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There’s something more to (the) feral quality than the savor we find in stories. For what are we in the midst of networked, global, postmodern culture, all of us, but feral creatures of a kind? I’ve long been dissatisfied with the idea of the “digital native”; I’m not convinced that anything can properly be “native” to a habitat that changes so rapidly and thoroughly networked culture. And the whole notion of nativity, after all, seems tainted with the romanticism of the Wild (a new state of nature is still the State of Nature). The qualities of the feral, by contrast, answer to a particular way of thriving amidst the vast clamor of the online world. The nameless maps onto the pseudonymity and anonymity of digital culture; cunning catches the furtive ways of memes; denying herself the full panoply social cues, the online imagination subsists in an uncanny solitude. Hidden in its nameless mask, with all the patience and will of its cunning, impregnable in the fortress of its fluent autism, it watches, hungers, and waits — testing the freedoms and the fragility of the digital, both the powers it gives us and the susceptibilities, perhaps fatal, which it bequeaths.
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Brandon Keim's profile photo
 
I think there's a lot of truth to that, though I tend to think of feral as one possible response to networked/global/postmodern. Some people do manifest a particular mainstream culture; and others might see themselves as local rather than feral -- not local in a geographical sense, but as people whose self-identity is grounded in a deeper sense of historical time, and a tendency to resist the moment's cultural currents. Islanders, if you will.
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