Nothing odd will do long. ‘Tristram Shandy’ did not last.
- Samuel Johnson

Wrong! — I gleefully thought, way back when I was slogging through an eighteenth century literature class in college — bored silly by Johnson’s lumbering, moralizing, psuedo-Oriental Rasselas, and, in contrast, completely delighted by Lawrence Sterne’s goofy carnival of the mind, Tristram Shandy. Wrong, you fat old authoritative Dr. Johnson, because here I am 220 years later savoring every Rabelaisian joke, every self-conscious pratfall, every typographic stunt of Tristram Shandy.

I had to admire the concision of the put-down, though. A quick slam of the sprawling, irresolute Shandy.

With the wisdom of age, I now am ready to concede that Johnson was half-right: nothing odd does “do” for long. Especially online. I’ll circle back to that emphasis in a moment — but first, let me submit that Tristram Shandy is far from odd, considered rightly. Part of the thrill of reading it in 1980-something *cough* was seeing evidence of postmodern friskiness that actually pre-dated the United States. Tristram’s obsessions stretched reflexivity back into exotically distant realms of bygone minutia (unlike the broad cardboard exoticism of Johnson’s Happy Valley). It seems that then, as well as now(-ish), conceptions were improbable, resolutions impossible; the world teemed with distraction, neurosis, and disordered influence; and authors invited readers to play games.

In fact, if we glance back at a couple of Tristram’s more infamous tricks, we might feel that Sterne’s techniques are getting less odd by the day. When our author despairs at describing the concupiscible Widow Wadman, and throws open his pages to the reader (here’s paper ready to your hand. — Sit down, Sir, paint her to your own mind—as like your mistress as you can—and unlike your wife as your conscience will let you…) — is this not collaborative authoring space?

And when the narrator, picking up momentum by way of a vegitable [sic] diet, sits down and charts out the loopy plot lines of the novel as it’s progressed so far, even dropping in anchor points so we can check his graph against designated passages — is this not, however tongue-in-cheek, metadata visualization, or a mapping of information flow?

L–d! said my mother, what is all this story about? —-
A COCK and a BULL , said Yorick —- And one of the best of its kind, I ever heard.

Indeed, and though I haven’t read it (which is to hear it) for, well, many years, Tristram sticks with me–probably because I prefer open concoction to moralistic bullying, especially when it comes to narration. And this preference has had currency for a long time; Tristram Shandy has lasted just fine.

Yet Johnson’s other snap judgment — nothing odd will do long — seems to me all the more true in the virtual places we increasingly come crowding for intelligence. Which is not to say that there aren’t odd things online — far from it — surf randomly, and the web seems a veritable cacophony of twaddle diddle, tweddle diddle, –twiddle diddle, —- twoddle diddle, –twuddle diddle, —- prut-trut — krish –krash — krush. Not to mention diddle diddle, diddle diddle, diddle diddle — hum — dum — drum.

But nothing odd does much online: you can park the most esoteric idiosyncratic wonderfully strange material on the web, but if you want it to get discovered, if you want it to work, if you want it to have an effect — if you want others to conceive of it (a favorite Shandyword) — then you must enter into common language and assumptions. This is so obvious it’s practically a truism — and yet see how many times we learn the lesson, how difficult it is to get out of our own heads.

Two quick, fairly pedestrian examples: John Kupersmith’s wonderful Library Terms that Users Understand shows how befuddled users can be by the simplest failure of librarians to realize that words like “Index” or “Database” or “Serial” can mean next to nothing to my Uncle Toby, just wanting to know where to find that Popular Mechanics article. Or let’s say you’ve given an OPAC a cute acronym and now you invite my Uncle Toby to “search EUNICE!” My poor uncle Toby blush’d.

Or have a look at Dan Cohen’s equally simple but solid advice about climbing up in Google ranks. Search engine optimization has its share of murk to it, but the basic path to visibility is: don’t be odd. Use a domain name that describes your resource (”chinook” or “aeoleus” sound great — but what are you airing?), use keywords in file names (with mod_rewrites, if necessary), get linked by highly linked sites (meaning, be understandable, and get understood by a widely understood site).

