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another round: britannica versus wikipedia   03.31.2006, 4:38 PM

The Encyclopedia Britannica versus Wikipedia saga continues. As Ben has recently posted, Britannica has been confronting Nature on its article which found that the two encyclopedias were fairly equal in the accuracy of their science articles. Today, the editors and the board of directors of Encyclopedia Britannica, have taken out a half page ad in today New York Times (A19) to present an open letter to Nature which requests for a public reaction of the article.

Several interesting things are going on here. Because Britannica chose to place an ad in the Times, it shifted the argument and debate away from the peer review / editorial context into one of rhetoric and public relations. Further, their conscious move to take the argument to the "public" or the "masses" with an open letter is ironic because the New York TImes does not display its print ads online, therefore access of the letter is limited to the Time's print readership. (Not to mention, the letter is addressed to the Nature Publishing Group located in London. If anyone knows that a similar letter was printed in the UK, please let us know.) Readers here can click on the thumbnail image to read the entire text of the letter. Ben raised an interesting question here today, asking where one might post a similar open letter on the Internet.

Britannica cites many important criticisms of Nature's article, including: using text not from Britannica, using excerpts out of context, giving equal weight to minor and major errors, and writing a misleading headline. If their accusations are true, then Nature should redo the study. However, to harp upon Nature's methods is to miss the point. Britannica cannot do anything to stop Wikipedia, except to try to discredit to this study. Disproving Nature's methodology will have a limited effect on the growth of Wikipedia. People do not mind that Wikipedia is not perfect. The JKF assassination / Seigenthaler episode showed that. Britannica's efforts will only lead to more studies, which will inevitably will show errors in both encyclopedias. They acknowledge in today's letter that, "Britannica has never claimed to be error-free." Therefore, they are undermining their own authority, as people who never thought about the accuracy of Britannica are doing just that now. Perhaps, people will not mind that Britannica contains errors as well. In their determination to show the world that of the two encyclopedias which both content flaws, they are also advertising that of the two, the free one has some-what more errors.

In the end, I agree with Ben's previous post that the Nature article in question has a marginal relevance to the bigger picture. The main point is that Wikipedia works amazingly well and contains articles that Britannica never will. It is a revolutionary way to collaboratively share knowledge. That we should give consideration to the source of our information we encounter, be it the Encyclopedia Britannica, Wikipedia, Nature or the New York Time, is nothing new.

Posted by ray cha at 4:38 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

if not rdf, then what?: part II   03.30.2006, 1:24 PM

I had an exchange about my previous post with an RDF expert who explained to me that API's are not like RDF and it would be incorrect to try to equate them. She's right - API's do not replace the need for RDF, nor do they replicate the functionality of RDF. API's do provide access to data, but that data can be in many forms, including XML bound RDF. This is one of the pleasures and priviledges of writing on this blog: the audience contributes at a very high level of discourse, and is endowed with extremely deep knowledge about the topics under discussion.

I want to reiterate my point with a new inflection. By suggesting that API's were an alternative to RDF, I was trying to get at a point that had more to do with adoption than functionality. I admit, I did not make the point well. So let me make a second attempt: API's are about data access, and that, currently (and from my anecdotal experience) is where the value proposition lies for the new breed of web services. You have your data in someone's database. That data is accessible to developers to manipulate and represent back to you in new, innovative, and useful ways. Most of the attention in the webdev community is turning towards the development of new interfaces—not towards the development of new tools to manage and enrich the data (again, anecdotal evidence only). Yes, there are people still interested in semantic data; we are indebted to them for continuing to improve the way our systems interact at a data level. But the focus of development has shifted to the interface. API's make the gathering of data as simple as setting parameters, leaving only the work of designing the front-end experience.

Another note on RDF from my exchange: it was pointed out that practitioners of RDF prefer not to read it in XML, but instead use Notation 3 (N3), which is undeniably easier to read than XML. I don't know enough about N3 to make a proper example, but I think you can get the idea if you look at the examples here and here.

Posted by jdwilbur at 1:24 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

next \ text: new media in history teaching and scholarship   03.30.2006, 10:15 AM

The next \ text project came forth from the realization that twenty-five years into the application of new media to teaching and learning, textbooks have not fully tapped the potential of new media technology. As part of this project, we have invited leading scholars and practitioners of educational technology from specific disciplines to attend meetings with their peers and the institute. Yesterday, we were fortunate to spend the day talking to a group of American History teachers and scholars, some of whom created seminal works in history and new media. Over the course of the day, we discussed their teaching, their scholarship, the creation and use of textbooks, new media, and how to encourage the birth of the next generation born digital textbook. By of the end of the day, the next \ text project started to take a concrete form. We began to envision the concept of accessing the vast array of digitized primary documents of American History that would allow teachers to formulate their own curricula or use guides that were created and vetted by established historians.

Attendees included:

David Jaffe, City University of New York
Gary Kornblith, Oberlin College
John McClymer, Assumption College
Chad Noyes, Pierrepont School
Jan Reiff, University of California, Los Angeles
Carl Smith, Northwestern University
Jim Sparrow, University of Chicago
Roy Rosenzweig, George Mason University
Kate Wittenberg, EPIC, Columbia University

The group contributed to influential works in the field of History and New Media, including Who Built America, The Great Chicago Fire and The Web of Memory, The Encyclopedia of Chicago, the Blackout History Project, the Visual Knowledge Project, History Matters,the Journal of American History Textbook and Teaching Section, and the American History Association Guide to Teaching and Learning with New Media.

Almost immediately, we found that their excellence in their historical scholarship was equally matched in their teaching. Often their introductions to new media came from their own research. Online and digital copies of historical documents radically changed the way they performed their scholarship. It then fueled the realization that these same tools afforded the opportunity for students to interact with primary documents in a new way which was closer to how historians work. Often, our conversations gravitated back to teaching and students, rather than purely technical concerns. Their teaching led them to the forefront of developing and promoting active learning and constructionist pedagogies, by encouraging an environment of inquiry-based learning, rather than rote memorization of facts, through the use of technology. In these new models, students are guided to multiple paths of self-discovery in their learning and understanding of history.

We spoke at length on the phrase coined by attendee John McClymer, "the pedagogy of abundance." With access to rich archives of primary documents of American history as well as narratives, they are not faced with the problems of scarcity of assets. This led to the discussion of the spectrum of teaching in higher education. The motivations and resources of history teachers differ greatly. Many history teachers lack the resources, (particularly the adjunct history teacher) or the creativity to move away from the traditional "march" through the standard history survey course and textbook.

The discussion also included issues of resistance, which were particularly interesting to us. Many meeting participants mentioned student resistance to new methods of learning including both new forms of presentation and inquiry-based pedagogies. In that, traditional textbooks are portable and offer an established way to learn. They noted an institutional tradition of the teacher as the authoritative interpreter in lecture-based teaching, which is challenged by active learning strategies. Further, we discussed the status (or lack of) of the group's new media endeavors in both their scholarship and teaching. Depending upon their institution, using new media in their scholarship had varying degrees of importance in their tenure and compensation reviews from none to substantial. Quality of teaching had no influence in these reviews. Therefore, these projects were often done, not in lieu of, but in addition to their traditional publishing and academic professional requirements.

The combination of an abundance of primary documents (particulary true for American history) and a range of teaching goals and skills led to the idea of adding layers on top of existing digital archives. Varying layers could be placed on top of these resources to provide structure for both teachers and students. Teachers who wanted to maintain the traditional march through the course would still be able to do so through guides created by the more creative teacher. Further, all teachers would be able to control the vast breadth of material to avoid overwhelming students and provide scaffolding for their learning experience. We are very excited by this notion, and will further refine the meeting's groundwork to strategize how this new learning environment might get created.

We are still working through everything that was discussed, however, we left the meeting with a much clearer idea of the landscape of the higher education history teacher / scholar, as well as, possible directions that the born digital history textbook could take.

Posted by ray cha at 10:15 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

the social life of books   03.29.2006, 7:28 PM

One of the most exciting things about Sophie, the open-source software the institute is currently developing, is that it will enable readers and writers to have conversations inside of books -- both live chats and asynchronous exchanges through comments and social annotation. I touched on this idea of books as social software in my most recent "The Book is Reading You" post, and we're exploring it right now through our networked book experiments with authors Mitch Stephens, and soon, McKenzie Wark, both of whom are writing books and opening up the process (with a little help from us) to readers. It's a big part of our thinking here at the institute.

Catching up with some backlogged blog reading, I came across a little something from David Weinberger that suggests he shares our enthusiasm:

I can't wait until we're all reading on e-books. Because they'll be networked, reading will become social. Book clubs will be continuous, global, ubiquitous, and as diverse as the Web.

And just think of being an author who gets to see which sections readers are underlining and scribbling next to. Just think of being an author given permission to reply.

I can't wait.

Of course, ebooks as currently envisioned by Google and Amazon, bolted into restrictive IP enclosures, won't allow for this kind of exchange. That's why we need to be thinking hard right now about an alternative electronic publishing system. It may seem premature to say this -- now, when electronic books are a marginal form -- but before we know it, these companies will be the main purveyors of all media, including books, and we'll wonder what the hell happened.

Posted by ben vershbow at 7:28 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

if not rdf, then what?   03.28.2006, 11:35 AM

I posted about RDF and the difficulty the web development community has had fully adopting RDF and ontologies as a method of metadata organization. I said that one of the reasons was the relative complexity of RDF and the cost of generating useful metadata (as opposed to just enough information to solve the current problem). Simon St. Laurent has a nice redux of the matter. I won't try to duplicate that, but I do want to explain some of the details about RDF. Though I made a case for how complex RDF is when used to create fully relational data sets, I didn't do a very good job of explaining how simple RDF is in principle. RDF proponents believe they are building the future. I'm not entirely convinced, but I want to take a close look at RDF before I consider other solutions.

