1 Good bye the book?
With barely the flick of a digital switch, the long era of the "coming
of the book" appears to have given way to the brief period of its going.[1] For it is going, predictions insist, like the
telegram, the Bakelite phone, the vinyl record, or the analog computer before
it. United only in a shared sense of inevitability, gloomy bibliophiles and
triumphant technophiles wave the book good bye.[2] As elegies are read, eyes turn from history to the future.
To be concerned with the past risks appearing like Shakespeare's Salisbury,
vainly trying to "call back yesterday, bid time return", while to talk about
the continued relevance of the book can pick you out as a modern Erewhonian.[3]
I want to argue, however, that there are good reasons beyond either nostalgia
or an insurmountable hatred of technology to question the apparent choice
between leaping to the new or drowning with the old. If nothing else,
futurologists do have a habit of announcing both deaths and births prematurely.
Talking machines, domestic robots, automated language translators, and a host
of other "new technologies" have, for forty years or more, been perennial
examples of "vapour ware", always coming yet never coming "within the next
decade". Even the paperless office, long on the timetable, still shows little
sign of arriving. Indeed, many digital offices can't even do without the
typewriter, though its nunc dimittis was sung years ago. The forward
thrust of predictions tends to insist we don't look back. But past
predictions, particularly failed predictions like these, deserve more attention
than they get. The point of reexamining them, though, is not to gloat.
Rather, it's to understand where predictions go wrong.
With technological predictions, I suggest, assumptions about the relation
between past and future, on the one hand, and simplicity and complexity, on the
other, make claims more plausible than they should be.[4] If we accept the past as simple and the future complex, we
tend not to question the idea that complex new technologies will sweep away
their simple predecessors. So, for example, in 1938 The New York Times
could easily assume that the heavily engineered typewriter would do away with
the simple pencil.[5]
Or take, as another example, the matter of the door. Since the twenties, one
way people have known they were watching a film about "the future" (and not
merely about people who revelled in Spandex avant la lettre) was the
inevitable presence of sliding doors. The supersession of the simple hinge by
automated sliding technology long ago became a visual synecdoche for the
triumph of the future. Yet while the sliding door still appears on the
futurological screen, the millennia-old manual hinge endures all around us
(even on our laptop computers and cell phones). One reason it survives, I
suggest, is that despite its technological simplicity, time has given the hinge
a rich social complexity that those who foresee its imminent demise fail to
appreciate.[6] Hinged doors, after all, are not
just to be passed through; they communicate polysemously. We can, for
instance, expressively throw them open or slam them shut, hold them or let them
swing, leave them ajar and hide behind them, satisfyingly kick, punch, or
shoulder them, triumphantly barge them open or defiantly prop them shut.
The survival of pencils and hinges (and even typewriters), long after the
development of alternatives, argues that, in forecasting technological
conquests and describing the march of technological complexity, we have a
tendency to underestimate what Raymond Williams calls the "social-material
complex" of technologies are only a part.[7]
Like an exasperated gardener, we snip triumphantly at the exposed plant,
forgetting how extensive established roots can be. Pencil and hinge survive
technological cuts on the strength of their deep social resourcefulness. And
for similar reasons, we may find that the simple hinged book will prove as
enduring. The closed cover, turned page, broken spine, serial form, immutable
text, revealing heft, distinctive formats, handy size, and so on offer their
own deep-rooted and resilient combination of technology and social process and
continue to provide unrivalled signifying matter.[8]
So, to explore issues concerning the past and the futurology of the book, I
start from the simple fact that, despite lugubrious elegies and triumphant
dismissals, the book, like the hinge, is still here. Its continued presence
raises these related issues of the resilience of artefacts and the frailty of
predictions and allows me to suggest that to design robust new artefacts
(design being itself an act of prediction) it may be important not to dismiss
survival as cussed and irrelevant resistance, but instead to consider, in
social and historical terms, the sources of endurance.
Unfortunately, the necessary task of addressing the relation between old and
new technologies can be difficult. If, as Benjamin suggests, the Angel of
History goes backwards into the future, "face turned towards the past" and
wreckage piling at its feet, technology's angel usually advances facing
determinedly the other way, trying to sweep objects and objections from its
path.[9] There is much to be gained, I believe,
from getting the two to see eye to eye. Unfortunately, as I shall argue, this
has recently become only more difficult. Technology's angel is engaged in a
passing flirtation with "critical theory", which harbours much of what Jameson
calls postmodernism's "deafness to history". To add deafness to blindness is
not what McLuhan expected when he foretold a return to the synergy of the
auditory and the visual, though it may explain why the volume of debate and, in
particular, of the demonisation of the book has, as a result of this
flirtation, been raised a notch or two.[10]
In particular, any idea that old technologies can tell us anything about new
ones has been discouraged by two futurological tropes (supported in varying
degrees by critical theory) that I intend to examine in some detail. The first
is the notion of supersession -- the idea that each new technological
type vanquishes or subsumes its predecessors: "This will kill that", in the
words of Victor Hugo's archdeacon that echo through debates about the book and
information technology. The second is the claim of liberation, the
argument or assumption that the pursuit of new information technologies is
simultaneously a righteous pursuit of liberty. Liberationists hold, as another
much-quoted aphorism has it, that "information wants to be free" and new
technology is going to free it. The book, by contrast, appears never to have
shaken off its restrictive mediaeval chains.
Together ideas of supersession and liberation present a plausibly united front.
But this front, I want to suggest, conceals some significant conflicts. First,
cultural arguments for supersession lean heavily on the language of
postmodernism, while liberationists' arguments about emancipation are laden
with the ideas of postmodernism's great antipathy, "the enlightenment project".
And second, technological ideas of supersession understandably expect progress
through technology, while liberation looks for freedom from it.
The latter conflict in particular reflects, I go on to claim, uncertainty about
relations between form and content, information and technology. In general,
both supersession and liberation assume that information stands aloof from the
technology that carries it. Whereas I argue that if books can be thought of as
"containing" and even imprisoning information, that information must, in the
last analysis, be understood as inescapably a product of book making. Books, I
conclude, are not a hide-bound alternative to the freedoms of the multiply
linked items of hypertext, but an important social, political, and historical
solution to problems raised by the particularity of such linked items.
So in the end, I suggest, to offer serious alternatives to the book, we need
first to understand and even to replicate aspects of its social and material
complexity. Indeed, for a while yet, it will probably be much more productive
to go by the book than to go on insistently but ineffectually repeating "good
bye".
2 The Supersession of the Book
The idea of supersession is never too far from discussions of the book,
where the words of Hugo's archdeacon are repeated again and again:
This will kill that. The book will kill the building. . . . The press will
kill the church . . . printing will kill architecture.
And though the book notably did not "kill" architecture, these words are now
read against it. The gloom of the archdeacon is transformed into the triumph
of the digerati: computer architecture is set to take revenge. Thus it seems
fitting that the dean of architecture at MIT should envisage a future in which
the book will exist only as a sort of methadone treatment, irrelevant except to
those "addicted to the look and feel of tree flakes encased in dead cow (and
prepared to pay for it)".[11]
Of course, futurological predictions that the past is slipping into irrelevance
encompass much more than just books. Following Toffler's announcement that
society was crossing the greatest divide since barbarism gave way to
civilization (a change driven, as he saw it, by the "great growling engine of
technology"), the rhetoric of technological revolution and dismissals of the
ancien régime have become quite unexceptional. Talk of breaks
and disconnections, of paradigm shifts and social transformations, of waves and
generations, and of disjunctions between old and new abounds. It's now merely
a reflex, more obligatory than provocative, for Negroponte to tell us we're
entering a "radically new culture" propelled by the technological movement from
"atoms to bits". Under the cumulative weight of these proclamations, it
becomes increasingly easy to believe that to fall behind in the technological
race is to fall behind the human race. Technology's path, in this view, is
"inevitable and unavoidable" Negroponte tells us. To demur or look back could
be a symptom of "lunacy" according to Lanham, of isolation "in a quaint museum
of the intellect" in the view of Feigenbaum and McCorduck, or of clinical
"Future shock", those morbid symptoms of the inadequate individual in the face
of progress.[12]
But if the reach of this revolution concerns humanity as a whole, the book
nonetheless forms an important centre-piece. Nor is it merely a symbol of
reaction. Accepted by many as an "agent of change" in the Gutenberg
revolution, the book is easily cast as a force of reaction in the information
one.[13] Its material lineaments stand
accused of foisting a vast amount of ideological baggage on innocent people.
Thus Landow sees its "center and margin, hierarchy and linearity" as fostering
a malign "conceptual system". The book is something, he insists with some
urgency, "we must abandon" in order to go through "this paradigm shift, which
marks a revolution in human thought".[14]
In such accounts of a textual revolution, voices of critical theory and
postmodernism join those of technologists in proclaiming supersession.
Undoubtedly, they are well suited for this role, for, in Jameson's words,
postmodernism "looks for breaks" and when it finds them it usually portrays
them in suitably supersessive terms. Thus Olsen, who is credited with the
first use of postmodern, sought complete secession from the past: "had
we not, ourselves (I mean postmodern man) better just leave such things behind
us?" More famously, Lyotard announced the "postmodern condition" by
unequivocally dismissing precedent: "the status of knowledge is altered . . .
the general situation is one of temporal disjunction". Perhaps nowhere is the
sense that culturally the past has been left behind more evident than in
Baudrillard's writing, which repeats on page after page that things are "no
longer . . .", "no more . . .", "never again . . ." the way they were:
"ne . . . plus", "ne . . . plus", "ne . . .
plus" echoes down his writing.[15]
"Only disconnect" seems to have become the united rallying cry of contemporary
cultural and technological theorists alike, and this apparent convergence is
sometimes offered as independent and cumulative evidence of an epistemological
or even ontological shift. I contend, however, it is more a case of
coincidence and opportunism.
