MYTHS ABOUT THE VIRTUAL LIBRARY:
A Library-Oriented Review Article of SILICON SNAKE OIL
Reposted and revised 2/1/98
By Adam Corson-Finnerty
Director of Library Development
University of Pennsylvania
The January 30, 1995 issue of Newsweek carried
a rather astonishing story in an article called "Wiring the Ivory Tower."
It told of a decision by the California State University
Chancellor to build a new campus in Monterey Bay without a library. Said
the article: "why bother wasting all that money on bricks and mortar when
it could be better spent on technology for getting information via computer?
'You simply don't have to build a traditional library these days,' [Chancellor
Barry] Munitz says."
What? Colleges nowadays don't need libraries with
books? They don't need reading reserves, newspapers, journals? Students
can do serious research in a multiplicity of subject areas solely by going
on-line? Balderdash!
Either the CSU Chancellor planned to bus his students
to a nearby library, or he planned to have a lot of ignorant students.
A little research needed here. July 15, 1993 San
Francisco Chronicle: "Chancellor Barry Munitz wants [Monterey's] students
to gain access to information electronically instead of in a traditional
library." Armed with cooperation agreements from IBM, Apple, and Pactel,
the Chancellor light-heartedly comments: "We might provide maps to a farmhouse
65 miles away where most of the books would be stored, at one-tenth the
cost."
Flash forward to Los Angeles Times, June
26, 1994: "Officials say they want to create an innovative campus with
an emphasis on new technology, including a library system linked by computer
to other universities." But the article goes on to say that three or four
smaller buildings will serve as libraries "with electronic links to other
universities."
Starting to question media accounts. Call Chancellor's
office. Call Monterey campus. Receive enlightenment from official spokespersons.
Turns out: (a) Chancellor has remarkable sense of
humor; (b) Monterey campus will have a building termed a "Learning Resource
Center," with journals, newspapers, lookup stations, and budgeted for an
initial supply of 50,000 books; (c) Monterey has negotiated borrowing relationships
with the local public library and the local community college library;
(d) Monterey expects to have in place a firm and final deal with UC Berkeley
and UC Santa Cruz for 24-hour inter-library loan privileges; (e) Monterey
is currently searching for a Library Director; said same director will
report to the "Dean for Informatics."
Whew! Personal Conclusion: Monterey, dubbed by one
enthusiast as "Silicon Valley [by] the sea," doesn't need a traditional
library--it needs a bunch of them!
I relate this tale because shortly after the Newsweek
article appeared a potential donor visited the Penn Library and asked me
what I thought about the fact that "several colleges in California" had
decided they didn't need libraries. I suspect he doesn't know about the
Chancellor's new clothes, and I wonder if the whole of California will
have eliminated libraries by time this story finishes its rounds.
(And a rubber chicken to Newsweek which in
the interest of a better lead-in, ignored the "three or four smaller buildings"
part of the original plans--thus helping contribute to the very "technomania"
it derided several issues later.)
While those of us on the deliverable end of the
information revolution are only too aware of the limitations, pitfalls,
and snares of the chimerical "virtual library," some important people are
beginning to believe that the super-cyber-library is just a few thousand
scans away from realization. "Books are obsolete," I was assured by a print
media businessperson recently. "In 20 years nobody will read a book. Everything
will be on-line."
And the aforementioned California Chancellor is
not the only college administrator to contemplate making policy and budgetary
decisions based upon an overly, and dare one say, naive, notion of what
digital databases will do for higher education. Some of my colleagues on
"Libdev," a new listserv for Library Development Officers, have already
posted anecdotes about budgets being cut, buildings questioned, and resources
diverted--all in the name of the "virtual library."
Thank heaven, then, for Clifford Stoll's new book,
Silicon Snake Oil: Second Thoughts on the Information Highway. (Doubleday,
New York, 1995. $22.00) Popularly written, and aptly timed, this book will
prove a useful antidote for those who have been smitten by the cyberfairy.
Who is Clifford Stoll? Well, Clifford Stoll says:
"Cliff Stoll backs up his data every week, pays all his shareware fees,
flosses nightly, and lives in Oakland, California, with three cats that
he pretends to dislike."
He is also an astronomer, an expert in computer
security, and has been with the internet since its early days as the arpanet.
He is the author of The Cuckoo's Egg, a book that describes how
he tracked down German spies prowling through computers. And he is a member
of the WELL, so how cool do you want?
