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INSERT INTO `archive_comments` VALUES (2,27,'CFP: Archive Journal Issue 4 – “Publishing the Archive” | laurie n. taylor','','http://laurientaylor.org/2013/04/11/cfp-archive-journal-issue-4-publishing-the-archive/','72.167.131.224','2013-04-11 22:24:22','2013-04-11 22:24:22','[...] Archive Journal is now accepting project and essay proposals for the “Archives, Remixed” section of its upcoming fourth issue, “Publishing the Archive.” This issue will examine how technological developments—from discrete digitization projects and databases to linked data and APIs for extensible machine-readability—are changing how we produce and publish archives and archival research. [...]',0,'1','','pingback',0,0,NULL,NULL),(3,90,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 16:29:47','2011-03-04 16:29:47','I don\'t have any suggestions to make, but I\'m really drawn to your comment that \"there is direct evidence that some users prefer \'more\' over \'better\' at a ratio of about two-to-one.\" Wow. There\'s a two-to-one preference for more information rather than better information. That\'s a stunning figure.',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(4,90,'Kenneth M. Price','kprice@unlnotes.unl.edu','','129.93.149.23','2011-04-07 19:12:52','2011-04-07 19:12:52','The Whitman Archive strives to get high resolution tiff images from repositories, though we typically present jpeg derivates on the site.  When transcribing tricky manuscripts, the higher quality images are useful to our staff for enlargement. We also use the tiffs for creating much higher quality than usual jpeg images used with our zoomify feature on selected poetry manuscripts. In some cases, we have not been able to obtain sufficiently high quality images to make the zoomify feature worthwhile.\n \nThroughout the site we have gone ahead and posted lower quality images when that is all we can get--perhaps because the only surviving copy of a newspaper is in microfilm form or because a repository is for whatever reason unwilling to provide a high quality image.',0,'1','','',0,7,NULL,NULL),(5,90,'Kenneth M. Price','kprice@unlnotes.unl.edu','','129.93.149.23','2011-04-07 19:24:22','2011-04-07 19:24:22','This paragraph raises many complicated issues, including whether our primary concern should be what most users want (still not known, of course) or our sense of what care is warranted by the material itself.\n \nDifferent users interest in the material is going to affect whether they prefer quantity over quality.\n \nAt the Whitman Archive, we also worry that if we privileged speed of production and quantity of output over the quality of the work, that we could be charged with using public money to produce slipshod work.  The dangers then would be that someone else would need to come along and seek additional public money to redo the work to create reliable texts.  Or, the work would not be redone at all and people would be uncertain whether they could trust anything on the site.',0,'1','','',0,7,NULL,NULL),(6,90,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.113.75.197','2011-04-21 17:54:06','2011-04-21 17:54:06','Erm well, if you don\'t know what users want, why not ask, or collaborate with people who will do so on your behalf? (then again I would say that, since it\'s what I do) Seriously though Mark is right, all my experience suggests that most people tend to want more not better. But then there is of course a conflict in terms of preservation quality and that of markup and editorial standards. Most users also want to know that resources will still be there in a few years when they come back for them as well, which of course relies on high quality data and metadata standards in digitisation. Scholars and archivists tend to want one thing and users the other. There is, however, a difference between raw digital content and edited resources such as this. Users want lots of raw content, but scholarly users expert in a particular area do appreciate the importance of properly edited materials. So here again there is a conflict, potentially between your expert users and those who are making less complex use of the materials. The only way to make informed decisions about how to handle this is of course a user study!',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(7,90,'Mark A. Greene','MGreene@uwyo.edu','','129.72.134.94','2011-04-27 21:32:31','2011-04-27 21:32:31','I just want to suggest that it\'s not as clear cut as scholars prefering detail and other users prefering breadth.  When we asked 600 users from verious H-Net and other lists whether they prefered fewer but more detailed finding aids or a greater number of less detailed finding aids, those prefering the latter were 2 to 1 over the former.  