The Marble Faun

For this week’s exercise, I chose Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Marble Faun, because I’m currently reading the text in book form and thought it would be interesting to compare the digital versions alongside my current “textual” reading experience. The text was readily available in multiple formats on Project Gutenburg, HATHITrust and Google Books. As Cliffie noted, Project Gutenburg offers the most versions available for download, though HATHITrust also offers versions for PDF download with a “partner login.” I explored this option since I figured the university would be affiliated, and I was correct. After logging in with UMD, I was able to download a full PDF of the text. Google, too, offers PDFs of certain texts for download, as well as ebooks (free or at cost) through Google Play.

Because several different versions of the text were available through each platform, various sources were available. The Project Gutenburg eBook did not specify which copy-text it reproduced, but rather cited its own 2006 release date and noted its being “Produced by” Michael Pullen and David Widger, who I would presume are the text’s editors. The Google Book I chose was a Penguin Classics version, which clearly (because the pages of the original text were reproduced and therefore reflected typical publication details) stated its copyright, editors, publishers, etc. The Penguin Classics version is that of the Centenary Edition of the Works of Nathaniel Hawthorne, associated with the Ohio State University Press. The “Two Volumes in One” edition of The Marble Faun I eventually settled on from HATHITrust (there were 3 pages of options) was an “Illustrated Library Edition” published in 1876 by James R. Osgood and Company; the digitized version was provided by Google Books and the original came from the University of Virginia (both institutions were cited on each page with a digital watermark). Out of curiosity, I checked my Oxford World Classics version, which, like the Penguin Classics, comes from the Centenary Edition of NH’s works and is reproduced with the permission of Ohio State University Press.

The PG eBook has little to no formatting in terms of “design,” but pages must be clicked through. The “click-through” versus “scroll” layout is interesting, since it is perhaps closer to the feeling of turning a page. Some “pages” are longer than others, but I couldn’t seem to pinpoint why—chapter divisions didn’t dictate this, since not all started on a new “page” but were rather just denoted with a title and break. Paragraphs, however, were never broken up, and neither were sentences. This, I should think, does aid in a continuity of reading. The Google Books Penguin Classics edition replicates the textual layout very accurately, though I’ve just noticed it’s not a full preview. I’ve switched over to a Houghton & Mifflin version from 1900, which, in terms of format, is more interesting anyway. Though there are clearly scanning issues (crooked pages, etc.) illustrations are reproduced, as are original (though original with whom, who knows) underlines and marginalia. This text comes from the University of Wisconsin, and has clearly been read—and annotated—before. The HATHITrust Marble Faun didn’t seem to have many formatting issues, though this version was the slowest to load. The pages were more “centered” than the Google Books version (better scanning/uploading?), but the text was denser (inky, almost) and slightly harder to read.

In terms of the viewing setup, I liked the HATHITrust options for “Classic,” “Scroll,” “Flip,” “Thumbnail,” and “Plain Text” views. “Flip” is almost comical in its cartoonish reproduction of a book (though the pages then become so small that you wouldn’t be able to read the text, while “Plain Text” is more like PG’s formatting. “Classic” and “scroll” are the easiest for reading, though I did use “Thumbnail” view to check out all of the prefatory pages at once.

As far as I could tell, none of these platforms allowed for a reporting of errors. The closest option is that Google Books allows you to “review” the text, so I suppose one could also report frustrations with errors, etc., if only for other potential readers. I’ve already mentioned some features I like—HATHITrust viewing options—but each platform has several functional perks. I don’t have a Kindle, but PG’s Kindle downloads are clearly a useful resource, since Kindles allow you to keep the text in your own collection (on a single device) and annotate as you please (depending on the version of your Kindle). If reading the eBook version of a PG text online, you can keep “bookmarks,” but I wasn’t quite sure how this worked—if you could bookmark pages within a text, or only text themselves. When I clicked “My Bookmarks,” PG remembered which texts I was reading (Volumes I and II of The Marble Faun) but it didn’t seem to notice which page I was on. PG allows one to “Go To” a certain page, but there aren’t any search features for finding certain words or phrases within the text. Google Books and HATHITrust offer many more search options. With GoogleBooks, there is a simple search bar, for finding words or phrases (which than appear highlighted in yellow and noted in the scrolling bar). Google Books converts chapters into hyperlinks on the contents page, so that you can jump to various chapters and sections. You can also access these jumps via a drop-down bar above the text. With a Google account, you can add books to your library and view your history, you can make lists, such as “Favorites,” “To Read,” “Reading Now” and “Have Read,” and like I mentioned before, you can write reviews. Many of these features are replicated with HATHITrust, and there’s also a “Share” feature in the left-hand column. I would imagine it’s easy enough to copy the link to a PG or Google Book, but I thought it was interesting that HATHITrust supplies a “Permanent link” for each of its texts, in clear view for the reader.

