Monthly Archives: June 2005

transliteracies: the politics of online reading

Warren Sack presented two interesting diagrams yesterday at Transliteracies. The first was a map of how political conversations happen in newsgroups:

a map of a conversation in a political newsgroup

The work is that of John Kelly, Danyel Fisher, and Marc Smith; it shows conversations on the newsgroup alt.politics.bush. Blue dots are left-leaning participants in the newsgroup; red dots are right-leaning participants. Lines between dots show a conversation. Here, it’s clear that a conversation is predominantly taking place across the political lines: people are arguing with each other.

The second is a map of how conversations (represented by links) happen on political blogs in the United States:

a map of the political blogosphere

This is the work of Lada Adamic and Natalie Glance and it shows connections between political blogs. Blue dots are leftist blogs; red dots are rightist blogs. One notes here that the left-leaning blogs and right-leaning blogs tend to link to themselves, not across the political divide. People are reinforcing their own beliefs.

Obviously, it’s a stretch to claim that American politics became more polarized and civics died a death because internet conversations moved from newsgroups to blogs. But it’s clear from these diagrams that the way in which different forms of online reading take place (and the communities that are formed by this online reading) has political ramifications of which we need to be conscious.

serendipity

the pinpoint accuracy of computer-searches, leaves those of us lucky enough to have spent time in library stacks, nostalgic for the unexpected discovery of something we didn’t know we were looking for but which just happened, serendipitously, to be on a nearby shelf. George Legrady, artist and prof at UC Santa Barbara, just showed a project he is working on for the new public library in Seattle that gave the first glimpse of serendipity in online library searching which lets you see all the books that have recently been checked out on a particular subject. Beautiful and Exciting.

blog reading: what’s left behind

The basement of the Harvard Bookstore in Cambridge sells used books. There’s an enormous market for used books in Cambridge, and anything interesting that winds up there tends to be immediately snapped up. The past few times I’ve gone to look at the fiction shelves, I’ve been struck by a big color-coded section in the middle that doesn’t change – a dozen or so books from Jerry Jenkins &Tim LaHaye’s phenomenally popular Left Behind series, a shotgun wedding of Tom Clancy and the Book of Revelation carried out over thirteen volumes (so far). About half the books on the shelf are the first volume. None of them look like they’ve been read. They’re quite cheap.

Since the books started coming out (in 1996), there’s been an almost complete absence of discussion of the books in the mainstream media, save the occasional outburst about this lack of discussion (“These books have sold 60,000,000 copies! And nobody we know reads them!”). I suspect my attitude towards the books is similar to that of many blue-state readers: we know these books are enormously popular in the middle of the country, and it’s clearly our cultural/political duty to find out why . . . but flipping through the first one in the basement of the Harvard Bookstore, I’m stricken by the wooden prose. I can’t read this. Also, there’s the matter of time: I still haven’t finished Proust. The same sort of thing seems to happen to other civic-minded would-be readers.

And then, on the Internet, Fred Clark’s blog Slacktivist gallops in to save the day. For the past year and a half, Mr. Clark has been engaged in a close reading of the series, explicating the text and the issues it raises in an increasingly fundamentalist America. This project isn’t a full-time project; his blog has other commentary, but once a week, he stops to analyze a few pages of Left Behind. It helps that Mr. Clark is a fine writer; his commentary is funny, personal – recollections from a Christian childhood pop up from time to time – and he has enough of a theological background to elucidate telling details and the history behind Jenkins & LaHaye’s particular brand of end-times fever.

It’s an admirable project as well because of the shear magnitude of it. In his first year and a half, he’s made it through 105 pages, working at the rate of roughly six days a page. By my calculations, it will take him eighty more years to finish the 4900 pages of the series, though additional prequels have been declared, which will take the total up somewhere over a century. Lengthwise, he seems to be running about neck-and-neck, though it’s hard to tell on the screen. This can’t help but remind one of “On Exactitude in Science“, the parable by Jorge Luis Borges & Adolfo Bioy Casares about the map that became the size of the territory it set out to survey. And of course, when a map gets this big, you’re going to have issues with organization.

