens fragments the scene into a star-shaped kaleidoscope." I went on to write, "This conversion of medium is particularly interesting, for film moves at a set speed, as dictated by the will of the filmmaker. The chronology of text is not dictated--the author may stretch a fragment of a second into four-hundred pages or skip over a year with no word; the reader may choose to read slowly and dwell, put the book down, or rush through the text. Any two given filmmakers, asked to capture the same scene will arrive at two entirely different films with entirely different focuses and implications. Any two given writers asked to write a second-by-second description of the film will focus on different features of the film. Any two given critics, tasked with reviewing Sheep Machine will draw different conclusions about the text and choose to focus on different thematic aspects. The irony is that the more closely we all meditate on the scene of the sheep and the cable cars, the less we understand it." Is this not how memory functions? Events of the theoretical past, which may or may not have actually occurred, are repeated in the present mind, evolving in pace, as the mind skips past certain details and dwells on others. If, as argued by many, the past (and anticipations of the future, and consequently, time itself) does not exist as it is always framed in terms of the present, we can still accept the phenomenon of experiencing a perception as present through the vector of memory as something we experience (4), even if illusion. There is a very rich history of narrative not only bringing events of the past into the perception of the present (as the very use of the past tense in writing is wont to do), but exploring this phenomenon of memory-distortion that occurs--for instance, the repetition of memory employed as the narrator exists in an an alternate "present" in the previously mentioned book Blue Self-Portrait. Such narrative devices are not so much depictions of time as they are depictions of how we perceive time to occur, a perception that is experiential but not necessarily "real". 

Any narrative (that is, a sequence of events--and based on this definition, I would argue that memory is a narrative itself) inevitably contains its own time-structure, from its definition as an ordering of events depicting change. Where narrative-time is mimetic to how real-time occurs, it is assigned by the author through timestamping ("12:00 a.m.", "on the morning of April 3rd") or articulation of how long things occurred ("for three hours", "all day"). Yet relative to the passage of real-time, narrative-time is a kind of Brigadoon, which moves forward only when the reader engages with the text to the extent that comprehension of its events and development occurs. The book put aside, the narrative does not move forward, but enters a state of "empty time" relative to the progression of real-time. The reader has the power of choosing to engage or disengage any point narrative-time, and wields a power of manipulation over the text. While engaged with a narrative, the reader is at once the pacemaker of narrative-time, a subject to the narrative-time sequence and timestamping ascribed by an author, and a subject to the real-time sequence and timestamping ascribed by God or whatever force set real-world events in motion. From these roles that the reader plays, we can conceive of an interesting analogue between events and the concept of the time-container (3). Returning to the Platonist conception of time which proceeds whether or not events occur by which we can observationally define time, the narrative-time structure can be understood as being contained within real-time. Though we are bound by how real-time progresses and would not be able to cognize "empty time" in which events do not occur, we can use the model of reading to conceive of an entity, who exists outside our structures of time and is possibly subject to greater time structures, who may have "authored" us or may choose to engage or disengage with "reading" us at its will. This is a concept which could be described in text, as I am describing it now. However, it seems as if the significance of this conception of time can be conveyed more comprehensively if the process itself of engaging with a narrative (regardless of what the narrative contains) could be considered to be depictive--this could easily be narratively depicted through the use of a sub-narrative, as in a book-within-a-book. 

I do think it would be an interesting thought experiment to consider if the components of a book beyond the narrative could be considered to be depictive--if in the very act of engaging with a book there could be depiction. In this scenario, the book would be considered a kind of performance-object, and the act of engaging with the book would be a performance. There is no issue with the concept of performance being depictive--we are familiar with media such as dance and mime as instruments of depiction. However, for the book itself to be depictive through the process of its own engagement, the engagement process would need to be an inherent quality of the book--for instance, incorporating instructions on how the reader should engage with both the book and the context within which the reader operates outside of the book. Such instructive exercises could be extended to depictions of the other forms of experiential time: an instruction to encounter the book for a fixed duration of time each day and observe how time feels when encountering (1), an instruction to read the book in a particular sequence or to read the book and then experience another event (2), an instruction to create an ekphrastic interpretation, or memory, through which the book is experienced beyond its reading (4), an instruction to leave the book on a shelf for 70 years and observe how its pages yellow (5). If these actions can be understood to be a greater conveyance vessel, there is potential for the very experience of time to be depictive of itself. 

So, all this is to say--technically a book can depict time, or at the very least, it can depict how we experience and conceive of time.

Your friend,

Katherine