The respondent pool had its largest single group, approximately 1/3 of the total, identify as college or university faculty members. The second highest group was \"other,\" unfortunately; the third highest group was graduate students (about a quarter of respondents).  We haven\'t yet done the necessary regressions to be certain that faculty favor breadth over depth in this instance, but given their preponderance in the pool it would be very surprising if such were not the case.',0,'1','','',0,4,NULL,NULL),(8,104,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 16:26:34','2011-03-04 16:26:34','This is a really smart essay that raises some fascinating points. What I find most intriguing is the way that you present pragmatic questions--such as, how does one fund these projects?--as being intimately connected to more philosophical questions, such as, whose material deserves to be archived and why?\nYour comments in this essay about how we determine who we do (and don\'t archive) made me think back to one of your earlier responses to the roundtable questions where you suggest that the Whitman Archive be more transparent (and provide more current data) about how many people are actually using the site. How might this data about who is using these sites help to address the question you raise about \"whether one historical figure is more \'deserving\' of such a site than another\"? I don\'t want to suggest that archivists base their decisions on site traffic alone (which would, in effect, turn digital archives into a twisted version of scholarly \"American Idol\"); rather, I think what I\'m saying is that this data needs to be on the table as these decisions are made and these issues are debated.',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(9,104,'Evan McGonagill','evan.mcgonagill@gmail.com','','24.45.15.154','2011-04-03 01:26:12','2011-04-03 01:26:12','I definitely agree with you (and Edward) that these issues need to be directly addressed by scholars. An essential part of justifying the costs of digital tools and resources will probably be how they fit into a greater scheme or strategy for serving researchers and the public, which will require us to ask difficult questions. Should we determine what gets archived based on scarcity of existing archives (filling a gap), availability of material for archiving (opportunity), or demand from researchers? Should we bias resource expenditure towards more \"popular\" topics, leaving others underdeveloped? The role of funding is important from another angle as wel: if a topic is more likely to attract financially well-backed researchers and sponsors, it is probably more likely to be worked on than one that has a dubious audience or one with less financial clout. What role should we let money play in these decisions?',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(10,104,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.113.75.197','2011-04-22 13:41:46','2011-04-22 13:41:46','Indeed, an issue that we raised in the LAIRAH report was related to Evan\'s comment here. How do we decide what gets funded: things that have broad or deep usage? Thus do we allow an informal canon to develop and fund things that have a lot of usage, say on Shakespeare, WWI, Civil Rights etc because these are the subjects that lots of people are interested in and study at school and university? Or do we fund a resource that might have many fewer users who are expert, and who depend on this for their research, and may indeed make deeper and more complex use of it? Perhaps the Whitman Archive is the ideal mid point: it presents resources that are usable by a broad community, but are also important for expert scholarship. I think in future we need to think a great deal more about these issues. Indeed as a result of our work people applying for money from funding bodies for the humanities and cultural heritage are now increasingly asked to discuss possible types and levels of use in their case for support. But I still don\'t think we have solved the broad vs deep issue.',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(11,83,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 16:10:30','2011-03-04 16:10:30','Cohen\'s recent essay in Earhart and Jewell, <em>The American Literature Scholar in the Digital Age</em> extends the arguments he makes in \"Transgenic Deformation.