Author Archives: Samuel Peters

Posthumous Rights

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The debate over what constitutes a human life is always an interesting topic. Some might say a heartbeat, others might say a soul, but no matter the definitive answer, the case remains it’s always a debate. Taking ideas and narrative from the introduction of “‘Not Like An Arrow, but a Boomerang,’ or The Lifecycles of African American Literary Papers,” I’ll question whether writing and other art forms serve the role of human life. And further, should posthumous works continue to be judged and released?
As is the nature of most actions, the author puts their time and effort into a work, and therefore, can call it their own. When it comes to publishing, a piece of that ownership is put to the test. Take an example from the narrative detailing Richard Wright’s experience, saying, “he wanted Wright to eliminate the discourse against fascism that lies at the heart of the novel [The Outsider].” Whether in support of his politics or not, the editor asks Wright to revoke his original intention. That intention is what his life decided, and an extension of himself. Whatever Wright decides to do is ultimately still up to him, but the point exists that it’s a discourse. For the most part, no decision will result unless both parties agree.
Like posthumous work, when the factor of discourse is taken away, the book loses its true intention. Though editors or archivists may try to piece together works and frame them in the “intended way,” like Arnold Rampersad with Wright’s work, citing that he “tried to give him back his book,” it’s inherently impossible to predict the author’s intention. For uncompleted works, it is important to recognize their existence, but another thing is to try and fill in the gaps. And for that reason, the life of the author may be gone from the work, but any other workers may have their effect.
When archiving, the reclamation of works mimics the judgment of purgatory. This metaphor comes from the narrative’s description of book “lifecycles,” saying, “it assists in determining which of them should be consigned to the ‘hell’ of the incinerator or the ‘heaven’ of an archival institution.” Similar to publishing, the book undergoes a judgment day that will determine its future; though unsimilar to publishing, no one can defend the work. No author stands to make revisions, answer questions, or further put themself into the work.
This whole issue has sparked a lot of controversy, especially in the music industry. With entire posthumous albums being released, some being regarded as clearly unfinished, the motives are then called into question. While works may be devoid of the life once effused, for that same reason, they should be withheld from future actions.

Midterm: CLAVDII PTOLEMAEI PE lufienfis Alexandrin

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To preface, uploading the photos resulted in complete disarray and random photos appearing where I hadn’t intended. If you’d like to consult the photos while I fix this, please follow this link to a document including them from Special Collections. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1I10LG4d49UvafGPVNz7Q8mEN4CvsUQ0vO2HGmChkXbw/edit?usp=sharing

For centuries, no, for over a millennium, humans looked up into the sky and believed themselves at the center of everything. As far as they knew, the universe was created specifically for them, the Earth did not orbit the Sun, and instead, vice versa, as the planets were claimed to orbit Earth as well. This geocentric model dominating human thought was derived from the studies of Claudius Ptolemaeus, a Greco-Roman mathematician born around the year 100 AD (Wikipedia Contributors).

Throughout his intellectual pursuits in mathematics and astronomy, Ptolemy did plenty of writing that has stuck around until our time. Of course, it must have, or else I wouldn’t be doing this assignment. Though, given his ancient age, it’s remarkable his work stayed intact and remembered until the age of printing. 

The following bibliography will detail a compilation of Ptolemy’s works, titled “CLAVDII PTOLEMAEI PE lufienfis Alexandrini omnia qua extant opera, prater Geographiam, quam non difsimiliformantrperriméadidimus fumma cura & diligentia caftigata ab Erafmo Ofualdo Schrekhenfuchfio, & ab eodem Ifagoicain Almageftum prafatione, & fidelifsimis in priores libros annotationibus illuftrata, quemadmo-dum fequens pagina catalogo indicat.

This title may be wordy in Latin, though it is just as wordy in a rough English translation reading, “The complete works of Claudius Ptolemy of Pelusium, the Alexandrian, except for the Geography, which we have very recently published in a similar form; carefully and diligently corrected by Erasmus Oswald Schreckenfuchs, and enriched with his introductory preface to the* Almagest* and faithful annotations on the earlier books, as the following page’s catalogue indicates.”