If this all sounds like it leads to a world as flat and predictable as, well, Johnson’s Rasselas, that’s not what I meant, not at all. It’s just that you can’t be *merely* odd or unique if you want to *do*: you need the sophistication to hook into conventional terms, general assumptions, broadly shared expectations. This involves a double-motion that might as well be called self-consciousness. Tristram’s greatness is showing us how fun such contrivance can be. Sterne earns his pleasure (and ours too, he’s brought us jolting right along with him) when he sits back to marvel at himself, his magnificently clashing agendas: By this contrivance the machinery of my work is of a species by itself; two contrary motions are introduced into it, and reconciled, which were thought to be at variance with each other. In a word, my work is digressive, and it is progressive too, — and at the same time.

If it were all digression, Johnson would have been completely right about Tristram Shandy. But it is progressive too, which means that it sobers up just enough to realize, despite its irrepressible uniqueness, that above all things in the world, ’tis one of the silliest things in one of them, to darken your hypothesis by placing a number of tall, opake words, one before another, in a right line, betwixt your own and your readers conception.

Last year at the ARL symposium called Managing Digital Assets, I smiled inwardly to think of the grumbling likely to be kicked off by observations such as this by Donald Waters of the Mellon Foundation:

…what unites our interest in digitization and open access in a digital world is that the material becomes “processable,” or subject to computational processing. That is, the growth in the market of readers is not among groups of humans, but of machines, which are programmed to index, manipulate, mine, aggregate, decompose, and build up scholarly and other forms of content by algorithm. It is this machine “processability” that makes digitized objects and open access materials most valuable to scholars.

Protest, fume, rail against the subjection of your most exquisitely developed thought to the dumb imperatives of ones and zeros — Waters is absolutely right. You want influence? Or, more to the point, you want to avoid obliteration in the vast digital swamp? You’d better know how to demarcate, classify, and optimize your work for machine crunching — or find someone who does. And pray that the stewards of such crunching, the information managers you never thought about, have your best interests in mind.

All this occurred to me while reading a new D-Lib piece by Daniel Cohen, director of research projects at the very creative Center for History and New Media at George Mason University. Cohen also spoke at that ARL session, and at the time he sold me on Firefox scholar. His new article, “From Babel to Knowledge: Data Mining Large Digital Collections”, offers two nice examples of humantist-friendly manipulation of machine “processability.”

First: Syllabus Finder. Where was this godsend when I was inefficiently wandering around the chaff of the web, trying to crib ideas for my own syllabi? It’s a very sensible, very needed genre-based search tool. First, it defines “document classification” through a very simple dictionary of keywords endemic to syllabi (”assignment,” “office hours,” etc.). This classification is fed into Google through its API service, along with the search query, for optimized searches. The results can then be further refined through more automated analysis or combined with other search results.

I gave it a spin, using canonical writers from the Romantic era as search terms. To my happy surprise, good old Ashes Sparks & Hypertext, a six year old syllabus for a seminar I taught back in the day at UC Berkeley, kept showing up — and at or near the top of results. #1 for Coleridge, #2 for Byron, #1 for Wordsworth, #2 for Blake, #4 for Hemans. Yeah, baby! But we drop down to #14 for Keats, alas, and as for Shelley, he just kept coming up as a “fatal error,” an “Uncaught SoapFault exception.” So Syllabus Finder is a little buggy — but, dare we say it, a little poetic too. Maybe we’re just overly pleased by taking the silver for Byron:

I don’t know what to make of the way this tool seems to like the Ashes Sparks syllabus — certainly I indulged in no optimization — no thought about how the thing would be retrieved. The only distinguishing feature of that document, really, is that it’s been online steadily for six years. It’s just one of those Google-blessed mysteries. Perhaps cannier post-processing could promote syllabi more deserving of prominence. But Syllabus Finder works pretty well–I’d recommend it to a fledgling (and not-so-fledgling) instructor. As Cohen puts it, it does a surprisingly good job at achieving its modest goal – on most topics for every ten documents it retrieves, about nine are syllabi – and it has thus far found and catalogued over 600,000 syllabi, synthesizing a collection of course materials considerably larger than any created or maintained by a professional organization, educational institution, or library, or by any other effort on the web to aggregate syllabi.

