Career guidance from science-fiction TV shows

Not long ago I came up with a career-inclinations quiz question,
a way of identifying what one wants to do. Imagine that you and a bunch
of other people, from various walks of life, are stranded on an island* — or, if you prefer, sent off to start a colony on an uninhabited
planet.** Assume that climate conditions aren’t too harsh, that food
and fresh water aren’t hard to find, that you can do the basic
survival things (fire-building, first aid, and so
on), and that you all have different skills and areas of
expertise. Assume you’re staying there for the rest of your lives, and
starting a civilization from scratch. Here’s the question: what could
you contribute to the new society that you’re building on the
island/planet? And what kinds of work would you be drawn to?

I came up with the question because it occurred to me during one of those idle "what if I were stranded on a desert island?"
trains of thought that, while my farming and
construction and hunting-gathering skills are minimal, I’d probably
gravitate automatically to the intellectual and cultural side of
things (assuming there were enough other people on the island to allow some specialization). And one of the first things I’d start thinking about would be sharing and
preserving my fellow inhabitants’ knowledge. I’d want to
make sure that the useful information in people’s heads (like medicine, or
architecture, or history, or the art of conflict resolution, or how to
build a loom and weave cloth on it, or whatever) wouldn’t die with
them. I’d want to figure out a way to capture some of what they knew,
and pass it on.

In the process, I’d have to figure out a medium for all
this information (clay tablets? plant-fiber paper? animal skins?). I’d probably spend a lot
of time talking with whoever was inventing an educational system. And when I wasn’t doing that, I’d write. I’d collect stories, and learn to tell
them, and write them down (which is really just another way of making
sure knowledge doesn’t die out — as every poet since Horace has said
at some point or other).

At which point I thought, "Hot damn, I really am a librarian." Not
that I didn’t know it already, but extra confirmation of one’s choice
of professions is always a good thing.

So, Reader, what would you do on the Island (or Planet) of New Beginnings?

* This train of thought probably owes something to the return of Lost to the airwaves this week.

** Like the terraformed planets and moons on Firefly — only hopefully a lot more habitable.

In the knitting queue

Thanks to Ravelry, I can now stick potential knitting projects into a virtual queue to remind myself of what I want to knit next. In my queue at present, for whenever I finish the sweater I’m working on (or whenever I need a break from it):

  • Lace-up opera gloves, to which I was drawn both by the name and by their beautiful impracticality
  • A Jayne Cobb hat, the favorite pattern of Firefly fans who knit
  • A cleverly engineered copy of this hat (I was thrilled to see that someone on Ravelry had developed a pattern for it)
  • The Binary Scarf, from Knitty, because it’s such a wonderfully geeky project

And then what shall I knit? Fortunately, I’ve got several dozen more projects bookmarked for later.

Report from the theatergoing weekend

I’m back from my weekend in New York, where my friend R. and I took in BAM’s production of Happy Days and a performance by the British troupe 1927. I thoroughly enjoyed both; I was predisposed to like 1927’s show, Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, after I read a blurb that described them as Edward Gorey-esque, and I wasn’t disappointed; some of their skits were a bit like watching a live-action version of The Gashlycrumb Tinies. Only with a movie screen with black-and-white animations in the background (with which the actors interacted), a kind of silent-film-meets-cabaret aesthetic, and a penchant for surreality that reminded me at times of Russell Edson’s prose poems. I hope they go on another tour with their next show, whatever it may be. (Confidential to T., if you’re reading this: You would love this group and their work. They even worked in a little homage to The Shining. If they’re ever in your area, see them!)

And Happy Days: Well, there’s a reason why Fiona Shaw is my favorite actress. I’m not really a Samuel Beckett fan, I must admit, so I was startled to rediscover how funny his work can be; also how strangely easy it is to accept the play’s premise (woman buried waist- and then neck-deep in rubble in a barren post-apocalyptic landscape, chattering away to her mostly invisible husband). Somehow Fiona Shaw made it all make perfect sense. She nailed Winnie’s determined cheerfulness and her not-quite-submerged awareness of the "sorrow" that she admits, at one point, "keeps breaking in." I found myself thinking that if I were in Winnie’s situation I’d probably do the exact same thing: make the best of it, cling to routine, carefully ration out things to look at and think about, talk all day to anyone who might even hypothetically be listening. (In fact, I found myself thinking at one point that I’ve had days like that. Minus the buried in rubble factor.) And she was — as she always is — such a presence, even in a role that demands immobility. It was almost a shock to see her standing, unencumbered, during the curtain call — directing our enthusiastic applause, at one point, toward the bleak rocky set itself.