To understand what drives the claims of both technologists and compatible
cultural theorists, we should notice that, while recalling the archdeacon's
sense of patricide, they invert his attitude towards it. His was a cry of loss
and regret. These new cries of supersession are, to the contrary, triumphantly
dismissive. They celebrate escape from the clutches of the past and in so
doing reveal that most assertions of supersession are at base declarations of
independence. This desire to secede from history and set to work on a newly
cleaned tabula rasa involves both settling accounts with the old and
selling accounts of the new.
To take the latter first, claims of supersession are, above all else, a
significant marketing ploy. Rapid technological development has increased
pressure to sell the new on the heels of the old, no matter how durable the
old. Sales departments no longer offer just a new car, but a new type of car.
The new, by implication, doesn't merely replace the old; it supersedes it. The
recurrent advertising theme of a "revolution in technology" insists that the
machine we have is out of date and the one we need is in the showroom. In the
process, establishing a break, reestablishing year 1 of the postrevolutionary
era both distracts from the resilience of the old and neatly bids up the future
of the new, as if to claim, so Henry James noted in apostrophizing the
ever-renewed "New World," that "since you had no past, you're going in for a
magnificent, compensatory future".[16]
We should not be too surprised, then, to find technological debate
opportunistically embracing the idea of supersession. And we should also
acknowledge that intellectual movements too need to exploit their own short
model years with all the energy of a sales force. The "posts" have indeed
promoted themselves as a revolutionary departure from a narcoleptic past. And
as with technological marketing, such promotions have dealt handily with much
of history's awkward clutter. An assertion of postmodernity promises, as
Jameson points out, "to get rid of whatever you found confining, unsatisfying,
or boring about the modern, modernism, or modernity".[17] History can undoubtedly be one of those confining issues
and facets of postmodernism attempt to cast it off in the name of
posthistoire.[18] But escape
is never easy. Dismissals of
history always recall the history of dismissal. Claims of supersession have,
in fact, a well-documented history mapped by, among others, Walter Jackson
Bate, Harold Bloom, Raymond Williams, and Stephen Toulmin.[19]
Bate's study traces various strategies for dealing with the "burden of the
past", and claims of supersession and new beginnings are among the most
significant. Moreover, Bate notes an intriguing relation between such cultural
claims and technological innovation. He suggests that whenever techniques of
cultural preservation (the development of printing, libraries, and museums, for
example) improve, the perceived increase in the cultural burden prompts a new
generation to try to find ways to throw off the old.[20]
On occasion, technology can be seen playing a double role in this process.
Where established technology prompts secession by threatening to suffocate a
new generation with the legacy of the old, "new" technology, if sufficiently
distinct, can be invoked as a means of escape. Marinetti's "Manifeste de
Futurisme", a classic claim for supersession ("nous sommes," he declares, "sur
le promontoire extrême de siècles!"), provides a clear precedent
for this double involvement of technology. Its vision was propelled, as Banham
notes, by a desire for "the overriding of an old, tradition-bound technology,
unchanged since the Renaissance, by a newer one without traditions". The old,
along with "le Temps et l'Espace", Marinetti insisted, must be annihilated by
"la vitesse" of new technology. Museums and academies, which Marinetti
dismissed as "cimetières d'efforts perdus", were to be swept aside to
allow the Futurists to set out unburdened. In particular, Marinetti insisted
to his followers, "boutez donc le feu aux rayons des bibliotheques".[21]
If the past cannot easily be physically burned to the ground, it can at least
be theoretically or ideologically reduced to ashes. Raymond Williams explores
ways in which this has been done. Tracing ideas of temporal disjunction back
to Heisod, Williams shows that claims about the utter newness of the new long
antedate both postmodernism and modernism.[22]
(Declarations of separation may actually be one of the ties that perennially
bind one generation to another. So regularly do generations insist on their
utter newness that the first to be truly different may in fact be the
generation that does not claim this distinction.) Within this tradition,
certain ways of dismissing the past recur. In particular, as Williams argues,
the past is repeatedly portrayed in a version of "pastoral" that extracts
idyllic and simple aspects of an earlier age only to contrast them with the
assumed complexity and sophistication of the present.[23]
This strategy emerges in contemporary dismissals of the book.
Characterizations of the present "condition" often portray the past, either
directly or by implication, as a time in which, for instance, the prelapsarian
sign and referent walked hand in hand their amiable way. For Baudrillard this
was the child-like phase of history in which "l'image . . . est le reflet d'une
réalite profonde".[24] By contrast
with our own, in these pastoral societies the author was apparently both alive
and suitably authoritative, and the reader naive and suitably subordinated.
The inhabitants of the past saw the book, some have claimed, as "the natural
and only vehicle for a written text" and the text simply "a transparent window
into creative thought" and consequently they suffered beneath the "tyrannical"
voice of print.[25]
We should always be suspicious of the contempt that flows beneath a surface of
idealisation and concern. And we should note how often the characterisation of
"them" is in fact a self-aggrandisement of "us". Roger Chartier describes a
similar world "in which the book was revered and authority was respected" until
the book "lost its charge of sacrality" and "reverence and obedience gave way
to a freer, more casual way of reading". What distinguishes Chartier's account
from these other claims, however, is that he is describing attitudes of
eighteenth-century urban elites towards the pastoral innocence of their rural
counterparts and forebears. Significantly, a scepticism we have been led to
believe characteristic of the postmodern reader was, it seems, evident even at
the start of the enlightenment project. In this light, our claims to a new,
technologically mediated epistemological dis-illusionment seem particularly
hollow.[26]
In the end, the apparent convergence of technological futurism and cultural
theory fails to distinguish itself with decisive clarity from the very past it
attempts to escape. Instead, it primarily recapitulates what it sought to
supersede. Of course, we all know that those who forget the past are condemned
to repetition, primarily of Santayana's tedious aphorism, but the problems of
supersession may require stronger remedies. As a practical matter, naive ideas
of supersession may actually be making some forms of repetition difficult
rather than inevitable. While our technological superiority has long been
taken for granted, high acid paper and silver nitrate film are silently
destroying significant regions of twentieth-century cultural production with
much more success than Marinetti had with the nineteenth. Meanwhile, the rapid
predatory supersession of both hardware and software is rendering recently
created digital documents and archives inaccessible or unreadable. To save
significant products of our digital being, we may have to move, some suggest,
from bits back to atoms.[27]
We need to be cautious about the trivialisation and dismissal of the past,
however, not simply because we may lose particular documents or artefacts, but
because we are also losing valuable cultural insights gained through old
communicative technologies, just as we are trying to build new ones.
Disinheriting the present from the past rejects a legacy of many and varied
strategies that our actual as opposed to idealised predecessors engaged to deal
with the problems of the sign, of narrative, of linearity and nonlinearity, of
deferral and differance, or of authority -- problems which the past,
pastoralisation to the contrary, was insufficiently benign to obscure from its
inhabitants. Just as archivists are now resurrecting apparently otiose paper
documents to help fathom unreadable digital archives, so we may need to
reassess earlier communicative artefacts and forms to revive some of the newer
ones.[28]
Of course, it's easy to portray such an attitude as no more than nostalgia and
resistance in the face of progress -- a nostalgia that fails to appreciate,
moreover, how different the past is from the present and that clings naively to
a seamless view of history, which the sophistication of "critical" critiques
has long since made problematic. Undoubtedly, Bachelard's notion of
coupure, disseminated by Althusser and Foucault, has made simple ideas
of historical continuity and recovery untenable. Equally, Foucault's caution
against searching for "origins" has rendered searches for historical precedent
highly suspect. But there is no need for those who seek, in Johnson's words,
to "explore times gloomy backwards with judicious eyes" to cede the theoretical
high ground so easily. Indeed, many who assert the utter newness of the new
need themselves to pay more than lip-service to the force of these arguments.
Claims of supersession, for instance, often escape portraying history as
seamless only by the factitious insertion of a single seam, which often falls
just behind the claimant. Beyond this single, uniform rent that frees the
claimant from the past, history usually looks not the complex of tessellated
breaks or ruptures we are led to expect, but placidly smooth and
undifferentiated. Portrayals of a postmodern rift occasionally appear to be no
more than a grossly naive reading of Althusser or Foucault that hopes to sweep
aside problematic issues from the past simply by declaring a new
problématique. Ozenfant nicely parodies such cataclysmic
analyses by calling the first section of his history of painting and sculpture
"From Before the Deluge to 1914".[29]
In particular, the broad, parallel rents in the social and technological fabric
produced by theories of the simultaneous transition of technology and culture
into a new era assume a process of remarkably even, parallel development.
