Tag Archives: Facebook

Critic’s Notebook: Riffle, LibraryThing, and Connectivity

Meaning is not in things but in between; in the iridescence, the interplay; the interconnections; at the intersections, at the crossroads. Meaning is transitional as it is transitory; in the puns or bridges, the correspondence.”

Norman O. Brown, “Freedom,” Love’s Body (1966)

The mass is a matrix from which all traditional behavior toward works of art issues today in a new form. Quantity has been transmuted into quality. The greatly increased mass of participants has produced a change in the mode of participation. The fact that the new mode of participation first appeared in a disreputable form must not confuse the spectator. Yet some people have launched spirited attacks against precisely this superficial aspect.”

Walter Benjamin, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction” (1936)

Because of my reviews for Translation Tuesdays, I was invited to join Riffle, a new social media website devoted to literature. In addition, I have been a long time member of LibraryThing, a website where one can catalog his or her library. LibraryThing also has publisher giveaways, discussion groups, and links to local events. This essay seeks to investigate the linkages between social media, device connectivity, and “the book.”

Boundaries of the Book

During the last decade, there has been a revolution in how consume data. More specifically, how we consume books, music, and film. But the change in consumption did not happen overnight or in a vacuum. As creatures of habit, we remain skeptical and resistant to technological change. New products like ebooks and digital music downloads have disrupted our normal perceptions of consumption.

Concurrent with these new technological innovations, the Internet’s increased availability in the mid-1990s spurred a democratization of knowledge. Email and Instant Messenger made communication instantaneous and free, as opposed to paying for postage and long distance phone calls. Into this melange we now have things like freeware and Makerbot. These user-based tools/movements have become a counter-voice to proprietary software and top-down producer-consumer paradigms.

All these various activities and innovations have created an environment for change in how consumers interact with other forms of data, specifically books and music. Napster and the like began as free file-sharing software, allowing consumers to download songs. It was advantageous for those who enjoyed one or two songs from a rather middling album. Smashmouth’s “Walkin’ on the Sun” became a popular download because no one wanted to pay $12 for an album with only one good song. Then Lars Ulrich became litigious and made many people very angry. Eventually programmers and business executives came to an understanding that led to the common paradigm of purchasing downloadable music. The rise of the iPod also smoothed the transition, since it operated on playing downloaded digital music files and not cassette tapes. And it was smaller and held more songs.

Kindle-vs-books

Music was easy, books are hard. Music consumption has periodic transitions – wax cylnders to records, records to tapes, tapes to CDs, CDs to digital files – but books present a different history. There has not been a major transition in book consumption since Gutenberg and even then it was only a matter of speed and cheapness. For the most part, books still came in numbered pages between hard covers. What is inside a book has changed radically since the 16th century with the onset on digital publishing and printing. One only has to browse a used bookstore and see art books from the Seventies and Eighties to appreciate the changes made.

Still, despite some superficial aesthetic changes, consumers still purchased books that looked like books. The bookishness of a book, as it were. This intrinsic nature – the smell of ink, the feel of paper, the weight of the volume – has become the hardest thing to abandon. One could read emails or blogs or newspaper websites for free, but all three of those things lack the implicit gravitas of a book. But this is to speak in generalities. To delve further, one has to investigate the variety of books available to the consumer. Not merely the Taschen coffee table book, but also the almost-disposable bestseller or the pulp thriller. The ease and quickness in how one reads a Grisham novel or a Steven King horror story is in stark contrast to a coffee table art book. A coffee table art book is an artifact. Something to be preserved and displayed like a sacred relic. That’s how I treat my copy of Codex Seraphinianus by Luigi Serafini or the 7-volume edition of Rising Up and Rising Down by William T. Vollmann.

VOL2

Where ebooks have been successful is in the realm once occupied by drugstore paperbacks. Unlike the coffee table art book, these paperbacks are made with cheap materials. One reads them with speed and one can consume many books within a year. Besides the cheap paper, these paperbacks also cost considerably less. The Spartan content – no visuals or fold-out maps – make them much better candidates for ebook consumption. The technological innovation of the ebook has created a niche once occupied by cheap paperbacks from the Thirties to the Sixties, the Golden and Silver Ages of popular genres like Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Erotica.

