Your E-reader is Reading You (and the Implications for Literature)

Books may have been thought to be dangerous in the past, but it was a matter of having your mom find the steamy novel under your bed, or having to read subversive titles in secret. The reader was still in charge, and the book was an object, even if that object was a symbol of something else .Now, we learn, our e-readers are anything but passive objects. Like the eye behind a hidden two-way mirror, they're looking back at us, and passing along what they learn to a higher authority. (Imagine if Lady Chatterly's Lover or Das Kapital had been able to do that?) But, in true 21st -century form, political and moral snooping are taking a back seat to the real payoff: how to maximize profits.

An article in the Guardian, "Big E-reader is Watching You," tells the details of the types of information being collected:

"With digital content we have the ability all of a sudden to glean new insights into our customers," says Todd Humphrey, Kobo's executive vice president of business development. "How often do they pick up and engage with a book? What's the average time when they start to read? How many pages do they read an hour? How long does it take to read a book? And through bookmarking, people tell us where they stop. If we were to dive into that reader space, we could see they picked up a book, read the first five pages in five hours, then never picked up and engaged with the book again. What does that say, if 90% of readers stop after chapter five? It certainly provides insight for the publisher and the author."

Yes, no doubt it does. And that's what I find the scariest of all, because of its implications not just for book publishing in general, but for literature. We live in a society where budgets are increasingly determined through quantitative, not qualitative, measures. Teachers are judged by their students' scores on standardized tests; even university courses sink or swim on the bottom line: how much income they generate for the institution. The resources available for artistic endeavors of all types are dwindling, along with the energy of those who are willing to champion excellent work which may appeal to a small market.

But if that's not bad enough, now, for the first time, we have the spectre of quantitative information being used by publishers to influence not only what is written, but how it's written. In genre fiction, perhaps, this isn't so outlandish as it sounds. Here's British fantasy/sci-fi writer China Mieville:

"I hope it wouldn't change how I wrote, but conversely I do wonder if getting specifically worked up about this is simply a kind of neophobia, because if it did change how you wrote, wouldn't it just be a new variant of what authors have done for centuries, which is writing to a market?" he says. "In other words, that writing to algorithm, while I'm certainly no fan, is just writing to what one believes readers want – no more or less infra dig than writing in response to demands from the marketing department, or in response to one's analysis on perusing the bestseller list, or trying to second-guess what makes a best seller. A bit more micro-level in its analysis, but not qualitatively 'worse' or 'better'."
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Reader privacy is another major issue. And while e-book manufacturers like Kobo say they will only use and pass along (read: sell) information to publishers that has been aggregated -- not individual statistics - do you really want your e-book reading habits used in this way? Or has social media altered our view of privacy so much that we can accept that even reading a book is no longer a private act?

"If they don't bookmark, and they're not online when they're reading, and they're not taking notes, we're not going to glean much information except for the purchase itself," Humphrey says.

But, he readily admits, they want more. The knowledge of where people stop reading, or how particular books are read, "could eventually affect what's published."

"You can understand what books are selling, where in the world, how fast people are reading them, how long it takes them to finish, where they accelerate or decelerate through a book – all of that at the end provides the publisher with pretty interesting insights to work with the author, on the style of the book and the story, and from a publishing perspective how to market based on where it is selling. At the end of the day, it does allow publishers more information than they would have if they just put the book on a shelf," he says. "It is going to be interesting to watch how it evolves over time. It is more power to the people who are essentially telling publishers and authors what it is they want to read."

Books as reader-driven commodity? We're already almost there. So what's the implication for literature? I predict that here, as in all the arts, a small sub-group of writers and publishers will emerge, largely separate from what's going on in the big-business side of publishing, and continue to create and make available works of enduring quality, for a smaller group of readers. But to preserve that level of care for the written word in human culture will take a level of selflessness, ingenuity, and determination we've only seen before when culture is threatened by totalitarianism, war, or extreme poverty.

In the long run, I fervently hope that Darwinian capitalism will run its course and that a more benevolent and humane world society will emerge. That long run may be very long indeed, and if human society does indeed survive, the process is going to be ugly, threatening, and at times truly dangerous to our bodies and particularly to our spirits.

Books have always been a symbol of human freedom. What we do with them is always significant. Are we prepared for the next phase in our relationship, and for what it's going to take to preserve not only the very best writing, but those who write it?

(This article is cross-posted to the Phoenicia Publishing blog.)

Comments

[Lorenzo da Ponte]

I suppose it's merely an extension of Amazon's predictive sales offers: "Your last purchase was Moby Dick; you may be interested in How to Maintain a Home Aquarium".

There's an irony here. These new techniques touch on a darker or - let's say - less commendable side of my character. Not all conversations about books include allusions to Joyce and Proust, but the ones I'm involved in do. I can't pretend I'm above letting people I've read both. And if that doesn't impress, I'm fully inclined to add "Several times." In fact I'm doing it now, to which charge I would stonily reply Carpe Diem.