Immediately, we’re let in on a couple of important notes. First, the writing was not entirely that of Ptolemy’s. A preface to Ptolemy’s most famous work, the Almagest, was written by Erasmus Oswald Schreckenfuchs. Erasmus was born in 1511 in Austria, which gives a better idea of the date of publication (Wikipedia Contributors).

Secondly, the use of the diction “corrected,” accompanied by the annotations, implied that Ptolemy’s work had since been recalculated. This is to say, the work was not explicitly presented as fact, as it once was.

Going back to the first note, the date and place of publication are verifiable. The line reading, Basileae, in officina Henrici Petri, mense Martio anno M.D.LI.” translates to “In Basel, in the workshop (printing house) of Henricus Petri, in the month of March, in the year 1551. (“PAL: Basel, Henricus Petri, 1551”)” With the origin of Basel, Switzerland, Petri was cited as the print shop owner involved in the circulation of this book. Take, for comparison, the print of Argonautica, embellished with the town name and a similar image (“Heinrich Petri”).

Knowing the creators, it’s also neat to look at who had their hands on this work in the past. Looking at a bookplate inside the front cover, a crest could be seen with the label “Aytoun of Inchdairnie” below it. A simple Google search with that label resulted in some brief history. According to a website detailing landed families of Britain and Ireland, a member of that family, “Andrew Aytoun (d. 1513) [was], a loyal servant of King James IV, [and served as] Chamberlain and Captain of the Royal Castle of Stirling. (Kingsley)” While the specifics of which Aytoun family member created the bookplate were unknown, it is important when considering what type of family would own this book. 

Now, with a better understanding of who the book passed through to get to SDSU, it’s time to look at the book itself. As everyone naturally does, the cover will be up first to judge. 

The cover looks and smells like vellum, carrying a rich, intoxicating musk that must indicate years of degradation. I noted the intoxicating factor, as the smell jumped out before I even opened the book. Consistent with the fact that vellum tightens with moisture, the tan surface had a smooth texture and looked glossy in light–light that appears to have altered the materials.

Near the yapp edges, which are the vellum overhanging and protecting the fore-edge, a large discoloration could be seen (“Etherington & Roberts. Dictionary–Yapp Style”). While it appeared to be the result of light exposure or oxidation, judging by the cracked yet smooth surface, I argued it’s the result of a greater degree of exposure. Discolorations such as this were common in older vellum-based books, though the specific location and severity could suggest a human’s impact. 

Another detail, just under the discolorations, appeared to be a small wormhole. Again, for old vellum-based books, this was common, suggesting various bookworms have had their turn reading. Also, no title appears on the spine.

Regarding the binding, it looked to be in its original copy, as the cover was bound over the binding. Though a better name exists as “alum-tawed thongs,” which are narrow, tanned strips of leather earning their name for the thick quality (“Thongs | Language of Bindings”). And while delicate, the book felt very much stable in its configuration. 

Even with the protective layer, Ptolemy’s work suffered from human error, evident by the watermarks. These marks were littered throughout the book, usually appearing towards the top of the page, and even showing on the headcap. 

This brings attention to the page itself, which, judging by its fibrous patterns in light, appeared to be rag-cotton paper. Also, the folio is quite larger than the average paper size today. It was cool to see the slightly uneven trimming of the folio, suggesting an inexact system was used–most likely a human hand (“Heinrich Petri”).. 

The folio’s stiff quality was important when asking why it was made that way. Most likely, the folio needed to be thick enough for the larger woodplate impressions that appear. With a thinner material, it would have been more susceptible to wrinkling.

These woodplate impressions span the entirety of the book and are specifically notable in the printing house’s emblem and the elaborate initials. These initials, some of which display children and beasts, appeared at the beginning of most works, and even in the Index.

Clearly, the creators were not pinching pennies by minimizing text. This was also seen in the vast amount of blank space occupying the work and the wide margins. Except, this act was intentional. As stated before, Ptolemy’s work was studied for centuries, which gives this work an intellectual meaning. All blank space could then be interpreted as room for marginalia, which served its purpose.