Ebooks dissolve the boundaries of the traditional book. One still calls it a “book” despite the absence of page numbers. While content harkens back to a bygone era, the functionalities of ebooks harken back to scrolls, content delivery systems used in Ancient Egypt, Greece, and Rome. Besides the scrolling, there is a futuristic addition with the presence of hypertext. Hypertext makes ebooks three-dimensional objects. One can scroll up and down, but one can also click on a word and go through. As Doc Brown said, “Roads? Where we’re going, we don’t need roads.”

Listmania!

 tumblr_kz2sf5RukL1qbq3dao1_r1_500

Lists are fun. Whether it is reading a list or making a list, the fun comes in creating and adding entries. Cracked.com excels at making lists. Long the weak counterpart to MAD Magazine, Cracked reinvented itself as an online comedy website. It did so through lists. The lists existed as an arrangement of factoids for quick consumption. Cracked.com likens it to “comedy heroin.” Short, strong doses of intense comedy. A catchy title and stock photography get mixed in with fact-based article liberally dosed with dick jokes and sophomoric humor. Ironically, such mischief has its antecedents in Gargantua and Pantagruel (1532) by François Rabelais.

Riffle, the new social media website, also allows users to make lists. After creating a list, the user then has the option to post it on Twitter and/or Facebook. It offers a space to create opinions and search similar tastes. The lists serve the user as a counter to such things like the algorithms used on Amazon and Netflix. The idiosyncrasy of user-generated lists are self-made. The users create them for their own personal edification. They have nothing at stake but their own satisfaction. The algorithms of Amazon and Netflix exist because the System is trying to give its best guess at what a potential consumer might want to purchase. Amazon and Netflix exist as monetized environments: consumer ecologies. Riffle is more communitarian in nature.

Connection and Connectivity

RiffleBooks_SitePromo

Riffle and LibraryThing function best when they bring people together. I have been a longtime member of LibraryThing, cataloging numerous books and interacting with various discussion groups. When the cataloging function is fulfilled, then one move towards interaction. The same behavior exists on Facebook, where once one has accumulated various and sundry friends, then went one to “Like” numerous things, then one focuses on renewing old friendships or kindling new ones.

Today Facebook exists as the incumbent paradigm. All roads lead to Facebook. Riffle’s functionality becomes useful in its connectivity with Facebook.

Riffle → Facebook

The same thing with this blog. Once I’m done writing this essay, it will be posted on the WordPress blog and then re-posted on this blog’s Facebook page.

Driftless Area Review → Driftless Area Review Facebook Page

When I write book reviews, I post them on LibraryThing, post them on this blog, and then, finally, the Driftless Area Review Facebook page.

Posting Book Review


LibraryThing → Driftless Area Review* → Driftless Area Review Facebook page

*This becomes further complicated when I post elsewhere, including The Chicago Center for Literature and Photography (CCLaP) (also posting on their Facebook page), The Joe Bob Report, and The The Poetry Blog.

CCLaP page → LibraryThing → Driftless Area Review → Driftless Area Review Facebook page → CCLaP Facebook page

20100518_01

In addition to the content, what becomes especially important is connectivity. The CCLaP has created a platform for viewing the site across all media types (computer terminals, iPads, mobile devices, etc.). To call back the Norman O. Brown quote, “Meaning is not in things but in between; in the iridescence, the interplay; the interconnections.” The Internet fueled democratization of content has created a digital ecology dependent on connectivity. Once consumers were satisfied that the computer could access the Internet via the phone lines. Wifi has changed that perception. The demand that content be available immediately everywhere is premised on the notion that all these numerous devices can talk to each other.

But connectivity comes at a cost. Unlike the hard point connecting a desktop and a phone line, Wifi is much more tricksy. Many more variables come to the forefront when one beams information over the airwaves. Everything from security to the weather can play havoc with content distribution. In addition, the variety of machines available to the public also come with their own idiosyncratic behaviors. Cell phones offer increased convenience for communication, but at the cost of dropping out at unexpected times to cell towers not working.

Riffle, LibraryThing, and Facebook (among the many other not mentioned) offer social connection. The ascendancy of multiple devices in the household means we depend not only on the content they provide, but whether or not they can talk to each other.