These looks quite naive beside more thoughtful analyses of uneven
development.[30] Where supersessive rifts do
allow some room for uneven development, it is usually only to lend unexamined
support to widespread notions of "culture" and even biology lagging behind
"technology" and needing to catch up. Thus to keep up with technology's
autonomous unfolding, Vannevar Bush, the father of hypertext, feels we need to
develop a new language, de Landa suggests a new form of "synthetic reasoning",
Schrage a more advanced gene, and Jameson new organs.[31]
Similarly, it is claims of supersession rather than appeals for improved
historical analysis that seem primarily concerned with origins. To the extent
that technological and critical-theoretical triumphalism declares a
supersessive break between past and future, it implicitly makes itself the new
origin. Like Satan's autochthonous army, it wants to "Know none before us,
self-begot, self raised" and so set the terms for future debate.[32] To resist simple ideas of supersession, by contrast,
encourages richer investigation of those very genealogies supersession makes
untraceable. Though prone to declare unbridgeable rifts himself, Althusser,
in his critique of Hegelian ideas of supersession, argues that only by
rejecting supersession, by refusing to succumb to the banalities of Hegel's
all-subsuming progress can we "retreat" (as Althusser calls it) to the genuine
complexities of history.[33]
In all, then, I suggest it's important to resist announcements of the death of
the book or the more general insistence that the present has swept away the
past or that new technologies have superseded the old. To refuse to accept
such claims is not, however, to deny that we are living through important
cultural or technological changes. Rather, it's to insist that to assess the
significance of these changes and to build the resources to negotiate them, we
need specific analysis not sweeping dismissals. Indeed, as Williams argues,
proclaiming our distance from the past only prevents "the reality of a major
transition" from being fully "acknowledged and understood".[34]
In the case of the book, it's helpful to note Foucault's remarks on the author
function: "It is not enough to repeat the empty affirmation that the author
has disappeared . . . we must locate the space left empty by the author's
disappearance, follow the distribution of gaps and breaches, and watch for the
openings that this disappearance uncovers". And again, "Themes destined to
replace the privileged position accorded the author have merely served to
arrest the possibility of genuine change." A similar case can be made against
unguarded assumptions of the death of the book. Technological supersession too
easily suggests that there will be no space left empty, no gaps or breaches to
worry about, and (as I argue in the following section) that all technological
change is progress towards the removal of privilege. Technology, it is
assumed, is projecting society into a postmodern, posthistorical plenum where
the only problems are caused by Luddites.[35]
3 Liberation Technology
Except at their most vaunting, assumptions of supersession tend to run
beneath the surface of debate as pressures and tendencies that shape discussion
rather than as topics that appear within it. One symptom of this subterranean
presence, however, may be the claim of liberation. Leo Marx has argued that,
unless protected by claims for simultaneous emancipation, deterministic visions
of technological development quickly turn dystopian. Information technology in
particular is often painted as either the panopticon or the beacon of liberty.
(The famous Apple advertisement during the Superbowl of 1984 presented both by
opposing imprisoning Big (Brother) Blue to the liberating rainbow of
Macintosh.) The idea that supersession brings with it liberation provides a
bulwark against the darker side of this opposition.[36]
So where statements about supersession are often muted, the cry of liberation
tends to ring clear. Hence the wide currency of Stuart Brand's extravagant
aphorism that "information wants to be free", which has been picked up by many
who want to chase off the, by contrast, imprisoning book. Bolter talks about
the "revolutionary" goal of "freeing the writing from the frozen structure of
the page" and ultimately "liberating the text". Barlow claims information "has
to move", Nelson suggests that only with new technology can the "true structure
and interconnectedness of information" emerge, while Sterling argues that
information "wants to change . . .[but] for a long time, our static media,
whether carvings in stone, ink on paper, or dye on celluloid, have strongly
resisted the evolutionary impulse".[37]
This language of liberty moves quickly to such icons of freedom as the market
and the frontier. Thus Rheingold evocatively subtitles his book on electronic
"communities", "Homesteading on the electronic frontier". The Electronic
Frontier Foundation, with which Brand, Barlow, Sterling, Rheingold and others
are connected, brings many related ideas of liberty together, associating
"electronic" technologies with the frontier and the "marketplace of ideas" and
in so doing casting doubt on pre-electronic technologies like the book.
Intriguingly, such proclamations occasionally transfer attributes of liberty
from people to information. Freedom of information, once a citizen's right to
gain access to information, by a sleight of argument becomes the right of
information to move freely, free of material impediment. This is not to deny
the important First Amendment issues taken up by the Electronic Frontier
Foundation. But for a variety of reasons, the language of personal freedom is
being attached to information, which as a result is given autonomous desires
and an independent existence and evolution. Technological futurology
occasionally transfers autonomy and rationality from people and societies to
machines. Here, there's a similar exchange. Information is endowed with human
attributes and simultaneously a certain independence from human control.[38]
This transference ultimately rests on dualistic assumptions. Where once we had
ghosts in machines, now we have information in objects like books. Technology
is thus called upon to do for information what theology sought to do for the
soul. But this liberation technology is quite distinct from liberation
theology, for where the latter turned from tending the soul to tending the
body, liberation technology turns in the opposite direction, away from the
text's embodiment towards information's pure essence. When the young
Wordsworth let out the impassioned cry against the book,
Oh! why hath not the Mind
Some element to stamp her image on
In Nature
somewhat nearer to her own?
The Prelude [1850], V, 45-49
his more down-to-earth associate replied calmly that this "was going far to
seek disquietude" (ibid, l. 53). But now the question is being asked again and
more earnestly, and digital information technology is being offered as the
answer. The book, no longer its incarnation, has been reduced to the
incarceration of the word. But a technological Prospero seems at last to be at
hand to free the informational Ariel from the cleft pine (or wood products) in
which he has been trapped.[39]
Barlow, an influential populariser of the electronic future, uses the idea of a
wine or spirit stoppered in a bottle as a metaphor for this entrapment. The
image goes back at least to Milton's Areopagitica: "books . . . do
preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living
intellect bred in them". But as that last phrase indicates, Milton resisted
any simple image of the book as mere container: "books are not absolutely dead
things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul
whose progeny they are". Barlow, however, disdains such qualification. The
container, as he sees it, is thoroughly superseded, and, like a good genie, the
contents once free will not go back.[40]
Many present this release in near apocalyptic terms. Electronic text will,
Lanham argues, "disempower . . . the force of linear print" and "blow . . .
wide open" social limits imposed by the codex book, in the process
democratizing the arts and allowing us "to create that genuine social self
which America has discouraged from the beginning". Landow agrees it will
liberate readers from the "tyrannical, univocal voice of the novel" and create
the sort of intertextuality that, in Thaïs Morgan's words, will free "the
literary text" from "psychological, sociological, and historical determinisms".
While for Bolter it will remove a veil of distortion so that "what is unnatural
in print becomes natural in the electronic medium".[41]
A fair amount of post-structuralist theory is being ingested to provide
intellectual support for what is, in fact, the demonisation of the book. In
particular, Barthes's powerful distinction between the "work", servant of one
master, and the "text", an item of pleasure for many, is invoked directly or
indirectly to confirm the idea of books as procrustean containers. Electronic
technologies are spoken of as if they would shake the "text" free from the
"work", (though Barthes himself held "it would be useless to attempt a material
separation"). And more explicitly, Barthes's concept of the lexia has
proved an influential and tendentious term for the unit of liberated text.[42]
Yet the invocation of Barthes raises some doubts about the convergence of
theorists and practitioners. For Barthes, the lexia was the arbitrary
unit into which he separated text in order to disrupt "blocks of signification
of which reading grasps only the surface, imperceptibly soldered by the
movement of sentences, the flowing discourse of narration, the 'naturalness' of
ordinary language". Starting with these lexias, and with the errors of
his structuralist-scientistic past clearly in mind, Barthes sets out to explore
"several kinds of criticism (psychological, psychoanalytical, thematic,
historical, structural)" which collectively destroy any notion of "totality"
and deny "'naturalness'" to the work. As a result of the ensuing dramatic
reconstruction of the text, the work is revealed to be an impossibility, a
denial of its own assertions.[43]
Barthes's dramatic strategies undoubtedly challenge those who accept the book
as writ. But, as I've suggested already, the ideally naive reader envisaged
here is, above all else, a pastoral idealisation. In fact, Barthes's ideas
seem to challenge more forcefully many of the enthusiasts of electronic
hypertexts. For while Barthes's poststructuralist legacy merges easily with
the general demonisation of the book, it does not fit so easily with ideas of
pure, natural information or the grand information-retrieval concepts put
forward by, for example, Vannevar Bush and Ted Nelson, the great forefathers of
practical hypertext. (Nor is it quite at home with the fairly conventional
pedagogical goals of, for example, Lanham and Landow.) Many who embrace
post-structuralist forays against the codex to support their arguments for the
electronic emancipation of information or society, too easily forget that these
forays were launched to a significant degree because the book was presented not
as a prison, but as a key technology of the grand narratives of emancipation.
Dominant strains of postmodernism and ideas of posthistory have long insisted
that all such emancipatory narratives, whether they concern books or
information technologies, are illusory.[44]
Critical theory aside, the idea of liberation technology superseding the
entrapments of the past has its own internal problems. The argument that
supersession and liberation belong together rests on the paradoxical prediction
that freedom from technology can be achieved through technology. Here it's
perhaps possible to detect the shadow the military has cast over a great deal
of technological futurology.[45] The desire
for a technology to liberate information from technology is not far from the
search for a weapon to end all weapons or the war to end all wars. The idea
that the latest weapon is an agent of peace, that the latest putsch will be the
last is seductive. But ultimately it is both corrupting and misleading. As
with so much optimistic futurology, it woos us to jump by highlighting the
frying pan and hiding the fire. In face of such arguments, we do better to
remember Andrew Marvell's ambiguous celebration of Cromwell's conquest and
liberation of Ireland:
The same art that did gain
A power must it maintain.
or how Ariel quickly discovered that the same magic that liberated him from the
tree indentured him to Prospero.[46]
4 Material Information
The tangles supersession and liberation get into result, I think, from the
dualistic assumptions I referred to earlier. In this section, I suggest that,
if we avoid the assumption that information and technology, the "semiotic" and
the "perceptual" in Bolter's terms, are as distinct and separable as wine and
bottles, we avoid the problematic tangles. After discussing this idea of
dualism and it's connection to the trope of pastoral a little further, I
outline an alternative way to think of information. This alternative, more
systemic approach emphasizes the role of material artifacts in both making and
warranting information.[47]<
Ideas of supersession, I argued earlier, often rely on a pastoral
characterisation of the past (or future), and this can help explain both the
source and the nature of the problematic dualism. William Empson argued that
pastoral attempts but always fails to depict a reconciliation of the inimical
products of mind and matter.[48] It's not
surprising, then, to find pastoral visions in debates about the book and its
past and future. Ideas about the reconciliation of conceptual and physical,
mind and matter, sign and signified provide the common ground between
pessimistic and optimistic views of technological development. Extreme
pessimistic views suggest that the coming of the computer is destroying
previous reconciliation achieved by the book. Extreme optimists hold, by
contrast, that any prior sense of harmony was a delusion and that the computer
will both dispel those illusions created by the book and in its place achieve
true reconciliation, offering the "real character of information", "the genuine
social self", and so forth.[49]
A significant alternative position shares the optimists' view that the past was
an era of delusion, but distinguishes itself by denying the promise of future
reconciliation. Harmony, this view suggests, is always a deception; attempts
at reconciliation can only end in contradiction. (This view explains why
pastoral, like the Queen's jam, is something never achieved today, but only
projected into yesterday or tomorrow.) This position escapes the
disappointment of the one and the hope of the other, but it nonetheless shares
the dualism of both optimist and pessimist. It argues less against their
dualistic assumptions, than their vision of harmonious reconciliation. So
Empson and Barthes, for example, see a pastoral landscape seeded by the
intentions of Marvell or Balzac but producing only self annihilation and
contradiction.