\" It\'s worth looking at, if for nothing else than to include as a footnote.',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(12,88,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 16:34:03','2011-03-04 16:34:03','I want to make sure I understand where this concern over site use data is coming from. Is your point that \"expensive\" sites like The Whitman Archive--expensive to its creators, not its users--need to justify their cost by foregrounding how much use they are getting. In your footnote, you quote Dooley and Luce, \"Does the level of onsite use of special collections justify the  resources being expended? What are the most appropriate measures by  which to evaluate use?” which leads me to believe that this, indeed, is your point. It\'s not entirely clear to me, though, that this is your point from the text of paragraph 3 itself.',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(13,88,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 16:41:05','2011-03-04 16:41:05','I\'d like you to expand on this point a little more. Is the point you\'re making that sites like The Whitman Archive have no claim to copyright? That they shouldn\'t expect users to properly credit the Archive when they use it to cite a bit of Whitman\'s poetry that they found there? I\'d like to see a distinction between (or a clarification of) the <em>legal</em> claim that a site like The Whitman Archive has to copyright its intellectual labor and the <em>ethical</em> claim that the Archive has to ask users to be honest in their scholarship, for example, that when they\'re citing a passage from the 1855 <em>Leaves of Grass</em> it\'s because they read the Folsom and Price electronic edition rather than the actual edition in a library\'s special collections. Does that make sense? I\'ve always read the \"Conditions of Use\" page on The Whitman Archive as a request for ethical citation practices rather than as a legal claim to copyright, but that\'s probably because I\'m not well versed in copyright law. Either way, I think there\'s a distinction to be drawn between the legalities of using the material on the Archive and the ethics of it.',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(14,88,'Mark A. Greene','MGreene@uwyo.edu','','129.72.134.94','2011-03-09 00:23:27','2011-03-09 00:23:27','My concern is solely with the legal parameters of copyright, not with the ethical/moral requirements for accurate source citation, and I apologize for any confusion I\'ve created on that point.  Let me be as clear as possible that researchers have a strict obligation to provide citations to the <em>Archive</em> copy of published or unpublished work, whether in or out of copyright.  Such a citation should, indeed, include not only the \"place\" where the copy was accessed (i.e., the <em>Archive</em>), but also, when applicable, the repository where the physical original resides.  This is little different than the expectations for citing microfilmed copies, though many of today\'s researchers would be too young to have learned those expectations.',0,'1','','',0,4,NULL,NULL),(15,88,'Kenneth M. Price','kprice@unlnotes.unl.edu','','129.93.54.25','2011-03-16 19:31:48','2011-03-16 19:31:48',' \n \nActually the editors of the <em>Whitman Archive </em>don\'t see the copyright issues in the way you have said we do.  Our first frequently asked question in the \"About the <em>Archive</em>\" section is:\n \n<em>&gt;Can I have permission to quote a Whitman poem found on your site?</em>\n&gt;Whitman\'s writings are out of copyright. So, yes, you can quote his words without seeking permission from anyone.\n&gt;Editorial introductions, annotations, the biography, and the criticism found on this site are under copyright. You can certainly quote from these items within the \"fair use\" limits of copyright law. If you wish to make more extensive use of these materials, contact the directors, Ed Folsom &lt;<a href=\"mailto:Ed-Folsom@uiowa.edu\" rel=\"nofollow\">Ed-Folsom@uiowa.edu</a>&gt; or Ken Price &lt;<a href=\"mailto:kprice@unlnotes.unl.edu\" rel=\"nofollow\">kprice@unlnotes.unl.edu</a>&gt;.\nWe are not experts in copyright law, and it is possible that we have articulated our position inadequately elsewhere on the site, in particular in the \"Conditions of Use\" section.  Specific pointers for better language would be welcome.  With regard to images (of, say, poetry manuscripts), we have had to adhere to the wishes of the repositories owning the originals.  Some of them have been quite insistent that in giving us the right to publish an image they are not giving us the right to pass a high resolution image on to other people.\nWith regard to the transcription of Whitman\'s words: we make no claim to copyright on the HTML rendering of Whitman\'s words as displayed on the site.  Underlying the HTML, as you know, is XML, and that XML is a combination of transcription and interpretive markup. We do regard the XML markup as our intellectual labor and claim ownership of it.  Even as we claim the rights to that markup, we distribute it via a Creative Commons license and invite scholars and other interested users to download the markup and change it or improve upon it as they see fit.  They are only required to note the original source of their work.',0,'1','','',0,7,NULL,NULL),(16,88,'Kenneth M. Price','kprice@unlnotes.unl.edu','','129.93.54.25','2011-03-16 19:43:11','2011-03-16 19:43:11',' \n \nThe editors of the <em>Whitman Archive</em> would love to hear you elaborate on the point you are making here.  