The Letter Killers Club, by Sigizmund Krzhizhanovksy

In an industry usually concerned with “moving units,” cashing in on the latest literary by-product of a reality television non-personality, or pushing out fiction that degrades the genre to a near metaphysical endpoint, it is a rare occasion when a publisher can be said to have acted “heroically.”  The Letter Killers Club by Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky (hereafter referred to as SK) represents an occasion to celebrate.  With a downright intimidating name (unlike the two-syllable names of thriller writers on bestseller lists), the novel revolves around the machinations and stories told by a secret society in the 1920s Soviet Union.  It is heroic to publish such a perplexing little volume by a Ukrainian Soviet writer who, according to the copy on the back cover, “went unpublished, though he was active among Moscow’s literati in the 1920s.”  Seriously, why publish this?  One could make more money releasing another volume of Ghostwriters Working for the Kardashian Machine.  Let’s add zombies to Jane Austen or androids to Tolstoy.  “Hey, at least people are reading!” quoth the sycophants of the Lowest Common Denominator.

Don’t let the author’s name or the strange plot dissuade you from reading this remarkable novel.  Written in 1926 when Soviet Modernism slowly faded into the Stalinist Philistinism of the 1930s, the novel follows the meetings of a secretive group named “the Letter Killers Club.”  Totalitarian paranoia taints the barbed elliptical narratives of the group members, creating stories that bristle with erudition, humor, and beauty.

“The Letter Killers Club” involves each member taking an alias that is a nonsense syllable.  The names (Rar, Mov, Tyd, etc.) sound like the characters from Samuel Beckett’s Endgame (1957).  The group gathers in a dark study.  Empty bookshelves surround them.  Every week a single member tells his story, but is duty bound not to publish his “conception.”  The strictures recall the random oppressions of the police state.  While the 1920s saw an aesthetic flowering in the Soviet Union, its totalitarian terrors existed under the aegis of Lenin and the Party.  Stalin simply intensified and expanded the Reign of Terror.  The rigidity of the rules also predicts the severity of Oulipo (a literary movement that began in the 1960s).

The meetings frame the stories, each meeting offering a different genre.  The first story is actually a play, a heretical dissection of Hamlet.  The play splits the characters into two entities; ergo Guildenstern becomes Guilden and Stern.  Dueling Hamlets recite the “To be or not be” speech.  In addition, the play’s actors go to The Land of Roles meeting previous actors who played Hamlet.  The story is playful and postmodern, anticipating Tom Stoppard’s riff on the Bard’s most famous play.  The fourth-wall-breaking and Land of Roles remind one of the anarchic interrelationships of Los Angeles and Toontown in Who Framed Roger Rabbit? (Robert Zemeckis, 1988).

Another story involves the transmission of a virus that turns people in automatons.  Part science fiction, part biological horror, and part political satire, the story explores the same territory of Yevgeny Zamyatin’s We (1921).  In this case, a scientist desires to make the mentally insane more productive members of society with a technique of remotely controlling the brain functions.  What started as a technology “for the common good” becomes an instrument of totalitarian control.

The people turning into automatons because of technology should make people pause and think about the ties between self, autonomy, the state, and surveillance.  (Whether it is Facebook or the National Security Agency, sacrificing one’s privacy to a monolithic institution usually involves a willing self-sacrifice.  Our chains are self-inflicted.)

Other stories include a fable set in medieval times and a tale of a recently deceased Roman missing his requisite obol for his journey across the River Acheron.  To complicate matters, the narrators get interrupted, chastised, or, a la “Exquisite Corpse”, other members finish the stories.  The interruptions and snide commentary should be familiar to anyone seeing an Internet comment thread.  If you disliked a casting choice in a movie involving a Marvel superhero or something similar, then you’ll enjoy the snark targeted at the storyteller.  The snark and commentary in this cabal-like setting stands in stark contrast to the public uniformity of the police state.  Even with the strictures and severity, the narratives, albeit unwritten, transcend the terror and stifling monotony outside the dark walls.

SK’s The Letter Killers Club is a monumental literary discovery, a gem buried in the Soviet Archives and only unearthed in 1976.  With its daring experimentalism and acid commentary on state power, the book still stands as a work of revolutionary power.