RDF seems overwhelming, but in the inimitable words of Squire Patsy, "It's only a model!" A model, in this case, that can representat digital and real things and their relationships. The promise of RDF is that it can describe everything using a combination of unique identifiers, properties and property values.

Unique Identifiers
The heart of RDF is the unique identifier. Your name is a unique identifier, but only as long as there is no one else in the room who answers to [your-name-here]. This, clearly, is not a good way to create a universal identification system. Your social security number is a unique identifier in this country, but it doesn't signify much in China, and the system is not extensible (we'd run out of numbers if we tried to SSN the Chinese). Your email address is a unique identifier on the Internet—it works pretty well as a unique identifier. A Universal Resource Indicator (URI) is a little more extensible, and, since it's longer than an email, can provide more information. You can use a URI to identify something, even if it can't be retrieved through the web. A product at Amazon.com, for example, could have a unique URI, even though you still need a truck to bring it to you.

Properties
If we look at objects in the real world, they have physical properties, like size, color, and hardness. An example: my kitchen table. It's a three dimensional object, so it has height, width, length. It's made of wood, it has been stained. It also has informational properties: the date I purchased it, the person who sold it to me, the area of the country it came from, the level of personal attachment I have for the thing. Each of these properties can be put into RDF, by linking it to a schema that defines the property in a normative fashion. It'll make a little more sense when I give an example. But for that to happen I need to describe...

Property Values
Property values are the names, numbers, and dates that make properties make sense. My kitchen table is 78" long x 28" wide x 34" tall, dark-walnut stained, and soft (as wood goes). I bought it in February, 2002 from Joe Komenda, and I'm never going to part with it (even though it isn't really NYC apartment sized). Property values are the easy part of the metadata. Associating property values to properties, and properties to normative schemas, that's when things get tricky.

Here's the example I promised (bound in an XML format):

http://www.jdwilbur.fake/furniture/kitchen-table: The URI of my kitchen table
kt:height: The property height from my schema defined here: http://www.jdwilbur.fake/furniture#
34: The property value that tells me how tall my table is. I would infer from the schema that the value is in inches, not millimeters or light years

For the purposes of this example, I've made up my own fake schema (which would be a bunch of lines of xml similar to the example above) and included three real ones: Dublin Core dc, Geomap 2d geom2d for mapping coordinates, and map to relate the coordinates to physical locations. My schema, kt (which is a stand for the words kitchen table) includes some special properties like seller and sellit. The seller, Joe Komenda, has his own URI (it appears after rdf:resource). The others are fairly standard, but have a specific meaning in my personal context. The only other tricky part is the geographic coordinates, because I'm using three different schemas to define a geographic point. (It's just an example taken from mapbureau. It could resolve to the middle of the Pacific Ocean for all I know)

The obvious point here is that writing RDF is hard. We need automated tools to help us compose in this syntax, which is convoluted but requires perfection to work. Humans are not perfect; RDF is not our language. RDF also requires front-loading: developing schemas and choosing terms, URI's, finding prior art so that terms can be reused. We need tools to help us manage that aspect. And we need applications that demand RDF. Currently, the demand for RDF is low because it is mostly for the sake of maintaing the richness of a data set for some future application—not the ones I work with every day.

So if RDF, syntactically difficult, but conceptually easy, cannot get adopted, what is the alternative? The web API. A wide variety of new web applications and services are accompanied by an API. It seems like you can hardly be part of Web 2.0 without one. What does the API have that RDF doesn't? Simplicity. Famililarity. You cannot interact with an API unless you follow the rules. Fine. Same with RDF. But the rules of an API fall into the familiar realm of setting parameters, grabbing previously named functions, and following the documentation. This is like a caffeinated beverage for developers: they instinctively know how to consume it. More than that, API's mean that people can innovate on an interface level, even if they don't have serious coding chops. I've seen the Google API implemented in twenty minutes. This is a more fluid way to develop; one that feels more comfortable even if it sacrifices information richness. We'll get to RDF one day, maybe in Web 3.5, but until then we will take small steps towards data sharing and interoperability with API's.

Posted by jdwilbur at 11:35 AM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

academic publishing as "gift culture"   03.27.2006, 8:28 AM

John Holbo has an excellent piece up on the Valve that very convincingly argues the need to reinvent scholarly publishing as a digital, networked system. John will be attending a meeting we've organized in April to discuss the possible formation of an electronic press -- read his post and you'll see why we've invited him.

It was particularly encouraging, in light of recent discussion here, to see John clearly grasp the need for academics to step up to the plate and take into their own hands the development of scholarly resources on the web -- now more than ever, as Google, Amazon are moving more aggressively to define how we find and read documents online:

...it seems to me the way for academic publishing to distinguish itself as an excellent form - in the age of google - is by becoming a bastion of 'free culture' in a way that google book won't. We live in a world of Amazon 'search inside', but also of copyright extension and, in general, excessive I.P. enclosures. The groves of academe are well suited to be exemplary Creative Commons. But there is no guarantee they will be. So we should work for that.

Posted by ben vershbow at 8:28 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

britannica bites back (do we care?)   03.24.2006, 6:11 PM

Late last year, Nature Magazine let loose a small shockwave when it published results from a study that had compared science articles in Encyclopedia Britannica to corresponding entries in Wikipedia. Both encyclopedias, the study concluded, contain numerous errors, with Britannica holding only a slight edge in accuracy. Shaking, as it did, a great many assumptions of authority, this was generally viewed as a great victory for the five-year-old Wikipedia, vindicating its model of decentralized amateur production.

Now comes this: a document (download PDF) just published on the Encyclopedia Britannica website claims that the Nature study was "fatally flawed":

Almost everything about the journal's investigation, from the criteria for identifying inaccuracies to the discrepancy between the article text and its headline, was wrong and misleading.

What are we to make of this? And if Britannica's right, what are we to make of Nature? I can't help but feel that in the end it doesn't matter. Jabs and parries will inevitably be exchanged, yet Wikipedia continues to grow and evolve, containing multitudes, full of truth and full of error, ultimately indifferent to the censure or approval of the old guard. It is a fact: Wikipedia now contains over a million articles in english, nearly 223 thousand in Polish, nearly 195 thousand in Japanese and 104 thousand in Spanish; it is broadly consulted, it is free and, at least for now, non-commercial.

At the moment, I feel optimistic that in the long arc of time Wikipedia will bend toward excellence. Others fear that muddled mediocrity can be the only result. Again, I find myself not really caring. Wikipedia is one of those things that makes me hopeful about the future of the web. No matter how accurate or inaccurate it becomes, it is honest. Its messiness is the messiness of life.

Posted by ben vershbow at 6:11 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

vive le interoperability!   03.24.2006, 1:49 AM

A smart column in Wired by Leander Kahney explains why France's new legislation prying open the proprietary file format lock on iPods and other entertainment devices is an important stand taken for the public good:

French legislators aren't just looking at Apple. They're looking ahead to a time when most entertainment is online, a shift with profound consequences for consumers and culture in general. French lawmakers want to protect the consumer from one or two companies holding the keys to all of its culture, just as Microsoft holds the keys to today's desktop computers.

Apple, by legitimizing music downloading with iTunes and the iPod, has been widely credited with making the internet safe for the culture industries after years of hysteria about online piracy. But what do we lose in the bargain? Proprietary formats lock us into specific vendors and specific devices, putting our media in cages. By cornering the market early, Apple is creating a generation of dependent customers who are becoming increasingly shackled to what one company offers them, even if better alternatives come along. France, on the other hand, says let everything be playable on everything. Common sense says they're right.

Now Apple is the one crying piracy, calling France the great enabler. While I agree that piracy is a problem if we're to have a functioning cultural economy online, I'm certain that proprietary controls and DRM are not the solution. In the long run, they do for culture what Microsoft did for software, creating unbreakable monopolies and placing unreasonable restrictions on listeners, readers and viewers. They also restrict our minds. Just think of the cumulative cognitive effect of decades of bad software Microsoft has cornered us into using. Then look at the current ipod fetishism. The latter may be more hip, but they both reveal the same narrowed thinking.

One thing I think the paranoid culture industries fail to consider is that piracy is a pain in the ass. Amassing a well ordered music collection through illicit means is by no means easy -- on the contrary, it can be a tedious, messy affair. Far preferable is a good online store selling mp3s at reasonable prices. There you can find stuff quickly, be confident that what you're getting is good and complete, and get it fast. Apple understood this early on and they're still making a killing. But locking things down in a proprietary format takes it a step too far. Keep things open and may the best store/device win. I'm pretty confident that piracy will remain marginal.

Posted by ben vershbow at 1:49 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

googlezon and the publishing industry: a defining moment for books?   03.22.2006, 5:08 PM

Yesterday Roger Sperberg made a thoughtful comment on my latest Google Books post in which he articulated (more precisely than I was able to do) the causes and potential consequences of the publisher's quest for control. I'm working through these ideas with the thought of possibly writing an article, so I'm reposting my response (with a few additions) here. Would appreciate any feedback...