When we call up site statistics during our annual planning meeting, people are often intrigued by the distribution of users and by spikes in interest at various times.  No one has suggested that we make these site statistics public and perhaps doing so might be regarded as a kind of vanity.  Nonetheless, I can also see why it might be useful for people wanting to study the impact of electronic editions. One of the issues I\'d like to get clarification on is the implication that we have an obligation to provide this information. If so, where does that obligation come from? Do digital projects have an obligation that print publishers do not?  For example, if Yale University Press publishes a book in my field, they don\'t ordinarily let me know if they have readers in Singapore or if they sell 8, 80, or 80,000 copies.',0,'1','','',0,7,NULL,NULL),(17,88,'Mark A. Greene','MGreene@uwyo.edu','','129.72.134.94','2011-03-17 20:04:13','2011-03-17 20:04:13','I’m not sure where to start here.  In part the “obligation” comes from “the editors” own expressed concerns about the sustainability of the site.  If sustainability is a valid concern, then both costs and benefits must be considered.  While the editors of this and other sites might wish to do such considering in private, it seems to me that when a project is sustained by large amounts of public funds—grants and other—there is an obligation to be accountable to the public as well.  As to whether digital projects have an obligation that print publishers don’t, I would suggest that it is in part the unwillingness or inability to confront such questions has more than a little to do with the demise of so many academic presses in the last 20 years—they were economically unsustainable.  Yale’s press is private, and has little obligation to be accountable publicly; I feel differently about U Kansas Press and other publicly funded publishers—if they are selling only 8 copies of some of their books they’re making poor choices in the allocation of public funds.  Yes, I do believe there is an increasing moral obligation to be transparent about the deployment of such funds.  But no, I don’t fully walk the walk either.  My own repository does publish a budget every year, but we do not yet publish our site statistics, partly because the stats produced by our university’s preferred program are not very useful and we have not yet deployed a different program.  We do, however, publish many of our other “production” and “use” statistics—how many collections and cubic feet we process, how many researchers we serve, etc.  Website use is merely one more metric.',0,'1','','',16,4,NULL,NULL),(18,88,'Mark A. Greene','MGreene@uwyo.edu','','129.72.134.94','2011-03-17 20:04:51','2011-03-17 20:04:51','Whether expensive or inexpensive I do believe that repositories, analog or digital, must begin to address cost/benefit questions and make some form of such information transparent to their constituents.  That is, to respond more directly to Ed\'s comment, I do believe archives must begin to \"foreground\" their use and their costs.  ',0,'1','','',12,4,NULL,NULL),(19,88,'Mark A. Greene','MGreene@uwyo.edu','','129.72.134.94','2011-03-17 20:05:40','2011-03-17 20:05:40','Ken, I must apologize for having overlooked the FAQ and stand corrected on that most important point.  Your generosity in placing the XML under a Creative Commons license is something other sites should be encouraged to emulate. --Mark ',0,'1','','',15,4,NULL,NULL),(20,88,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.113.75.197','2011-04-21 17:34:53','2011-04-21 17:34:53','I wouldn\'t say that stats have to be public in the sense of available via the website, but I would say that you should keep stats for traffic for a couple of years if possible. We found when we were doing research on use of DH resources for the LAIRAH project that it could be very hard to get access to log data. So we recommended that projects should keep raw logs if possible, or if not traffic reports, so that if they are requested by researchers they may be studied. I think that this answers the question of being accountable for public funding, without placing too huge a burden on projects themselves.',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(21,107,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 19:02:22','2011-03-04 19:02:22','Provocative comment: \"We take an expansive view of what is relevant \'Whitman\' material.\" Is there a defined threshold point at which the Archive <em>wouldn\'t</em> include something Whitman-related other than the time, energy, and resources required to include it? I\'m thinking of the Disciples section in particular. If this were a comprehensive listing of Whitman\'s disciples, it would be HUGE! Is there a criteria for deciding (1) who counts as a disciple and (2) how much information about that disciple should be included? The Disciples section is a particularly interesting section of the Archive for me, because it potentially challenges the notion of The Author as a limiting strategy for what to include on the Archive: if we acknowledge that Whitman and his disciples had a reciprocal relationship on one another, where do we stop in our collection of resources that define that relationship? I\'m just thinking out loud here. I don\'t have any suggestions or criticisms other than to say that the Disciples section is a really tantalizing space for testing the boundaries of the \"expansive view of what is relevant \'Whitman\' material.