Aside from the Preview restrictions I experienced with the Penguin Classics version I originally viewed with Google Books, I didn’t experience any restrictions. It’s nice working in the 19th century, because so many things are part of the Public Domain (my HATHITrust version of The Marble Faun noted this, with a link to explain the details of the Public Domain) and available through (very) open access. I particularly enjoyed PG’s note to readers, “This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever.”

I agree with Kathryn’s concluding comments below–online reading seems to have a long way to go. Right now, I think these sources are excellent for those readers who wish to read digitally, but not necessarily academically. This is a bit of a personal preference, but I’ve used online resources far more often for critical texts I want to preview and search for themes and terms, rather than for full literary texts I wish to read from start to finish. I remember once when I was abroad reading an entire collection of George Moore’s short stories on PG, but that was because I didn’t want to purchase more books than I could take home with me (which does point to the financial and material benefit of these online resources). But in terms of my anecdotal introduction, I will definitely finish The Marble Faun with my text edition from Oxford World Classics, which I can carry with me (I don’t have an ereader), annotate and keep on a physical bookshelf.

THE HOUSE OF M1KTH: Digital Wharton

I decided to base my digital bibliography exercise on Edith Wharton’s The House of Mirth. Of the three databases I chose for my exercise (Google Books, HATHITrust, and Project Gutenberg), I’m most familiar with Google Books, so I decided to go there first. I entered in my search terms and got two actual results (i.e. Wharton’s text, and not texts about Wharton’s text). The first one listed was the full text of Wharton’s The House of Mirth (with illustrations by A. B. Wenzell), published by Charles Scribner’s Sons in 1905. Google offered two versions of this edition of Mirth for download, EPUB and PDF. The second search result was a 2007 Digireads.com version that cost $2.99 to download. While the Google Books PDF was free and a fast download, I was pretty annoyed to discover that I couldn’t search the text – I tried on my work computer (which uses Windows) with Adobe Reader and my MacBook with both Preview and Adobe Reader.

Although the online Google version was searchable, since there were no ways to highlight or annotate, it didn’t seem very useful beyond yanking quotes out of the depths of the novel for use in other projects (which is actually how I tend to use Google Books). Indeed, Google even seems somewhat prepared for this – their primary source of textual manipulation (when viewing the book on my Mac – this feature disappeared on my work computer) is the ability to ‘clip’ a line into plain text format, a link to an image of the selected text, or a link to embed the text. While it might be neat to generate a digital image of the text, it actually limits the user to ‘clipping’ in rectangular forms only, meaning you can’t carry over onto the next line unless you want additional words from surrounding sentences caught in the rectangular clipping field. I’m not sure what the point of this clipping is – I really don’t think I’ve ever seen someone use it (or so rarely that I can’t recall). Google also allows you to generate a link for the specific page of text that you are currently reading, almost as a digital bookmark for later citations. There didn’t seem to be any ways to report errors for Google beyond writing a review for the text, but that leaves me questioning: what is a book review supposed to review? The actual content of the novel penned by Wharton? Or the scanning quality of the book? I’ve seen this happen on Amazon for Kindle versions a few times – people give a book low reviews based on the amount of grammatical and/or digital formatting errors, which confuses/frustrates those who are interested in the quality of the story.

Next up was HATHITrust, which I’ve encountered briefly before. I got a little lost the last time I was searching around for quick text downloads (actually, for Woodchipper, a data-mining tool we used in Technoromanticism), which turned me off to the site initially. However, when I searched for Wharton’s text on HATHI, I got four full-text hits for four different editions of Mirth: C. Schribner’s Sons (1905), C. Scribner’s Sons (1922), C. Scribner’s Sons (1933), and First Scribner/Macmillan Hudson River Edition (1989). When I clicked on the 1905 edition, I discovered that it was the same digital text that I encountered on Google Books (except for a badly digitized front cover scan). It even had the same pink thumbtip of a careless scanner in the bottom corner of a page! However, HATHITrust includes a watermark next to the “Digitized by Google” that reads “Original from UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA.” I re-checked the Google Books version, and there is no such notation made for the edition’s provenance, which is odd, since it appears to be the same exact book and scans. HATHI attributed all of the universities that held the physical copies of Mirth contained in their database (two from UC, one from University of Virginia, and one from University of Michigan). It also revealed that all four digital texts were “Digitized by Google.” So… why weren’t they all available on Google Books?