Varied though their destinations may be, there is evidently one way to avoid
starting down any of these paths and that is to reject the dualism with which
they all begin. In the next few paragraphs I sketch an alternative position.[50] Rather than thinking of wine in bottles,
each of which has a separate identity, information and technology can be more
usefully considered as mutually constitutive and ultimately indissoluble. Apt
images then would be rivers and banks, Yeats's example of dancer and dance, or
Newman's of light and illumination: you don't get one without the other. In
this view, information is undoubtedly less autonomous than liberationists would
hold; on the other hand, books appear more productive and less like the passive
constraints supersessionists make them out to be. Indeed, it can be helpful to
think of them as I.A. Richards did when, somewhat uncharacteristically, he
declared that "a book is a machine to think with".[51]
Viewing the book as a machine, we quickly bridge the supersessive chasm some
have dug between new technology and the book, as if one were a machine and the
other not. Indeed, the idea of it as a "machine to think with" makes the book
seem much closer to what are standardly called information technologies than
either those who idealise it in Miltonic vein as "the Soul's progeny" or those
who demonise it in Mitchell's terms as "tree flakes encased in dead cow" seem
to believe. In the end all information technologies and the information they
carry -- whether made from trees and cows or sand and petroleum -- are not
independent, but interdependent.[52]
If books and the information they carry are interdependent, then, as a machine,
the book is clearly more than a conduit for ideas produced elsewhere.[53] It is itself a means of production. This
concept goes beyond the simple idea of an individual book producing the
information it contains. Books are part of a social system that includes
authors, readers, publishers, booksellers, libraries, and so forth. Books
produce and are reciprocally produced by the system as a whole. They are not,
then, simply "dead things" carrying pre-formed information from authors to
readers. They are crucial agents in the cycle of production, distribution, and
consumption. This is why, as McGann puts it, "readers and audiences are hidden
in our texts, and the traces of their multiple presence are scripted at the
most material levels".[54] Recent work by
McGann and other "bibliographic" critics such as McKenzie, Chartier, Genette,
and Darnton increasingly acknowledges this systemic relation of the work, the
author, and the audience and the role played by the passage of physical books
in creating, maintaining, and developing this literary system. Their work and
related ideas about cultural production and consumption of cultural artefacts
offer fuller and more complex accounts of the book than those implicit in
claims of supersession and liberation.[55]
For instance, arguments of Michel de Certeau and Richard Johnson help explain
how easy it can be to idealise information technology and demonise the book as
if the two were not, indeed, both machines. de Certeau and Johnson hold that
in attempting to understand cultural artefacts travelling a social circuit,
it's essential to distinguish the different cardinal points of the system. To
take one and ignore the others inevitably misrepresents the system as a whole
and the role of the artefact within it. Similarly, it's a mistake to contrast
analyses made from two different points on the circuit. Arguments against the
book, for example, often characterise it not in terms of the whole cycle, from
writers to readers and back again, but from the point of authorial production
alone. Isolating this position allows the book to appear to exert malign,
authoritative influences over passive audiences. (Indeed, as de Certeau
argues, the isolation of production more generally both leads to and ultimately
vitiates many of Foucault's arguments about the efficacy of power.)[56]
Information technology, by contrast, is often characterised in terms of the
circulating text or of cultural consumption, but not of production.
Privileging the circulating text makes information seem remarkably
self-sufficient and the book, by contrast, imprisoning. In the past,
"practical", "new", as well as structuralist critics looked from this point of
view, granting the text an autonomy distinct from its production or
consumption. And this is also essentially the view of those liberationists who
defer to the autonomous integrity of information. A third position moves to
consumption alone -- a stance taken up by Stanley Fish, whose readers appear
liberated from all constraints -- by contrast, devolves all power to the
consumer.
By amalgamating the last two positions, supersessionists and liberationists
have been able to create an idealised picture of new technologies that makes
these appear as complete departures from the book's determined assaults on both
texts and readers. But this conclusion is achieved only through incompatible
forms of analysis. Furthermore, as we saw, it also leads to the tangle between
the two alternative positions, one of which sees the text becoming independent
of technology, while the other consumers becoming independent through
technology. Looking at communication technologies in the round, by contrast,
circumvents these partial, isolated, and antagonistic accounts. For the book
at least, cultural theorists, contemporary bibliographic critics, and literary
sociologists have recently begun to do this. It still needs to be done for
alternative information technologies.
The attention to the book as a material object involved in a social circuit
helps in particular to explain some problems with evolutionary accounts like
Sterling's, which view information technologies as progressively removing
material encumbrances from the "true" information assumed to lie beneath
them.[57] In Sterling's view, the printed
codex can be no more than a material burden on the information "inside", which
technology now permits us to remove. This approach, the essence of what I have
called "liberation-technology", discounts the substantial role the book plays
in coordinating consumption and production and so maintaining the social system
of information. In so doing, it renders the process of publication
particularly absurd, for instead of removing material constraints, publishing
appears to add them. The manuscript appears to be the more authentic form from
which the various stages of book production retreat into artificiality and
imprisonment.
Considered as part of a larger social system, however, publication is not so
easily portrayed as an act of incarceration. It is rather, as McGann describes
it, an act of socialization. The production of a book is a shaping of an
artefact capable of travelling a public circuit and coordinating production and
distal consumption. On their own, manuscripts have a very limited reach and
are essentially private documents for local circuits, lacking the forms and
warrants that make them more generally consumable. Publication is then very
much a process of producing a public artefact and inserting it in a particular
social circuit. Indeed, what general intelligibility manuscripts have is due
not to the autonomy of information, but to a reader's understanding of the
broader literary system. Manuscripts are read not as a purer form, but as
incomplete versions, rapid prototypings of the artefact they are intended to
become. To turn them into public forms requires more, productive work.
Consequently, what from the liberationist point of view are looked upon as
material constraints, from which text should be "freed", are more often social
resources that, if removed, need to be reconstituted or invoked in some other
way if the status of the text is to be maintained to any degree.
Newspapers, more easily thought of as purveyors of information than producers,
in fact provide another example of the production process. Certainly
newspapers convey information as news. But before they convey news, newspapers
first make it. News is not simply made elsewhere and then put onto paper,
affirming the simple, dualistic separation of information and technology. News
is made in the process of editing the paper, which determines not so much what
news is "fit to print", but that what fits and gets printed is news. Editing
and copyfitting are not mere "mechanical" tasks, but social processes of
abstraction through which events become stories that become or fail to become
news.[58] The ensuing circulation of the
printed paper through a society (ensuring that the "same" news is available to
everyone at roughly the same time) then warrants the selected items as "social
facts".[59]
This process is also quite distinct from the related liberationist vision of
people individually gathering sui generis news out of vast database.
Without constraints, data so stored lacks both the shape of news (when should a
correspondent stop writing, taping, filming?) and its social status (can an
item I download be "news" for me but not for anyone else?). News is, rather, a
shaped product and the shaping contribution of technologies is implicitly
recognised in the way news databases rely on newspapers of record, relying on
these to warrant what the database carries as news. Radio and television
programmes similarly report the content of the front page of the major daily
papers. But radio and television have proved themselves capable of producing
news themselves as well as carrying news produced elsewhere. I don't want to
stumble into demonisation, here. New technologies are not incapable of
producing news, but at present they primarily reproduce it, deferring in the
process to older, more established, public forms. This ready and often
unnoticed deferral has important implications for the design of information
technology. If designers assume this technology is merely a conduit for
free-standing information, new technologies are more likely to remain
subordinate to residual technologies than to offer creative alternatives, let
alone supersede them.