This book was littered with annotations such as highlighted sections, added notes, and even crossed-out sections. Taking the title into account, it’s important to distinguish whether the notes came from Erasmus or a potential second hand. Unfortunately, this task wasn’t easy, yet it spoke of the intellectual nature of the book, designed for interaction and annotation. 

The printed words were primarily black in Latin, with the occasional Greek, in line with Ptolemy’s origins. The font was Roman, differing in size from heading to body text. Aside from the fact that I can’t speak Latin, the legibility was clear, yet the body text was slightly tight and bloodied from the ink. 

The printers included an interesting design on one page of text that I first described as an upside-down triangle. Google helped me reword this description into centered, tapering text. This style was quite new at the time and displayed the expansion of aesthetics, while also serving as more room for marginalia.

All of the works composing this book were detailed in the index, notably the Almagest and annotations on it, though it’s important to consider the imagery as well. Woodcut designs appeared mainly in the form of diagrams and models of Ptolemy’s work. Most notably, a large double-page woodcut was bound between folios, displaying a constellation map. The print was folded irregularly towards the gutter and has tape supporting what must have been a recent tear. This too-interesting topic of the imagery then finally leads to the second section. 

Part II

As a collection of some of the most famous and influential scientific texts, CLAVDII

PTOLEMAEI PE lufienfis Alexandrini… detailed theories on the Earth and universe that defined human thought for centuries. Woodcut designs help relate the information, displaying an intimate focus on both aesthetics and intellect. Boasting above all the designs, the irregularly folded constellation map serves as the most unique feature of this book. 

Printed in Petri’s Basel workshop with the help of Erasmus, the map, among other images, visually relates Ptolemy’s theory on the geocentric universe. In an age before Copernicus disproved the Earth as being the center of everything, these images shed light on how knowledge and belief systems intertwined to come up with universal conclusions. 

Based on the extraordinary printing of the image and the later taping repairs, the Ptolemy models are representative of the importance of history in finding new conclusions. Though at the same time, for the very reason of their importance, the question is asked: Do these models hold up today? 

First, it’s necessary to go back to the description. Labeled as “Imagines Constellationum Borealium,” translated to “Images of the Northern Constellations, (Google)” the large double-page woodcut makes the northern celestial hemisphere the heart of the collection. This is both metaphorical and literal when considering that the image is in the near middle of the book. 

The star chart displays the region of stars and their locations according to Earth, with each constellation named in Latin. In our San Diego State University copy, the fold bisects, creating a dark aging or usage mark around what appears to be twins–the cancer zodiac sign. The twins are just one of the examples of zodiac figures recognizable today. 

Whether through the crab, the bull, or the scorpion, it goes to show how this work from ages ago remains and dominates our culture today. The printers even go so far as to include an index for the zodiac signs, as seen in the photo below.

 Back to referencing the constellations, black ink in the label appears to have faded, though the overall impressions look well-kept and unharmed. This preserves the geometry of the work, which was not affected by the apparent tear covered by tape close to the gutter. Despite its flaws, and maybe considering them as well, this piece is beautiful beyond belief. The aesthetics indicate how visual art and writing coincided, and how imaginative the brains were, not just in creating this, but inspiring it. It is fair to say this was an idealization of the sky, but a preferable one at that. 

As seen in the photo above, in their sky, rather than the Earth orbiting the sun, the reverse occurred. Needless to say, this claim has since been discredited.

This idealization made the claim of Earth being fixed and the sky, or heavens, revolving. I note the word heavens as some figures take the form of angels, and also because belief systems at the time saw the heavens as a physical place rather than metaphysical, as is common today. It would only make sense to paint the physical sky with beauty, then, in effect, reflecting the beauty they believed to be heaven (The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica). 

Within the geometry on the page, the predicted motion of stars and planets may be observed. One large problem appears when considering the idea of retrograde motion. While Ptolemy accounted for this, he predicted planets’ irregular movements as a result of epicycles, not full orbits. These epicycles, although mathematically regarded, were far off and did not correctly explain retrograde motion as later years would (The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica).