Also, since the one version I was most interested in obtaining in PDF form (the 1905 one) was also offered on Google Books, I found it a bit silly that I had to log-in via UMD partnership in order to download it. It was a long process of “Building” the PDF, then downloading it, all to obtain pretty much the same text as Google. I was able to search the HATHI PDF on my work computer using Adobe Reader in a hit-or-miss fashion (I was sent to the correct page with a box appearing roughly around the portion of text that contained my search term), but I was unable to search it at home using my MacBook with either Adobe Reader or Preview. In HATHI’s site version I thought it was interesting that I could toggle between views (Classic and Plain Text), which might have made searching easier (otherwise the site just directs you to the right page with no highlights or line indicators), but the very first time I tried toggling over to Plain Text, I caught a number of typos on the page I happened to have open, the most glaring being the running head, which read: THE HOUSE OF M1KTH. HATHI does have a Feedback link at the bottom of the page that allows for error reporting, though I’m not sure I would have the will to submit a new one for each Plain Text page.

Like Clifford, I found Project Gutenberg to offer the most variety in file formats, and like her, found the image-lacking disclaimer pointless, as the HTML and plain text versions did not contain images either. Project Gutenberg offered HTML, EPUB (no images), Kindle (no images), Plucker, QiOO Mobile, Plain Text UTF-8, and MP3 files of The House of Mirth; for my purposes I converted the HTML version to a PDF file, one which (finally!) is fully searchable. Unlike either Google Books or HATHI, there seems to be no printed referent for Project Gutenberg’s text. The only noted provenance is a release date of the digital text (June 1, 1995) and a few notes at the end of the text:

Notes:
1. I have modernized this text by modernizing the contractions: do n’t becomes don’t, etc.
2. I have retained the British spelling of words like favour and colour.
3. I found and corrected one instance of the name “Gertie,” which I changed to “Gerty” to be consistent with rest of the book.
-Linda Ruoff

There is also a notice at the end of the text that “Updated editions will replace the previous one–the old editions will be renamed.” It almost seems as if Project Gutenberg is leaving little to no room for discussion on authoritative editions, variants, and the like (though you are free to email them with errors you may discover). There also appears to be no interest in preserving a digital transmission history of their edition of House of Mirth, as any discrepancies will be obliterated with no discernible trace (unless you leave a note, as Linda Ruoff did).

All in all, in order to accomplish the two things I want most in a digital text (searchability – a digital affordance, and writeability – a print affordance), I had to save a PDF file from an HTML version of The House of Mirth – one that had no perceivable basis in print. Project Gutenberg’s version is pure text, no book, which leaves me wondering: how would I cite these quotes that I am able to find at a moment’s notice? Would I have to turn around and utilize Google Books’ scans to pin specific quotes to page numbers? Makes one wonder, are Post-It Flags really so terrible?

Exploring _The Castle of Otranto_

The book that I have chosen to investigate on Project Gutenberg, Google Books, HATHITrust, and the Internet Archive is Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto (1764). Given that the author of the text alleged to be a translator by the name of William Marshall who had recovered the text (said to have been originally printed in 1529) from obscurity in an old library in England and reprinted it for public dissemination, I thought this made The Castle of Otranto an interesting choice (my love of early Gothic literature aside). For as we all know, one important role that digital archivists play involves the rescuing of obscure texts, which are then scanned to the web for public consumption. In terms of availability, all four of the digital archives mentioned above have copies of The Castle of Otranto. The text is available in HTML, EPUB (with images), EPUB (no images), Kindle (with images), Kindle (no images), Plucker, QiOO Mobile, PDF, and Plain Text UTF-8. In terms of editions and provenances, they tend to vary. In the Internet Archive, you can find a version of the novel that is the third edition and that comes from the Bodleian Library at Oxford with a date stamp of 27 Oct 1930. There is also an edition from the University of Toronto library. On Google Books, there are versions from the Stanford University Library, the Library of the University of Michigan, and the same third edition scan from the Bodleian Library that can be found at the Internet Archive. In the HATHITrust Digital Library, one can find the University of Michigan version, as well as versions from the University of California (published in 1823), Princeton University (1811), and Indiana University (1854). The version available on Project Gutenberg appears to be the 1901 version taken from the Library of the University of Michigan. There definitely seems to be a lot of overlap between these digital archives, though from my examinations of the sites, it appears that HATHITrust has the best range of copies since they date back to 1811.