How do we start reading something like this? I was forwarded a link to the blog itself – http://slacktivist.typepad.com – and found the top entry dealing with Left Behind. Not all of Slacktivist deals with Left Behind – but enough of it does that Mr. Clark has made a separate category for it, http://slacktivist.typepad.com/slacktivist/left_behind. Clicking on that gets you a single page with all of the Left Behind posts, from newest to oldest. Being interested (and a fast reader) I decided to read the whole thing. To do this, you have to start at the bottom, scroll down a little bit (these are long posts), and then scroll up to get to the next chronological post. This does become, at length, tiring.

One point that’s important to remember here: the Left Behind component of Slacktivist differs from the majority of blogs in that its information is not especially time-sensitive. While there are references to ongoing current events (the Iraq war, for example, not without relevance to the text under discussion), these references don’t need to be read in real time. A reader could start reading his close reading at any time without much loss. (Granted, there is the question of relevance: it would be nice if in ten years nobody remembered Left Behind, but that probably won’t be the case: Clark points out Hal Lindsay’s The Late Great Planet Earth from the 1970s as prefiguring the series – and, it’s worth noting, it still sells frighteningly well.)

A further complication for the would-be reader: Mr. Clark’s posts, while they form the spine of his creation, are not the whole of it: his writing has attracted an enormous number of comments from his readers – somewhere over thirty comments for each of his recent posts, occasionally more than sixty. These comments, as you might expect, are all over the place – some are brilliant glosses, some are from confused Left Behind followers who have stumbled in, some declare the confused Left Behind followers to be idiots, and there’s the inevitable comment-spam, scourge of the blog-age. Some have fantastic archived conversations of their own. Some are referenced in later posts by Mr. Clark, and become part of the main text. It’s almost impossible to read all the comments because there are so many of them; it’s hard to tell from the “Comments (33)” link if the thirty-three comments are worth reading. It’s also much more difficult to read the comments chronologically: some older posts are still, a year later, generating comments, becoming weird zombie conversations.

What can be done to make this a more pleasant reading experience? Because blogs keep their entries in a database, it shouldn’t be that hard to make a front end webpage that displays the entries in chronological order. It also wouldn’t be hard to paginate the entries so that Mr. Clark’s more than 50,000 words are in more digestible chunks. I’m not sure what could be done about the comments, though. Seventy-five posts have generated 1738 comments, scattered in time. Here’s a rough diagram of how everything is connected:

This is a graph that I made. It is red and blue. I am sorry that you evidently cannot see it.

The bottom row of blue dots represent Mr. Clark’s posts over time (from earliest to most recent). One post leads linearly to the next. The rows above represent comments: the first red row are comments on the first post (an arrow which leads to the first), which are frequent at first and then tail off. This pattern is followed by all the other comments on posts. Comments tend to influence following comments (although this isn’t necessarily true). But, unless you have eagle-eyed commentators who make sure to click on every comment link every day, different comment streams will probably not be influencing each other over time. The conversation has forked, and will continue forking.

A recent study seems to indicate that the success of a blog (as measured by advertising) is directly related to the feeling of community engendered, in no small part, by the ability to comment and discuss. But that ability to comment and discuss seems to get lost with time. What’s happening here might be an inherent limitation in the form of the blog: while they’re not strictly time-sensitive, they end up being that way. This could perhaps be changed if there were better ways into the archives, or if notifications were sent to the author and commentators on posts as new comments were posted. But: especially when dealing with an enormous volume of comments, as is the case at Slacktivist, the dialogue becomes increasingly asynchronous as time goes on.

