I originally wrote this for the Fifth World Design Diary in April, but its combination of anthropological topics, oral tradition, and practical storyjamming techniques means that it probably has a lot of interest to readers of this blog, as well. This piece originally introduced a series; I present it here with links to the rest of the series on the Fifth World Design Diary.

Arnold van Gennep worked as an ethnographer and folklorist at the turn of the last century in France. He gets credit for founding folklore as a field in that country, but most today remember him for his 1909 work, Rites of Passage. In it, van Gennep described three phases to any rite of passage:

1. Separation. This phase focuses on the end of the participant’s old life and identity, sometimes put in terms as extreme as the death of their old self.
2. Liminality. Separated from the old life but not yet initiated into the new life, the participant enters a delicate liminal state, neither this nor that. This ambiguity and plenipotential makes the participant powerful, giving them the power to achieve the initiation required.
3. Re-incorporation. In the final phase, the participant re-enters normal society in her new life, and relieves recognition and acknowledgment in the new identity.

In The Hero With a Thousand Faces (1949), Joseph Campbell introduced what some have called “the hero’s journey” or “the monomyth,” a basic, archetypal template that, Campbell argues, all heroic tales follow. In the book, Campbell summarizes this template: “A hero ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder: fabulous forces are there encountered and a decisive victory is won: the hero comes back from this mysterious adventure with the power to bestow boons on his fellow man.” Campbell identifies three stages in the hero’s journey—departure, initiation, and return—and further details many of the various sub-themes and archetypes involved in each (for example, “the call to adventure” and “refusing the call” under departure), which occur often, but not always.

The similarity of Campbell’s monomyth to van Gennep’s rites of passage does not happen accidentally. Campbell studied van Gennep and relied on his work to describe the stages of the hero’s journey, making the story of any hero the story of our own rites of passage. The separation from the old life becomes the hero’s call to adventure; the adventures of the hero becomes the experience of liminality; and the re-integration following becomes the hero’s return.

In Soul Hunters: Hunting, Animism, and Personhood among the Siberian Yukaghirs, Rane Willerslev offers a different template for them both. Like Ingold, Willerslev “takes animism seriously,” refusing to take the “easy answer” of metaphor or myth, and thus conclude that every traditional person has either lied to us, or has severe psychological problems. Instead, Willerslev looks for the roots of animism in the lived experience of people.

For the Yukaghirs, hunting means seducing an elk to give itself up, and that requires a process of mimicry, entering a liminal state where the hunter becomes not elk, but also not not elk. The difference proves crucial in both directions—a perfectly identical elk would have no power over the prey to kill it, but such an identical performance would also mean a hunter had lost touch with his humanity, and would become lost to elkhood forever.

To perform this dangerous dance, hunters must first isolate themselves from the normal human community. They must expunge the smells of humans, particularly women and children, and the smells of sex. They must also abandon normal human language. Hunters must not speak of killing animals directly, lest the animals overhear; so instead, they must speak a ritualized and indirect hunting language. For the Yukaghirs, speech and scent mark critical identifiers of their humanity, but in order to succeed, hunters must leave those things behind, separating themselves from their humanity.

The liminal space Willerslev describes—a space where every animal perceives itself as human—reminded me a great deal of Calvin Luther Martin’s description of the world just past the skin of the earth in Way of the Human Being, which had in turn reminded me strongly of the stories of Faerie in Ireland and other Celtic countries. In this liminal space, profound things happen. Power comes from one’s moments spent here. Most basic of all, here the dance of seduction becomes possible, and the Yukaghirs can kill their prey and feed their people.

The return plays an important part as well, precisely because the hunter has no guarantee of it. Willerslev relates the story of the “wild men” who remain lost in that liminal state; the ultimate anti-social creatures, they walk on two legs like people, but grow fur all over them like animals. The description reminded me of stories of Bigfoot, and even moreso, Pat Murphy’s short story, “In the Abode of the Snows” (included in Kim Stanley Robinson’s anthology, Future Primitive: The New Ecotopias). Willerslev describes storytelling among hunters as a humanizing activity, precisely this last part of re-integration, giving the hunter a chance to become human again.

So, the hero’s journey and the rite of passage, in this light, seem to spring from a much more basic source: the experience of the hunt itself.

Naturally, all of these things reminded me of storyjamming. Willem Larsen introduced the notion of using “warm-up games” used in improvisational theater in his articles for the College of Mythic Cartography, “Warming up and Working with Energy” (I, II). Since then, we’ve both worked on ways to weave these more tightly into the experience of play itself, rather than leave them so seemingly extraneous. I can personally vouch for the separating experience of these warm-up games. They push me towards a very different frame of mind, separating me from my normal day lucidity, and priming me to not censor myself, to reach for eloquence, and to allow the story to flow through me.

With that separation, I can much more easily see story as something to discover, rather than something that I “make up.” The separation of these “warm-ups” moves us into a liminal state, a shared imagining, where we can track, stalk, and seduce the story together in the jam itself.

• Ritual Phrases, on the use of ritual phrases in story games like Polaris.
• Separation
  • Calling the World: Warm-Up Games, Character Creation & Creation Myths, which touches upon some of the key differences between creation myths in oral and literate cultures, and why that difference would make you want to tell a creation story as a warm-up, to set a pattern for the story to come.
  • Sitting Down to Your Second Game, which addresses the common mistake of discarding the pedagogical process upon sitting down to play a game a second time.
• Liminality
  • Immersion & Flow in Storyjamming’s Liminal Space, in which I make the argument that what roleplayers call “immersion” simply describes what Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi called more generally “flow.”
  • Hunting Story, in which I suggest that hunting down a story (as opposed to making one up) presents a challenge well-suited to producing flow.
  • Story in the Landscape, in which I discuss some practical ideas for techniques that might implement these principles.
• Re-incorporation
  • Coming Home, on the importance of re-incorporation, and what it says about us that we so often neglect this crucial part of our stories.
  • Finding Your Way Back, in which I discuss some practical ideas for techniques that might add more re-incorporation to storyjams.