\"',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(22,107,'Kenneth M. Price','kprice@unlnotes.unl.edu','','129.93.54.25','2011-03-16 18:58:42','2011-03-16 18:58:42','It is true that the Disciples section could become quite large!  Our criterion for the initial selection of disciples was that all of the first four arguably co-authored with Whitman in one way or another.  So in that way, at least in our initial conception, the Disciples section keeps a link to the author-centered way of conceiving of how to organize information. However, the <em>Whitman Archive</em> explicitly tries NOT to be unduly limited by author-based conceptions of what is relevant, so we include reviews and criticism that no one would claim should go in a traditional \"collected works of [name your favorite author].\"\n \nYou ask a really interesting question about the boundaries of the <em>Archive</em>.  In a sense: are there any? and if so how do you establish them?  The question reminds me of a great remark Henry James made in <em>Roderick Hudson</em>: \"Really, universally, relations stop nowhere, and the exquisite problem of the artist is eternally but to draw, by a geometry of his own, the circle within which thy shall happily <em>appear</em> to do so.\"  Ultimately, no doubt, everything in the world is related to everything else, if we had only the wit or knowledge to understand all the connections.  Weather patterns in Patagonia probably were somehow connected to how Whitman wrote his poetry.  But some things are more clearly and closely connected than others.  So in constructing something like the <em>Whitman Archive</em>, with limited time, money, and staff, it makes sense to work on the most important things first, to establish the most important connections, to fill the known scholarly gaps, and to respond to what we know (not enough) about the interests of our various audiences.',0,'1','','',0,7,NULL,NULL),(23,107,'Evan McGonagill','evan.mcgonagill@gmail.com','','208.105.94.161','2011-04-03 23:13:50','2011-04-03 23:13:50','\"such manuscripts can now be virtually reunited\"--interesting, considering that the web is often interpreted as a site for fragmentation, duplication, dispersion, and the corruption of originals. It\'s cool that, as you show here, the Archive is actually a way to \"reunite\" a physically dispersed whole original.',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(24,107,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.113.75.197','2011-04-21 17:10:45','2011-04-21 17:10:45','Yes, this is now a relatively well known problem that I\'ve discussed myself. It\'s exceedingly frustrating, since no scholar would ever dream of citing let\'s say an original manuscript, if they had only read the printed facsimile edition. Yet for whatever reason these kind of consideration does not apply in the digital world. I think it\'s up to us to train our students to take this seriously.',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(25,109,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 19:05:28','2011-03-04 19:05:28','This is absolutely the right question to be posing: \" As a scholarly site, we must strike the right balance between openness  and scholarly rigor, and a fundamental question for us is how to  encourage participation while insuring that quality control checks  remain in place.\" The Whitman Archive is poised to set up a great model for a Web 2.0 application that is neither crowd sourcing nor a comments section but that takes advantage of the power of both.',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(26,109,'Evan McGonagill','evan.mcgonagill@gmail.com','','208.105.94.161','2011-04-03 23:19:38','2011-04-03 23:19:38','<!--StartFragment-->\nI love the idea of users being able to create their own collections. I think that would really catch on, especially as people come to expect the cloud model of storage more and more: everyone wants a personal repository stored outside of their hard drive. The web is moving in the direction of curation by users, rather than site designers, as evidenced by the emergence of various bookmarking tools, feeds, and even Google docs. This function would also shift the Archive from a repository, a place to go get data before bringing it back to the worktable, to a workbench: a place where people could both gather and work with the information they find; more a site for active exploration. I like it.