A second and more complex treat today from the George Mason wizards: H-Bot. This is an automated historical fact finder that can field natural language queries. (Or at least ones that begin with ‘what’ or ‘when’ or ‘who’; it’s not ready to handle where, which, how, or why). The algorithm here is “question answering” — which involves the identification of relevant documents, some natural language processing (to interpret queries), and statistical/linguistic analysis of retrieved documents. (In addition to the D-Lib article, there’s more on H-bot here)

Playing with H-Bot is fun. When did Hitler die? The answer in an eyeblink, as the Germans say: April 30, 1945. When did Gandhi die? Here’s a quirk:

Well sure, but that wasn’t the Gandhi I meant. Interestingly, here’s what happens when I ask the same question but tell H-Bot not to “check trusted websites first”:

Here’s a case when the unfiltered swamp actually answered my question — or read my mind — better than “trusted websites.” Quantity over quality? Very sensibly, H-Bot demurs when I ask “Is God dead?” or “When did God die?” (”I’m sorry. I cannot provide any answer on that.”) But ask it “Who is God?” and H-Bot serves up a perky little answer:

Simple-minded? Sure. But viable. Arguments will rage, hairs will split, blood will spill, but our dumb machines have given us an efficient pulse of information in the midst of the cacophony, delivered by strategic sifting of great gobs of data.

Which brings us to a final point that Cohen makes about machine data-mining: “Quantity may make up for a lack of quality.” Even the most ardent humanist can’t deny: when it comes to information, we’ve got a whole lot of quantity these days. It’s how we draw from such quantity that counts.

Social bookmarking is swell, but suddenly it seems so limited, so 2005. Or so it seems to me after watching Dan Chudnov’s screencast unAPI and the Gates of the Dawn of Social Clipboards a couple of times. I can attest that it’ll get you thinking — even if, like me, your programming skills extend not much beyond the coffee maker.

You know about gates, you know about dawn, and you should know that APIs are blending web services in dynamic ways. unAPI (’un’ pronounced as in “universal,” not as in ”poor Syd Barrett, he’s un’appy”) is, as the term might suggest, a simple website API convention that allows a broad array of services to be syndicated and harvested. This is a lightweight, generic tool, unlike an API tailor-made to a service (like, say, the GoogleMaps API). More on unAPI here. Now, for some hurried idea of how unAPI enables social clipboarding, get comfortable and spend some quality minutes with the dchud screencast:

D’ja get that? Social bookmarking = a straightjacketed social clipboard, in which we share only urls and tags. With something like unAPI, the straightjacket comes off, the information we share gets richer and more varied. Click, drag, and toss into the communal pot objects that are linked to full bibliographic metadata — toss even whole images in. Once, in order to share information on the web, you had to code in HTML and FTP your creation up to a server. Then, blogs, wikis, and various administration tools like let you publish content through a web interface. Soon, it seems, you’ll be clicking and dragging web objects around directly. It’s a weird feeling: try it at a demo for Microsoft’s similar new experiment, Live Clipboard.

Chudnov’s emphasis on the new social possibilities of clipboards seems typical of 2.0 library services. My professional mission as a librarian is this: (he’s written) Help people build their own libraries. That’s it. That’s all I care about. Note the plural ‘people.’ If web objects can be readily swapped, studied, shared — if their harvesting and dissemination is conducted, from beginning to end, in networked spaces — it’s easier than ever to see that ‘collection’ is molting ever more into a publicly driven and defined activity.

Librarians once spent time carefully assembling web links for their patrons, and what an onerous job — one plagued by link rot, bedeviled by the fluidity of the web. Social bookmarking is a welcome alternative to the professedly authoritative link collection because it leverages a vast range of expertise, instinct, and attention, while allowing for discovery and customization. A 2.0 librarian (for lack of a better term) will do everything he can to promote this kind of activity.

Similarly, digital collections were once mounted in standalone boxes, and left gathered in a corner of a library website. Social clipboarding is 2.0 collection because, once again, it drags assets out into the pale sunshine of use and interchange. The 2.0 librarian will do everything she can to ensure that a digital collection is easily discovered, harvested, tagged, swapped around, recontextualized, re-collected, and (whenever legal) re-published.