What's interesting is how the Google/Amazon move into online books recapitulates the first flurry of ebook speculation in the mid-to-late 90s. At that time, the discussion was all about ebook reading devices, but then as now, the publish industry's pursuit of legal and techological control of digital books seemed to bring with it a corresponding struggle for control over the definition of digital books -- i.e. what is the book going to become in the digital age? The word "ebook" -- generally understood as a digital version of a print book -- is itself part of this legacy of trying to stablize the definition of books amid massively destablizing change. Of course the problem with this is that it throws up all sorts of walls -- literal and conceptual -- that close off avenues of innovation and rob books of much of their potential enrichment in the electronic environment.

Clifford Lynch described this well in his important 2001 essay "The Battle to Define to Define the Future of the Book in the Digital World":

...e-book readers may be the price that the publishing industry imposes, or tries to impose, on consumers, as part of the bargain that will make large numbers of interesting works available in electronic form. As a by-product, they may well constrain the widespread acceptance of the new genres of digital books and the extent to which they will be thought of as part of the canon of respectable digital "printed" works.

A similar bargain is being struck now between publishers and two of the great architects of the internet: Google and Amazon. Naturally, they accept the publishers' uninspired definition of electronic books -- highly restricted digital facsimiles of print books -- since it guarantees them the most profit now. But it points in the long run to a malnourished digital culture (and maybe, paradoxically, the persistence of print? since paper books can't be regulated so devilishly).

As these companies come of age, they behave less and less like the upstart innovators they originally were, and more like the big corporations they've become. We see their grand vision (especially Google's) contract as the focus turns to near-term success and the fluctuations of stock. It creates a weird paradox: Google Book Search totally revolutionizes the way we search and find connections between books, but amounts to a huge setback in the way we read them.

(For those of you interested in reading Lynch's full essay, there's a TK3 version that is far more comfortable to read than the basic online text. Click the image above or go here to download. You'll have to download the free TK3 Reader first, which takes about 10 seconds. Everything can be found at the above link).

Posted by ben vershbow at 5:08 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

copyright debates continues, now as a comic book   03.21.2006, 1:52 PM

Keith Aoki, James Boyle and Jennifer Jenkins have produced a comic book entitled, "Bound By Law? Trapped in a Sturggle She Didn't Understand" which portrays a fictional documentary filmmaker who learns about intellectual property, copyright and more importantly her rights to use material under fair use. We picked up a copy during the recent conference on "Cultural Environmentalism at 10" at Stanford. This work was funded by the Rockefeller Foundation, the same people who funded "Will Fair Use Survive?" from the Free Expression Policy Project of the Brennan Center at the NYU Law School, which was discussed here upon its release. The comic book also relies on the analysis that Larry Lessig covered in "Free Culture." However, these two works go into much more detail and have quite different goals and audiences. With that said, "Bound By Law" deftly takes advantage of the medium and boldly uses repurposed media iconic imagery to convey what is permissible and to explain the current chilling effect that artists face even when they have a strong claim of fair use.

Part of Boyle's original call ten years ago for a Cultural Environmentalism Movement was to shift the discourse of IP into the general national dialogue, rather than remain in the more narrow domain of legal scholars. To that end, the logic behind capitalizing on a popular culture form is strategically wise. In producing a comic book, the authors intend to increase awareness among the general public as well as inform filmmakers of their rights and the current landscape of copyright. Using the case study of documentary film, they cite many now classic copyright examples (for example the attempt to use footage of a television in the background playing the"Simpsons" in a documentary about opera stagehands.) "Bound By Law" also leverages the form to take advantage of compelling and repurposed imagery (from Mickey Mouse to Mohammed Ali) to convey what is permissible and the current chilling effect that artists face in attempting to deal with copyright issues. It is unclear if and how this work will be received in the general public. However, I can easily see this book being assigned to students of filmmaking. Although, the discussion does not forge new ground, its form will hopefully reach a broader audience. The comic book form may still be somewhat fringe for the mainstream populus and I hope for more experiments in even more accesible forms. Perhaps the next foray into the popular culture will an episode of CSI or Law & Order, or a Michael Crichton thriller.

Posted by ray cha at 1:52 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

relentless abstraction   03.21.2006, 7:28 AM

Quite surprisingly, Michael Crichton has an excellent op-ed in the Sunday Times on the insane overreach of US patent law, the limits of which are to be tested today before the Supreme Court. In dispute is the increasingly common practice of pharmaceutical companies, research labs and individual scientists of patenting specific medical procedures or tests. Today's case deals specifically with a basic diagnostic procedure patented by three doctors in 1990 that helps spot deficiency in a certain kind of Vitamin B by testing a patient's folic acid levels.

Under current laws, a small royalty must be paid not only to perform the test, but to even mention it. That's right, writing it down or even saying it out loud requires payment. Which means that I am in violation simply for describing it above. As is the AP reporter whose story filled me in on the details of the case. And also Michael Crighton for describing the test in his column (an absurdity acknowledged in his title: "This Essay Breaks the Law"). Need I (or may I) say more?

And patents can reach far beyond medical procedures that prevent diseases. They can be applied to the diseases themselves, even to individual genes. Crichton:

...the human genome exists in every one of us, and is therefore our shared heritage and an undoubted fact of nature. Nevertheless 20 percent of the genome is now privately owned. The gene for diabetes is owned, and its owner has something to say about any research you do, and what it will cost you. The entire genome of the hepatitis C virus is owned by a biotech company. Royalty costs now influence the direction of research in basic diseases, and often even the testing for diseases. Such barriers to medical testing and research are not in the public interest. Do you want to be told by your doctor, "Oh, nobody studies your disease any more because the owner of the gene/enzyme/correlation has made it too expensive to do research?"

It seems everything -- even "laws of nature, natural phenomena and abstract ideas" (AP) -- is information that someone can own. It goes far beyond the digital frontiers we usually talk about here. Yet the expansion of the laws of ownership -- what McKenzie Wark calls "the relentless abstraction of the world" -- essentially digitizes everything, and everyone.

Posted by ben vershbow at 7:28 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

sharing goes mainstream   03.20.2006, 3:20 PM

Ben's post on the Google book project mentioned a fundamental tenet of the Institute: the network is the environment for the future of reading and writing, and that's why we care about network-related issues. While the goal of the network isn't reducable to a single purpose, if you could say it was any one thing it would be: sharing. It's why Tim Berners-Lee created it in the first place—to share scientific research. It's why people put their lives on blogs, their photos on flickr, their movies on YouTube. And it is why the people who want to sell things are so anxious about putting their goods online. The bottom line is this: the 'net is about sharing, that's what it's for.

Time magazine had an article in the March 20th issue on open-source and innovation-at-the-edges (by Lev Grossman). Those aren't new ideas around office, but when I saw the phrase the "authorship of innovation is shifting from the Few to the Many" I realized that, for the larger public, they are still slightly foreign, that the distant intellectual altruism of the Enlightenment is being recast as the open-source movement, and that the notion of an intellectual commons is being rejuvenated in the public consciousness. True, Grossman puts out the idea of shared innovation as a curiosity—it's a testament to the momentum of our contemporary notions of copyright that the cultural environment is antagonistic to giving away ideas—but I applaud any injection of the open-source ideal into the mainstream. Especially ideas like this:

Admittedly, it's counterintuitive: until now the value of a piece of intellectual property has been defined by how few people possess it. In the future the value will be defined by how many people possess it.

I hope the article will seed the public mind with intimations of a world where the benefits of intellectual openness and sharing are assumed, rather than challenged.

Raising the public consciousness around issues of openness and sharing is one of the goals of the Institute. We're happy to have help from a magazine with Time's circulation, but most of all, I'm happy that the article is turning public attention in the direction of an open network, shared content, and a rich digital commons.

Posted by jdwilbur at 3:20 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

the book is reading you, part 3   03.20.2006, 7:24 AM

News broke quietly a little over a week ago that Google will begin selling full digital book editions from participating publishers. This will not, Google makes clear, extend to books from its Library Project -- still a bone of contention between Google and the industry groups that have brought suit against it for scanning in-copyright works (75% of which -- it boggles the mind -- are out of print).

Let's be clear: when they say book, they mean it in a pretty impoverished sense. Google's ebooks will not be full digital editions, at least not in the way we would want: with attention paid to design and the reading experience in general. All you'll get is the right to access the full scanned edition online.

Much like Amazon's projected Upgrade program, you're not so much buying a book as a searchable digital companion to the print version. The book will not be downloadable, printable or shareable in any way, save for inviting a friend to sit beside you and read it on your screen. Fine, so it will be useful to have fully searchable texts, but what value is there other than this? And what might this suggest about the future of publishing as envisioned by companies like Google and Amazon, not to mention the future of our right to read?

About a month ago, Cory Doctorow wrote a long essay on Boing Boing exhorting publishers to wake up to the golden opportunities of Book Search. Not only should they not be contesting Google's fair use claim, he argued, but they should be sending fruit baskets to express their gratitude. Allowing books to dwell in greater numbers on the internet saves them from falling off the digital train of progress and from losing relevance in people's lives. Doctorow isn't talking about a bookstore (he wrote this before the ebook announcement), or a full-fledged digital library, but simply a searchable index -- something that will make books at least partially functional within the social sphere of the net.

This idea of the social life of books is crucial. To Doctorow it's quite plain that books -- as entertainment, as a diversion, as a place to stick your head for a while -- are losing ground in a major way not only to electronic media like movies, TV and video games (that's been happening for a while), but to new social rituals developing on the net and on portable networked devices.

Though print will always offer inimitable pleasures, the social life of media is moving to the network. That's why we here at if:book care so much about issues, tangential as they may seem to the future of the book, like network neutrality, copyright and privacy. These issues are of great concern because they make up the environment for the future of reading and writing. We believe that a free, neutral network, a progressive intellectual property system, and robust safeguards for privacy are essential conditions for an enlightened digital age.

