Richard Powers, author of stunning works of fiction like Plowing the Dark and less glamorous but still layered and nuanced roman a clefs like Prisoner’s Dilemma, writes about the nascent world wide web in Galatea 2.2:
For a while, I felt a low-grade thrill at being alive in the moment when this unprecedented thing congealed. But after weeks of jetting around the hypermap, I began to see the web as just the latest term in an ancient polynomial expansion. Each nick on the time line spit out some fitful precursor. Everyone who ever lived had lived at a moment of equal astonishment.
This from 1995, nearly 15 years ago. This kind of reflection means much more than just consideration of the current “term in polynomial expansion.” Listening to the voices of users of the first years of popular use of the internet can carry valuable insight. Even better are voices from the more nascent days of media theory, before the birth or popularization of the internet. If the medium is the message, where does that leave the user? Addicted to Adderal? Incapable of recalling trivia without consulting the oracle or are we more informed than ever? On my way to work I usually think of a handful of questions or concepts I want to look up that day, such as “what’s the difference between a sweet potato and a yam?” or “where does the person with the world record for the longest fingernails live?” Usually I look these things up and forget after a few weeks or months (except for an exceptionally amazing piece of trivia, such as income distribution on the west side versus the east side of Cincinnati). Many websites, especially sites for larger TV networks, are beginning to look and function more like television. We’ve all probably heard the internet called “TV for smart people.” It’s important to consider the big picture when designing for the user; it helps keep your eye on the end result.
And if we listen to Marshall McLuhan, what is all that content there for anyway? Why organize it in a sensible way? Richard Powers has an answer:
The web was a neighborhood more efficiently lonely than the one it replaced. Its solitude was bigger and faster. When relentless intelligence finally completed its program, when the terminal drop box brought the last barefoot, abused child on line and everyone could at last say anything instantly to everyone else in existence, it seemed to me we’d still have nothing to say to each other and many more ways not to say it.
The man also has something to say about librarians. I had to ponder this one for a minute; it’s not insulting but it might not address the boggling array of fuels available at the pump.
“Librarian is a service occupation. Gas station attendant of the mind” – Richard Powers