I walked to a cafe today to eat an afternoon lunch and read Bolter and Grusin’s Remediation: Understanding New Media. Good book, perhaps more on that later. What I didn’t get is why half the sidewalks, by mid-afternoon, weren’t cleared. These weren’t residential sidewalks. These were sidewalks in front of those every-single-one-looks-the-same strip malls that litter this part of town (the ones with only 3 businesses in each, but I could never tell you what businesses they are because they all look nondescript). So I spent half my sojourn walking on the roads. But it was nice.

Now I’m back at home, but I have this awful lack of discipline when it comes to reading at home—and since I barely read last night while snowed in, I should get some more done today. My car is under a foot of snow, and though I could probably get it out fairly quickly, I feel that this is a task for daylight. So I’m going to don my backpack and walk out again. Who knew that on the snowiest day of the year, I’d walk more than I did in many sunny summer days?

EDIT: Cole makes a good point:

The iMac killed the floppy and all the other legacy ports we *had to have* only to introduce a brand new way of thinking about connectivity. The iPhone destroyed my own notion of what I needed in a platform and the iPad is currently destroying (that is in the present progressive tense for a reason) the idea of the “desktop metaphor.”

Just a few key notes that I want to remember from this text:

Wysocki: Because writing teachers are practiced in situating writing in context and situating writers, then new media studies can benefit from the input of writing teachers, and writing teachers are well-suited to implement new media in the classroom (5-7). Wysocki argues persuasively to pay attention to the materiality of texts (10-15) and defines “new media texts” as “those texts that have been made by composers who are aware of the range of materialities of texts and who then highlight the materiality: such composers design texts that help readers/consumers/views stay alert to how any text—like its composers and readers—doesn’t function independently of how it is made and in what contexts. Such composers design texts that make as overtly visible as possible the values they embody” (15).

Selfe: Selfe encourages us to understand that literacies aren’t a matter of linear progression: new ones don’t replace older ones, and new ones do not necessarily continue, but instead might disappear (49). Her second lesson explains that “new media literacies play an important role in identity formation, the exercise of power, and the negotiation of social codes” (51). Selfe also encourages composition teachers to incorporate new media texts into class, to expand their notions of what counts as composition, because to do otherwise (to neglect new media) is irresponsible to how people communicate (54-55). Selfe also provides an argument for including visual rhetoric in composition courses (67-74).

Sirc: Drawing on the art of Joseph Cornell as a model, Sirc argues against the formal essay and instead for what he calls “box-logic,” which involves the juxtaposition of already-made objects. He claims that “notions of articulate coherence, conventional organization, and extensive development seem irrelevant” (115). Arguing that students should be designers, not essayists (121), Sirc views the Internet as a virtual urban arcade where writers engage in “textual journeys” to study texts, employ them in their own designs, and annotate them (122).

Wysocki: Wysocki argues that much discussion of visual rhetoric and graphic design relies on notions of beauty developed in the eighteenth century that create the idea of universal beauty, but that this is harmful to understanding how bodies and history influence texts and their reception (149-152). Her case example, an advertisement with a naked women, shows how these notions lead us to see the woman not as a woman, but as a shape (152). The guidelines offered by graphic design are not neutral, but actually shape ourselves — thus, teaching visual in composition courses cannot just be about form (158-159).

Johnson-Eilola: Through a discussion of intellectual property law and court cases, Johnson-Eilola shows how “For better or worse—or, in fact, for better and worse—texts no longer function as discrete objects, but as contingent, fragmented objects in circulation, as elements within constantly configured and shifting networks” (208). A few lessons: writing cannot be separated from economics; students must be showed how information is not neutral, composition cannot ignore the database background of reading and writing online (e.g., search engines are a form of writing; writing is a form of architecture) (212, 218-220, 225).