We also believe in understanding the essence of the new medium we are in the process of inventing, and about understanding the essential nature of books. The networked book is not a block on a shelf -- it is a piece of social software. A web of revisions, interactions, annotations and references. "A piece of intellectual territory." It can't be measured in copies. Yet publishers want electronic books to behave like physical objects because physical objects can be controlled. Sales can be recorded, money counted. That's why the electronic book market hasn't materialized. Partly because people aren't quite ready to begin reading books on screens, but also because publishers have been so half-hearted about publishing electronically.

They can't even begin to imagine how books might be enhanced and expanded in a digital environment, so terrified are they of their entire industry being flushed down the internet drain -- with hackers and pirates cannibalizing the literary system. To them, electronic publishing is grit your teeth and wait for the pain. A book is a PDF, some DRM and a prayer. Which is why they've reacted so heavy-handedly to Google's book project. If they lose even a sliver of control, so they are convinced, all hell could break loose.

But wait! Google and Amazon are here to save the day. They understand the internet (naturally -- they helped invent it). They understand the social dimension of online spaces. They know how to harness network effects and how to read the embedded desires of readers in the terms and titles for which they search. So they understand the social life of books on the network, right? And surely they will come up with a vision for electronic publishing that is both profitable for the creators and every bit as rich as the print culture that preceded it. Surely the future of the book lies with them?

Sadly, judging by their initial moves into electronic books, we should hope it does not. Understanding the social aspect of the internet also enables you to cunningly restrict it, more cunningly than any print publishers could figure out how to do.

Yes, they'll give you the option of buying a book that lives its life on line, but like a chicken in a poultry plant, packed in a dark crate stuffed with feed tubes, it's not much of a life. Or better, let's evaluate it in the terms of a social space -- say, a seminar room or book discussion group. In a Google/Amazon ebook you will not be allowed to:

- discuss
- quote
- share
- make notes
- make reference
- build upon

This is the book as antisocial software. Reading is done in solitary confinement, closely monitored by the network overseers. Google and Amazon's ebooks are essentially, as David Rothman puts it on Teleread, "in a glass case in a museum." Get too close to the art and motion sensors trigger the alarm.

So ultimately we can't rely on the big technology companies to make the right decisions for our future. Google's "fair use" claim for building its books database may be bold and progressive, but its idea of ebooks clearly is not. Even looking solely at the searchable database component of the project, let's not forget that Google's ranking system (as Siva Vaidhyanathan has repeatedly reminded us) is non-transparent. In other words, when we do a search on Google Books, we don't know why the results come up in the order that they do. It's non-transparent librarianship. Information mystery rather than information science. What secret algorithmic processes are reordering our knowledge and, over time, reordering our minds? And are they immune to commercial interests? And shouldn't this be of concern to the libraries who have so blithely outsourced the task of digitization? I repeat: Google will make the right choices only when it is in its interest to do so. Its recent actions in China should leave no doubt.

Perhaps someday soon they'll ease up a bit and let you download a copy, but that would only be because the hardware we are using at that point will be fitted with a "trusted computing" module, which which will monitor what media you use on your machine and how you use it. At that point, copyright will quite literally be the system. Enforcement will be unnecessary since every potential transgression will be preempted through hardwired code. Surveillance will be complete. Control total. Your rights surrendered simply by logging on.

Posted by ben vershbow at 7:24 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

toward the establishment of an electronic press   03.17.2006, 6:37 PM

A few months ago, Kathleen Fitzpatrick, a tenured professor of English and Media Studies at Pomona College, published an important statement at The Valve: On the Future of Academic Publishing, Peer Review, and Tenure Requirements. Not just another lament about the sorry state of scholarly publishing, Fitzpatrick's piece is a manifesto calling for the creation of an electronic press whose goal is nothing less than establishing born-digital electronic scholarship as an equal to print.

A meeting we held in november with a group of leading academic bloggers raised many of the problems that people face trying to gain respect for online scholarship. Since that meeting we've been trying to understand what role the institute might play in changing the landscape. Reading and discussing Fitzpatrick's manifesto catalyzed our thoughts.

We invited Kathleen to visit us in NY and proposed working with her to establish an electronic press that would be hosted by the Annenberg Center for Communication at USC (which is also the home of the Institute for the Future of the Book). Based on our preliminary discussions we think that the press should concentrate at first on work in the area of media studies. The projects themselves will take many different electronic forms - long, short; media-rich, text-only; linear, non-linear; etc. These projects will be subjected to strong peer-review, but we hope to develop a process that is tailored to the rhythms and structures of online publishing.

How might our conception of a press be updated for the networked age? How do we create a publishing ecology that supports discourse at all levels -- from blog to working paper to monograph -- focusing less on the products of scholarship and more on the process? In practical terms, how might this process make use of the linking, commenting, and versioning technologies developed by blogs and wikis in order to enrich the discrete and fixed scholarly text with an evolving, interactive network of discourse that encourages conversation, debate, reflection, and revision? How might peer review be reinvented as peer-to-peer review?

We've assembled a fantastic roster of over a dozen professors in english, media studies, film and the information sciences to gather for an ambitious one-day meeting in Los Angeles in late April at USC's Annenberg Center for Communication to begin answering these questions. The goal is to survey the current landscape of scholarly publishing, to evaluate and learn from existing innovative efforts, and to begin talking seriously about the establishment in the very near future of a groundbreaking electronic press. Since this is quite a lot to cover in a single day, we've set up a blog to get the conversation going in advance. Kathleen currently has a terrific post laying out some of the first-order questions, which we expect to evolve through feedback into a concrete meeting agenda. Her original Valve essay is also there.

There's still more than a month till folks gather in L.A., so in the meantime we'd like to invite anyone who's interested to take part in the discussion on the blog and to help lay the groundwork for what we hope will be a very important meeting.

Posted by ben vershbow at 6:37 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

an identity of bits and pieces   03.17.2006, 6:30 PM

As privacy fears around search engines and the Justice Department continue to rise, the issue of personal privacy is being thrust, once again, into the public spotlight. The conversation generally goes like this: "All the search engines are collecting information about us. There isn't enough protection for our personal information. Companies must do more." Suggestions of what 'more' is are numerous, while solutions are few and far between. Social engineering solutions that do exist fail to include effective ways of securing online activities. Technical services that allow you to completely protect your identity are geek oriented and lacking the polish of Google or Yahoo!.

Why is this privacy thing an issue, anyway? People feel strongly about their privacy and protecting their identities, but are lazy when it comes time to protect themselves. Should this be taken for a disinterested acknowledgement that we don't care about our personal data? Short answer: no. If we look at what's happening on the other side of things—the data that people put out there willingly, on sites like MySpace, and blogs, and flickr, I think the answer is obvious. Personal data is constantly being added to the virtual space because it represents who we are.
Identity production is a large part of online culture, and has been from the very first days of the Well. Our personal information is important to us, but the apathy arises from the fact that we have no substantitive rights when it comes to controlling it [1].

There are a few outlets where we can wrangle our information into a presentation of ourselves, but usually our data accumulates in drifts, in the dusty corners of databases. When search engines crawl through those databases the information unintentionally coalesces into representations of us. In the real world the ability to keep distance between social spheres is fundamental to the ability to controlling your identity; there is no distance in cyberspace. Your info is no longer dispersed among the different spheres of shopping sites, email, blogs, comments, or bulletin boards, reviews. Search engines collapse that distance completely and your distributed identity becomes an aggregate one; one we might not recognize if it came up to us on the street.

There are two ways to react: 1) with alarm: attempt to keep things wrapped in layers of protection, possibly remove it entirely, and call for greater control and protection of our personal information. Or 2) with grace: acknowledge our multiple identities, and create a meta-identity, while still making a call for better control of our personal data. The first reaction is about identity control and privacy and relies on technical solutions or non-participation. Products like sxip and schemes like openID allow you to confirm that you are who you say you, and groups like EPIC, and federal legislation (HIPAA, FERPA, definitely not the PATRIOT Act) help protect your information. But eventually this route is not productive—it doesn't embrace the reality of living with and within a networked environment. The second reaction is about "identity production" [2], and that's where sites like MySpace and blogs reign. There's also a new service, ClaimID, that will help you create a meta-identity with a slick, web 2.0 workflow (full disclosure: the founder is a former colleague).

ClaimID is interesting in several respects. It let's you actively manage your identity by aggregating information about yourself through searches, then tagging each item with several levels of aboutness. So you could say that your website is about you, and by you, whereas an article that mentions your name in conjunction with a project is not about you, or by you. Still, it's part of your online persona. An interview: about you, not by you. A short history of New York: by you, not about you. ClaimID allows you to have these different permutations of relationship that help define the substance within and the ownership of each item. Everything can be tagged with keywords to link items. What you end up with is a web of yourself, annotated and organized so that people can get to know you in the way you want to be known.

This helps combat the unintentional aggregation of information that happens within search engines. But we also need to be aware that intentional aggregation does not mean it is trustworthy information, just as unintentional does not always mean "true to life". We have a sense that when people manage their identities that they are repositioning the real in favor of a something more appropriate for the audience. We therefore put greater stock in what we find that seems unintentional—yet this information is not logically more reliable. We have to be critical of both the presented, vetted information and the aggregated, unintentional information. We still need privacy rights, and tools to help protect our identities from theft, spoofing, or intrusion, but in the meantime we have the opportunity to actively negotiate the bits and pieces of our identities on the network.