Except that, at the time of publication, these theories were already disproven. First printed in 1543, De revolutionibus orbium coelestium, or On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres, relayed the heliocentric theory of the astronomer Nicolaus Copernicus (Wikipedia Contributors, “De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium”). This theory completely disproved Ptolemy’s geocentric model of the universe, and yet, the printers under Petri’s jurisdiction chose to move forward anyway. This then gives reason to the numerous annotations spanning throughout the work, and disregards some of its intellectual value.

Now, half a millennium later, the image “Imagines Constellationum Borealium” serves as both an artifact and an idea. As the stars have not faded, so too have the bright minds influencing our modern day not faded. Without Ptolemy’s work, there could very well be no Copernicus. And without the countless others assisting in refining what we understand as truth, we could still believe in the Geocentric model.

Under it all, a metaphor exists in the need to visualize order in the unknown. The symbols and characters in the sky represent beauty that was believed to be there, all for the good of the people. To modern eyes, the chart’s centered Earth may feel ignorant, even naïve, yet its beauty invites respect. To put that much thought into something constitutes true belief, which, now with an abundance of truth, is sometimes lacking.

Going deeper into the details, the tapeworm on the constellation map could signify a human attempt to preserve the fleeting beliefs. To adapt to new knowledge is one thing, but to drop your belief system is another. Even if Copernicus’s new model disproved the geocentric one, it could not put to rest an inherently metaphysical belief of many.

Today, many people address the Zodiac signs with the same regard as then. While Ptolemy probably didn’t predict these formations to be used as character traits and relationship compatibility, he did lay the groundwork for these developments. So, in asking again how the book’s works hold up today, disregarding the clear discrepancies from modern science, I would answer pretty well.

Within the elaborate geometry, Ptolemy and the printers remind us not of the importance of answers, but of the quest. By applying their belief systems and knowledge, we’re also able to understand why the answers were found in the first place.

And as we unfold the pages, continuing our search for the truth, we’re reminded of the countless others who have done the same. And while the truth may have been the external goal, it’s only in finding the fingerprints of others that we join our one, unified goal.

Works Cited

“Etherington & Roberts. Dictionary–Yapp Style.” Culturalheritage.org, 2025, cool.culturalheritage.org/don/dt/dt3832.html. Accessed 30 Oct. 2025.

Kingsley, Nick. “(263) Aytoun of Inchdairnie House.” Blogspot.com, 30 Oct. 2025, landedfamilies.blogspot.com/2017/05/263-aytoun-of-inchdairnie-house.html. Accessed 30 Oct. 2025.

“PAL: Basel, Henricus Petri, 1551.” Badw.de, 26 July 2025, ptolemaeus.badw.de/print/google.com. Accessed 30 Oct. 2025.

The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica. “Geocentric Model.” Encyclopædia Britannica, 2019, www.britannica.com/science/geocentric-model.

“Thongs | Language of Bindings.” Ed.ac.uk, 4 Aug. 2021, lob.is.ed.ac.uk/index.php/concept/3069. Accessed 30 Oct. 2025.

Wikipedia Contributors. “De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 25 Mar. 2019, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/De_revolutionibus_orbium_coelestium.

—. “Erasmus Oswald Schreckenfuchs.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 7 Dec. 2024, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erasmus_Oswald_Schreckenfuchs.

—. “Heinrich Petri.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 7 Sept. 2025, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heinrich_Petri.

Book or Game

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Being woken up early in the morning, with pajamas trailing past my toes, and hands eager to rip through presents wrapped neatly under the Christmas tree, little did I know I would be unboxing a book. While this “book” took the material form of a Nintendo Wii, the medium adhered to the aspects of books we recognize today. Taking thoughts from Scott Rettberg’s “Electronic Literature,” and personal anecdotes involving my gaming/reading history, the book will be compared to the console, displaying that both mediums carry a similar purpose. 

Since I first got a Wii, if I had known I’d be able to excuse my screentime as reading time, I would be in a much different position than I am now. To back this statement, I draw a quotation from Rettberg’s work stating, “According to Bolter and Joyce, ‘all electronic literature takes the form of a game, a contest between author and reader.’” While they don’t outright state that Lego Indiana Jones is a form of electronic literature, the interaction between author and reader remains similar. A story is presented, then contested by the reader through their action of playing, and eventually leads to new thoughts or ideas emerging, such as the author’s intake of critical reviews or me saying, “Dad, can you please get me Lego Indiana Jones 2?” 

This idea of a collaborative narrative, which relates to most games, is explored as one of the examples of electronic literature that Rettberg presents. In the description of the lengthy examples, Rettberg notes the list could be endless, and specifically cites that as the point of the list–to be endless. So, the question of if a game is a form of electronic literature becomes obvious, ensured by the limitless possibilities. Instead, as Rettberg notes, the question becomes, “How precisely do computer art installations ask viewers to read them?’” 

In the case of the intermedia example, Lego Indiana Jones, it then relies on the author’s intention. Did the developers directly ask people to treat it as such–a story told through a game, or was it just a “mere game,” which is the risk of many intermedia examples? I don’t have a direct answer for that, though I do believe it relies on another factor–the reader’s perception. 

At that age, did I understand I was reading in a visual format, or did I just see it as gaming? Though even if I didn’t understand that, am I still a reader, or simply a gamer? As the lines have blurred, and will continue to blur, I believe it shows how intermedia redefines our idea of “reading” and our conception of what is book material. Sure, I was just playing a game, but at its core I was engaging with a long line of authors producing material to be read. With that said, maybe my brother reads more than I.

Readership’s Evolution

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For many centuries, authors of centuries ago were tasked to write with two objects: the stylus and the document. Though before even writing, the author knew the work was constrained by whichever document or medium they chose. In ancient Greece, that document could be wax or papyrus. In ancient Egypt, it could also be papyrus. This is to say, the setting and time largely determine the capabilities of the document, as well as the reproducibility and interactivity. In the midst of our digital era, the document has transformed, allowing the largest breadth of capabilities known to humankind. In doing so, our readership has been changed, though not forgotten.
The days are mostly gone when people begin writing manuscripts by hand. Whether it’s a public desktop at the library or a personally owned laptop, most writing relies on digital products. This is espoused by a study from CNET showing that over 50% of adults get their work done via laptop. So, already, the game has changed. Instead of digitizing older texts, the new norm is to make digital products physical.
With this change, authors are able to open endless doors of possibilities. Like artists’ books, authors use their medium to their advantage, for example, the novella Pry with its acclaimed cinematic experience. And while it may diverge in qualities from the typical books we’re taught in school, it is a prime example of the capabilities of electronic literature. Further, it touches on the line from Borsuk relating, “the extent to which any book is a negotiation, a performance, a dynamic event, that happens in the moment and is never the same twice.”
As claimed by Borsuk, reading indeed takes the form of a negotiation, rather than a one-person operation. Though with the modification of the medium, has reading changed, or rather, been stripped of its essence? While this seems to be a subjectively answered question, take one example, of books measuring length in “read time.” Rather than judging by the words on the page, the reader is judging by minutes left, which, previously to now, was an unknown factor. Now, with the adoption of audiobooks online, students may judge their workload on how fast they can sit through a YouTube video at 2x speed, rather than the amount of words on the page. In that regard, gone is the aspect of leisure in reading, and in is the time-crunching factor of stress.
Readership may be changed, though a book will always require a reader. Whatever form that may take in the coming years is sure to be different, as comparison continues to show, and the difference is determined by the medium.