The implication that technologies are just conduits for information produced
elsewhere both denies the material role technologies play in producing
information and, as I noted at the end of the previous section, assumes that
information has an inherent shape and integrity independent of the system in
which it is produced and consumed. Information is taken to be self-sufficient,
self-explanatory, and self-legitimating. Yet, as Lyotard notes, legitimation is
always a central problem for information.[60]
Liberationists give information the burden of guaranteeing its own legitimacy,
putting it in the position of Epimendes asserting (or even denying) the Cretan
paradox.[61] But information cannot so
validate itself. Merely writing "Legal Tender" on the face of a bank note is
not proof against forgery. Rather, it is the record of the material process
that provides collateral for writing: the material difficulty of producing the
inscription warrants the banknote. This is not to argue, of course, that the
material warrant guarantees legitimacy or determines consumption. But it does
represent an attempt to coordinate production and consumption through a
mediating artefact. And even acts of transgression, poaching, or
deconstruction acknowledge the attempt.[62]
Acknowledging the coordinating role books play doesn't entail accepting a rigid
correspondence between what we think of as "form" and "content". Chartier is
right to note that "meaning changes when form changes" (consequently, irony,
the trope of self denial, travels particularly badly). But within a robust
system such as the modern system of lapidary publishing, many changes can be
easily negotiated. Despite new forms for old words, it's often possible to
recognize a putative form (much as we recognize putative narrators and putative
audiences) despite the changes in the actual material. Nevertheless, the
changes we are contemplating at the moment concern more than particular
inscriptions and may involve the system itself. Faced with the changes at this
level, it becomes important to think not idealistically about information, but
materially, in terms of what Genette calls the "ensemble heteroclite" or
McGann the "laced network of linguistic and bibliographic codes". Systemic
changes reach beyond particular semiotic effects, altering our understanding of
not just what things might mean, but also why they matter.[63]
5. Future Concerns
As I noted at the close of the previous section, the advent of multiple new
technologies is probably changing not only particular works, but to the social
system in relation to which the works were written and read. It will take care
and thought to negotiate these changes, and the task will inevitably become
more difficult if changes are made in material processes without regard to the
social practices they underwrite. If, however, information is taken to be a
natural category and its material substrate ultimately immaterial or if
supersession is assumed to be inevitably beneficial, these problems will remain
invisible though their effects may be increasingly felt. So, contrary to the
convention of ending with solutions, I end by trying to raise two related
concerns that seem to me hidden to optimistic eyes (the pessimists, of course,
see nothing but problems). I do not pretend that a non-dualistic,
social-material approach automatically resolves these problems, only that it
makes them visible and so open to attention.
Borrowing a portmanteau word coined by Toffler and packing a little more into
it, I call the first problem the paradox of demassification.
Demassification refers to the increasing ease with which socially
complex technologies can be made not just for broad masses of people, but for
small groups and individuals. Economies of scale, necessary for
material-intensive and labour-intensive products, once guaranteed common
artifacts. Flexible production of post-Fordism has made this increasingly less
important. Less generically Taylored production can be more easily
individually tailored. This sort of social demassification or
individualization is to a significant degree the result of material
demassification, which might indeed more strictly be called
dematerialisation. As technology is transformed from mechanical to
digital-informational, machines shed mass dramatically. Huge mainframes, for
instance, have been reduced to individual laptop computers which people can
work on alone and, more significantly, separately.
Individuation and separation, two effects of the two kinds of demassification,
in the end pull against one another. With large machines, from production
lines to time-sharing computers, activities were implicitly coordinated because
people worked together in the same place on the same machine. With
dematerialized, portable objects, people no longer need to congregate in single
buildings or communicate through central, unifying machines in order to work
together. Nonetheless, while they remained uniform, mass-produced artefacts
(and books offer one of the earlier examples) continued to support social
coordination despite prompting separation. With faithful duplication, people
had access to what was, to all intents and purposes, the "same" object and so,
though physically separated, could easily negotiate among themselves
coordinated interactions. The more artifacts are tailored to individual users,
however, the more such separation becomes problematic. It's hard to share and
coordinate practice, if you don't share the same physical space. It's much
more difficult if you also don't share common artefacts. In brief, centrifugal
forces of individualization and separation are coming into conflict with
centripetal social needs, which were met previously and unproblematically
through shared or common material objects.[64]
Certainly, no-one wants to throw away their laptops and move back into the
world of time-sharing. But having blown apart the mainframe with personal
computers, we have spent a decade or more valiantly struggling to re-coordinate
or "network" computational practice. (It's interesting to note that MOOs,
which return users to shared space, virtual though it may be, have been
compared to time-sharing machines.) To prevent similar problems with other
artefacts, it may be more prudent to attend from the first to material and
social needs and the way in which these have been met by the circulation of
public forms and to avoid succumbing to ideas of information in the abstract or
of consumption as an individual and unfettered practice.
Yet one response to this paradox may be the increasing individuation and
personalisation of the production of information. Using new technologies,
people seem to be trying to produce and consume information with less reliance
on impersonal forms and more on personal warrants for legitimation. In this
context, it is interesting to consider the coming of hypertext systems, which
often seek to replace public, general forms with particularised, individual
links. Hypertext also offers to replace linearity with random access,
narrative structure with lexias, distinctions between reader and writer
with an elision of consumption and production. This type of electronic text
has been greeted, as I noted earlier, with some extravagant claims, and in
keeping with these, hypertext is sometimes portrayed as the means to achieve
the triumphant deconstruction of old institutions and forms of authority, in
particular those Marinetti attacked, the academy and the library, and with
these the publishing houses and the news media. It sometimes appears possible
to think of hypertext only in terms of supersession and liberation.[65]
To understand hypertext and its implications, however, we should look back as
well as forward. Hypertext is not unprecedented. Hypertext theorists
themselves often cite the footnote as a shadowy predecessor, but there is a
less obscure and more important one, overlooked not only as a consequence of
the forward-looking ideology of supersession, but also as a result of the
narrowness of the sociology of literacy and information. If I am right and
hypertext has a significant precedent, then of course it may lack the novelty
to offer either supersession or liberation; on the other hand, precedent may
offer us some way to understand social implications of the technological shift
to hypertext forms.
For a precedent, we should look beyond the newspaper and related pamphlet and
journal forms and beyond the book and its related forms to the robust and
enduring forms of "the books". For half a millennium, bookkeeping, a system of
individual blocks or lexias interconnected by multiple links, created
and maintained networks of information, "books mutually dependent on each
other" as the Catechism of Trade and Commerce called them.[66] A conventional set of account books
comprised several generically quite different types of document: the waste
book, the journal, the ledger (with its distinct types of account), the letter
book (with its many authors), the bill book, the cash book, the sales book,
inventories, and so on.[67] The accounting
system also embraced several media, including physical objects (goods,
merchandise) and complex intermediate representations (tags, tallies, chits,
receipts, bills of lading, and the like). Items, books, and sets of books were
elaborately linked in ways that connected items not only to those in the other
types of book within a single business but to other books in other businesses
(for of course every credit in one "real" account is a debit in someone else's;
every bill receivable represents a bill payable elsewhere). With the spread of
merchant capital, these links in effect produced a global network with several
of the characteristics of hypertext. It was an endless, unfinished,
nonsequential, transnational, and highly practical web of circulating
information. As with hypertext, there was no single or sequential route
through these entries, but only ever-new and perpetually unfinished pathways
created by each new reticulating reader--writer. And, as with information
technology, the system was triumphantly described by great and sober minds as
the ultimate rational technology of an ultimately rational society.[68]
Far from an obscure or reserved practice, this system was both geographically
and socially widely dispersed. As Braudel shows, from the thirteenth century,
the travels of merchants quickly spread the complex form of the partita
doppia with its necessary accoutrements from the Mediterranean around the
world. At its height in the nineteenth century it had in one form or another
penetrated (and interconnected) almost all societies at a variety of levels,
crossing class, race, and gender boundaries. Household and petty-commodity
accounting, for instance, required accounts, and this was done predominantly by
women. Consequently, the fishwives who surround Peter Simple's ship in foreign
ports and the bourgeois English wife of Pendennis's publisher are bound
together by the books they wave. The wealthy of both sexes in both capitalist
and feudal societies also kept their books, so we find Colonel Newcome and Anna
Karenina (and others that had neither a wife nor servant to do it for them)
engaged in the same practice. The counting-house stool provided early
education for many without sufficient social connections (among them Hume and
Dickens). Meanwhile poor men long provided the bulk of clerks of one sort or
another and probably had more to do with accounting books than discursive ones.
Many of the hanged apprentices described in Linbaugh's London Hanged
appear to have been united not only in death but in the skill of "casting
accompts".[69]
The history of accounting as a cultural rather than just business practice is
as yet too-little explored to read too much into the effects of accounting on
other types of literacy. But accounting may help explain the diffusion of the
common conceptions of "information" as the content of rational technology.
Bookkeeping offers a process for producing apparently robust individual items
or lexias and a social practice that helped naturalize a misleading
concept of information as seemingly autonomous items, put into, rather than
developed out of books.
The idea of information as a product of certain forms of literacy has been
traced back to the emergence of the newspaper and the journal.[70] It is both possible and productive, however, to push
this history back a little further. Habermas, for instance, traces related
ideas back to the commercial precursors of newspapers such as Lloyds'
Register, in which information from business letters was progressively
commodified. The daily abstraction of items from the flow of practice and
their coding into a particular "universal" form was the work of the
counting-house "traffic in commodities and news". Gradually news itself became
commodified as "useful truths" were transformed into the content of newspapers.
As with the serendipitous entries in a waste book, but now in increasingly
public ways, items from different sources were given force and unity through
being translated into a particular, socially acknowledged form. Under the
warranting masthead of a newspaper, these were then circulated and sold. As
Kronick and Shaffner both show, a somewhat similar process went on with
scientific periodicals. It is not then surprising that the journal, the
refined form of the waste book, gave its name to both newspapers and scholarly
publications. Other forms of standardization (indexing, alphabetisation, page
numbers) were probably also refined first in the counting house before
appearing in print.[71]
To take anything from this genealogy, we should note immediately a central
difference between the account book and the newspaper, journal, or periodical.
Unlike the last three, account books are primarily the forms of civil society,
not the public sphere. The lexias of account books, relied for warrants
on the personal authority and private warrant of the counting-house and family
firm to which they belonged. At least until the nineteenth century and the
development of the public limited liability company, any account or entry was
an entirely private affair with no autonomous or public standing. Indeed,
private accounts were incapable of achieving the disinterested status required
for the public sphere. The sphere of business is always the sphere of private
interests.