Silicon Snake Oil is a combination meditation,
rumination, diatribe, and thoughtful essay on the hype that surrounds the
coming of the infobahn. It is not a scholarly book, and sometimes Stoll
seems to substitute nostalgia for sound argument, but, hey, if he waited
until he got all the bugs out, his thoughts would be way passe.
The book has three strengths. First, it is already
out there being talked about on the airwaves, and the name alone will help
people slow down a little. Stoll was featured as the contributing curmudgeon
in Newsweek's special issue on the Information Superhighway ("Technomania,"
Feb 27, 1995), and he is lively enough to be taken on the talk show rounds.
Second, he is great at one- and two-liners that
people should be quoting for years to come. Like: "Interactive computer
entertainment gives you a choice of many different outcomes, all preprogrammed.
The experience is about as interactive as a candy machine."
Or how about: "...unlike a friendly game of chess,
the computer provides no opponent across the table to award your brilliance
with a wistful smile of admiration. You end up admiring yourself."
Third, his chapters on computer-assisted education
and on libraries are passionately and persuasively argued, and would be
well worth sharing with others--for instance, your governor.
Stoll is worried about libraries. As the telephone
was to letter-writing, the car to urban trolley systems, as air travel
has been to train travel, so--he fears--might wide area networks be to
libraries. He does not think that the internet renders traditional libraries
obsolete, but worries that policy-makers might think they do, and
that "computers will deviously chew away at libraries from the inside.
They'll eat up book budgets and require librarians that are more comfortable
with computers than children and scholars. Libraries will become adept
at supplying the public with fast, low-quality information."
With this fear at heart, Stoll takes on the "virtual
library" in strong and direct terms: "the bookless library is a dream,
a hallucination of online addicts, network neophytes, and library- automation
insiders."
He advances four arguments against the realization
of the virtual library. First up is copyright. Libraries don't own the
rights to the current material in their collections, and cannot put pages
online without getting sued or paying hefty fees. This is not about to
change anytime soon.
For older material, the sheer cost of digitization
is staggering. He estimates $100 per book for error-corrected OCR scanning.
Every 10,000 books eats up $1 million. Every million books eats up $100
million, and who has got that kind of money?
And even if some post Newt-onian administration
were willing to put up several billion to digitize, let's say, the collections
of the Library of Congress, Stoll raises the truly devastating argument
of technological obsolescence.
"Electronic media aren't archival," he pronounces,
and invites the reader to contemplate the many extinct formats that dot
the 20th century landscape: 80-column punch cards, 8-track tapes, 78-rpm
records, 5 1/2 inch floppies, and so on.
Since this is such a crucial point, and Stoll glides
over it in a mere two pages, readers may want to consider a somewhat weightier
treatment in the January 1995 issue of Scientific American. Author
Jeff Rothenberg indicates that the limiters are both hardware and software.
The physical medium decays rapidly, and the recording/reading format becomes
obsolete even sooner.
He invites readers to consider Shakespeare's 18th
sonnet, which ends:
Nor shall death brag thou wandrest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
The first printed edition, dated 1609, is still readable.
Had Shakespeare put it on a magnetic disk, it would have deteriorated completely
in 10 years. Had he used "Electric-Pencil," an early word processing package,
well who of us can "call up" such documents today?
As Electric-Pencil is today, so ASCII may be tomorrow.
And the solution of re-archiving everything to current formats in ten or
twenty year cycles is not only expensive, Rothenberg argues, there may
be significant deterioration of the material itself as it is compressed,
decompressed, translated, and converted. By way of analogy he asks "would
a modern version of Homer's Iliad have the same literary impact
if it had been translated through a series of intermediate languages rather
than from the earliest surviving texts in ancient Greek?"
And thus we come back to the book, or manuscript,
as a medium for storing and retrieving information. Creators of time capsules
had better think of including a letter along with their videotapes and
CD/ROMs, he advises, since "the letter possesses the enviable quality of
being readable with no machinery, tools, or special knowledge beyond that
of [language]."
Rothenberg raises the prospect of a kind of Electronic
Dark Ages, where vast amounts of information have been prematurely entrusted
to "state-of-the-art" formats, long since gone stale, and become effectively
"lost" to future generations. (One cannot help spinning out this fantasy
into a kind of sci-fi morality play in which small bands of unappreciated
and derided souls who have hoarded records on paper and parchment become
the true saviours of human knowledge. These saviours, otherwise known as
Special Collections Librarians, then help to rebuild civilization from
the ashes of the digital holocaust.)