Surrealism in Short

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A child looks up to the sky and makes out an elephant, a piece of cheese, or an animated character from a popular cartoon–all within the clouds. That same child, grown up, may now see new configurations, or they may very well search for those same images above their heads. When looking at clouds, the surrealist attempts to embody the youthful mind in search of nothing specific, but rather any and every thought that crosses their mind. Drawing from Bonnie Mak’s “How the Page Matters” and Phillip Megg’s “History of Graphic Design” section on Surrealism, our worldviews are encouraged to be ever-changing, rather than stagnantly adhering to tradition.
As cloud-sighting is yet to follow a traditional norm, the same cannot be said for writing. Mak weighs in on this, saying, “From a young age, we are trained to believe that the boundaries of the interface are always identical to the edges of the material platform of the page. (Mak)” In a modern example, it could be seen as the default margins for Google Docs I’m typing through now. I have this much space; therefore, I must use it, and so I do. Most people follow suit, though to the surrealist, the page is no longer a constraint, but a feeding ground. With this movement, “Intuition and feeling could be freed, (Megg)” and the question turns from “what do I want to fill this page?” into simply “what do I want?”
Though asking “what do I want?” is not always the question when considering stream-of-consciousness or automatism writing. Allowing subjectivity opens the mind to past associations, such as the elephant or the piece of cheese. To change your mind requires a dissolution of previous thoughts, traditions, or beliefs. Only then will the cloud acquire a completely new meaning–one you may have never known possible.
But why is this important? Why is a new cloud configuration important to us as humans? The answer lies in what the surrealists seek–an uninhibited truth. For example, books without blank space existed until someone stepped back from the tradition of pinching pennies and left a bunch of blank space. In turn, this opened the door to a multitude of benefits, whether room for marginalia or easier, faster reading, as noted by Mak.
It’s important to note that the example I’m labeling surrealism existed years before the term was coined. Intuition has existed since the dawn of time, and the times human draw their focus to it may all be called surrealist. So, sure, you may see an elephant in the clouds because you have before, but what does your gut see?

The Artist’s Book

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As I begin each introduction, I must rewrite and rephrase about thirty different ideas spiraling in my mind, knowing that whichever sentence I end with, that’s the one. As far as this post goes, my voice exists no farther than the words on the screen. I can’t illustrate anything, speak it a certain way, nor can I even pick my font. Then, upon reading about William Blake in Borsuk’s chapter 3 of The Book, I realized how much ownership of my work I’ve given over. Going over chapter 3 and a work by Doug Beube, I pose the question: how much of a book is really our’s?

The first line that caught my attention from Borsuk told of artists “who saw the book as a means of circumventing the power system of the art world. (69)” This implies the artists are not in power already, which I personally have come by with publishers pitching unreasonable prices for their services. This idea extends so far that a term had to be invented, called an “artist’s book,” implying that the book was not already the artist’s.

One dedicated man, William Blake, found a way to circumvent the power system. While it’s noted that Blake created his printing method partly for financial reasons, it’s also important to account for his societal and political motives. Against child labor, urban squalor, and slavery, refusing to use print shops was an act of defiance just as much as a stylistic choice. In fact, his style is his defiance. We know this work is Blake’s because it represented his ideas. 

Borsuk states his work, “brought the hand back into the book. (73)” So, I wondered, is my hand missing? Rather, is my hand essential? Answers may vary, so too as times change the answer, but looking at the portfolio of Doug Beube, I understand the artist’s book may take any form, so long as the artist deems it so. This is further illustrated by the long list of book forms Borsuk includes, like Craig Dworkin’s work. While a part of me may idolize the craftsmanship put into a book, I believe the book only takes form when it truly represents you. If that comes in the form of novels written on a chalkboard or in the form of handcuffs, so be it. At the end of the day, it’s called the “artist’s book” for a reason.

You Are What You Read

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Within the grasp of our fingertips, an entire civilization unfolds, a lineage is traced back hundreds of years, and the power exists to alter our physical perception of anyone, including ourselves. This is the digital age, and to understand why this is feasible, or specifically why we’d desire such content so close, we may look at the Middle Ages and the concept of Girdle Books. Through that moment in history, among many others sharing the need for information at hand, it is revealed that codices and electronic devices are extensions of the human.

Our knowledge both expands and limits our freedom of expression. This concept seems simple enough, as a student undergoing med school may read a plethora of medical textbooks, allowing them to go on and on about whatever subject they wish, so long as it is medically related. Though in this performance, the student may be limited in their articulation of sheetrock repair or any other area they disregarded in place of studying medicine. In our day and age, with the excess of information, this isn’t as common an issue, though applying it to the Middle Ages is drastically different. 