Posted by jdwilbur at 6:30 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

object nostalgia   03.16.2006, 5:13 PM

I've buckled down and decided that, as I never really play them any more & I'm tired of dragging their crates from apartment to apartment, it's time to rip all my old CDs and get rid of the physical detritus. I've been doing this slowly, taking the opportunity to listen to them all again, which draws me to the inexorable conclusion that I've bought an awful lot of bad music over the years. At what point did I decide that I needed the entire recorded output of the Telstar Ponies? how many CDs by The Fall does any one person really need? whatever happened to my Joy Division box set? But it's interesting handling the CDs as objects: for the majority, I can remember where they were acquired and sometimes the circumstances that I listened to them in. As an exercise in personal archaeology, I've been writing down what I remember.

It's self-indulgent, a nostalgic activity. Proust, the particular lens through which I've been looking at the world lately, explains the experience quite nicely, but with books:

This is because things – a book in its red binding, like all the rest – at the moment we notice them, turn within us into something immaterial, akin to all the preoccupations or sensations we have at that particular time, and mingle indissolubly with them. Some name, read long ago in a book, contains among its syllables the strong wind and bright sunlight of the day when we were reading it.

(p. 193 of Ian Patterson's translation of Finding Time Again.) This is also a more eloquent version of the image evoked near the end of what's become almost a standard script, the conversation that I fall into when explaining my job to someone new. "No, the Institute is not going to be taking your books away," I assure people. "Good," they say, "my books are special." And then I'm told exactly why their books are special, which generally has to do with the same constellation of nostalgia, memory, and personal history that's cohered around my old CDs. With books, it's solidified to be almost a critical tradition, one of the primary arguments leveled against electronic attempts at replicating the functionality of books. Sven Birkerts pioneered this approach, and it's since been picked up by most would-be defenders of the book. The most recent I've read is that of William Gass titled "A Defense of the Book," in A Temple of Texts, his latest collection of essays; it's a title that could serve for any number of essays standing firm against anti-nostalgists.

The core of these arguments is this: that our nostalgia towards books indicates an ineffable quality of the book as an object that can't be digitally replicated. It's a vague argument at best; as such, it's a difficult one to dispute. Often it's simply brushed aside: condescending to nostalgia isn't a worthy use of the technologist's time. But it's usually a stopping point in arguments about digitalization, and as such it bears scrutiny.

The passage I quoted above from Proust is a useful tool for the job. The background: this is an episode in the last volume of Proust's novel. At this moment he happens to pick up a book that his mother read to him as a child, George Sand's François le champi. The book transports him into a cascade of memories, and then into reflection on how memory works, and how objects get tangled in the skeins of our memory. The trigger of memory is of particular interest; here, Proust seizes upon the problem of materiality. Is it the book itself, or the words in the book? The first sentence suggests the former: the red binding of the book has an aura about it. But the second sentence, with its crisp images, suggests that the content of the book, the forgotten name on the page, is what's really important.

There's something else interesting here which doesn't usually get remarked upon, though this is a famous image in Proust's work: the book that the narrator picks up isn't the book he read as a childhood. It's another copy of the same book. He's not in his childhood home, but rather in the library at the house of a friend, and this is another copy of François le champi. In all probability, the binding of the book he picks up (made, as he notes, to match all the other books in the library) is different to the binding of the book he picked up as a child. It's worth noting that it's the syllables of the spoken (even silently) word – does a word on a page have syllables? – that contain memory.

In a way, this makes perfect sense: the madeline that the narrator dips in tea in the beginning of the novel is obviously not the same madeline that he dipped in tea as a small child. But in a way, Proust is illustrating what might be the central artistic crisis of the twentieth century, the problem of human response to mechanical reproduction. It's a problem that falls squarely into the category of "job description" at the Institute.

To the rescue: another Marcel, Duchamp, comes to mind, an artist whose body of work seems to have been created with an eye to preparing us to live in an age where originals are lost in a sea of copies, an age in which, as Marx & Engels predicted, "all that is solid melts into air." With Duchamp begins the idea of the multiple: many instances of the same work of art like the many copies of a book that can be printed or the many photographic prints that could be made from a negative. "The idea of multiples is the distribution of ideas," said Joseph Beuys. In one sense, Duchamp's introduction of the multiple is art catching up with Gutenberg; in another, it's a carefully orchestrated shift in values between the concrete and the virtual.

What can Duchamp teach us about nostalgia? His work carefully separates artistic value from the enclosing objects. Take, as an example, Duchamp's famous readymades – the urinal, the bicycle wheel, the snow shovel, etc. Although his urinal has been described as the single greatest work of art of the twentieth century, it no longer exists: like the originals of most of his other readymades, it seems to have mysteriously disappeared at some point. There are, however, an unending parade of copies. Duchamp made his own miniature copies of them for his Box in a Valise, his autosummarization of his career as an artist. He happily authorized Arturo Schwartz to create his own copies of his readymades. At the Whitney Biennial right now, Sturtevant has taken it upon herself to make her own copies of the readymades. Duchamp, were he still alive, would probably cheerfully add these to his procession of simulacra.

The artist's thought, Duchamp declared, is more important than the object to which it is attached: the object of art serves is a container for the thought of the artist (just as the book is a container for the text within). As viewers of art, we should concentrate, Duchamp thought, on the idea behind what we see, not what we see. Moreover, he argued, this is what had always been the value of art. In an interview with Alain Jouffroy in 1964 he classified painting into two varieties, the kind

intended only for the retina . . . and the kind of painting which reaches beyond the retina, using the paint tube as its springboard for reaching much farther. This was the case with the religious painters of the Renaissance. The paint tube didn't interest them. What interested them was the idea of expressing the divine in one form or another. Without wanting to do the same, I maintain that pure painting as an aim in itself is of no import. My aim is something completely different: for me, in consists in a combination, or at least in an expression, which only the grey cells can reproduce.

He saw his work, of course, as aspiring to be the latter sort of art. Recent history would seem to bear out the avowedly atheist Duchamp enlisting the religious painters of the Renaissance in his camp: one of Schwarz's copies of his urinal was recently attacked with a hammer as if it were Michaelangelo's Pietà.

As odd as Duchamp considering himself as among the religious painters might be my recruitment of Proust against object-nostalgia. Proust is generally perceived as glorying in the past: his novel is about the process of looking backwards. But this isn't entirely justified: note this passage from Finding Time Again, which occurs shortly after the episode quoted above:

Some used to say that art in a period of speed and haste would be brief, like the people before the war who predicted that it would be over quickly. The railway was thus supposed to have killed contemplative thought, and it was vain to long for the days of the stage-coach, but now the automobile fulfils their function and once again sets the tourists down in front of abandoned churches.

(p.197.) This comes startlingly close to language we use regularly at the Institute (the trope of the horseless carriage and so on). New technology doesn't kill art or thought: it changes it, and change itself is morally neutral. And again: like the object of the book, the stage-coach and the automobile are both vehicles, both means to an end. We shouldn't feel nostalgia for the vehicle: we're using it to get somewhere, and there are other ways to get to the same end. Proust shouldn't be construed as saying that the march of progress is entirely a good thing: people might stop visiting the abandoned churches. But it would be foolish to imagine that people stopped visiting the abandoned churches because they abandoned stage-coaches for automobiles.

To go back to where I started from: my decision to chuck my CDs doesn't seem that strange: plenty of other people are doing the same thing. Though vinyl records seems to function, for those older than myself, as reservoirs of nostalgia, music would seem to have firmly wandered into the realm of the digital. Could we care about DVDs? HD-DVDs? It doesn't seem that likely. It's more useful to have these things in object-free form: if an album's on my hard drive, I'll probably listen to it more often than if its a CD in a crate under my bed. Nor am I really adding CDs to the crate: while I'm still happily consuming music, I'm buying most of it in digital form from places like http://www.kompakt-mp3.net.

A caveat: I'm not trying to make a universal argument. I'm not throwing out all my CDs: certain objects do have very personal associations (those given as gifts, for example). (And Duchamp, a man who relished self-contradiction, would probably have recognized this: he took extraordinary precautions to save his work.) But I don't think that we should imagine that nostalgia is explicitly a function of the container, be that container the CD or the book. A book is, after all, a multiple, a mass-produced object. Nostalgia's not built in at the press: it's something that we put into our books. There are exceptions (an artist's book produced for a hand-picked audience, for example), but that exceptionality should be recognized as part of their value and not taken for granted.

And a coda: if humanity outlasts the book, nostalgia will outlast the book, which it preceded. It's codified perfectly in this fragment (translated by Guy Davenport) of the Greek poet Archilochos, who was born around 680 B.C.E., died around 645 B.C.E. and probably never saw a book in his life:

How many times,
How many times,
On the gray sea,
The sea combed
By the wind
Like a wilderness
Of woman's hair,
Have we longed,
Lost in nostalgia,
For the sweetness
Of homecoming.

Posted by dan visel at 5:13 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

guardian launches huffingtonesque group blog   03.15.2006, 7:57 PM

Living up to its reputation as the most innovative newspaper on the web, the Guardian yesterday launched an ambitious group blogging experiment - comment is free - that brings together a broad range of public intellectual types in a daily deluge of commentary and debate. Better designed than its acknowledged model, The Huffington Post, "comment is free" consists of three columns: new posts on the left, editors' picks in the center, and links to the Guardian's formal opinion pages on the right.

There are a few other tidbits: a political cartoon at the bottom of the page and a photo blog. Also this small nod toward the paper's heritage, tucked beneath the cartoon, reminding us that comment may be free...

That's CP Scott, The Guardian's founder and editor for its first 57 years (it should read 1821) editor of The Guardian for 57 years beginning in 1872. This ties again to Jay Rosen's post on newspapers as "seeders of clouds."