The first result you get when you search for The Castle of Otranto on Google Books is also perhaps the worse copy available. After you get the cover, you have to scroll down through several scans of a woman’s hand to get to the actual title page. Even then, there are still occasional fingers or dark ink splotches that cover up parts of the text. If someone actually wanted to read this version, it would be possible, as long as you could fill in the blanks caused by the more damaged scans. Ink splotches happen on several other versions, and sometimes the text cuts off the sides in some copies. Each of the versions seems to have little quirks like dirty pages or ink splotches or text that is blocked by mysterious rectangle-shaped objects. However, overall, like I said, the text tends to still be readable for the most part. I wouldn’t say these are the best scans ever, but given the amount of texts being scanned and the fact that we are in the midst of the transition to digital archives, rather than approaching the final stages of completion, I would say that the texts serve their purpose at a very basic level. The ability to perform searches within the text is a feature that has definitely been helpful for me as an academic. Reading The Mysteries of Udolpho by Ann Radcliffe and then trying to go back and find a quote that I didn’t highlight because I did not think it was useful at the time is not a fun task. Digital Libraries like Google Books, HATHITrust, and the Internet Archive that allow you to not only find words quickly, but also see their context before you go to the actual page the word is on, is definitely a blessing for the toiling scholar.

One of the things that I found most interesting about the Internet Archive is the ability to read the actual book online. The archive is set up to present the book in such a way that makes you feel as if you are actually reading the book itself, rather than just scrolling down a screen. It keeps several of the affordances of the book, such as the comparative space, and gives you the illusion of a three-dimensional object as you “flip” through the pages. This is nice for a reader wanting the experience of the actual text and the comparative space is definitely a plus, but such a skeuomorphic design does little to utilize the affordances of the digital archive. Several of the other versions allow you to click through the pages, but most often this still gives you one page at a time, and as with Google Books, there is still some scrolling involved to see the full text. Of course, the option to download on each of the Digital Libraries lets you make the page bigger or smaller as you like so you can use the page up and page down keys.

As I just stated, each of these sites allows you to download the text. However, if you prefer to stay digital, Google Books lets you compile a “library” of books and HATHITrust lets you create a “Collection” of books. In terms of making these texts writable as well as readable, I did not find any options to annotate any of the versions of my text. Additionally, only authorized users seem to be able to add texts to the digital libraries, making this an exclusive project that is available for consumption by readers, but not open for reciprocity. Along those lines, I did see a link to provide feedback on HATHITrust and report any errors or trouble with the text. As for Google Books and the Internet Archive, I did not see any link for feedback, but there are links set up where readers can write reviews of the text. I imagine these reviews could both be for the book itself and the quality of the scans. However, I do not know if the people who are able to make changes to the texts will actually be reading those reviews. I did not find any way of providing feedback on Project Gutenberg.

The advent of Digital Libraries is a wonderful thing. However, from what I saw of the somewhat obscured scans, the inability to “write” on the texts, and the limited capability for providing feedback that will go directly to the people in charge of the scanning process, there is still much work to be done. As I stated above, I see us in the middle of a transition to Digital Libraries and engaged in work that is nowhere near completion. As time progresses, I hope to see more innovative archives that better utilize the affordances of the web to make texts that are writable/readable and that allow us to research and analyze texts in new and innovative ways that could not be done away from a computer.

Yes, there’s an award for that…

You can now cast your vote for the best digital projects and contributions to the field of DH in 2012.  Voting is open to anyone.  To learn more about these new awards, see the slate of nominees in various categories, and ultimately cast your vote, go to: http://dhawards.org/dhawards2012/voting/

But the ballot is good for more than just voting, it seems to me that it could also serve as a nice introduction to current work in the field.  The slate of nominees was distilled from public submissions by a nominating committee, and includes MITH’s own Amanda Visconti as well as the Bamboo DiRT project.

The voting is open to anyone, and it will be interesting to see how the awards play out, given that there is no way to enforce that voters actually look at all the nominations (ah, democracy…).  The question of this being just a popularity contest is confronted in the Awards FAQ (http://dhawards.org/faqs/):

Doesn’t that just turn it into a popularity contest? In some ways, yes, it does. The other alternative would be to have the winners decided by a shadowy oligarchy. DH Awards was set up intentionally as a community-nominated and community-voted form of recognition. If we start controlling who has the right to vote it undermines this.