In Habermas's account, the contrasting public sphere developed out of the
agonistic contest between state regulation and the bourgeois merchants of the
private sphere to whom these regulations applied. For support, both state and
merchants appealed to a public sense of disinterested argument. The
development of pamphlets, newspapers and other public forms of information and
debate must be seen as a part of this social struggle involving the attempt to
transform the particularity of personalised links, private testimony, and
individual power into public, impartial, and disinterested forms. Public forms
and institutions were developed to be independent of the personal privilege of
the individual bourgeois merchant, the aristocracy, or the monarch. And for
this to happen, personal link had to be replaced by impersonal warrants. Ideas
of news, information, science, and public opinion developed as part of this
process. In conclusion, then, this history is not, as pastoral views would
have it, ignorant of lexias, links, and webs but one that developed very
much in direct opposition to their limitations.
Undoubtedly, hypertext is clearly distinct from the old technologies of the
public sphere. It remains to be shown, however, how distinct it is from the
preceding private forms and, in consequence, how much genuine liberation it can
really achieve. Undoubtedly, as a concept and a social context, the public
sphere and its forms and institutions are not without serious problems.
Nevertheless, a retreat into civil society (glimpsed in some of the more
Hobbesian enclosures of cyberspace), if that's what hypertext presages, seems a
far more problematic development. It would, for instance, be foolish to
believe as some seem to that putting warranting back on an individual, personal
basis makes everybody equal. This may remove the trappings of power, but,
unlike the move to the public sphere, it leaves the sources and structures of
power unaffected.
Of course, my own argument insists that technology alone cannot drive us into
this privatised corner and that it is particularly important to look beyond the
rhetoric of determinism, supersession, and liberation to the actual
social--material practices that are developing. Here, to some extent, a more
sanguine picture emerges. The popularity of hypermedia on the World Wide Web
shows that much of the rhetoric of hypertext is quite inaccurate and
ineffectual. Text is not being decomposed into Barthean lexias; rather
very conventional whole documents, with much of their authority and their
material origins putatively ascertainable, are being linked. Divisions between
author and reader, producer and consumer, are being technologically enforced.
On the other hand, as these features indicate, much of the Web is being used as
a conduit for old institutional forms (the careful scrutiny of institutional
authority thinly inscribed in domain and site addresses of Internet URLs
suggests this) and so instead of being an alternative it is probably more
dependent on older forms than it need be. It will take, I suspect, more
serious analysis than has yet been undertaken and a clearer recognition of the
productive interdependence of technology and information to avoid either
regression to private forms or dependence on older institutional ones. My own
goal is not to demonise the new, but to suggest that the facile demonisation of
the old, and the book in particular, allows aspects of the new to slip by
unexamined, to the ultimate detriment of both old and new.
6 Conclusion
The debate about the book is caught between two voices a little like
those heard at the opening of A Tale of Two Cities, one proclaiming the
best of times and the other the worst, one proclaiming the future is our
salvation and another pointing back to a lost Eden. I have tried to argue
that, with regard to the book, both these positions too easily separate the
past from the future, the simple from the complex, technology from society, and
information from technology. To escape both utopian and dystopian
oversimplifications, we need first to question such ready separations.
We should, for example, look not technology in isolation, but at its
social-material and historical context. Enlarging our viewpoint in this way
sets aside ideas of simple supersession (the separation of the past from the
future) or liberation (the separation of information from technology) and
avoids quasi-Weberian dichotomies between, for instance, progressive
technological logic and regressive social illogic or between technologically
tractable constraints and socially useful resources. Instead, we discover that
the technological and the cultural, constraint and resource are finely and
inextricably interwoven. If we consider the book in this light, we should
discover that despite its apparent simplicity, it has a great deal to tell us
and will, for some time yet, be both a useful, practical tool and a resourceful
precedent for designers of alternative technologies to go by.
So if Victor Hugo is to remain our guide in these matters, to the Archdeacon's
fatalist prediction of supersession, I prefer a scene from another work -- that
claustrophobic moment in Les Miserables where Valjean lies alive in his
coffin and, having expected liberation, hears the unexpected and terrifying
clods of earth dropping slowly into the grave. His life, the words on the page
seem to say, is over; but, of course, the 700 odd pages remaining in our right
hand materially insist, to the contrary, that Valjean is quite unlikely to die
soon. Nonetheless, as if to caution the overly sanguine, Hugo called this
section "Cemeteries Take What They Are Given". If nothing else, this offers a
useful caution not to permit the burial of what yet has useful life.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to Laura Hartman, Jean Lave, Geoff Nunberg, and Shawn Parkhurst for
patiently reading earlier drafts of this paper.
[1]The "coming of the book" was famously mapped
in L. Febvre & H-J. Martin, The Coming of the Book: The Impact of
Printing, 1450-1800 trans. D. Gerard (London: Verso, 1984, first published
1958). Its elegy was read just four years later by H.M. McLuhan The
Gutenberg Galaxy: Making of Typographic Man (Toronto: Toronto University
Press, 1962). McLuhan, less a technological determinist than some allow, did
not make the "going" as brief as more contemporary accounts, for he backdates
the beginning of the "going" some 150 years (see p. 3). Nonetheless, the
transition from coming to going remains brief, for this dates the "going"
barely a decade after Febvre and Martin close the "coming".
[2]For a recent example of the gloomy, see S.
Birkerts, The Gutenberg Elegies: The Fate of Reading in an Electronic
Age (Boston, MA: Faber & Faber, 1994); for the triumphant, see R.
Lanham, The Electronic Word: Democracy, Technology, and the Arts
(Chicago IL: University of Chicago, 1994).
[3]Butler's Erewhonians destroyed all machines;
books then became the only way future generations knew about these malign
objects (S. Butler, Erewhon (Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books,
1970), chch. 23 & 24).
[4]The problem with predictions about the demise
of older artefacts such as the book, I suspect, is that they actually harm the
old less than the new. Underestimating what replacement really involves and
overselling what technology can currently achieve too easily combine to give
new technologies an unfortunately bathetic launch into the world. In the case
of the book, for some of the elaborate social-material processes that Jerome
McGann has suitably embraced with the term "textual intercourse", we have been
proudly offered technologies with all the clinical charm and less of the
physical versatility of a three-by-five index card or a seamless roll of paper
(Jerome McGann, The Textual Condition (Princeton NJ: Princeton
University Press, 1991) p. 3). Faced with these, the book's polymorphous
appeal remains relatively undisturbed. (Indeed, many who proclaim its end most
loudly choose the book itself to make their case, which has much of the logic
of making yourself executor of your own will.) On the other hand, vaunting
predictions coupled with limited utility have already diminished enthusiasm for
potential hypertext and multimedia alternatives.
[5]H. Petrosky, The Pencil: A History of
Design and Circumstance (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1990), p. 331.
[6]Of course, the hinge also survives because it
is technologically simple.
[7]Williams, Television (New York:
Shocken Books, 1974).
[8]It's unwise to be too complacent about the
resilience of the book. It may well survive, but librarians who have had their
acquisitions budgets cut and colleges that have had whole libraries cut in the
name of alternatives that still don't exist are unlikely to have those funds
restored. The proclamation that the "library without walls" exists strikes me
as an opportunistic move by budget cutters rather than a reasonable, if
mistaken prediction.
[9]W. Benjamin, "Theses on the Philosophy of
History", Illuminations: Essays and reflections, ed. H. Arendt. (New
York: Schocken Books, 1969) p. 257. Erewhonians lived by a similar image: "Man
is drawn through life with his face to the past instead of the future."
Erewhon, p. 181.
[10]See, for example, Lanham, who talks of
"this remarkable convergence of social, technological, and theoretical
pressures" (Electronic Word, p. 23) or G.P. Landow's Hypertext: The
Convergence of Contemporary Critical Theory and Technology (Baltimore, MD:
Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992). F. Jameson, Postmodernism or, The
Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1994)
p. xi. McLuhan, Gutenberg Galaxy.
[11]V. Hugo, Notre Dame of Paris trans.
J. Sturrock (Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1978), pp. 188-189. W.
Mitchell, City of Bits: Space, Place, and the Infobahn (Cambridge, MA:
MIT Press, 1995). Landow (this volume) rightly points out that bibliophiles
will fetishise the book and argue as though all books were incunabula if it
helps their argument. This image of Mitchell's makes it clear that
technophiles do the very same thing when it suits them. This convergence
endorses my central point that in many ways the bibliophiles and the
technophiles are more alike than different.
[12]Toffler, Future Shock, p. 21. N.
Negroponte, Being Digital (New York: Basic Books, 1995), p. 4
(Negroponte's idea of a "new culture" looks modest beside his dominant
assumption of the new ontology of "digital being"); Lanham, Electronic
Word, p. 23, E. Feigenbaum & P. McCorduck, Fifth Generation:
Artificial Intelligence and Japan's Computer Challenge to the World
(Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley, 1983); A. Toffler, Future Shock (London:
Pan Books, 1971).
[13]See, for example, E. Eisenstein, The
Printing Revolution in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge
University Press, 1983) and The Printing Press as an Agent of Change:
Communications and Cultural Transformations in Early Modern Europe 2 vols.
(Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1979). The degree of determinism
embraced by Eisenstein's argument has been much debated (see P. McNally, ed.,
The Advent of Printing: Historians of Science Respond to Elizabeth
Eisenstein's The Printing Press as an Agent of Change. Occasional paper 10
(Montreal, CA: Graduate School of Library and Information Studies, McGill
University, 1987)).
[14]Landow, Hypertext, p. 2.