But back to Stoll, whose final point about why virtual
libraries won't replace libraries with books is that online research is
so hard to do, and brings back so little of value. Besides, he says, really
good databases cost the user real money. Take Lexis/Nexus, which is $200
or more per hour. Or consider paying $5 to download and print a one-page
article from a Ziff-Davis database. Traditional libraries start looking
pretty good in comparison--at least as the end-user will see it.
So. Librarians 1, Philistines 0? Not really. As
a guest commentator said on a recent PBS news review, we'd better "caveat"
any sense of relief.
Long before virtual became a prefix, libraries have
been under assault, especially the public libraries. As Library Dean Michael
Gorman of CSU Fresno puts it "the bureaucrats know little or nothing
of education or libraries. They know only that they cost a lot of money;
money that could be saved if libraries were to be dismantled...." [In Library
Journal, Feb. 15, 1994, and you should see what he says about technocrats
and technovandals!].
The danger today is that spending-phobia may couple
with techno- phoria and produce a library that can't run, can't walk, can't
serve. And because of that danger, we can hope that Clifford Stoll becomes
a fixture on the talk-show circuit for many months to come.
An Afterthought.
In the process of searching the literature, I was surprised
to discover a trio of new traits that one can apparently associate with
librarians--at least with those who voice strong reservations about boarding
the virtual library lovetrain.
Think about the term "librarian," or better, "library
administrator". What descriptors do you associate with such a being? How
about nostalgic, romantic, and a believer in serendipity?
Nostalgic for a style of scholarship that seems
to be rapidly dwindling. Romantic about a building that houses many loved
objects, and about the social and community role that such buildings supposedly
play.
And as for serendipity, well give me a half hour
of connect time for every use of the word "serendipity" to describe what
happens when an honest pilgrim wanders in the stacks, or flips through
a journal, or happens to glance at an open page. To whit, John Swan, Head
Librarian at Bennington, whose influential article, "The Electronic Straitjacket,"
(Library Journal; October 15, 1993), asserts "you cannot always
fit the rich, diverse, serendipitous experience of absorbing information
and acquiring knowledge into [the] electronic Procrustean bed."
My old-fashioned, rapid-access, spill-your-decaf-on-it-and-it-still-works
Webster's Collegiate Dictionary tells me that "serendipity" comes
from a Persian fairy tale called The Three Princes of Serendip.
{Hotlink: Take the Virtual Library Challenge. Be the first to find the
full text of this fairy tale online; send me the URL, and you get a Penn
Friends of the Library totebag. No fair looking in the stacks.}
I must confess that I am not greatly moved by appeals
to emotionally-laden remembrances of research methods past. Not that I
don't feel them myself--I do--but rather that I doubt these arguments will
have much effect on the inexorable transition that scholarship is making
in the computer era.
If you can be serendipitous in 18th century Persia,
I believe you can be serendipitous in cyberspace, much like the recent
software reviewer for the New York Times who launched himself on
the Web with serious intent, and found himself--through a series of steps
he probably couldn't retrace--reading an article about how to make grapes
explode in his microwave oven.
Serendipity: "the faculty or phenomenon of finding
valuable or agreeable things not sought for." Perhaps, in research, of
finding things that make you pause, that surprise you, that cause you to
re-think something you wrote or thought two minutes ago.
Like this: Searching online for the string "csu
and monterey and librar**" and stumbling upon an article on the rebuilding
of the Cal State Northridge campus, following the recent earthquake. (Los
Angeles Times, August 28, 1994)
The 353-acre campus sustained almost $350 million
in damage, including enough disruption to the main library to close it
to student use.
Northridge administrators decided to quickly erect
a warehouse-like building which would function temporarily as the main
library while the Delmar T. Oviatt Library was put back into shape. Then
they decided to poll the students.
For students, re-opening classrooms and getting
back into the Oviatt Library were the top priorities. "Students and faculty
actually missed the library," one administrator said. "We found out it
was the center of campus life."
Faculty President Nancy Owens also credits strenuous
faculty lobbying for the decision to make Oviatt a higher priority. "We
think that without a library, you are not a university. The library is
the nerve center of the campus."
This review is offered for comment and criticism. I undertook
it in part because it helped me to clarify my own thinking. Comments are
invited. Feel free to bounce it to anyone who might find this topic of
interest.
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