This is, I think, a conundrum worthy of some further discussion. Are there really only these two choices (= popularity contest or shadowy oligarchy)?  What are awards determined by this procedure likely to reward?  Is there a better way to choose projects for recognition?  What additional importance does this selection procedure lend to the social aspects of DH?

Dracula and the Digital

I’ve selected as my book of choice Bram Stoker’s Dracula.  While it may not test or strain the abilities of Google Books in quite the same way as Paul Duguid’s selection, Tristram Shandy, it does offer unique ways in which to present the book in the digital format.  The epistolary style could be better presented in the digital format than it has ever been in the printed editions.  And while I recognize that what we are doing with this particular exercise is simply to survey how well Google Books, Project Gutenberg, HATHITrust, and/or the Internet Archive succeeded in capturing the bookness of our selected text, I still was interested to see how they would manage with such an interest on as Dracula.

Dracula is available in a wide range of formats, Project Gutenberg–as one might expect–offering the most (HTML, EPUB (without images), Kindle (likewise, no images), Plucker, QiOO Mobile, Plain-Text UTF-8, and even audio.  I must say, however, the warning that the EPUB and Kindle versions lack images seems pointless as I couldn’t, in a glance through the other offerings, locate any images in any of the formats.  Further, even in the PDF format offered by HATHITrust, the full text online offered by the Internet Archive or its EPUB version, or the ebooks Google presented could I find an illustrated version.  This is fine by me as I can’t recall any of my editions (other than the annotated Les Klinger copy I have) having any images at all, it just seemed that if Project Gutenberg saw fit to warn me about the lack of them, they might have at least snuck in a small image of a blood-sucker somewhere or other in the other versions to make it all worth it.

The provenance or source of the digital texts is a bit spotty.  For example, while Project Gutenberg assures us that their copy is based on the 1897 edition of the text and that the digital copy was published May 9, 2008 and updated September 3, 2012 there are few other specifics provided such as publisher, city of publication, or anything else that one might find on the inside of a printed copy.  Google fairs a bit better, though one of their versions simple details the digital copy’s origin (Plain Label Books, Aug 30, 2007), the other proclaims that it is published by W. R. Caldwell in 1897.  That particular edition even has a make of inheritance as Duguid discusses as the first page is emblazoned with “Stanford University Library, Gift of John W. Dobbins, Esq.”  To be fair this is also the nearest one of the digital versions come to being illustrated as there is an image of “Castle Dracula” on the fourth page and some owls on the fifth–this is apparently the “three owl edition” of the story.  HATITrust’s copy, amusingly enough, is actually one of Google’s digitized copies from the University of Michigan (and a very poorly scanned one at that, as several pages are more than half cut off at the start of the book) and of a far more recent printing (judging by the image of Bela Lugosi on the front cover).  In fact, the full text version that the Internet Archive offers is actually copyrighted Project Gutenberg and seems to be the identical copy to the HTML version offered on their site with the same source and publication dates.

As I mentioned before, some of the scanning or digitizing of the copies was less than ideal.  HATHITrust’s version looks as though the first scanned pages were trying to escape the scanner and no one noticed, though as that may have been the interior of the dust-jacket, it may be understandable.  Google’s version from Stanford University has a few badly scanned pages with small portions of texted clipped off at the edges of pages, it appears, but nothing too apparent.  The Internet Archive HTML version appears to have just been a rough cut and paste of Project Gutenberg’s as they have managed to copy the link names, but not the links, to the mp3 audio files that Project Gutenberg provided in addition to the text.  The Plain Label Books edition offered on Google Books or Project Gutenberg’s own HTML editions appear to be the easiest to read, though neither has even attempted to retain the “bookness” of the book.  Rather than scanned editions, they have retyped the text.  The effect is, at least for me, a bit jarring as it no longer looks like a “genuine book” to me, which is to say a printed copy; however, the pages are not marred with artifacts and smudges from life on a library shelf and there are no missing parts of pages or words so in that way they are much easier to read.  Nothing has been lost from the presentation in these, certainly, and Project Gutenberg has even taken the time to add hyperlinks to the table of contents so that one may jump to a desired chapter with ease.

None of the editions seem to provide an easy or obvious method to report or correct errors, though at least in the Project Gutenberg Kindle edition one was able to highlight or annotate the text–a feature that I couldn’t find on the other versions.  Further, all except the poorly copied version of Project Gutenberg’s HTML offered by the Internet Archive, offered means to jump through the text.  Most did this with a “go to page” field one could use, though Project Gutenberg stood out by offering the linked table of contents as well as the ability to create bookmarks.  HATHITrust was also original in that it also offered the ability to view the text as a series of thumbnails.