[15]Jameson, Postmodernism, p. ix;
Olsen quoted in M. Ford, "Without a City Wall", TLS, 4798, March 17,
1995. F. Lyotard, The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge,
trans. G. Bennington and Br. Massumi (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota
Press, 1979), p 3. For Baudrillard, see for example J. Baudrillard,
Simulacres et Simulations (Paris: Editions Galilé, 1981), e.g.,
pp. 2ff, where the count is particularly high. Baudrillard has perhaps amassed
more cultural capital than Toffler and given postmodernism a grander status
than futurology, but his views of simulacra often appear as little more than a
frenzied extension Toffler's early assumption that "Simulated and non-simulated
experiences will also become combined in ways that will sharply challenge man's
grasp of reality" Future Shock, p. 213. Baudrillard's trick has been to
say this state is here, now, where Toffler, no doubt as a wise professional
speculation, set it off in the future.
[16]H. James, The American Scene
(London: Granville, 1987) p. 66. For the close link between development and
marketing, see J.S. Brown, "Changing the Game", in preparation.
[17]Jameson, Postmodernism, p. xiv.
[18]See, for example, L. Niethammer, Posthistoire: Has History Come
to an End? trans. P. Camiller (London: Verso, 1992); P. Anderson, "The Ends
of History" in A Zone of Engagement (London: Verso, 1992), pp.
279-376.
[19]See, for example, W.J. Bate, The Burden
of the Past, 1970; H. Bloom, The Anxiety of Influence, 1973; R.
Williams, The Country and the City, (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
1973); S. Toulmin, The Collective Use and Evolution of Concepts
(Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1972); J. Roberts, ed., Art Has
no History: The Making and Unmaking of Modern Art (London: Verso, 1994).
[20]Bate, Burden of the Past, p. 4
passim.
[21]F.T. Marinetti, "Premier Manifeste du
Futurisme", in Guido Ballo, Françoise Cachin-Nora, Jean Leymarie, and
Franco Russoli, Le Futurisme (Paris: Editions des Musés
Nationaux, 1973). R. Banham, Theory and Design in the First Machine
Age. Second edition. (New York: Praegar Publishing, 1967), p. 100. While
much of Marinetti's manifesto sounds quite familiar to postmodern ears, there
is one noticeable difference. Where the Manifeste set goals to pursue,
more recent supersessive claims often replace iron resolve with digital
determinism. Certainly, The Postmodern Condition presents not an option
but a fait accompli.
[22]R. Williams, The Country and the
City, pp. 13-33. As Williams makes clear, a focus on the differences
between generations tends to obscure differences of class. So in Digital
Being, Negroponte claims there's no need to worry about social divisions
between "information rich" and "information poor"; the only significant
division, as he sees it, is between the generation of analogue adults and
digital kids. This, his extrapolative mind tells him in an argument common
among the digerati, time will erase. Yet Reginald Stuart points out that in
1989 nearly half of households with an income of $75,000 or more owned
computers while under 5% of households with an income of under $15,000 had
them. R. Stuart, "High-Tech Redlining", Utne Reader, 68, 1995, p.73.
[23]The strategy of pastoralisation is
extremely complex. It plays with both time and space, calling to mind L.P.
Hartley's resonant phrase, "The past is another country". The postmodern
condition, according to Lyotard, is a property of the "highly developed" alone.
So like the past, other countries take on the primitive, pastoral mantle and
are subject to similar dismissive judgments. Edward Said's concept of
"orientalism" elaborates the effects of this elision between the past and the
primitive (E. Said, Orientalism (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul,
1978)).
[24]Baudrillard, Simulacres, p. 5.
[25]Quotations from Lanham, Electronic
Word, p. 9 and p. 4, and Landow, Hypertext, p. 11.
[26]R. Chartier, The Cultural Origins of
the French Revolution trans. L. Cochrane (Durham, NC: Duke University
Press, 1991), p. 90. The period of "coming of the book" involved almost from
the start books that made fun of naive and gullible readers.
[27]J. Rothenberg, "Ensuring the Longevity of
Digital Documents", Scientific American, 272 (1) 1995: 42-47; Terry
Cook, "It's 10 O'Clock: Do you know where your data are", Technology
Review, January 1995 [Online] Available WWW:
http://web.mit.edu/afs/athena/org/t/
techreview/www/articles/dec94/cook.html.
[28]I discuss some of these issues in section
IV, below.
[29]M. Foucault, "Neitzsche, Genealogy,
History" in Language, Counter-Memory, Practice: Selected Interviews and
Essays trans. D. Bouchard and S. Simon (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University
Press, 1977); idem, The Archaeology of Knowledge and The Discourse on
Language, trans. A. Sheridan Smith (New York: Pantheon, 1972). L.
Althusser, For Marx trans. B. Brewster (London: Verso, 1990). Ozenfant,
Foundations of Modern Art trans. J. Rodker (New York: Dover
Publications, 1952), pp. 43-83.
[30]See, for example, R. Williams, The Long
Revolution: An Analysis of the Democratic, Industrial, and Cultural Changes
Transforming our Society. (London: Chatto & Windus, 1961).
[31]V. Bush, "As We May Think", Atlantic
Monthly, 176 (July), 1945: 101-108; M. de Landa, "Virtual Environments and
the Emergence of Synthetic Reasoning" in M. Derby, ed., Flame Wars: The
Discourse of Cyberspace -- special issue of South Atlantic Quarterly
92 (4) 1993: 793-815. M. Schrage, "Revolutionary Evolutionist", Wired,
July 1995: 120-124; Jameson, Postmodern Condition, p. 39.
[32]Toulmin, who analyses claims of
supersession in science and history, in particular in the works of Kuhn and
Collingwood, is strong in his condemnation of extreme versions of this
strategy: "the absolutist reaction . . . emancipates itself from the
complexities of history and anthropology only at the price of irrelevance", p.
65.
[33]Althusser, For Marx, pp. 76-79.
[34]Williams, The Country and the
City, p. 21.
[35]M. Foucault, "What is an Author" in
Language, Counter-Memory, Practice: Selected Essays and Interviews,
trans. D. Bouchard and S. Simon. (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1977),
pp. 121 & 118.
[36] L. Marx, "The Ideology of Technology and
'Postmodern' pessimism" in M. Smith & L. Marx, eds., Does Technology
Drive History? The Dilemma of Technological Determinism (Boston, MA: MIT
Press, 1994), pp. 237-258. Even the dystopic cyberfiction of Gibson and others
presents both sides. On one are the corporate empires, and on the other the
hacker resistance. This conveniently allows all programmers, however large the
corporation they work for, to identify with the forces of liberation.
[37]The aphorism "information wants to be
free", often quoted, is attributed to Brand in J. Barlow, "Selling Wine Without
Bottles: The Economy of Mind on the Global Net" [Available FTP (or Telnet):
ftp.eff.org Directory: \Pub\Publications: John_Perry_Barlow:
idea_economy.article]; Bolter, Writing Space p.21; Barlow, "Selling
Wine"; T. Nelson quoted in E. Davis, "Techgnosis, Magic, Memory, and the Angels
of Information" in M. Derby, ed., Flame Wars: The Discourse of
Cyberspace -- special issue of South Atlantic Quarterly 92 (4) 1993:
585-616, p. 613. B. Sterling, "Free as Air, Free as Water, Free as Knowledge"
[Available FTP (or Telnet): ftp.eff.org Directory: \Pub\Publications:
Bruce_Sterling: Free_As_Air.speech].
[38]The influential Vannevar Bush spotted the
ideological potential in such rhetoric when he wrote the promotional report
Science--The Endless Frontier at the request of the president in 1945,
about the time he was pondering the possibilities of his influential memex.
Bush, Science--The Endless Frontier: A Report to the President for Postwar
Scientific Research (Washington D.C.: National Science Foundation, 1945).
The report was requested by Roosevelt. See R. White & P. Limerick, The
Frontier in American Culture (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press,
1994).
[39]Futurologists, particularly when they take
a flight from simple technological extrapolation, often show dualistic
leanings. Thus, for example, Kahn and Weiner break from sensible projections
about automatic teller machines and on-line libraries to more exotic ideas
about personal flying platforms, changeable sex, and controllable diets and
body shapes. All reflect a spiritual yearning to escape the material inertia
of the human body. See H. Kahn & A. Weiner "One Hundred Technical
Innovations Likely in the Next 33 Years" in American Academy of Arts and
Sciences, Toward the Year 2000: Work in Progress (Boston: Beacon Press,
1968).
[40] J. Milton, Paradise Lost and Selected
Poetry and Prose, ed. Northrop Frye (New York: Reinhart and Co, 1951), p.
464; J. Barlow, "Selling Wine". Barlow's image is more apt for his central
issue, the relationship between music and discs and tapes. The relationship
between a song and a disc is not the same as that between text and book. The
latter relation is more akin to the relation of music to instrument or song to
voice. Barlow perhaps also overlooks the point that while good wine can be
poured out of bottles, it attains its maturity in them. The quality of wine in
the glass is not indifferent to its career in the bottle.
[41]Lanham, Electronic Word, pp. 21,
105, & 219; Landow, Hypertext, p. 10-11; Morgan in Landow,
Hypertext, p. 10; Bolter, Writing Space, p. 143.
[42]Roland Barthes, S/Z: An Essay
trans. R. Miller (New York: Hill & Wang, 1974), p. 13ff; idem, "From
Work to Text" in J. Harari, ed., Textual Strategies: Perspectives in
Post-Structuralist Criticism (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1979),
p. 74.
[43]Barthes, S/Z, p. 13 passim.
[44]Lyotard, Postmodern Condition, esp.
p. 37ff.
