The Stories We Tell About Ourselves

A while back a friend of mine from high school visited me in Seattle, and as I was telling her about school and my plans for the future, she bluntly asked me, “Aren’t libraries obsolete?” It was not the last time that someone has declared/asked that of me in conversation, and the sentiment always rankles me. In part because I think the answer is, emphatically, no, and in part because I don’t know what to say to a person who thinks that. 

There are countless ways that libraries are invaluable to society, both the people who use them and even those who do not. Every day I see how the information landscape is changing and how libraries are integral leaders in that process. I see students needing guidance in how to sift through the vastness of the Internet and even to choose an appropriate point of entry. I see how librarians are asking the essential questions about the ethical, political, and social implications of the technologies and systems we build to create, store, and transmit information. I see libraries playing central roles in their communities. Yet there is a strong and persistent narrative in the news and even in the profession of librarianship that is always ready to declare the demise of libraries. My day-to-day reality is so far from this narrative of demise that when I come up against it, I am often flabbergasted and unable to succinctly or coherently state why libraries are definitely not obsolete (not to mention why you would probably be a better person if you used libraries more often, but I’ll leave that for another time).

I’m thinking about this today after reading this piece by Barbara Fister, The End of the Twilight Doom. Fister asks,

Why do we love apocalyptic metaphors so much? Nobody reads. Libraries are doomed. Higher education must change radically or die; no, wait, it’s already dead.  

It is almost trite to suggest that the answer is because it sells papers (or rather, pushes page views), though that is definitely part of it. I also think that there is a strong tendency towards myopia in our society, and that we often mistake change for destruction. It is this idea that we are on the edge of a precipice (or maybe we’ve already stepped off it) and this is the moment in time where society is about to fall apart (or already has) and we are the only ones who can do something about it and if we don’t act now it will be too late (or it already is too late). 

It is an engrossing narrative, but critically lacking any historical perspective. I think you could make the same argument about the narrative of demise in almost any context, but speaking specifically about libraries, it is safe to say that we have always been in a state of flux. I spent countless hours in graduate school reading texts like the U.S. 1876 special report on public libraries, Samuel Green’s "Personal Relations Between Librarians and Readers" (1876, assigned in at least two of my classes) or Vannevar Bush’s “As We May Think” (1945, also assigned in at least two courses). Though at the time I often cursed the poorly made scans and uneven typeset, the overwhelming message I got from reading these historical texts is that the core principles of librarianship remain  the same (public service, access, organization, preservation) while the superficial and technological details are constantly changing (card catalogs, print journals, etc.). Libraries are now and have always been engaging with changes in the way our society creates, accesses, and shares information.

In her post, Fister notes that the attention-grabbing, gloom-and-doom headline has been around for decades, and she suggests that it is time for libraries to create “a counter-narrative to the apocalyptic rhetoric.” I would say that a counter-narrative already exists in the profession: it is the narrative of leadership and innovation in the field of information. The problem is that this is the story we tell to ourselves, but we have been less successful in conveying the idea to others. Indeed, I have trouble imagining making the case to my friend who was sure libraries have become obsolete. We are combatting an emotional argument (Libraries are doomed!) with an intellectual one (Libraries are actually fulfilling the same role in society as they always have, and you are merely mistaking change for destruction.) It is not just that we need a counter-narrative, it is that we need one that packs the same emotional force as the fear-inducing notion that libraries are on the brink of collapse. I am now taking submissions for the parallel rebuttal, so when the next person says to me, “Libraries are obsolete,” I can respond, confidently and persuasively, “No, libraries are ________.” Please fill in the blank.

Books the Bookaneers are reading (continued)

Thanks to Bookaneer Althea for initiating this post with the theme of summer reading.

I'm currently taking a full load of classes, so my summer reading has been tempered by school (ha!). Seriously though, reading stuff other than the assigned class readings is like my own personal pastime.

Let me briefly mention a book that I'm currently reading.

The book is entitled Speaking Into The Air: A History of the Idea of Communication by John Durham Peters. Peters is a communications scholar at Indiana University and his book is fascinating. And, let me add right off the bat, his prose is some of the best scholarly writing I've read (for example, he strategically uses short sentences that pack a punch. Whatever happened to short sentences in academe?) As the title suggests, his main thesis is to trace the idea of communication through history. Yes, how we (perhaps the western world) have thought about communication has changed quite radically over the years. Our conception of "communication" -- indeed, the usage of the word as it is commonly used today -- is a decidedly modern phenomenon. For example, Peters repeatedly highlights the erotic overtones to certain conceptions of communication; specifically, the word "intercourse" used to mean what we think of as "communication," and vice versa.

I'm only through a few chapters, but let me talk about one chapter to spark your interest. The first chapter, entitled "Dialogue and Dissemination," discusses two opposing ideas of communication through the important historical figures of Socrates and Jesus. A close reading of Plato's Phaedrus serves as the vehicle for discussing what Socrates believed made for true, transcendental communication: dialogue. Taking place during a period of transition from Greek orality to literacy, Socrates argues that forms of communication (i.e., writing) other than one-to-one dialogue are morally wrong, because (and here comes more eroticism for you) reading is like being penetrated and ventriloquized by the author. Dialogue, on the other hand, is the truest form of communication, because it allows each person to understand one another more fully (the written word doesn't respond to questions).

As opposed to Socrates' privileging of dialogue, Jesus's Parable of the Sower privileges quite the opposite. By scattering or broadcasting one's message everywhere, the speaker has more chances to "plant that one seed." In other words, for Jesus, miscommunication with most people is natural. He doesn't expect most people to understand his teachings, only a small minority. By broadcasting, one is able to more broadly distribute Truth.

I'm doing Peters a disservice in this description, because his readings of these texts are much more nuanced. Nevertheless, you get the gist of it. Later chapters discuss, for example, how the 19th century's craze of spiritual mediums (mostly women) was a historical continuation of a longer tradition of "angelology" - the study of angels - in Christianity. In addition, the spiritual mediums often described their practice in terms of the "new media" of the day - the telegraph. (New media are always accompanied by new ghosts.)

I hope I have sparked your interest. Check it out!

I look forward to hearing what other Bookaneers have been reading this summer, even in their far flung travels.