Posted by ben vershbow at 7:57 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

serial killer   03.15.2006, 6:30 PM

Alex Lencicki is a blogger with experience serializing novels online. Today, in a comment to my Slate networked book post, he links to a wonderful diatribe on his site deconstructing the myriad ways in which Slate's web novel experiment is so bad and so self-defeating -- a pretty comprehensive list of dos and don'ts that Slate would do well to heed in the future. In a nutshell, Slate has taken a novel by a popular writer and apparently done everything within its power to make it hard to read and hard to find. Why exactly they did this is hard to figure out.

Summing up, Lencicki puts things nicely in context within the history of serial fiction:

The original 19 th century serials worked because they were optimized for newsprint, 21st century serials should be optimized for the way people use the web. People check blogs daily, they download pages to their phones, they print them out at work and take them downstairs on a smoke break. There's plenty of room in all that activity to read a serial novel - in fact, that activity is well suited to the mode. But instead of issuing press releases and promising to revolutionize literature, publishers should focus on releasing the books so that people can read them online. It's easy to get lost in a good book when the book adapts to you.

Posted by ben vershbow at 6:30 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

what's the question? shifting the debate about google   03.14.2006, 5:31 PM

A federal judge said Tuesday he intends to require Google Inc. to turn over some information to the Department of Justice . . .
progressive people are likely to defend Google against the encroachment of the govt. however, while i am in complete agreement with the sentiment that Google shouldn't be giving information to the government about what people search for, i think the debate needs to be shifted in a dramatically different direction. the really important question (for the long term health of society) isn't "should Google have to surrender information to this or any other government" but "why should Google have such sensitive information in the first place?"

if Google's goal were simply as they say "to organize the world's information and make it universally accessible and useful" then there really wouldn't be a rationale for collecting information on what individuals search for. in reality of course, Google's "reason for being" is to deliver people to advertisers and thus the need to collect all that data about us.

try this for a thought experiment. if Google continues to collect "all the world's information" how long will it be before Google is indistinguishable from "God." do we really want to give this much power to a private corporation whose first allegiance is to shareholders rather than the body politic?

what i can't figure out is: why isn't there a movement to develop a nonprofit, open source search engine? we have mozilla, we have wikipedia, we have linux. where is the people's search engine? isn't it time?

Posted by bob stein at 5:31 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

slate publishes a networked book   03.14.2006, 12:53 PM

Always full of surprises, Slate Magazine has launched an interesting literary experiment: a serial novel by Walter Kirn called (appropriately for a networked book) The Unbinding, to be published twice weekly, exclusively online, through June. From the original announcement:

On Monday, March 13, Slate will launch an exciting new publishing venture: an online novel written in real time, by award-winning novelist Walter Kirn. Installments of the novel, titled The Unbinding, will appear in Slate roughly twice a week from March through June. While novels have been serialized in mainstream online publications before, this is the first time a prominent novelist has published a genuine Net Novel--one that takes advantage of, and draws inspiration from, the capacities of the Internet. The Unbinding, a dark comedy set in the near future, is a compilation of "found documents"--online diary entries, e-mails, surveillance reports, etc. It will make use of the Internet's unique capacity to respond to events as they happen, linking to documents and other Web sites. In other words, The Unbinding is conceived for the Web, rather than adapted to it.

Its publication also marks the debut of Slate's fiction section. Over the past decade, there has been much discussion of the lack of literature being written on the Web. When Stephen King experimented with the medium in the year 2000, publishing a novel online called The Plant, readers were hampered by dial-up access. But the prevalence of broadband and increasing comfort with online reading makes the publication of a novel like The Unbinding possible.

The Unbinding seems to be straight-up serial fiction, mounted in Flash with downloadable PDFs available. There doesn't appear to be anything set up for reader feedback. All in all, a rather conservative effort toward a networked book: not a great deal of attention paid to design, not playing much with medium, although the integration of other web genres in its narrative -- the "found documents" -- could be interesting (House of Leaves?). Still, considering the diminishing space for fiction in mainstream magazines, and the high visibility of this experiment, this is most welcome. The first installment is up: let's take a look.

Posted by ben vershbow at 12:53 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

google buys writely, or, the book is reading you, part 2   03.14.2006, 1:35 AM

Last week Google bought Upstartle, a small company that created an online word processing program called Writely. Writely is like a stripped-down Microsoft Word, with the crucial difference that it exists entirely online, allowing you to write, edit, publish and store documents (individually or in collaboration with others) on the network without being tied to any particular machine or copy of a program. This evidently confirms the much speculated-about Google office suite with Writely and Gmail as cornerstone, and presumably has Bill Gates shitting bricks .

Back in January, I noted that Google requires you to be logged in with a Google ID to access full page views of copyrighted works in its Book Search service. Which gave me the eerie feeling that the books are reading us: capturing our clickstreams, keywords, zip codes even -- and, of course, all the pages we've traversed. This isn't necessarily a new thing. Amazon has been doing it for a while and has built a sophisticated personalized recommendation system out of it -- a serendipity engine that makes up for some of the lost pleasures of browsing a physical store. There it seems fairly harmless, useful actually, though it depends on who you ask (my mother says it gives her the willies). Gmail is what has me spooked. The constant sprinkle of contextual ads in the margin attaching like barnacles to my bot-scoured correspondences. Google's acquisition of Writely suggests that things will only get spookier.

I've been a webmail user for the past several years, and more recently a blogger (which is a sort of online word processing) but I'm uneasy about what the Writely-Google union portends -- about moving the bulk of my creative output into a surveilled space where the actual content of what I'm working on becomes an asset of the private company that supplies the tools.

Imagine you're writing your opus and ads, drawn from words and themes in your work, are popping up in the periphery. Or the program senses line breaks resembling verse, and you get solicited for publication -- before you've even finished writing -- in one of those suckers' poetry anthologies. Leave the cursor blinking too long on a blank page and it starts advertising cures for writers' block. Copy from a copyrighted source and Writely orders you to cease and desist after matching your text in a unique character string database. Write an essay about terrorists and child pornographers and you find yourself flagged.

Reading and writing migrated to the computer, and now the computer -- all except the basic hardware -- is migrating to the network. We here at the institute talk about this as the dawn of the networked book, and we have open source software in development that will enable the writing of this new sort of born-digital book (online word processing being just part of it). But in many cases, the networked book will live in an increasingly commercial context, tattooed and watermarked (like our clothing) with a dozen bubbly logos and scoured by a million mechanical eyes.

Suddenly, that smarmy little paper clip character always popping up in Microsoft Word doesn't seem quite so bad. Annoying as he is, at least he has an off switch. And at least he's not taking your words and throwing them back at you as advertisements -- re-writing you, as it were. Forgive me if I sound a bit paranoid -- I'm just trying to underscore the privacy issues. Like a frog in a pot of slowly heating water, we don't really notice until it's too late that things are rising to a boil. Then again, being highly adaptive creatures, we'll more likely get accustomed to this softer standard of privacy and learn to withstand the heat -- or simply not be bothered at all.

Posted by ben vershbow at 1:35 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

knightfall   03.13.2006, 11:54 AM

Knight Ridder, America's second largest newspaper company, operator of 32 dailies, has been purchased by McClatchy Co., a smaller newspaper company (reported here in the San Jose Mercury News, one of the papers McClatchy has acquired). Several months ago, Knight Ridder's controlling shareholders, nervous about declining circulation and the increasing dominance of internet news, insisted that the company put itself up for auction. After being sniffed over and ultimately dropped by Gannett Co., the country's largest print news conglomerate, the smaller McClatchy came through with KR's sole bid.

McClatchy's chief exec calls it: "a vote of confidence in the newspaper industry." Or is it -- to riff on the cultural environmentalism metaphor -- like buying beach front property on the Aral Sea?

For a more hopeful view on the future of news, Jay Rosen (who has not yet commented on the Knight Ridder sale) has an amazing post today on Press Think about online newspapers as "seeders of clouds" and "public squares." Very much worth a read.

Posted by ben vershbow at 11:54 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

cultural environmentalism symposium at stanford   03.11.2006, 3:49 PM

Ten years ago, the web just a screaming infant in its cradle, Duke law scholar James Boyle proposed "cultural environmentalism" as an overarching metaphor, modeled on the successes of the green movement, that might raise awareness of the need for a balanced and just intellectual property regime for the information age. A decade on, I think it's safe to say that a movement did emerge (at least on the digital front), drawing on prior efforts like the General Public License for software and giving birth to a range of public interest groups like the Electronic Frontier Foundation and Creative Commons. More recently, new threats to cultural freedom and innovation have been identified in the lobbying by internet service providers for greater control of network infrastructure. Where do we go from here? Last month, writing in the Financial Times, Boyle looked back at the genesis of his idea:

We were writing the ground rules of the information age, rules that had dramatic effects on speech, innovation, science and culture, and no one - except the affected industries - was paying attention.

My analogy was to the environmental movement which had quite brilliantly made visible the effects of social decisions on ecology, bringing democratic and scholarly scrutiny to a set of issues that until then had been handled by a few insiders with little oversight or evidence. We needed an environmentalism of the mind, a politics of the information age.

Might the idea of conservation -- of water, air, forests and wild spaces -- be applied to culture? To the public domain? To the millions of "orphan" works that are in copyright but out of print, or with no contactable creator? Might the internet itself be considered a kind of reserve (one that must be kept neutral) -- a place where cultural wildlife are free to live, toil, fight and ride upon the backs of one another? What are the dangers and fallacies contained in this metaphor?