We don’t think of physical books as having this problem because we assume that we can’t directly interact with the author and don’t expect to be able to do so. With electronic media, the boundaries are still unclear: we expect more.

the cramped root: worshipping the artifact

A plant in a container grows differently than a plant in open soil. The roots conform to the shape of the pot. Similarly, our very notions of reading, of books, of knowledge classification are defined by the pot in which they grew. The texture of paper, the topography of the library, the entire university system – these were defined by restraints. Physical, economic, etc. And to a significant extent they are artifacts of their times. An example: the act of reading in bed, as Dan mentions, is frequently invoked as the ideal, as the supreme pleasure of reading, something that computers could never match. But this supine, passive reading stance is not pre-ordained. It is in many ways an artifact of the growth of the novel – a grand, fictional creation to be read in leisure settings. Lying down works well. It’s pleasurable. You get lost in rich, immersive worlds. But there are immersive worlds that require a different posture. And there are kinds of reading that are more active.
The computer, too, in its current stage of development, is an artifact of the paper book, the typewriter, and the supercomputer terminal. These define the “pot” in which the computer has grown. And so far, the questions about online “reading” are defined by this cramped root structure. Even though the pot has shattered, we continue to grow as though the walls were there.
Another analogy: the horseless carriage. For years after its invention, the automobile was known as “the horseless carriage.” People could define it only in terms of what had come before. You could say that online reading is the territory of “the horseless book.”

transliteracies: the pleasure of the text

A lurid French poster for the film version of Peyton Place which I have, alas, not seen.Two books on my bookshelf: the first, a Penguin paperback of The Recognitions by William Gaddis, the spine reinforced with tape, almost every one of the 976 pages covered with annotations in several different colors of ink, some pages torn, many dogeared, some obvious coffee stains. It’s a survivor of a misbegotten thesis project. The second, an old copy of Grace Metalious’s soapy Peyton Place which I found on 6th Avenue two years ago & read cover to cover over the course of six delirious hours when I had taken more DayQuil than I should have. It’s a cheap paperback from the late 1950s, and its yellow pages have clearly passed through any number of hands, but they’re almost entirely unmarked. (God only knows why I decided that I needed to read Peyton Place. I can’t recommend it.)

An anguished shepherd painted by Hugo van der Goes, from the Portinari altarplace I think. I used to hate this cover, but not any more.One of the themes that arose in the first session of Transliteracies was that there are several different types of reading. When academics talk about reading, they tend to mean an intensive activity; there’s typically a lot of writing involved. A great deal of reading, however, isn’t anywhere near as intensive: like my copy of Peyton Place, the text escapes unmarked by the pen. When we talk about moving reading from the printed page to the screen, this is an important consideration: the screen needs to accommodate both of these. Why can’t we curl up with an electronic book? has been a persistent question since electronic reading became a possibility, but it misses the important point that we don’t want to curl up with every book we read. We can only curl up with something if we’re reading it – to some degree – passively.

transliteracies begins.. reading is complex

Over the next couple of days, we’ll be posting live from the Transliteracies conference..
The conference kicked off with a rich historical lecture by Adrian Johns, a professor at the University of Chicago and author of The Nature of the Book. Johns examined three revolutionary moments in the development of scientific knowledge – Galileo, Newton, and James Clark Maxwell – and their relationship to the evolving print medium and the social practices of interpretation and transmission that were then developing. Beginning with the iconoclastic moment of Galileo’s theological collision with the Catholic church, moving through Newton and the incipient system of journal production – “philosophical transaction” – in authoritative matrices like the Royal Society, up to Maxwell at Cambridge University, his breakthroughs on electricity and magnetism, and the development of written examinations. The overriding lesson: reading is complex. We should not overestimate the power of the book purely as the “container of meaning.” The surrounding social reading practices, the charismatic human deliverers of certain texts, are no less important. Each book has a sort of periodical system that follows from it – its ideas move through local systems of perusal, reinterpretation and dissemination. It gets continually “re-published” through this human ecology.
Then there is the scientific revolution going on today: information technology and medical information. Medical error – diagnostic and prescriptive – kills thousands each year, largely due to interruptions in information flow. Info tech could create seamless systems that greatly reduce error. But Johns points out that a good half of the systems implemented so far fail to solve the problems. In fact, all of them create new kinds of errors – confusions between the different groups in the massive medical tangle. So here we have a kind of online reading that has been tested in a highly consequential setting. Johns suggests that medical reading is more like literary reading than we think. For instance, physicians and pharmacists read differently. They have differences in training, worldview, sense of self. Seemingly cosmetic features of the text – fonts, color, layout – are of great consequence.