This is the second time I’ve seen Fiona Shaw on the stage (the first was in the Abbey Theatre’s production of Medea when it went on tour); I hope there will be many more. I only wish I’d seen her as Richard II.

Networks

Several things:

  • I stumbled across the work of David Bordwell, a film scholar who’s coined the term "network narrative" to describe the kind of multi-plotline ensemble drama where characters don’t all know each other but their paths nonetheless intersect, often by chance. Magnolia is a good example of this genre, which I hadn’t known there was a name for apart from "Altman-thingy." As Bordwell notes in his Poetics of Cinema, which I’ve been dipping into, the audience gets to figure out the intricate social networks that bring the characters together.
  • Shakespearean social networks: the creator of a program that analyzes and visualizes social networks in IRC chat applied the same program to Shakespeare’s plays. I suspect a human could probably do the same thing more accurately, but it’s fascinating to think about. (Found — how else? — via my network on del.icio.us.)
  • I’ve been watching The L Word on DVD, and Alice’s chart? Is totally a social network diagram. Inside Alice, I’m convinced, is a network theory geek waiting to get out.
  • Does anyone else sometimes wonder if the immense network-ness of the web makes it a lot easier for introverts and solitary types to feel connected to other people, but also makes it a lot easier for those same people to hang back on the edges of every group and not join in? I mean, I think social networking is all kinds of neat, but sometimes I think it encourages my tendency to lurk in the corner at parties. Perhaps there’s a paper, or at least a longer post, in this.

Personal anthology: James Merrill

Something, probably the cold weather, brought this poem to mind this evening:

Nightgown

A cold so keen,
My speech unfurls tonight
As from the chattering teeth
Of a sewing machine.

Whom words appear to warm,
Dear heart, wear mine. Come forth
Wound in their flimsy white
And give it form.

— James Merrill (from Nights and Days, 1966)

Not a major poem, but one I’ve always admired for its compactness, its almost metaphysical conceit of teeth as sewing machine gears and clouds of breath as the nightgown of the title, and the way it plays on the classical notion of words as the clothing of thought. Thinking about it, I also noticed for the first time how the addressee of the poem, the implied "you" of the second stanza, humanizes and gives depth ("form") to what might have otherwise been a clever but rather chilly — indeed, "flimsy" — simile, on multiple levels. There’s something at once seductive and ghostly about that nightgown: a revealing garment, but one that suggests a shroud, almost (another reason for the chattering teeth?). People sometimes accuse Merrill’s poems of being all virtuosity and nothing else; I think this poem gets answers that charge, however indirectly.

Ravel’d sleeves of something or other

By the way, speaking of knitting: I just joined Ravelry, which is a bit like LibraryThing, only for knitters and crocheters. You use it to keep track of patterns you like, projects you’re working on and the progress you’ve made, yarn in your stash, and whether you really have a set of size 3 double-pointed needles. There are forums and user groups and all kinds of goodness. It works like a massive pattern database, and for every pattern you can read other people’s advice on it and see their photos of how it turned out for them. It’s still in beta, but you can sign up and get in line to be invited.
My invite took less time to show up than I thought it would.

I’ve been wanting to try it ever since I saw Rachel’s post about it on frizzyLogic. (As she says: who needs Facebook?) And while I’m probably not going to be terribly active on it for a while (too much stuff to do, too little time), I’m curious if any of you reading this are on it.

ALA Midwinter wrapup

Well, there went my resolution to blog at intervals over the weekend, but really, I was mostly there for a handful of discussion groups, the chance to schmooze with people in areas I’d like to work in, and the exhibits. (NYRB Editions, you are my favorite booth at every conference.) ALA Midwinter is mostly for people who are on committees, and while I’m planning on doing more of that, I’m not on any committees yet. So it was a fairly low-key experience.

I did go to some nice receptions, and squeezed in a visit to the Rosenbach Museum and Library, where I finally saw their current Maurice Sendak exhibit and went on a tour with several other attendees. Not that I couldn’t go there any weekend, but I might not have taken the tour if left to my own devices. Our docent showed us one of John Tenniel’s sketches for Alice in Wonderland (the Walrus and the Carpenter accompanied by oysters), and pointed out the reconstruction of Marianne Moore‘s Greenwich Village apartment.