Given a system that does my self-aggrandisement for me I can only clap my hands. However this system is not discriminatory. I wouldn't be too worried having the fact that I'd read Das Kapital and Lady Chat shouted into cyberspace. Less so that I re-read Ed McBain paperbacks in the bath.

I appreciate your concerns about the implications of this new system and they admirably reflect your seriousness when it comes to the important matter of how publishing may be affected in the future. But let me offer you the future comforts of old age. In my younger days I was au courant with what was new and good. Now with less time on hand and other more pressing matters to occupy me I read less and certainly less of what has appeared during the past two or three years. However I do from time to time catch up and thus benefit from the fact some works have persistence and some don't. I aso have an intermittent policy regarding classics and now only ready masterpieces: thus if I were suddenly presented with, say, George Eliot I would make sure I read Middlemarch and/or The Mill on the Floss, rather than Romola or Adam Bede. Also I re-read masterpieces.

I realise I stand accused of sitting on the fence when I should be taking a more active stance on behalf of readers as yet unborn. And were there a trend towards pulping older books on the grounds of irrelevance we might well find ourselves sharing the same barrier. But the publishing industry has always had to struggle with the dilemma of putting out good (thought not popular) stuff and making a crust and this I think is simply the most recent manifestation of that problem. But reading can be regarded as a subversive activity and that part of its appeal will continue. So will good books. Enough. Enough

[Anne]

I see that this is another way in which information is gathered by people whose interest is only in making money. But the information in many cases may be quite faulty. If I lend my computer to my son I suddenly start to get ads for on-line dating sites. I get emails from a lawyer about a will and ads appear on my email offering me criminal lawyers. What will the Kindle sleuths make of the fact that I got stuck in the middle of The Eustace Diamonds because I couldn't stand the main character and so picked up a hard-backed copy of John Adams by David McCollough. That's a book of more than 600 pages, so it was a while before I started back on the Kindle, this time to read Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont in a day and a half. It seems to me that this is a jumble of meaningless info.

I don't go to Barnes and Noble any more. I never find much there that interests me. I think that your press is an example proving Loren da Ponte's proposition that good books will last.

[Beth]

Dear Lorenzo, dear Anne: thank you both for commenting, and so thoughtfully. I wrote this post partly because it just bugs the hell out of me when commercial interests masquerade as altruistic - I agree with you, Anne, and think much of the information gathered will be utterly useless. And the constant incursions into our privacy outrage me too, along with society's indifference. But my sadness about the trends in publishing (which is the emotion I think I feel most) has to do with the fact that so much good work goes unpublished now, and so many good authors become hopelessly discouraged. I suppose I occasionally need encouragement myself to keep going at Phoenicia, where I can still only publish a small number of books per year, through my own work and resources. But it's also a more general sadness about what will happen to reading and readers, as well as writers -- and I wonder if the readers, eventually, will even realize it. The internet, however, makes a very rich mix of writing available to all of us, more so than ever before, and this mitigates the problems of the more traditional publishing industry. I do a great deal of my reading online now, and am really grateful for the wealth and breadth of what's there. I'm with you, Anne, about Barnes and Noble. I walk in and walk out, and rarely even go to the chains anymore in person. Here in Canada they seem like they're selling more gifts and home decorating items than books!

[marly youmans]

Well, it is lovely that you do what you do, and that you embody in one person the ability to edit and design.

Most good writers have had to be very strong not to be bent or broken, and I believe that will always be so. It's a strange enterprise, the writing life!

And I think we are already in that place where there's a little world of more serious readers inside a greater one that can depress with too much book-flogging and too much catering to lowest denominators.

[parmanu]

Statistics about software usage is gathered on a regular basis. When you use google mail, google is constantly gathering information about which buttons you clicked, what features you used. Over time, they fine-tune their offering based on this feedback.

Statistics about reading is only another form of this initiative. I am conservative about online privacy - the blog is anonymous, I am on no social network - but I know that my online habits are being constantly monitored by ISPs and browsers (in general) and websites (in particular) and I've come to accept this as a necessary tax I have to pay for spending time online. So if I begin to use an eReader, I suppose I'll accept the usage statistics gathering that happens with my reading too.

The point from Anne about faulty information is not so much of an issue for these "statistics gatherers" if this is averaged over a large segment of readers. A few people abandoning The Eustace Diamonds in the middle does not say much; if a thousand do, then there's something worth thinking about there.

This kind of information will be welcomed by genre writers, yes, but I think literary writers - who also aim for a certain effect upon readers - may also begin to see benefits here. The real problem comes when, as you point out, when publishers begin to take these numbers too seriously and base their choices on a quantitive assessment of the books potential popularity rather than a qualitative assessment of its literary merit.