Ray and I have just set up shop at a fascinating two-day symposium -- Cultural Environmentalism at 10 -- hosted at Stanford Law School by Boyle and Lawrence Lessig where leading intellectual property thinkers have converged to celebrate Boyle's contributions and to collectively assess the opportunities and potential pitfalls of his metaphor. Impressions and notes soon to follow.

Posted by ben vershbow at 3:49 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

sophie is coming!   03.09.2006, 5:09 PM

Though we haven't talked much about it here, the Institute is dedicated to practice in addition to the theory we regularly spout here. In July, the Institute will release Sophie, our first piece of software. Sophie is an open-source platform for creating and reading electronic books for the networked environment. It will facilitate the construction of documents that use multimedia and time in ways that are currently difficult, if not impossible, with today's software. We spend a fair amount of time talking about what electronic books and documents should do on this blog. Hopefully, many of these ideas will be realized in Sophie.

A beta release for Sophie will be upon us before we know it, and readers of this blog will be hearing (and seeing) more about it in the future. We're excited about what we've seen Sophie do so far; soon you'll be able to see too. Until then, we can offer you this 13-page PDF that attempts to explain exactly what Sophie is, the problems that it was created to solve, and what it will do. An HTML version of this will be arriving shortly, and there will soon be a Sophie version. There's also, should you be especially curious, a second 5-page PDF that explains Sophie's pedigree: a quick history of some of the ideas and software that informed Sophie's design.

Posted by dan visel at 5:09 PM | Comments (39) | TrackBack

truth through the layers   03.09.2006, 9:18 AM

Pedro Meyer's I Photograph to Remember is a work originally designed for CD ROM, that became available on the Internet 10 years later. I find it not only beautiful within the medium limitations, as Pedro says on his 2001 comment, but actually perfectly suited for both, the original CD ROM, and its current home on the internet . It is a work of love, and as such it has a purity that transcends all media.

The photographs and their subject(s) have such degree of intimacy that forces the viewer to look inside and avoid all morbidity or voyeurism. The images are accompanied by Pedro Meyer's voice. His narration, plain and to the point, is as photographic as the pictures are eloquent. The line between text and image is blurred in the most perfect b&w sense. The work evokes feelings of unconditional love, of hands held at moments of both weakness and strength, of happiness and sadness, of true friendship, which is the basis of true love. The whole experience becomes introspection, on the screen and in the mind of the viewer.

IPTR was originally a Voyager CD ROM, and it was the first ever produced with continuous sound and images, a possibility that completes, and complements, image as narration and vice-versa. The other day Bob Stein showed me IPTR on his iPod and expressed how perfectly it works on this handheld device. And, it does. IPTR is still a perfect object, and as those old photographs exist thanks to the magic of chemicals and light, this exists thanks to that "old" CD ROM technology, and will continue to exist inhabiting whatever medium necessary to preserve it.

I've recently viewed Joan de Fontcuberta's shows in two galleries in Manhattan; Zabriskie and Aperture,) and the connections between IPTR and these works became obsessive to me. Fontcuberta, also a photographer, has chosen the Internet, and computer technology, as the media for both projects. In "Googlegrams," he uses the Google image search engine to randomly select images from the Internet by controlling the search engine criteria with only the input of specific key words.

These Google-selected images are then electronically assembled into a larger image, usually a photo, of Fontcuberta's choosing (for example, the image of a homeless man sleeping on the sidewalk reassembled from images of the 24 richest people in the world, Lynddie England reassembled from images of the Abu Ghraib's abuse, or a porno picture reassembled from porno sites.). The end result is an interesting metaphor for the Internet and the relationship between electronic mass media and the creation of our collective consciousness.

For Fontcuberta, the Internet is "the supreme expression of a culture which takes it for granted that recording, classifying, interpreting, archiving and narrating in images is something inherent in a whole range of human actions, from the most private and personal to the most overt and public." All is mediated by the myriad representations on the global information space. As Zabriskie's Press Release says, "the thousands of images that comprise the Googlegrams, in their diminutive role as tiles in a mosaic, become a visual representation of the anonymous discourse of the internet."

Aperture is showing Fontcuberta's "Landscapes Without Memory" where the artist uses computer software that renders three-dimensional images of landscapes based on information scanned from two-dimensional sources (usually satellite surveys or cartographic data.) In "Landscapes of Landscapes" Fontcuberta feeds the software fragments of pictures by Turner, Cézanne, Dalí, Stieglitz, and others, forcing the program to interpret this landscapes as "real."

These painted and photographic landscapes are transformed into three-dimensional mountains, rivers, valleys, and clouds. The result is new, completely artificial realities produced by the software's interpretation of realities that have been already interpreted by the painters. In the "Bodyscapes" series, Fontcuberta uses the same software to reinterpret photographs of fragments of his own body, resulting in virtual landscapes of a new world. By fooling the computer Fontcuberta challenges the limits between art, science and illusion.

Both Pedro Meyer and Joan de Fontcuberta's use of photography, technology and the Internet, present us with mediated worlds that move us to rethink the vocabulary of art and representation which are constantly enriched by the means by which they are delivered.

Posted by sol gaitan at 9:18 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

without gods: born again!   03.08.2006, 7:54 PM

Unrest in the Middle East. Cartoons circulated and Danish flags set ablaze (who knew there were so many Danish flags?) A high-profile debate in the pages of the New York Times between a prominent atheist and a Judeo-Christian humanist. Another setback for the "intelligent design" folks, this time in Utah. Things have been busy of late. The world rife with conflict: belief and disbelief, secular pluralism and religious extremism, faith and reason, and all the hazy territory in between.

Mitchell Stephens, too, has been busy, grappling with all the above on Without Gods while trying to muster the opening chapters of his book -- the blog serving as both helper and hindrance to his process (a fascinating paradox that haunts the book in the network). To reflect these busy times -- and Mitch's busy mind -- the blog has undergone slight renovation, reflecting the busier layout of a newspaper while hopefully remaining accessible and easy to read.

There's a tag cloud near the top serving as a sort of snapshot of Mitch's themes and characters, while four topic areas to the side give the reader more options for navigating the site. In some ways the new design also reminds me of the clutter of a writer's desk -- a method-infused madness.

As templates were updated and wrinkles ironed out in the code, Mitch posted a few reflections on the pluses and pitfalls of this infant form, the blog:

Newspapers, too, began, in the 17th century, by simply placing short items in columns (in this case from top down). So it was possible to read on page four of a newspaper in England in 1655 that Cardinal Carassa is one of six men with a chance to become the next pope and then read on page nine of the same paper that Carassa "is newly dead." Won't we soon be getting similar chuckles out of these early blogs -- where leads are routinely buried under supporting paragraphs; where whim is privileged, coherence discouraged; where the newly dead may be resurrected as one scrolls down.

Early newspapers eventually discovered the joys of what journalism's first editor called a "continued relation." Later they discovered layout.

Blogs have a lot of discovering ahead of them.

Posted by ben vershbow at 7:54 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

google: i'll be your mirror   03.07.2006, 5:25 PM

From notes accidentally published on Google's website, leaked into the blogosphere (though here from the BBC): plans for the GDrive, a mirror of users' hard drives.

With infinite storage, we can house all user files, including e-mails, web history, pictures, bookmarks, etc; and make it accessible from anywhere (any device, any platform, etc).

I just got a shiver -- a keyhole glimpse of where this is headed. Google's stock made a shocking dip last week after its Chief Financial Officer warned investors that growth of its search and advertising business would eventually slow down. The sudden panicked thought: how will Google realize its manifest destiny? You know: "organizing the world's information and making it universally accessible (China notwithstanding) and useful"? How will it continue to feed itself?

Simple: storage.

Google, as it has already begun to do (Gmail, get off my back!), wants to organize our information and make it universally accessible and useful to us. No more worries about backing up data -- Google's got your back. No worries about saving correspondences -- Google's got those. They've got your shoebox of photographs, your file cabinet of old college papers, your bank records, your tax returns. All nicely organized and made incredibly useful.

But as we prepare for the upload of our lives, we might pause to ask: exactly how useful do we want to become?

Posted by ben vershbow at 5:25 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

RDF = bigger piles   03.06.2006, 4:30 PM

Last week at a meeting of all the Mellon funded projects I heard a lot of discussion about RDF as a key technology for interoperability. RDF (Resource Description Framework) is a data model for machine readable metadata and a necessary, but not sufficient requirement for the semantic web. On top of this data model you need applications that can read RDF. On top of the applications you need the ability to understand the meaning in the RDF structured data. This is the really hard part: matching the meaning of two pieces of data from two different contexts still requires human judgement. There are people working on the complex algorithmic gymnastics to make this easier, but so far, it's still in the realm of the experimental.

So why pursue RDF? The goal is to make human knowledge, implicit and explicit, machine readable. Not only machine readable, but automatically shareable and reusable by applications that understand RDF. Researchers pursuing the semantic web hope that by precipitating an integrated and interoperable data environment, application developers will be able to innovate in their business logic and provide better services across a range of data sets.

Why is this so hard? Well, partly because the world is so complex, and although RDF is theoretically able to model an entire world's worth of data relationships, doing it seamlessly is just plain hard. You can spend time developing a RDF representation of all the data in your world, then someone else will come along with their own world, with their own set of data relationships. Being naturally friendly, you take in their data and realize that they have a completely different view of the category "Author," "Creator," "Keywords," etc. Now you have a big, beautiful dataset, with a thousand similar, but not equivalent pieces. The hard part—determining relationships between the data.