[45]Futurologists from the military include
such highly influential figures as Herman Kahn, much admired by Daniel Bell,
and Vannevar Bush, much admired by hypertext champions. The idea of the weapon
to end all weapons is very old, and has probably helped to fund military
procurement since procurement began. Such weapons appear in such futurological
exemplars as Bulwer Lytton's Coming Race (New York: Hinton & Co,
1873) and Wells's film Things to Come (1940). A. Marvell, "Horation
Ode", in The Complete Poems, ed. E. Story Donno (Harmondsworth,
Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1972). The more down-to-earth Caliban was perhaps
wiser than Ariel when he acknowledged his only option would be to have "a new
master, get a new man".
[46]In the end, then, liberationists tend not
only to choose their allies incautiously, but to ensnare themselves in a
supersessive claim that both relies on technology while claiming to escape it.
In some cases, this has the curious effect (often signalled in requests for
"transparency") of demanding of new technologies a self-effacement that insists
on the indifference of what they carry to the carrier. In the nineteenth
century, Leo Marx argues, American refused to see the machine in their
ideologically pastoral garden. The trait seems to have reappeared in
contemporary attempts to render the role of modern technology invisible (L.
Marx, The Machine in the Garden: Technology and the Pastoral Ideal in
America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1964)). The combination of
supersession and liberation suggest that technology must simultaneously be
present and wish itself absent. This view entails that the information to be
self-sustaining and the technology self-consuming. For thoughts on looking
"at" and "through" technology, see Lanham, Electronic Word.
[47]Bolter, Writing Space, p. 183.
[48]Here I draw not only on Empson's work, in
particular Seven Types of Ambiguity, (London, Chatto & Windus, 1947)
and Some Versions of Pastoral: A Study of the Pastoral Form in
Literature (Norfolk, CN: New Directions, [1950]), but also Paul de Mann's
discussion of Empson in Blindness and Insight: Essays in the Rhetoric of
Contemporary Criticism (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press,
1983), pp. 235-241.
[49]The influence of dualism on technological
thought is not wholly surprising. Information technology in general and
artificial intelligence in particular has a long and problematic history of
trying to separate mind and matter. For some helpful insight into the
pervasiveness of dualistic thinking or "Cartesianism", see H. Gumbrecht, "A
Farewell to Interpretation" in H. Gumbrecht and K. Pfeiffer, Materialities
of Communication trans. W. Whobrey (Stanford, CA: Stanford University
Press, 1995). Thanks to Shawn Parkhurst for this reference.
[50]Some of the ideas offered here are
sketched more fully in J.S. Brown and P. Duguid, "Borderline Issues: Social and
Material Aspects of Design" and idem, "Patrolling the Border: A Reply",
both in Human Computer Interaction 9(1) 3-35; 137-149.
[51]I.A. Richards, Principles of Literary
Criticism (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1960, first published 1924),
p. 1. See J.S. Brown and P. Duguid, "Borderline Issues, and Landow (this
volume) for further reflections on the significance of thinking of books as
machines.
[52]From this point on, for ease, I refer
unashamedly to the content of books as "information", though my central point
is that the two are only conceptually, not materially separable.
[53]See M.J. Reddy, "The Conduit Metaphor" in
A. Ortney, ed., Metaphor and Thought (Boston, MA: Cambridge University
Press, 1979), pp. 284-324.
[54]McGann, Textual Condition, p. 10.
[55]McGann, Textual Condition, D.
McKenzie, Bibliography and the Sociology of the Text, (London: British
Library, 1986); G. Genette, Seuils (Paris: Editions du Seuils, 1987); R.
Chartier, Order; idem, The Cultural Origins of the French
Revolution trans. L. Cochrane (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1991), R.
Darnton The Business of the Enlightenment: The Publishing History of the
Encyclopédie (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1979).
Though these authors raise related issues, there are clear differences among
them. See John Sutherland, "Publishing History: A Hole in the Centre of
Literary Sociology" in P. Desan, et al., eds., Literature and Social
Practice, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989), pp. 267-282. For
comments on the distinctive view of bibliographic criticism, see Chartier,
Order, p. 25ff.
[56]M. de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday
Life, trans. S. Randall (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press,
1984); R. Johnson, "The Story So Far: And Further Transformations" in D.
Punter, ed. Introduction to Contemporary Cultural Studies (London:
Longman, 1986) pp. 277-313.
[57]For Sterling's comments, see section III,
above.
[58]This idea that journalists make news is a
development of E.H. Carr's notion that it is historians who make history. See
E.H. Carr, What is History: The G.M. Trevelyan Lectures, (Harmondsworth,
Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1964).
[59]The newspaper, Huizinga argues, "fulfills
in America the cultural function of the drama of Aeschylus. I mean that it is
the expression through which a people -- a people numbering many millions --
becomes aware of its spiritual unity. The millions, as they do their careless
reading every day at breakfast, in the subway, on the train and the elevated,
are performing a horrendous and formless ritual" (J. Huizinga, America: A
Dutch Historian's Vision from Afar and Near trans. H. Rowen (New York:
Harper Torchbooks, 1972) p.243).
[60]Lyotard, Postmodern Condition, p.
8.
[61]In a discussion of Russell, Frege, and the
Vienna Circle, Toulmin makes a similar point: "They have not sufficiently faced
the question how any abstraction can be self-validating, or can guarantee its
own relevance" (Human Understanding, p 59). See also Chartier, Order
of Books, pp. 28-29.
[62]For the idea of "poaching", see de
Certeau, Practice of Everyday Life, ch. 12; for an insightful discussion
of transgression, see P. Stallybrass & A. White, The Politics and
Poetics of Transgression (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1986).
[63]Chartier, Order, p. 3; Genette, p.
8; McGann, Textual Condition, p. 13. McGann assumes that materiality
only has significance for literary works, but such a view is far too narrow.
Ziman, for instance, has argued that science too is a product of similar
social-material processes that create "public knowledge" and insert it into the
system of consumption. Latour and Woolgar's sociology of science reaches
similar conclusions. See J. Ziman, Public Knowledge: An Essay Concerning
the Social Dimension of Science (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press,
1968); B. Latour & S. Woolgar, Laboratory Life: The Construction of
Scientific Facts (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1986). More
generally, the distinction McGann makes between "noise" and "information"
assumes that constraints can always be distinguished from resources.
[64]This paradox is laid out more fully in
J.S. Brown & P. Duguid, "Borderline Issues". As I read it, Derrida's
distinction between speech and writing tends to suggest that all distal
coordination is not merely problematic but impossible, because communicating
artifacts introduce temporal deferral passing beyond immediate negotiation. I
am suggesting that in fact social systems of negotiation have allowed
coordination that this abstract philosophical scepticism cannot explain away.
See J. Derrida, Writing and Difference (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1977).
[65]For the characteristics of modern
hypertext, see Landow, Hypertext and Critical Theory, pp. 4-5; Bush, "As
We May Think"; T. Nelson, Literary Machines (Sausalito, CA: Mindful
Press, 1990). P. Delany & G. Landow, eds., Hypermedia and Literary
Studies (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1994). For an insightful and more
moderate and practical approach, see J. McGann, "The Rational of Hypertext"
[Online] Available WWW:
http://jefferson.village.virginia.edu/public/jjm2f/rationale.html. Landow
suggests that the electronic links of modern systems provide a certain ease
that supersedes earlier forms. Ease certainly seems important, but not
defining. Moreover, the importance of ease is often missing from assaults on
the codex book.
[66]William Pinnock, Catechism of Trade and
Commerce: Intended to Lay the Basis of Practical Commercial Knowledge in the
Youthful Mind . . . (London: G. & W.B. Whittaker, 1828), p. 26.
[67]There were two main types of accounting,
single and double entry. Usually only large firms (and not all those, the
Dutch East India Company being a classic exception) used a full set of books
and double-entry accounting. Many businesses and most individuals kept
single-entry accounts, but even these usually involved some sort of journal and
cash-book as well as the accounts themselves. Personal accounts are often an
intriguing combination of all three.
[68]Weber saw "rational capital accounting" as
the "most general presupposition for the existence of present-day capitalism"
(M. Weber, General Economic History, quoted in A. Giddens & D.
Held, eds., Classes, Power, and Conflict: Classical and Contemporary
Debates (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1982), p. 81).
According to Braudel, Sombart also saw it as the essence of the rationality of
capitalist practice, arguing intriguingly that capitalism and bookkeeping were
as close to one another as form and content. See F. Braudel, Civilization
and Capitalism vol. 2 The Wheels of Commerce, trans. S. Reynolds
(Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1992), p. 573 passim;
B.S. Yamey, "Scientific Bookkeeping and the Rise of Capitalism" EHR (2d
Series) 1 (2 &3) 1949, pp. 99-113. As with other supersessive arguers,
both Sombart and Weber have problems with their periodising, for the technology
of bookkeeping long predated the capitalist society they so closely linked to
it.
[69]G. Anderson, Victorian Clerks
(Manchester UK: Manchester University Press, 1976); P. Linebaugh, The London
Hanged: Crime and Civil Society in the Eighteenth Century (New York, NY:
Cambridge University Press, 1992).
[70]See, for example, G. Nunberg (this
volume).
[71]J. Habermas, The Structural
Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois
Society trans. T. Burger and F. Lawrence (Boston: MIT Press. 1989), ch. 1.
D. Kronick, A History of Scientific and Technical Periodicals: The Origins
and Development of the Scientific and Technological Press, 1665-1790 (New
York: Scarecrow Press, 1962); A. Schaffner, "The Future of Scientific
Journals". The relationship between bookkeeping and the novel's moral
accounting (with Robinson Crusoe as an emblematic instance of the
suspect practice of keeping two sets of books) deserves greater exploration.
See some suggestive comments in R. Teichgraeber, "'A Yankee Diogenes': Thoreau
and the Market" in T. Haskell and R. Teichgraeber, The Culture of the
Market: Historical Essays (New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 1993),
pp. 293-325.