View all my reviews >>

J-E takes an ecological prospect, arguing that hypertext, like all computer technologies, “are ambivalent technologies, objects or concepts that can be used in various ways depending in part on the social conditions in which they are constructed and reconstructed in use” (23). He urges against viewing technologies as solely tools, as the tool perspective can lead users, teachers, and scholars “to forget the always-present technological forces” and to assume that tools simply help achieve predetermined goals (19). Another important aspect of J-E’s argument is that, following Terry Eagleton, if cultures admits its inadequacies (such as the inadequacies of print by allowing computer technologies to take hold), it might “tighten rather than loosen its grip” (23, qting. Eagleton).

Chapter 3 of Nostalgic Angels takes as its focus those “functional” hypertexts that many ignore when they make utopian claims about hypertext. Functional documents and technologies (like technical documents, how-to texts) are hard to analyze and critique for their politics because through their functionality, they obscure their context and politics (52). J-E shows how functional hypertexts often emulate print texts, focusing on efficiency (53, 63); valuing clarity to avoid “misinterpretations or misreadings”—a transmission model of communication (61, 66); and offering more choices than print but still and more powerfully restricting freedom (63). He concludes, “Hypertext, ten, integrates most successfully into the workplace not as a transformative (let alone disruptive) technology, but as a conservative process, a way of making progress in the drive toward increased technical efficiency,” noting as well that hypertexts fit well into post-Fordist logics, allowing for less time for reflection (79).

Chapter 4 explores how texts, intertextual relations, and information become spaces. According to J-E, “spatial articulations can take one of (at least) two forms—the commodity and the construction” (95). In this chapter, J-E discusses functional hypertexts, like databases, for how they are articulated as commodities and construct readers as consumers (103). While “text as information has long seemed spatial, [. . .:] hyperspace appears to expand and transform that space” (106), becoming a market where information “can be entered, browsed, and purchased” (107). J-E spends much of the chapter promoting a critical literacy, as opposed to a simple functional literacy, of hyperspaces, so that users can critique the ways in which information is presented, organized, mapped, and navigated (129). Central to his concerns are how information has become more commodified, in part because we articulate it as a space (like land, that can be bought and sold), and in part because of post-Fordist capitalist logics that privatize space (thus, less public support for hypertextual spaces and more privatization) (130-134).

Chapter 5 explores the articulation of hypertextual space as a construction, particularly the postmodern conception that hypertexts are liberating, fragmented, subversive, deconstruction, and so forth. He is concerned that “hypertext potentially engenders post-political activity” by naturalizing hypertext as inevitable and the way things should have been (or always have been) (171). He shows how hypertexts, though they might engender deconstruction, do not naturally create deconstruction, and often undercut deconstruction’s goals (160). Nor do they naturally decenter the author or put readers and authors on the same plane.

The last chapter turns to nostalgia, the desire in this case to want an image of the past, wherein “Hypertext here is, among other things, a code word for the innocence we sometimes assume marked human existence prior to print, an impossible Eden of pure knowledge and perfect communication unmarked by the ‘complications’ of technology” (176). While most of his book has been critical of hypertext and articulations of hypertext, J-E turns to rearticulating hypertext “for increasing access to information for both our students and ourselves, for rethinking boundaries between discourses” (186).

I wish I had read this book a few years ago—when Lisa Ede first suggested it to me my first term at Oregon State. I was very interested in hypertext at the time—in fact, in many ways, my vague interest in that time led to a more focused interest in blogs for my master’s thesis. This book could have been helpful in understanding articulations of the Internet as liberatory. But I’m glad I’ve read this now.

View all my reviews >>

Latour starts his book with 1989: the fall of the Berlin Wall marked the triumph of capitalism over communism, and conferences on global climate and environment in Paris, London, and Amsterdam showed that our domination of nature was harmful. How do we respond in these times—to, in some ways, the failures of modernism? If liberation from the social (communism’s goal) was a failure, and the domination of nature was a failure, to put it simply, how do we respond? Latour articulates three responses: 1) the anti-modern response, which claims we should no longer attempt to end domination of humans and we must no longer try to dominate nature; 2) the postmodern response, which is skeptical of both of these reactions, “suspended between belief and doubt”; and 3) the modernist response, which “decide[s:] to carry on as if nothing has changed”—a response that “seems hesitant, sometimes even outmoded” (9).