Such decentralized, user-driven, unpredictable shuffling of digital assets might seem to diminish the role of your library. You need not go there, you need not apply there for access, you need not be cognizant of the dimensions of its actual collection. But look at what’s going on behind the scenes, in terms of programming, standardization of conventions, preservation and exposure of assets. And in front of the scenes, you can bet that librarians will evolve ever more into consultants, offering strategies for the successful customization and manipulation of information. If APIs start scattering assets of all sorts onto communally shared clipboards, ‘collection’ takes another step towards the need-based, on-the-fly assemblage of information transforming our world (dare we say) into one big library.

Music promoters, child molesters, and now this. Rupert Murdoch’s social networking colonization, MySpace, is starting to be infiltrated by yet another band of predators. They tend to be around ninety years old, and most of them claim to be female. That ‘friend’ your sullen teen is busily adding to her MySpace collection may be none other than… a library?

Now this is a little embarrassing. Like the PG-13 cheap laugh, when the spunky granny grabs the mic and roks da house. Or like Helen Gurley Brown. Hey, Westmont Public Library is with it! Who I’d like to meet: You :) Westmont Public Library’s Interests: Books, Graphic Novels, Magazines, Music, Movies, Video Games. Status: Single. Zodiac sign: Capricorn. (Why are many of these MyFriendly libraries Capricorns? As in Tropic of? Isn’t that a Graphic Novel?) MyFriendly libraries tend to have other libraries in their friendspace. So with one click, here were are at the Thomas Ford Memorial Library. Interests: General — helping people. instant messaging. RESEARCH yo! Books — the ones inside me. You go, Tom Ford! And Brooklyn College Library is in the house–or, as ’she’ puts it, BC Library — Here on Your Space!

And check out that sassy 100-year-old, the Tonganoxie PL:

As an Xer happily removed from the MySpace generation (though my friends in bands almost dutifully keep pages there), I don’t really understand the appeal. The pages are ugly and ungainly; text can be impossible to pick out against garish image backgrounds, tinny sound files unspool the moment a page opens — it’s all reminiscent of wayback web hideousness, which all too often isn’t so wayback. Still, for better or worse, this is space that teens of all ages build . I guess it’s easy to share music, real-time flirtation, self-branding, endless LOLs. Mostly MySpace seems like high school online — full of chatter, hormones, and the pursuit of popularity. “It’s an unphysical way of hanging out.” Sure kid, great, but someday you’ll want better unphysical spaces. Tonight, at least, MySpace times out constantly. Hey Fox, buy some servers!

As they say, the kids love it; 46 million members just can’t be wrong, can they? Isn’t this democracy? And aren’t libraries at the core of democracy? At least these libraries are trying–but in MySpace they have little to offer, aside from a campy Hello! Nothing to build here, nothing to interact with or collect. To be fair: some libraries link to ‘blog’ entries, like, say, the one posted by Angela at the New Castle-Henry County Public Library listing teen movies, pizza taste-offs, and - spa night? Hmmm… Or the Tanganoxie Public Library’s list of their New Music CD Collection (topped off by Kelly Clarkson! Breakaway! LOL!!) But it’s very unidirectional. Information emanates from the ancient single female Capricorns to all you undifferentiated kids. The full extent of the idea is to show up In Your Extended Network.

This is piggybacking, really, on the idea of social software–just showing up when you should be interacting. Of course, just showing up to the party is a hoot when you’re 90. Links back to the OPAC, indexes of holdings, announcements of teen-centered activity: that’s fine, but how about the actual music? Can I bring library images or videos into MySpace? Can I build immediate links to cool passages of my favoriate favorite favorite books? Can I make a montage out of those awesome graphic novels? How can I collect anything other than a thumbnail picture of the library–a cute little building facade to add to my friends collection? When libraries stop billboarding and start actually transforming themselves into MySpaces–then we’ll have something.

Well, it’s a first step, and Rome wasn’t built in a day–even MySpace wasn’t built in a day, though it might seem otherwise. Here’s the 100 year old Topeka and Shawnee County Public Library: Who I’d like to meet: Anyone! Really! Well, put it like that, & you might be irresistible. A bit pathetic, but, whatever, popular. Topeka and Shawnee County Public Library has, at this writing, 163 friends.