transliteracies: research in the technological, social, & cultural practices of online reading

Bob’s post last week about changing patterns of media consumption kicked off an interesting discussion, one that leads up perfectly to the “Transliteracies” conference we are attending this weekend at UC Santa Barbara.
Alan Liu, director of the Transliteracies project, posted this response, which very elegantly lays out some of the important questions. He’s allowed me to re-post it here..
BEGIN: The relationship between “browsing” and the “sheer volume” of information is complicated. To start with, I think there is much to be gained in complicating our usually uniform concepts of “browsing” (all shallow, fragmented, attention-deficient) and “volume” (“sheer,” as in a towering, monolithic cliff).
We get a sense of the hidden complexity I indicate if we think historically. Below is a passage from Roger Chartier — the leading scholar in the “history of the book” field — that should give us pause about making any quick associations between browsing and today’s information glut:

“Does this reaction toward the end of the [18th] century indicate a consciousness that reading styles had changed, that the elites in western Europe had passed from intensive and reverent reading to a more extensive, nonchalant reading style, and that such a change called for correction? . . . In the older style: (1) Readers had the choice of only a few books, which perpetuated texts of great longevity. (2) Reading was not separated from other cultural activities such as listening to books read aloud time and again in the bosom of the family, the memorization of such texts . . . , or the recitation of texts read aloud and learned by heart. (3) The relation of reader to book was marked by a weighty respect and charged with a strong sense of the sacred character of printed matter. (4) The intense reading and rereading of the same texts shaped minds that were habituated to a particular set of references and inhabited by the same quotations. It was not until the second half of the eighteen century in Germany and the beginning of the nineteenth century in New England that this style of reading yielded to another style, based on the proliferation of accessible books, on the individualization of the act of reading, on its separation from other cultural activities, and on the descralization of the book. Book reading habits became freer, enabling the reader to pass from one text to another and to have a less attentive attitude toward the printed word, which was less concentrated in a few privileged books.” — Roger Chartier, “Urban Reading Practices, 1660-1770,” in his The Cultural Uses of Print in Early Modern France, trans. Lydia G. Cochrane (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 1987), pp. 222-24

It’s pretty certain that browsing in the face of sheer volume were deep habits of literacy (specifically, of high print literacy). By contrast, one might ask: who read so intensely and deeply — to instance the extreme — that they only really read one book? There were probably just three classes of such people: the very poor (I remembe r, but can’t find at present, an essay by Chartier about people in the past who owned just one book, which was found on their body after a coach accident in Paris), the extremely pious (who read the Bible), or the “genius” author. (Think of Blake, for example: no matter how many books he read, he really only had one or two books on his mental bookshelf: the Bible and Milton.) By contrast, everyone else browsed.
Mass literacy in the twentieth century, perhaps, may be a phenomenon of browsing. Think of Reader’s Digest. After my family immigrated to the U.S. in my childhood, we were a kind of microcosm of assimilation (into English literacy) in this regard. There were two major investments in books in my household: the Reader’s Digest series of condensed books (a kind of packaged browsing) and The World Book encyclopedia (a veritable lesson in reading as browsing-cum-volume). I drank deeply from both founts as a child, since these were the main books in the house. I was intense in my browsing.
So now let’s snap back to the present and the act of browsing cyber- or multi-media volumes of information. I’ve started a project (combining humanists, social scientists, and computer scientists) called Transliteracies to look into “online reading.” It’s my hypothesis that there are hidden complexities and intelligences in low-attention modes of browsing/surfing that we don’t yet know how to chart. Google, after all, is making a fortune for algorithms enacting this hypothesis. Or to cite a historical googler: Dr. Johnson, sage of the Age of Reason, was famous for “devouring” books just by browsing them instead of reading “cover to cover.” (To allude to the titles of the two serial magazines he was involved with, he would have called browsing Rambling or Idling [The Rambler, The Idler.)
Just as “browsing” is complex, so I think that there are hidden complexities in the notion of “sheer volume.” Some of the digital artists I know — e.g., George Legrady, Pockets Full of Memories — are “database artists” whose work asks the question, in essence: what happens to the notion of art when we gaze not at one work in rapt wonder but several thousand works — when, in other words, the “work” is “volume”? What if quantity, in other words, was a matter of quality? Aren’t there different kinds of “volume,” some more intelligent, beautiful, kinder, humane (not to mention efficient and flexible, the usual postindustrial desiderata) than others?
I’d better stop, since this comment is too long. As Blake said about volume: “Enough! or too much.”