We immediately considered how RDF and Sophie would work. RDF importing/exporting in Sophie could provide value by preparing Sophie for integration with other RDF capable applications. But, as always, the real work is figuring out what it is that people could do with this data. Helping users derive meaning from a dataset begs the question: what kind of meaning are we trying to help them discover? A universe of linguistic analysis? Literary theory? Historical accuracy? I think a dataset that enabled all of these would be 90% metadata, and 10% data. This raises another huge issue: entering semantic metadata requires skill and time, and is therefore relatively rare.

In the end, RDF creates bigger, better piles of data—intact with provenance and other unique characteristics derived from the originating context. This metadata is important information that we'd rather hold on to than irrevocably discard, but it leaves us stuck with a labyrinth of data, until we create the tools to guide us out. RDF is ten years old, yet it hasn't achieved the acceptance of other solutions, like XML Schemas or DTD's. They have succeeded because they solve limited problems in restricted ways and require relatively simple effort to implement. RDF's promise is that it will solve much larger problems with solutions that have more richness and complexity; but ultimately the act of determining meaning or negotiating interoperability between two systems is still a human function. The undeniable fact of it remains— it's easy to put everyone's data into RDF, but that just leaves the hard part for last.

Posted by jdwilbur at 4:30 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

if:book-back mountain: emergent deconstruction   03.03.2006, 9:18 PM

It's Oscar weekend, and everyone seems to be thinking and talking about movies, including myself. At the institute we often talk about the discourse afforded by changes in technology, and it seems to be apropos to take a look at new forms of discourse in area of movies. A month or so ago, I was sent the viral Internet link of the week. Someone made a parody of the Brokeback Mountain trailer by taking its soundtrack and tag lines and remixng them with scenes from the flight school action movie, Top Gun. Tom Cruise and Val Kilmer are recast as gay lovers, misunderstood in the world of air to air combat. The technique of remixing a new trailer first appeared in 2005, with clips from the Shining recut as a romantic comedy to hilarious effect. With spot-on voiceover and Peter Gabriel's "Solsbury Hill" as music, it similarly circulated the Internet, while consuming office bandwidth. The first Brokeback parody is uncertain, however, it inspired the p2p/ mashup (although some purists question whether these trailers are true mashup) community to create dozens of trailers. Virginia Heffernan in the New York Times gives a very good overview of the phenomenon, including the depictions of Fight Club, Heat, Lord of the Rings, and Stars War as a gay love story.

Some spoofs work better than others. The more successful trailers establish the parallels between the loner hero archetype of film and the outsider qualities of gay life. For example, as noted by Heffernana, Brokeback Heat, with limited extra editing, transforms Al Pacino and Robert DeNiro from a detective and criminal into lovers, who wax philosophically on the intrinsic nature of their lives and their lack of desire to live another way. Or in Top Gun 2: Brokeback Squadron, Tom Cruise and Val Kilmer exist in their own hyper-masculine reality outside of the understanding of others, in particular their female romantic counterparts. In Back to the Future, the relationship of mentor and hero is reinterpreted as a cross generational romance. Lord of the Rings: Brokeback Mount Doom successfully captures the analogy between the perilous journey of the hero and the experience of the disenfranchised. Here, the quest of Sam and Frodo is inverted into the quest to find the love that dares not speak its name. The p2p/ mashup community had come to the same conclusion (to, at times, great comic effect) that the gay community arrived at long ago, that male bonding (and its Hollywood representation) has a homoerotic subtext.

The loner heros found in the the Brokeback Mountain remixes are of particular interest. Over time, the successful parodies deconstruct the Hollywood imagery of the hero, and subsequently distill the archetypes of cinema. This process of distillation identifies key elements of the male hero. The common traits of the hero being that he lies outside the mainstream, cannot fight his rebel "nature", often uses the guidance of a mentor and must travel a perilous journey of self discovery all rise to the surface of these new media texts. The irony plays out, when their hyper-masculinity are juxtaposed next to identical references of the supposed taboo gay experience.

On the other hand, the Arrested Development version contains titles thanking the cast and producers of the cancelled series, clips of Jason Bateman's television family suggesting his latent homosexuality, and the Brokeback Mountain theme music. The disparate pieces make less sense, rendering it ultimately less interesting as a whole. Likewise, Brokeback Ranger, a riff on Chuck Norris in the Walker, Texas Ranger television series, is a collection of clips of the Norris fighting and solving crimes, with the prerequisite music, and titles that describe Norris ironic superhuman abilities including dividing by zero. Again, the references are not of the hero archetype and the piece, although mildly humorous, has limited depth.

A potentially new form of discourse is being created, in which the archetypes of media text emerge from their repeated deconstruction and subsequent reconstruction. From these works, an understanding of the media text appears through an emergent deconstruction. In that, the individual efforts need not be conscious or even intended. Rather, the funniest and most compelling examples are the remixes which correctly identify and utilize the traditional conventions in the media text. Therefore, their success is directly correlated to their ability to correctly identify the archetype.

The users may not have prior knowledge of the ideas of the hero described by Carl Jung and Joseph Campbell's The Hero with a Thousand Faces. Nor are they required to have read Umberto Eco's deconstruction of James Bond, or Leslie Fiedler's work on the homosexual subtext found in the novel. Further, each individual remix author does not need to set out to define the specific archetypes. What is most extraordinary is that their aggregate efforts gravitate towards the distilled archetype, in this case, the male bonding rituals of the hero in cinema. Some examples will miss the themes, which is inherent in all emergent systems. By the definition and nature of archetypes, the work that most resonate are the ones which most convincingly identify, reference, (and in this case, parody) the archetype. These analyses can be discovered by an individual, as Campbell, Eco, Jung and Fiedler did. Since their groundbreaking works, there is an abundance of deconstructing media text from the last fifty years. Here, the lack of intention, and the emergence of the archetypes through the aggregate is new. An important aspect of these aggregate analyses is that they could only come about through the wide availability of both access to the network and to digital video editing software.

At the institute, we expect that the dissemination of authoring tools and access to the network will lead to new forms of discourse and we look for occurrences of them. Emergent deconstruction is still in its early stages. I am excited by its prospects, but how far it can meaningfully grow is unclear. However, I do know that after watching thirty some versions of the Brokeback Mountain remixed trailers, I do not need to hear its moody theme music any more, but I suppose that is part of the process of emergent forms.

Posted by ray cha at 9:18 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

post-doc fellowships available for work with the institute   03.01.2006, 9:40 PM

The Institute for the Future of the Book is based at the Annenberg Center for Communication at USC. Jonathan Aronson, the executive director of the center, has just sent out a call for eight post-docs and one visiting scholar for next year. if you know of anyone who would like to apply, particularly people who would like to work with us at the institute, please pass this on. the institute's activities at the center are described as follows:

Shifting Forms of Intellectual Discourse in a Networked Culture
For the past several hundred years intellectual discourse has been shaped by the rhythms and hierarchies inherent in the nature of print. As discourse shifts from page to screen, and more significantly to a networked environment, the old definitions and relations are undergoing unimagined changes. The shift in our world view from individual to network holds the promise of a radical reconfiguration in culture. Notions of authority are being challenged. The roles of author and reader are morphing and blurring. Publishing, methods of distribution, peer review and copyright -- every crucial aspect of the way we move ideas around -- is up for grabs. The new digital technologies afford vastly different outcomes ranging from oppressive to liberating. How we make this shift has critical long term implications for human society.

Research interests include: how reading and writing change in a networked culture; the changing role of copyright and fair use, the form and economics of open-source content, the shifting relationship of medium to message (or form to content).

if you have any questions, please feel free to email bob stein

Posted by bob stein at 9:40 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

thinking about blogging 2: democracy   03.01.2006, 11:13 AM

Banning books may be easy, but banning blogs is an exhausting game of Whack-a-Mole for politically repressive regimes like China and Iran.

Farid Pouya, recapping recent noteworthy posts from the Iranian blogosphere last week on Global Voices, refers to one blogger's observations on the chilled information climate under president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad:

Andishe No (means New Thought) fears that country was pushed back to pre Khatami's period concerning censorship. He believes that even if many books get banned in twenty first century, government can not stop people getting information. Government wants to control weblogs in Iran and put them in a guideline.

Unlike the fleas that swarm American media and politics, Iran's cyber-dissidents frequently are the sole conduit for uncensored information -- an underground army of chiseler's, typing away at the barricades. Here we see the blog as a building block for civil society. Electronic samizdat. Basic life forms in a free media ecology, instilling new habits in both writers and readers: habits of questioning, of digging deeper. Individual sites may get shut down, individual bloggers may be jailed but the information finds a way.

Though the situation in Iran is far from enviable, there is something attractive about the moral clarity of its dissident blogging. If one wants the truth, one must find alternatives -- it's that simple. But with alternative media in the United States -- where the media ecology is highly developed and corruption more subtle -- it's hard to separate the wheat from the chaff. Political blogs in America may resound with outrage and indignation, but it's the kind that comes from a life of abundance. All too often, political discourse is not something that points toward action, but an idle picking at the carcass of liberty.

Sure, we've seen blogs make a difference in politics (Swift Boats, Rathergate, Trent Lott -- 2004 was the "year of the blog"), but generally as a furtherance of partisan aims -- a way of mobilizing the groundtroops within a core constituency that has already decided what it believes.

When one looks at this map (admittedly a year old) of the American political blogosphere, one notes with dismay that there are in fact two spheres, mapping out all too cleanly to the polarized reality on the ground. One begins to suspect that America's political blogs are merely a pressure valve for a population that, though ill at ease, is still ultimately paralyzed.

Posted by ben vershbow at 11:13 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack