Don:
The little story that follows is about 850 words long. I make no
apologies for its length, and hope it helps in your quest.
This is about the loss of critical capacity – IMHO not something that
should ever be associated with "building" a university library. But in
this case, the move from print to digital was cold and calculating, a
quick and wrenching move from the equivalent of a full and nourishing
long-term meal that fed generations, to minuscule bits of ersatz steak
accompanied by vast clouds of perpetual sizzle.
Along with many colleagues who fought, but lost, I witnessed the coldly
calculated and intentional erasure of a large, central, quiet refuge for
learning. It had functioned very well as a long-term encourager of minds
and shaper of community – a large, well-used physical space and
resource, historically and powerfully iconic. It had served generations
as a central meeting and thinking place. It was /the/ anchor for
thoughtful reflection, learning, and exploration. It could be easily
seen – and was metaphorically understood in its central
knowledge-building role – from the windows of almost every other
building, and the leafy walkways that once interconnected them. The
multi-story architecture reflected its purpose – to provide a solid,
quiet, secure and undisturbed place, unmistakably massive and strong,
tall and warmly welcoming with an superbly anchored past that provided
/the/ place to examine, to think about, to pursue – and especially to
/engage/ – so many others' thinking, ideas, words, art, and
contributions of all kinds. Critical thought, disciplined investigation
of whatever was needed, comprehensive research, clear writing and
reflection – all were supported, developed and encouraged there. That
wonderful landmark took many decades of care and attention to become
fully established as the strong heart and core of knowledge, available
to all.
But, when the change occurred, really not that long ago, in the course
of a single Summer it was hollowed out and much of it reduced to rubble,
hauled away in massive dump trucks to the landfill. In its place rose
pillars of steel and vast sheets of glass, and the following year,
part-time baristas had replaced the librarians. Yes, lattes and plastic
snacks and Wi-fi became the order of the day. Flashing video screens
appeared on almost every wall of the vast, transparent box, replacing
the shelves that had, for example, proudly displayed daily "new
arrivals" right by the main entry door. Such a thing cannot be found in
this strange, new place.
Thoughtful, experienced, friendly, knowledgeable – and expensive –
employees were no longer needed. They vanished, and nobody knew quite
where they had gone. This was much to the delight of freshly-minted,
22-year-old HR “specialists” zipping at rocket speed through what they
told us were deeply meaningful slide presentations about the new
frontiers of digital knowledge, not to mention the silent, grey-skinned
bean-counters rumored to live out their lives deep in the shuttered
basements of finance.
Any celebration of face-to-face sharing and deliberative learning – to
assist in locating a hard-to-find but very valuable resource, to engage
in thoughtful discussion of what might truly be helpful and useful in
support of research and writing – all of this instantly became just a
memory, and that memory was then quickly forgotten as if it had never
existed. Any happiness previously associated with shared reading and
enlightenment and discovery, or with thoughtful discussion, debate,
contemplation and creative reflection, vanished just as quickly as
slivers of smoke in a cold North wind. And that icy blast carried the
jagged, unfeeling embrace of the future as it cut through everyone and
everything!
Overly dramatic? Some might say "yes, absolutely" and tire of so many
words, but I will always argue "no"! After all, the rationale was clear,
and who could possibly disagree: without exception, everything that
anyone could ever wish to find was available instantly, on-line! So,
obviously, there was no further need to slowly and thoughtfully browse
the stacks (as if anyone could remember what a "stack" was); logically,
therefore, there was no need for all that wasted space filled with –
what were they once called? – oh, yes: books!
Well, truthfully, there used to be hundreds of thousands of them – where
did they go? Believe it or not, they went to prison. How fitting. A
disused correctional facility some few miles distant and no longer fit
for human use (if it ever was) became the final resting place to which
all the books were shipped. In better days, they had previously been
housed in the most user-friendly, open, and accessible way in what was
once a very well-used, beautiful, reflecting, encouraging, meeting,
deliberating, writing, searching and thinking place. No longer.
If someone wanted to hold and perhaps even read one of those real,
tangible, physical books – one that had once been as free as a bird but
had now been boxed and packed away, wall to wall, cheek to jowl, floor
to ceiling, jammed somewhere behind those bars – well, word had it that,
for a while anyway, this thing called "a book" was somewhere "in the
system". So, courtesy of a small robot capable of navigating the
barriers and unlocking the locks and given instructions to find it by
digging through the virtually solidified storage, said book could be
ordered up for delivery perhaps in a few weeks, "direct" to the glass
and steel coffee shop, right under the perpetually flashing screens.
The sign on the glass building proudly announces: "Library". Now, what
does this actually /mean/?
Best wishes / Bob Este, Ph.D
On 2017-12-05 4:40 PM, Don Norman wrote:
> David
>
> This part of your note struck a special note
>
> In most libraries I am familiar with, the transition from physical to
>> digital is handled quite poorly. There is an opportunity for a remaining
>> physical space to be designed to handle that transition well.
>
> That happens to be a theme of some of the research going on in the Design
> Lab. I had not put it together with my thoughts on the Library. Your note
> made me realize how relevant and interesting such a study might be
>
> don
>
>
> On Tue, Dec 5, 2017 at 3:02 PM, [log in to unmask] <
> [log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
>> Don,
>>
>> A few thoughts. Some probably repeating what has already been said.
>>
>> Navigation: One of my fondest memories of physical libraries was knowing
>> where things where, particularly collections I visited frequently. But
>> going in as a new user full of confusion and turning into a comfortable
>> user—the journey—was very important. As an issue, that remains whether we
>> are talking about physical or digital space, the challenge and
>> possibilities remain.
>>
>> In most libraries I am familiar with, the transition from physical to
>> digital is handled quite poorly. There is an opportunity for a remaining
>> physical space to be designed to handle that transition well.
>>
>> Metaphor: like every aspect of our life, the idea of a library is suffused
>> with metaphor. An exploration of this metaphorical realm would be useful as
>> well as potentially illuminating. My initial thoughts go to The Library of
>> Babel
>> by Jorge Luis Borges and The Art of Memory by Frances A. Yates. Both of
>> which provide more insight into the practicality of navigation.
>>
>> That’s all I have time for—from a fascinating and excellent conference on
>> Design for Health here in Melbourne.
>>
>> Warm Wishes,
>>
>> David
>> --
>>
>
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