With no internet and the time being before the Gutenberg press, Girdle Books largely determined one’s area of interest or expertise. An important choice of diction from Chapter 2 of The Book furthers this claim when looking at this sentence describing Girdle Books as “an oversized soft leather cover whose flaps could be looped under one’s belt for easy consultation on the go.” Notice how Borsuk chose the word consultation, rather than enjoyment, reading, or any other word for examining a book. This is because the owners were largely monks, professionals, and individuals who possessed relevant knowledge they could then apply to whatever circumstance. Of course, there were the select wealthy individuals who held knowledge with no “real” reason for it, but even then, the reason may be to gloat about their expanse of knowledge, useful or not.

With our accessible knowledge continuously expanding, there may be a point of collective knowing. This is speculative, of course, but I think all fun things are. As cellphones are the new girdle books, already multiplying our information at hand by an absurd amount, I am curious what technology will take the place of cellphones. Is imagining a society that collectively is tapped into an all-knowing AI that far off? Value could lie in the undigitized creations of mankind or the critical thought aspect. But honestly, is it unreasonable to imagine a doctor who’s programmed with all the knowledge necessary to achieve excellence in his division? Or is a human being just in the way at that point in the future? And lastly, off my main point, could all-knowing humans even be unique at that point? I pose this to the aether, and to any future person able to answer this question one day, until it’s finally true.

Why So Blue?

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Everything is conceived through a lens. Whether a stance on sharks, a critique of Hemingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea,” or even a take on the ideal trajectory of casting a fishing rod, everything is thought about through one’s perspective. During the discussion with Professor Steve Mentz concerning Blue Humanities, one question popped into my head: Why so blue, Dr. Mentz?


Talking about oceans may be easy enough, though immersing yourself in the language alters perspectives. We already see some oceanic language appear regularly in our everyday life. For example, as Mentz suggested, humans “surf” the web, or data “flows.” Opening our eyes to the diction reveals details we may often overlook. In this effect, these small changes to wording subliminally hint at our passions or interests. This could be seen in replacing “field of thought” with “current of thought.” These were just a couple of examples discussed during the conversation, though Mentz’s vocabulary seemed filled with ocean innuendos.


Mentz also discussed Freud’s ideas on the dissolution of the individual human experience, which was frankly a bit confusing for me. In my take, there could be a hundred ways in which people talk about navigating the web, each differing slightly from their perspective, though if humans converged their vocabulary, it could make everyone a bit more similar. This is happening with the amount of blue vocabulary that’s commonplace across societies. It also speaks on the people who choose to use oceanic diction, suggesting they have more in common than they’d believe.


These nods to blue humanities in our everyday language suggest the vast influence of the topic in our daily lives. “Surfing” the web may be common, though understanding why it’s even said is important. Citing the discussion, it turns out that undersea cables assisting in global communication are commonplace in the ocean. So when that phrase is said, it can be taken in a literal sense. Through this perspective, surfing the web implies how humans may physically surf over infrastructure supporting the World Wide Web, possibly ignorant of this fact-unlike Dr. Mentz.


All of these points reveal Mentz to be a man truly engrossed in his work. Through his speech, knowledge, and perspective, he physically embodies bodies of water. The why is clear—he loves and lives out blue humanities, though a deeper why remains: why specifically blue, as opposed to green, digital, or others? For that question, I’ll play it easy and assume he was secretly raised by a pack of dolphins.

Why Click on This?

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If I were to count on my fingers how many times I’ve accepted a terms & conditions agreement with zero knowledge of what that actually implies, I’d have to be an octopus. Well, maybe you can’t call suckers fingers, which would also mean tentacles aren’t arms, but is that really relevant? Was anything in that introduction of value? I’d bet, and with regard to Michelle Levy and Tom Mole’s “Introduction” from The Broadview Introduction to Book History, only a couple of those words were retained by you, the reader. In this effect (if it worked), an element of “hyperreading” is displayed which prompts the question: Why do we value the information we retain?

Readers pick and choose largely on the degree of difficulty or enjoyment they find in the writing. I mention these two together because oftentimes, they coincide. In 2018, A study using PISA found across nearly half a million 15-year-olds, “higher reading enjoyment reduces the perceived difficulty (cognitive load) of a task, which in turn improves reading achievement.” As I had prematurely assumed, a book’s readability is not lowered by a dislike of difficulty, but a preference for something more understandable. There appears to be a sweet spot of challenge and joy. For example, if I were learning Spanish, or anything really, it would be preferable to read in relation to my skill set. But that much is clear: there’s a reason I’m not enrolled in a Spanish level 500 class.

This first sentence is a big claim preceding lines of evidence and reasoning supporting said claim. The second sentence’s relevance always tends to fall in the shadow of the first’s. This is somewhat understood, and probably plays into the primary effect, which is the idea that beginnings make a more vivid and substantial impression in our mind, rather than beginnings or ends. I looked into this while investigating the “F pattern” scanning method mentioned in the text. Though it’s also understood through conditioning. In education, we’re taught the CER method. And in practicing hyperreading, why read further if the claim doesn’t intrigue you?

There is an influence from the writer on the information retained, not solely the reader. This can come in many forms, like I mentioned first, a lengthy terms & agreements section that you “scroll through” meanwhile you’re just trying to play Subway Surfers. Though I made the connection in the very sentence detailing it in the introduction. It goes, “This kind of reading seems qualitatively different from what has been described as ‘hyperreading…’ all ways in which we might read a newspaper, magazine, or website (Hayles, Broadview Reader in Book History [hereafter BRBH] 491-510.” As I’m sure you just did, I skimmed over the citation without a second thought. Even if I was intensively reading beforehand, my mind made an unconscious switch, which I believe was intentional by the author. This showcase is more explicit than sneaky tactics lurking in our media today, though it’s a clear example.

Most of what I’ve said is probably adrift from you by now. Whether you haphazardly scanned it, deemed you already knew it, or flat-out disliked it, most will fade away into your endless pile of information overload. Though maybe, for some odd reason, with nothing to do with anything I’m saying, you’ll remember an octopus.

Is it Useless?

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The Library of Babel

Spanning the entirety of Jorge Luis Borges, “The Library of Babel,” each word seems to fit as though a dozen eyes meticulously swept through the text, line by line. Though during and after my reading, the inclusion of one peculiar word has piqued a curiosity never before known to me. As a result, the revelation is made through Borges’s short story that anything conceivable may be deemed useless due to its reliance on conception. 

Now that sounds like a lot of lengthy bullshit words jammed next to each other, but I believe (and that’s what’s important) that in Borges’ subtleties, this claim could withstand. 

The peculiar word “useless” is used five times throughout Borges’s story. Four stand in the text, with one as a footnote, though not all usages stood out to me at first. The difference relies on the understanding of what use implies, and specifically to whom. 

Due to ignorance and possibly human nature, I assumed the word implied specifically to humans. Looking up the definition of useful and seeing “able to be used for a practical purpose or in several ways.” I was surprised, though not all too convinced. Sure, a bee is deemed useful for a flower, and vice versa, but is this not told through the lens of a human? I pose the question to the class, as I’m genuinely curious, is anything objectively useful to something other than us, not because it betters our human circumstances or experience in this world, but because it just is. 

Though that is ultimately the point. Everything we know is seen through our lens. And in four of Borges’s usages of the word, they are used in relation to humans, besides one. When speaking of humanity’s eventual collapse, Borges says, “the Library will endure: illuminated, solitary, infinite, perfectly motionless, equipped with precious volumes, useless, incorruptible, secret.” Though infinite, incorruptible, and precious, it serves nothing without someone able to conceive it. Without active engagement, is there any meaning behind any of these words–even a book of “ultimate truth” or one with “Godly wisdom?” Do humans really live that shallow of life, stuck in our own thoughts and ways, unable to tap into any other desire but our own? And really, what it’s asking is: what exactly is useful in the world external to our realities? Frankly, I don’t think we’ll ever know, or we can, but then again… why’s that useful to me?