reading over your shoulder

A particularly offensive section of the Patriot Act was slapped down yesterday in Congress. From Reuters:

The U.S. House of Representatives on Wednesday defied President Bush by approving a measure making it harder for federal agents to secretly gather information on people’s library reading habits and bookstore purchases.

pay for the service, not the copy

Macropus_brehm.png The other day, I came across an interesting experiment with a new model of distribution and ownership on the web, something that writers, publishers and journalists should pay attention to. KeepMedia charges $4.95 a month for unlimited access to 200 mainstream periodicals (see list) spanning the last 12 years up to the present day. That’s significantly less than what I pay annually for my handful of print periodical subscriptions, and gives me access to much more material (kind of like LexisNexis for the masses). Plus, you do get to “keep” – that’s part of how it works (indeed, their logo is a kangaroo with a stack of magazines stuffed in her pouch). KeepMedia allows you to attach notes to articles and to store away “clippings.” It also makes it easy to track subjects across publications, and has automated recommendations for related stories. I assume that stored articles will get caged off if you stop subscribing. That’s what makes me nervous about the pay-for-the-service model. You don’t actually get to keep anything for the long haul, unless you print it out. But KeepMedia suggests one way that newspapers and publishers might adapt to the digital age.
Right now, publishers are still stuck on the idea of individual “copies.” The web – an enormous, interconnected copying machine – is inherently hostile to this idea. So publishers generally insist on digital rights management (DRM) – coded controls that restrict what you can do with a piece of media. This, almost invariably, is infuriating, and ends up unfairly punishing people who have willingly paid a fair price for an item. Pay-for-the-service models won’t solve the problem entirely, but they do get away from the idea of “copies.” On the web, copies are cheap, or free. But access to a library or database is valuable. It’s not about how many copies are sold, it’s about how many people are reading. So charge at the gate. Once people are inside, it’s all you can eat. This is nothing new. People play a flat rate for cable television, which is essentially a list of publications. You pay extra for premium channels, or pay-per-view special features, but your basic access is assured. What and how much you watch is up to you. Yahoo! is trying this right now for music. Why not do the same for newspapers, or for books? The web is combining publishing with broadcasting. Publishers and broadcasters need to adapt.
Related posts:
“web news as gated community”
“self-destructing books”

reading manga on Sony Librie

18916824_d08adac331.jpg
Came across this Flickr photoset of Japanese comics on a Librie – Sony’s electric ink ebook reader. Even in a photo, the reflective, print-like quality of the screen is striking. People have generally raved about the Librie’s display, but are outraged by its senseless DRM policies: books self-destruct after 60 days. (discussed here and here)
Once E ink enters the mainstream, people might flock to electronic books as rapidly and enthusiastically as they did to digital photography. Screen display technology will undoubtedly advance. The DRM problem is trickier.
(Incidentally, I found this image while browsing recent blog posts under the “ebook” tag on Technorati. Flickr images tagged with “ebook” are placed alongside. An example of how these social tagging systems are becoming interconnected.)