I’ll take my books on paper, please
This week my students and I will be discussing books and other types of printed communication in the Communication Technologies course I’m teaching this summer.
(Yes, the book is considered a technology; it’s just a very old one.)
Part of our discussion will focus on the introduction of e-readers and their affect on writing, reading, and the publishing industry. As I was thinking about what this technological transition means for society, I started to wonder what, if anything, will be lost when individual titles are no longer tangible. We use physical books to define our personal and professional spaces, recall memories, and, in some cases, organize our thoughts and ideas.
My home is filled with books. The antique bookcase I inherited from my grandmother is prominently displayed in our living room with leisurely reads and photo books. On top are three books selected because they are hardcover and bound in, well, colors that best complement the room. My study is filled with scholarly texts, and my husband’s office also has two full bookshelves.
And those are just the books we have room to display. I have an entire library of old cookbooks from my grandmother that are packed away in boxes, and my childhood readers remain in my parent’s library.
Picking up my books also brings back certain memories. Some of my paperback fiction books are slightly warped because I usually read them on vacation near a pool or the ocean. Cookbooks contain smudges from recipes. My scholarly books have highlighted and underlined text and notes scribbled in the margins, and I can tell you which text I read for which class or purchased for a particular paper.
I also have a specific way of arranging my books. The books in the living room are ordered to create a visually pleasing display while the books in my study are grouped by subject area first, then author.
When I think about my books, I think of the cover and author first, then the book’s place on its shelf. Oddly, I often think of the title last.
If I were to transition to electronic books, I don’t know how I would be able to organize or remember my texts in a digital space. Weird, right? E-readers organize titles and allow you to search for books, and some even replicate the bookshelf design, but I need to physically interact with my books to remember them. I also come up with research ideas simply by staring at my books and scanning my eyes across my shelves to make connections between different subject areas.
In many ways, digital texts can offer new ways of engaging with the material that traditional books cannot, and so, I don’t think moving to an electronic format is a negative change. If I were to get rid of my books, I could add furniture like couches or chairs where people could sit and socialize with me. I would be saving a lot of trees, and being able to search text for key phrases is a huge plus with digital devices.
But, my books are a constant presence in my space, in my life, even when I’m not using them. And they have been since I was a little girl.
Plus, I’m an academic. I’m supposed to be surrounded by books, aren’t I? (And, if movies are to be believed, stacks and stacks of papers, which, I also have.) I think about the professors in my department and how their offices are lined with texts. Would you have the same respect for a professor if you walked into an office without any books? I don’t know.
Maybe the transition from paper to digital, then, is more about the mental than the physical.
On MLK and the Civil Rights Movement
I could not be who I am today or where I am today without the Civil Rights movement.
I know what some of you are thinking.
“Ummm, Andrea, you’re white.”
Yes, I am.
“Oh, so this is about the fact that you’re married to someone who is Hispanic?”
Well, somewhat.
It is true that without the Civil Rights movement my husband and I may not have been allowed to marry in some states, we could be socially ostracized, and our future children could face discrimination for the color of their skin and for the fact that their parents come from different racial backgrounds.
But my overall thoughts on Martin Luther King Jr. and the Civil Rights Movement that I want to share today, stem from a misconception that I held for many years and was only able to recognize after I married my husband.
When I was little, and for most of my life, I thought the Civil Rights movement was about being black. It was something that people of a certain skin color celebrated because they were afforded equal rights.
Martin Luther King Day was a black (only) holiday.
I was wrong.
And this is one of the biggest misconceptions about the Civil Rights movement.
Now, I am not minimizing the struggles of the black community and of Martin Luther King Jr. or trying to gloss over the historical realities and events that lead up to the Civil Rights movement.
My point is that the Civil Rights movement was — and still is today — about all of us regardless of the color of our skin.
It is about who we are collectively as a nation.
Many people do not realize that when the Civil Rights movement gained greater equality for blacks and groups who had faced systematic discrimination, it also began to free the captors who had tried to legally and socially segregate people of color for so long: it began to free whites and other racial groups from the prejudices some of them held in their own minds. (Note: I am by no means downplaying the persecution and struggles of blacks as well as other racial or ethnic groups or equating these struggles to what whites at the time experienced).
Some people may argue that not every white was prejudice at the time. So, how then did this affect them? Because they were living in a sham of a nation. The equality promised in the Constitution was unfulfilled. They lived in a country with a double-standard. This was not a free nation. The freedom certain groups enjoyed and took for granted came at the expense of other groups.
The point is that the Civil Rights movement began to move us all toward a nation where the Constitution applied to everyone regardless of racial or ethnic background.
I use the word “began” because we have not buried racism in this country.
And so, on this Martin Luther King holiday, we all should not only reflect on what a courageous group of people in history accomplished but also ponder on what we all — regardless of race or ethnic background — can do to continue to move forward for a country where racial equality is a reality.
Martin Luther King Day is not their holiday or our holiday.
It is everyone’s day.
One of these days…
…I’ll get back to posting on this blog.
I finally am home from the AOIR conference I was attending in Seattle. (Awesome, btw).
Now, I have a mountain of student papers to grade, several of my own papers to write, and one paper to prepare for submission to ICA.
So, I guess there is neither rest nor blogging for the wicked.
Memories that refuse to die
A man.
Vertical.
Falling head first from the heights of one of the World Trade Center towers toward the ground.
In the paper and on TV, the images of this man and others were shown from afar.
But on the large screen of our photo editor’s computer, you could see his face in greater detail.
Not completely, but enough to make him more human.
This is the image from 9/11 I wish I could forget.
I was wearing a purple shirt and khaki pants as I headed out to my job as an editorial assistant for the local paper the morning of 9/11.
I was walking out the door when my brother called about the first plane hitting the tower.
I listened to the story unfold as I sped to work where the newsroom was huddled around the TV.
It was silent.
It took a good hour before any of us were able to get our wits about us to start putting together a paper.
Later on that day as pictures began to move across the wire, I saw the falling man.
Now, I would like to say that since 9/11 I’ve been able to deal with the memories, but that’s not true.
I refuse to read about the subject.
I refuse to watch anything about it on TV.
I refuse to read any of the stories online that are circulating about it’s 10th anniversary.
Quite honestly, I don’t know why I’m even blogging about this right now.
It’s not that I don’t want to honor the dead.
I grieve for their families. Most of us are reminded of the horrors of 9/11 when the date rolls around on the calendar. The friends and families of those injured or killed on 9/11 live with the horror everyday.
But when I think about that day, I feel a tightness in my chest and my stomach sinks.
It paralyzes me, still.
I work in Chicago and rely on mass transit to get to and from my job.
There was an added police presence at the train station this week, and it put me on edge. I could not wait for the train to pull out of the station, away from the city toward the suburbs.
I really don’t want to go to work on Monday. I will go because, if I don’t, then the terrorists win – well, that’s what people say.
And, I know, if we forget, we are not doing justice to the people whose lives were forever changed on that day.
But, I can’t help it.
I want to forget.
The man.
Plunging.
To his death.