All the versions I explored offered the ability to search within the text for given words, though the Project Gutenberg HTML required on to do this with the use of the search or find feature in one’s browser, rather than offering a specific search box for the purpose.  All of the sites, with the exception of Project Gutenberg, did offer the ability to add it to a “library” if one signed into the website, however.  In fact, if one preferred to read offline, all of the site offered the ability to download the text in one or more formats for later study.

Finally, while the sites offered many abilities with the text they were all about the same.  None stood head and shoulders above the others in terms of affordances.  This is a shame really, considering the digital medium.  One was really is limited to reading the texts from start to finish or searching them for select terms.  The idea of “flipping through” the text was almost non-existant for the time it took to load the scanned pages in Google Books and HAHTITrust made that impossible (while my internt could be to blame here, I doubt it, given that I’m the only one using it at the moment).  Further, affordances one would have with the physical copy were no offered online–highlighting, dog-earring pages, etc.  So while the possibilities ought to be almost endless with the digital version of the text, they were sadly underutilized.

Greetings from a digital immigrant

Hi everyone!  I’m a second year M.A./Ph.D. student; I’m specializing in medieval and early modern literature; I’m particularly interested in Old English Poetry.  The reason I am in this class is because I am not a digital humanist and I want to find out whether I ever could be (or if I would want to become) one.  I like the phrase Katie offered with the Prensky article:  I am a digital immigrant.  When reading Trubek’s statement “Do not tweet because you have been told to, or because you feel you ‘should,’” I wondered “Should I just leave now, then? Is there no hope for me as a DHer if I don’t feel moved by an overwhelming urge to tweet?”  I find DH counter-intuitive and mysterious, but that is why I decided that I need to give it a proper investigation and a fair try.

I was intrigued by the statement in D_H by Burdick et al. that raises a similar issue to the article to which Katie pointed us:

The lack of conventions and the opportunity to imagine formats with very different affordances than print have not only brought about recognition of the socio-cultural construction and cognitive implications of standard print formats, but have also highlighted the role of design in communication.  (10)
This speaks to my biggest question about DH:  Do people really think differently when they think digitally?  If my students need me to become more digitally adept in order to communicate with them, I’m willing to do it — even if it means tweeting!

Is there such a thing as analog humanities?

For me it still feels premature to attempt my own definition of DH at this stage, but taking a cue from the agile development school, I guess I should get a working definition on screen and then iterate as the semester goes on.

Before I do that, however, a few words by way of introduction:  I am a student in the MIM program in the iSchool, and I also have a second (or first?) life as a medieval historian, having completed a Ph.D. in history at UNC-Chapel Hill in 2006.  Prior to my doctoral studies, in the late 90s I took an M.A. in Medieval Studies from Western Michigan University, which is where I first started working on digital projects, doing some web design for the Medieval Institute and SGML tagging for an electronic review journal (The Medieval Review, or TMR, see http://quod.lib.umich.edu/t/tmr/).  Back in those days — ‘the before times’ my kids like to call them — TMR’s cubicle also housed a special UNIX terminal, the sole purpose of which was to serve images from something called “The Electronic Beowulf” — still available, now in its 3rd edition! See http://ebeowulf.uky.edu/studyingbeowulfs/overview. The Electronic Beowulf’s images were  too large to be opened on a typical PC of that time, but today I’m sure could be handled by the average smartphone.  After I moved to Chapel Hill, digital skills were mainly a way to make ends meet between teaching assistantships rather than an integral part of my dissertation research, though already then I was starting to recognize how important and useful digital libraries could be.  For someone who primarily studies manuscripts, most of which are housed in European repositories, many of which are still minimally and poorly described in print, the prospect of having large numbers of primary sources digitized and made freely available looked to be a game changer (though in practice it hasn’t necessarily played out that way for a combination of reasons, but some sense of the riches that are out there today can be gained from http://manuscripts.cmrs.ucla.edu/index.php).  After completing my degree, I held various temporary appointments, both full and part-time, including the better part of a year working on a project that actively engaged in the enterprise of making medieval manuscripts more widely available: Carolingian Culture at Reichenau and St. Gall (http://www.stgallplan.org).

My experiences working on the St. Gall project really helped to drive home for me how the  field of digital libraries/digital cultural heritage was where I wanted to be, and that realization in turn is what has led me to UMD and the MIM program, which in turn brings this blog post back around to the question of defining DH.  With the exception of the St. Gall project, I don’t really consider most of what I have done through my scholarly career to have been digital humanities per se, though there hasn’t really been a time in all these years that technology has not played some role in my academic life, whether it be in facilitating scholarly interaction and exchange, a practical way to access primary and secondary research materials, or a means of keeping body and soul together, i.e. a paycheck. And while I wouldn’t dispute many of the definitions and characteristics put forth in earlier posts and in this week’s readings, especially the idea that DH is a particularly collaborative, social, and experimentational flavor of modern scholarship, I am left wondering whether we haven’t reached a saturation point where there is in practice virtually no humanities scholarship that is not, on some level at least, digital.

That having been said, while there may be no analog humanities these days (except perhaps that practiced by castaways on desert islands), not every scholarly project is equally digital.  So what makes some more digital than the others?  Ramsay’s idea of building, which so may posts have touched on, rings true to me, as does the idea that digital humanities is particularly collaborative and social (in contrast to the solitary and isolated monographers of the ‘before times’).  I recognize that these are descriptive characteristics rather than the elements of a definition — perhaps come May I’ll have learned enough to venture the latter?

Introductions

Hey, everyone.  Chip here.  A quick introduction to me: I’m a first-year PhD student in English here at the University of Maryland.  I just finished an M.A. in English at GWU last year, so I’ve been in DC for a little while now.  For the last couple of years I was really interested in looking at the intersections of postcolonial theory and queer theory, as a way to understand how sexual behavior becomes increasingly politicized in times of political change.  Of late, I’ve started contemplating a future-leaning look at how science fiction projects the next wave of colonial expansion.

As far as my DH background goes, it’s not too extensive.  I took a course last semester with Kari Kraus, and we examined the history and future of the book, and more general of humans’ interactions with text.  I got a pretty decent look at some of the DH debates around the physical media that carry text, and I’m excited to have an opportunity to learn more in this course.

In the readings for today, I was most interested in a theme raised by a couple of the quick definitions in the DDH article “Day of DH: Defining the Digital Humanities.”  Mark Marino and Ed Finn both point to what they see as the impending obsolescence of the very idea of Digital Humanities.  They suggest that very soon there will be no sense of Digital Humanities as something separate from simply…humanities, as everything will become somewhat digitally-inclined as our society as a whole (including the academy) becomes more digitally integrated.  I found this to be a particularly interesting take, because it simultaneously foregrounds the importance of Digital Humanities (since everything is about to become digital) while acknowledging that DH as its own entity is doomed (and in fairly short order).  So I wonder if I’ve already missed the boat, in a sense, as far as DH goes?  By the time I get comfortable enough with DH to call myself a DH’er, will doing so seem a little bit like putting “Proficient with Word-processing Software” on a resume?

From the under-theorized side of the room …

My name is Paul Evans, and I am currently a PhD candidate in the Medieval and Byzantine Studies program at The Catholic University of America in Washington, DC. I am also a graduate research assistant at UMD’s Maryland Institute for Technology in the Humanities (MITH), working as a Scala/Lift developer on MITH’s NEH-funded Active OCR project (http://mith.umd.edu/research/project/active-ocr/).

Before that, I had a number of previous academic and professional lives. My undergraduate degree was in the History of Medieval and Early Modern Europe. I then spent 23 years working in the computer industry, for the first ten years as a UNIX system administrator, and then as a manger, director and VP of IT.

My PhD dissertation is focused on the evolution of Gratian’s Decretum (c. 1140), the foundational text of medieval canon law. So I’m working on a traditional topic, using a traditional approach (think 19th century German textual scholarship, like the Monumenta Germaniae Historiae). My tools, however, are not traditional. I transcribe the texts from digitized images (still a manual process), encode the transcriptions in XML, and then write web applications in Java, Python or Scala that help me to visualize the variants. To see a sample, check out http://http://ingobert-app.appspot.com/.

Having read the other introductory blog posts, I feel under-qualified to discuss the critical-theoretical issues raised by the readings that the rest of you have engaged. I will limit myself to the issue of whether or not one has to know how to write code in order to be a DHer in good standing. As the person in the room with (I think) the most technical experience, I’m going to take the counter-intuitive position that the answer is “no” or at least “not much”. I think it’s more important to be able to tell a story that someone (yourself or someone else) can turn into code. To understand what I mean by “tell a story”, read Getting Real, a book on software development by 37 Signals, the people who brought you Basecamp.