Random observation: while rushing through one of the hotels, I passed a whole group of people knitting, and spotted another knitter or two at work during various sessions. The sweater project is at an awkward stage, but I wished I’d brought it along. Striking up a conversation with complete strangers is so much easier when all of you have in-progress knitting in your hands.

ALA Midwinter, day 1

I’m sitting in the Convention Center in downtown Philly waiting for the next job-seeker orientation event to start up. Most of what I’m doing today is job-seeker workshops, getting my resume reviewed, and checking out the recruiters; tomorrow and Sunday I’m going to a bunch of Literature in English Section events, the MLA International Bibliography discussion group, a session on next generation catalogs, and a bunch of receptions. I’m also hoping to have time to drop into the OCLC bloggers’ salon Sunday night. If any of you reading this are also here for ALA and want to say hello, send me an e-mail!

It’s nice to be at a conference that’s practically in my backyard, although getting to 8 a.m. sessions is a bit more time-consuming when you’re not in a hotel right near the convention center. But it still beats air travel by a factor of infinity.

Borges, lifelogging, and the web

Interesting convergence: On Sunday, NPR’s On the Media did a segment on Gordon Bell’s "lifelogging" project, and the consequences for human memory of keeping a digital record of everything one does. Interestingly, Clive Thompson, the second interviewee in the segment, mentioned both the potential for catastrophic loss of data (if your hard drive is your externalized memory for everything, you have to be extra-paranoid about backing everything up), and some research that suggests that lifelogging can actually help amnesics rebuild their memories. It’s an interesting segment, and gets nicely at the ways memory and forgetting always seem to imply and implicate each other.

Then a couple of days ago, the New York Times ran a piece on Jorge Luis Borges as a prefigurer of the internet. Among the comparisons they drew: lifelogging and the infinite, indelible memory of Ireneo Funes in "Funes the Memorious." Which strikes me as right on-target, though I think Tlön is as much like Second Life as it is like Wikipedia (the NYT’s analogy).

And it turns out William Gibson wrote the introduction for the new edition of Labyrinths, New Directions’ collection of Borges’s stories. I may have to get a copy to sit next to my old, battered, much-loved copy of Labyrinths.

E-books and chained books

Lately I’ve been hearing about one of the disadvantages of commercial e-books (specifically, the kind sold by vendors like NetLibrary or Ebrary): you can’t lend them from one library to another. Dead-tree-based books can be ILL’d and shared among library consortia, but you can’t ship an e-book when it comes with restrictions about which users at which campuses can use it.

I was thinking about this, and it occurred to me that restricting the use of an e-book only to users from a given institution (and placing restrictions on copying and printing, as NetLibrary does) pretty much negates the benefits of putting the content online in the first place. Apart from making the text searchable, the great advantage of online access is that multiple people can access the same content from multiple places at the same time. Instead of 25 people waiting to get the library’s one copy of an in-demand title, they can all get to it.

Take away that, hedge the content in with restrictions, keep the content from circulating among libraries the way books have done since they invented ILL, and you’re left with something rather less convenient than reading a paper book. You can’t stick it in your bag and carry it around with you from one place to another*, you can’t loan it to someone else, and you’re most likely stuck reading it on an eye-tiring screen. It’s not just like a return to the print model; it’s like a return to the early modern chained books model, where books were attached to desks and shelves by a heavy chain to prevent people from stealing them. And who wants to go back to the days of book-chaining?**

And people wonder why e-books haven’t caught on. I don’t really see publishers changing their ways any time soon, though I do have hopes for the Open Library project; their public-domain books are downloadable, printable, free, and open to anyone from anywhere.

None of these are startlingly new observations, I know, at least not to anyone who deals with library collections. But they’ve been on my mind of late.

* Although colleges and universities are using proxy servers and the like to allow for off-campus access. Which helps. But it’s hard for a lot of users to figure out, and sometimes you just want to print the damn chapter so you can read it at your leisure on the subway or while eating dinner or wherever.
** Now I’m trying to think of a way to work in medieval girdle books as an analogue to portable reading devices, but the analogy will only go so far.