Latour then moves to rearticulate modernism in order to understand it. Modernism, he argues, works through two practices: purification of nonhuman nature and human culture (these two things are seen as separate) and translation, which “creates mixtures between entirely new types of beings, hybrids of nature and culture” (10). Modernism works by keeping these two processes separate. Chapter two chronicles part of the development of modernism, Hobbes’s invention of politics and Boyle’s invention of science (”invention” being my perhaps too simple word to summarize this). Latour argues that these should not be viewed as two separate inventions, but rather as “one, a division of power between the two protagonists, to Hobbes, the politics and to Boyle, the sciences” (25)—the invention of “our modern world” (27).

Latour outlines the paradoxical guarantees of modernism:
1) “even though we construct Nature, Nature is as if we did not construct it”
2) “even though we do not construct Society, Society is as if we did construct it”
3) “Nature and Society must remain absolutely distinct: the work of purification must remain absolutely distinct from the work of mediation” (32)
4) God does not intervene in Nature or Society, but is nevertheless there, personal, and useful (32-33)

Latour concludes that “the modern Constitution allows the expanded proliferation of the hybrids whose existence, whose very possibility, it denies” (34). Thus, modernism and modern critique becomes invincible through its paradoxes (37): it can critique any view and dismiss it as “premodern” by using “the six resources of the modern critique” without admitting that these resources are paradoxical (38).

Latour goes on to argue that “No one has ever been modern” (47) and proposes instead a “nonmodern” (not to be mistaken for antimodern) view that “takes simultaneously into account the moderns’ Constitution and the populations of hybrids that that Constitution rejects and allows to proliferate” (47).

Chapter 3 introduces Latour’s concept of “quasi-objects,” those “strange new hybrids” that the modern Constitution denies exist (51). To just briefly summarize Latour’s arguments in this chapter: we need to stop understanding modernism as some great, revolutionary break from the past; Nature and Society need to be explained together rather than used as explanatory terms (81); we should instead focus on the historicity of quasi-objects (85), which allow us to trace networks (89).

Chapter 4 proposes Latour’s “principle of symmetry” that argues that both Nature and Society need to be explained, but that this “explanation starts from quasi-objects”—that is, we cannot use Nature and Society to explain things; rather, Nature and Society need to be explained through quasi-objects, through networks (95).

In Chapter 5, Latour proposes what we need to keep and what we need to jettison from various thoughts. From modernism, we can keep quite a bit, but we must leave behind the purification of Nature and Society. From “premoderns” we can keep their hybridization and multiplication of nonhumans (132-133). Latour then proposes that we view human as “A weaver of morphisms,” a creator of hybrids or quasi-objects (137). Latour’s discussion of nonmodern focuses largely on his important point, that we focus on hybrids, replacing the modern “clandestine proliferation of hybrids” and instead focus on regulating and agreeing upon certain productions of these hybrids in democratic ways (142).

View all my reviews >>

Crowley uses her history to claim that first-year composition should “become a part of the disciplinary practices of composition studies,” and thus part of a sequence of non-required composition courses that students would elect to take (9, 29, 241).

Crowley also chronicles the ideological shifts in the pedagogy of first-year composition, arguing that the humanist approach (which focuses on the improvement of student character through reading great works in literature) is not the best approach. Part of Crowley’s reasoning for this is that humanist literary study focuses on completed texts, while composition needs to focus on the production and development of texts, and that humanism is more metaphysical than it is rhetorical (13-14).

To briefly summarize Crowley’s history:
• The nineteenth century saw a decline in the study of rhetoric—a “focus on public, civic, discourse”—in the United States and an increased focus on “developing taste in their students” instead (34). This was due in part to the creation of the modern university, modeled after German universities. The developed requirement of freshman composition also helped to legitimize English studies (esp. since freshman composition usually focused on literature) (58-59).
• Part of the legitimizing of literature as an area of study in the late nineteenth century involved alienating students from their language, which Crowley argues was done in three steps: “The first step in the process was to define English as a language from which its native speakers were alienated. The second step was to establish an entrance examination in English that was very difficult to pass. The third step, necessitated by the large number of failures on the exam, was to install a course of study that would remediate the lack demonstrated by the exam” (60).
• Because composition was taught from a humanist/literary perspective, it was easily tied to current-traditional rhetoric, which “is not a rhetoric at all” because it is not situated, but is focused on forms or genres: “exposition, description, narrative, and argument” (94). Humanism and current-traditional rhetoric could be tied together so easily because both required “that students’ expression of character be put under the constant surveillance so that they could be ‘improved’ by correction” (97).
• During World War II, composition began to focus more on communication skills because the military was asking that soldiers be taught communication skills. Because of this, composition teachers created professional associations (CCCC) and some composition teachers turned to rhetorical theory to understand communication (instead of simply expression) (155-156). The 1940s saw an increase in progressive thought (influenced by Dewey) in composition courses, and a focus on education for the benefit of democracy. While the communication skills focus flourished in some ways, it was intellectually demanding on teachers and required administrative support (testing, labs, etc.)—along with these problems, many English departments were resistant to communication skills, and the trend largely faded out by 1960 (183).
• Starting in the 1970s, process pedagogy began to develop, which brought about three changes: 1) the professionalization of teaching FYC with research; 2) the idea that students are writers rather than people whose grammar needs policed; and 3) composition became more fun to teach (191). While there are differences between product pedagogy and process pedagogy, Crowley doubts that this shift was that big: textbooks still espoused current-traditional models, and process pedagogy did little to question modernist notions of a required course and composition’s situatedness in the university (212-213). One important effect of process pedagogy, however, is that it altered the ideology of composition programs from conservative to liberal (218)

Crowley closes her book with a few important arguments that she takes out of her history: 1) teaching is always political (Chapter 10); 2) the requirement of FYC produces student subjectivity as “docile student” (217); 3) it’s doubtful whether a required course can be turned “to radical purposes” (235); 4) composition as a requirement should be abolished (241). This last point Crowley argues because required FYC exploits part-time teachers and graduate students, as well as students; the curriculum is harmed by trying to reach every student; the classroom environment is harmed by being a requirement; and the requirement harms the discipline of composition because it becomes a gatekeeping course and sits low on the hierarchy at universities (241-243).

View all my reviews >>

The except from the documentary is quite long, but well worth the watch. I think the documentarian makes some valid points at the end of the excerpt, one of which is the necessity to stop calling racists and White nationalists “extremists” and “radicals” and quit mocking them in mainstream media, because it actually harms progressive movements: those who might have sympathies with right-wing movements but might be on the fence won’t listen to progressive activists or advocates because those are the type of people who mock their neighbors and concerns.

Overall, a fantastic and chilling report.

Most people tend to not appreciate flattery accompanied by obvious ulterior motives, and consider themselves fairly adept at determining whose compliments are sincere and whose are BS. Great tie, boss! Professor, your article redefined my entire understanding of human nature. I know we just met, gorgeous, but I’ve already fallen in love. [. . .]

Participants in the study were asked to evaluate the merits of a new department store opening in the area based on one of the store’s advertisements. In addition to describing the new store’s offerings, the ad lauded readers for their impeccable sense of style and eye for high fashion. While participants overwhelmingly categorized the pamphlet as flattery with the ulterior motive of pushing blouses, the experimenters were more interested in how their attitudes would be influenced at the implicit level. Might participants develop a non-conscious positive association with the department store, even after rejecting the ad as meaningless puffery? And if so, would this implicit reaction be a better predictor of decisions and behavior down the road? Will even the people who are wise to advertising tricks end up at the register, credit card in hand?

It turns out that implicit attitudes towards the store were more positive than explicit attitudes. They were also better predictors of reported likelihood of making future purchases, as well as likelihood of joining the store’s club. So it seems that while participants quickly dismissed these ads at the explicit level, the flattery was exerting an important effect outside their awareness.

So, yes, our motives and attitudes are often less explicit and known to us than we’d like to think. There’s a few explanations for this, I think. The authors of the study speculate that viewers of the ad want to feel good about themselves, that these ads (like others) work by bringing up and addressing insecurities. A commenter at Feminist Philosophers (where I found the article) speculates that there is an implicit flattery in this obvious flattery: you have power and I (the speaker/writer) respects your power. I think there’s probably truth to both these.

Today was the first day of class, and my students and I discussed briefly about what makes a message persuasive. Appearing sincere came up during the conversation. We didn’t really address that much, but it would be interesting to share this with students and get their reactions. (I’m also thinking about those students who engage in obvious flattery with the hopes of better grades. I doubt it effects grades much, but I do think there’s something endearing about it… unless it’s too smarmy.)

Chapter 1 argues that there is much vibrant political communication online, and despite (and in part because of, I’d say) current “crises” in the public sphere (drawing on Habermas), the Internet has become a site activism, resistance, and political campaigns. Warnick also notes that there are challenges to rhetorical critics because rhetoric online causes us to reconsider some assumptions about rhetoric based in print and oral texts (22-23).

Chapter 2 argues for a “medium theory approach” to rhetoric online. Warnick discusses “five elements of the communication process—reception, source, message, time, and space” (27). Drawing on the work of Roland Barthes, she argues that texts online are intertextual and non-linear, always in formulation, and that rhetorical critics need to focus more on readers’ responses to online material (28-30). The credibility of online material is also understood differently than rhetoric has traditionally understood ethos: instead of grounded in the source of the material, ethos is instead understood through visuals and other signs (33-36; this is discussed more in Chapter 3). Another important aspect of online discourse is that the message of online material is often fragmented or modular, and the “author” no longer has control of the message’s content (36-37). Time and space also function differently in online environments because online “users do not constitute a mass audience” (37) producing “dispersed, disaggregated media audiences” (44).

Chapter 3 explores how credibility (ethos) is determined online. Noting that ethos has changed through history, from Aristotle’s understanding that “notions of ethos were embedded in the cultural and social mores of host societies” (47) to the modern conception that ethos was “connected to an author’s credentials and known reputation” (48), Warnick explains that it’s understandable that notions of ethos would change again. Drawing on Stephen Toulmin’s work, Warnick argues that credibility should be based in the specific field and context of the communication (49). She discusses how credibility is understood on Indymedia’s Website to help show how credibility is determined on that site.

Chapter 4 addresses interactivity online, discussing MoveOn’s Website and George W. Bush’s 2004 campaign Website as two sites of interactivity. Warnick uses Sally J. McMillan’s taxonomy of interactivity (three forms: “user-to-system, user-to-user, and user-to-document” [75:]) as well as her contribution of “text-based interactivity,” or “the presence of various stylistic devices, such as use of first person and active voice versus passive voice; additional visual cues such as photographs of the candidate or supporters interacting with other people; and additional textual content of the site” (73), to show how interactivity works on these two Websites.

Chapter 5 traces the history of the term “intertextuality” and addresses how it works on a few online videos from Jibjab.com and on Adbusters‘ Website.

Her conclusion offers a concise review of the book. Overall, I found this book helpful in understanding how rhetorical criticism might need to revisit some of its assumptions about rhetoric in online environments. In a concise, accessible overview, Warnick offers some helpful insights about online rhetoric, particularly about credibility online and fragmented or dispersed audiences. I think this book could have done more (by which I guess I mean, I wanted more), but for the goals set out for the book, it’s pretty successful.

View all my reviews >>