I’m looking forward to the discussion tonight.

 

 

 

Digital Object Lessons

My name is Melissa, and there are a couple of reasons why I feel relatively comfortable not defining digital humanities (plural), or at least, not making myself anxious about its various definitions. The first reason is personal and anecdotal, so I’ll start with that by way of an introduction.

When I think back on my own experiences with technology [as a feminist autobiographer a "memory audit" like this one is a necessary first step for me in thinking about gendered histories of technology and power], I realize that I’m not afraid of it because tools and machines were part of my milieu from an early age. Now that I’m thinking about it, I see that this has everything to do with being from a working-class family. There are infamous pictures of me as a toddler in a leopard leotard on the seat of my uncle’s yellow bulldozer. My grandfather was a tool and die maker–he worked on machines that made other machines, but before that he worked in a paper factory. I can distinctly remember my excitement watching paper being made, excitement that was magnified when he brought home boxes of it to feed through the typewriter he found at a garage sale for me. So my love of literature is intimately bound up with material production itself; it has as much to do with the feel, smell, and sound of paper and the thoroughly nostalgic and satisfying experience of (loudly) making words appear on the page with a machine as it does with the words themselves. [Speaking of words, I also argued as a child with my grandfather about why the "square" used to measure angles was triangular.]

My mom dated and eventually married a mechanic who is also a carpenter, plumber, and, though he probably wouldn’t admit it, a lay engineer and inventor. I grew up in garages and hardware stores, watching him “hack” things–whether it was a new foundation for a very old house or an engine fix that, while unorthodox, was “close enough for government work,” in his words. He is a maker to his core, so I probably got to play with more weird tools and ancient, highly specific machines than most tomboys. Meanwhile I was happily word processing with Mavis Beacon on Windows 95, dabbling in early virtual worlds on a dial-up connection, and beating Nintendo games. All of this, I think, prepared me to not care very much when I was one of about five women in my Advanced Placement computer programming class in high school. In turn, and to come back to the purpose of this post, that programming class is what helped me not be daunted by some of my colleagues’ thinly veiled fear and disdain for digital humanities.

So, I know I am, and will continue to be, a cyborg whether or not others consider me to be a digital humanist. Which brings me to the second reason I’m not getting anxious about definitions of digital humanities. I recently read Robyn Wiegman’s brilliant book Object Lessons, which argues, in short, that the critical desires that motivate our scholarship (in the case of Women’s Studies and other minoritarian “identity knowledges,” the desire to do justice) can tell us much about disciplinary norms and imperatives. Wiegman pays attention to the often bitter and snarky conflicts that take place in academic journals and conference presentations in moments of field formation and consolidation. I cannot help but take an object lesson from debates surrounding the origins and the futures of digital humanities work. The obvious anxiety that surrounds “who’s in and who’s out,” “the cool kids’ table,” and “the big tent” are not new–they are part and parcel of capitalist academic institutions that value shiny newness and sexy neologisms ["intertwinglings" is my new fave], entrepreneurship and innovation narrowly and profitably defined, and competition that leads to “progress” for only a select few.

It’s not surprising that, as David Golumbia points out in “‘Digital Humanities’: Two Definitions,” multiple and contradictory assertions of what digital humanities are “about” and what they do are circulating simultaneously. In fact, while they appear to be contradictory, the “big tent” definition and the “tools and archives” or “making and building” definition might actually be achieving the same purpose, which is allowing universities and eventually the state to profit off whatever they think digital humanities are. I’m not trying to make this sound like a conspiracy theory with no accountable actors–there are powerful individuals making big decisions with huge amounts of money here. You and me could argue till the cows come home about what digital humanities mean, but in the end our language is going to have to match the assumptions of the funding agency we want to support our project, as the “Short Guide” offered by the authors of Digital_Humanities makes (somewhat implicitly) clear.

In short [or maybe at length], what are our investments in making, building, geeking out, hacking, coding, designing, reading (socially or otherwise), theorizing, critiquing, navelgazing? I come down hard on the side of Bianco when it comes to critical-creative praxis–I did so when I thought I was just a writer and I do so now, in the process of shifting my identity to that of maker. I don’t think writing, reading, and thinking critically and creatively can be excluded from the category of “doing,” as a recent twitter spat I had with another attendee of the Digital Humanities Winter Institute can attest. But rather than arguing about who’s cool or sexy, we need to seriously interrogate the kinds of cultural and academic capital attached to the practitioners who get to inhabit those labels, as well as the cost to those who don’t.