The chatter is increasing about the influence of new technologies on the basics of how we read and otherwise parse information. This article, justifiably, is receiving a lot of attention. The premise is that our exposure to Internet technologies, and the alternative methods they give us for gathering information, may actually be changing the structure of human cognition, giving us what Cory Doctorow called an "outboard brain." Now, the New York Times is chiming in with an in-depth series on the future of reading beginning with an article written by Motoko Rich (free registration with NY Times required to read this) and published this past weekend.
There are many important issues to be worked out here, and the articles linked above serve as a pretty good primer for some of them. As an educator and a scholar, I find much to like in the recent exponential rise in the availability of good quality information in digital form. In some ways, my job has become much easier. In the past few years, the direction of my research has undergone a radical shift -- I've had to try to imbibe entirely new areas of knowledge in a dizzyingly short period of time. I know there are gaping holes in my knowledge base, but I also know how to fill them quickly and efficiently from my desktop (which can be anywhere ranging from my office at the university to my backyard Muskoka chair to (much to the disgust of my little son and boon companion in "bear country") a twinkling smart phone beside a campfire. As the Times article points out, with the loss of the careful editorial control of content that happens in the chaotic Internet, we've learned to rely on the rules of swarm intelligence to assess the patency of what we read. Wikipedia, for all of its warts and wrinkles, seems to me to be right more often than it is wrong. When 10 different websites say much the same thing, one can be ever so slightly more confident that one is at least circling the neighbourhood of a "fact".
One of the main criticisms of the Internet Information Age has to do with its potential to erode our span of attention and this, to me, seems like a more serious concern. I had a short e-chat with a textbook editor friend of mine last week about this, and she felt that it had become more difficult for her to immerse herself deeply in text. I feel the same tug of resistance to this kind of immersion myself. When I read a novel, I often do so with a notebook computer close at hand so that I can both write notes to myself and check facts or follow up on random ideas, as I read. I can't remember the last time I became so immersed in a book that I lost track of space and time, yet I know this used to happen to me on a regular basis.
On the weekend, Karen and I visited the Stratford Festival to take in a production of Taming of the Shrew. When we heard that the running time was just shy of three hours, we both blanched a bit, yet this is not the least bit unusual for a Shakespeare production. Looking around the half-filled auditorium, it was hard not to notice that the demographic spectrum of the audience tilted toward the aged, in spite of the aggressive marketing of the festival designed to bring under-18s into the auditorium. Is full scale live theatre also a victim of the electronic age? As I sat through what turned out to be a pretty solid production of an interesting play, I found myself struggling to maintain attention at times. This never used to happen to me.
The night after our theatre expedition, I sat in our large family room and looked around at all of us--together in the same room yet each in their own space. Only my four year old son lay on the floor immersed in a book (well, an Archie comic still counts....). The rest of us stared at screens. I tried an experiment. I pulled a copy of Oliver Twist from the shelf (significantly, purchased at least five years ago and yet unopened until Saturday) and began to read aloud. Soon, I had a litter of children at my feet (Karen too), lying on the carpet each with one ear facing me. After a couple of chapters, I stopped, fearing that everyone was asleep. One little head popped up, and then another. My teenaged daughter, Jessica, asked "Can we read more tomorrow, Dad?" It might not happen--we might not get through the whole book any time soon--but it was great to think that it might be possible.