\n<!--EndFragment-->',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(27,109,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.113.75.197','2011-04-21 17:23:54','2011-04-21 17:23:54','The idea of finding out what he read has of course been employed on a large scale by the Reading Experience Database. I wonder if some kind of collaboration with this project might be fruitful in future. However, your plans for enlisting users in your reserach sound fascinating, and will probably meet with significant enthusiasm, if our experience on Transcribe Bentham is at all typical.',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(28,111,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 19:08:19','2011-03-04 19:08:19','You\'re describing something akin to \"feature creep\" here (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feature_creep). Or maybe \"content creep\" would be a more appropriate term . . .',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(29,111,'Mark A. Greene','MGreene@uwyo.edu','','129.72.134.94','2011-03-18 20:36:07','2011-03-18 20:36:07','<em>Despite the integrated guide’s utility, however, it remains an under-utilized resource. Indeed, one of our challenges has been how to make sure people find the content and tools most useful for their research questions. Perhaps a downside of bringing together so much material in one place is that doing so can inadvertently re-bury material....</em>\n \nThese are insightful comments, yet another indication of the extent to which the <em>Archive</em> editors do a praiseworthy job of self-assessment as the project moves forward.  I would be interested to have Ken expand on what steps have been taken to date “to make sure people find the content and tools” of the <em>Archive</em>.  There are traditional methods, such as submitting news notes or even paid advertisements to relevant academic newsletters and journals; tried-and-true digital steps, such as posting announcements to discussion lists whenever the <em>Archive</em> reaches another milestone; and there are the still somewhat novel Web 2.0 avenues, such as creating a Facebook page, creating a blog, and regular Tweets.  \n \nHow many of these paths, and how often, it makes sense for the <em>Archive</em> to move forward on, is difficult to assess, because time and resources expended in publicizing the project are time and resources not available for developing the site.  Assessment is difficult, too, because of the opacity of the cost/benefit equation—30,000 unique visitors is a lot, but is it anywhere near as many as “should” be visiting, and what do we base “should” on?  A comparison to similar sites?  Research (I’m not sure any exists) on the existing “cost per visit” for websites?  And do some visitors matter more than others?  If so, how do you identify them and weight them?\n \nSuch questions bring me back to my fourth essay. “My plea is that we do start asking, that we do start expecting to define quantitative and qualitative measure of the costs and benefits of such projects and, by extension, of our bricks and mortar archival endeavors as well.”  I believe the <em>Whitman Archive</em> is the most likely project to pursue some of these difficult answers, because it has already demonstrated its willingness to ask the accompanying questions.\n \nOne brief note about <em>a downside of bringing together so much material in one place is that doing so can inadvertently re-bury material</em>—it is an eerie echo of debates within my profession about whether the digital age eliminated the necessity of appraisal/selection.  There were many who argued that with digital material, infinite quantities could be searched infinitely quickly and with (eventually) infinite precision.  Therefore, we should just “keep it all.”  It has not turned out that way, of course, as almost any Google search might make evident; but the concern that even an ultra-focused Archive such as this one can effectively “bury” its growing contents should further weaken remaining claims keyword searches can find anything.\n\n\n',0,'1','','',0,4,NULL,NULL),(30,111,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.113.75.197','2011-04-21 18:00:38','2011-04-21 18:00:38','It really is fascinating to read what Ken has to say about his own work. It is indeed admirably open of you to do this, and must act against the immediate impulse to defend your creation from even the most minor criticism. I think that it will be very valuable for other creators of DH resources both now and in future to be able to read this, and wish more people would write such reflections on their work.',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(31,111,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.113.75.197','2011-04-21 18:03:21','2011-04-21 18:03:21','Indeed. The point about design conventions in print as opposed to digital form is one that is discussed very thoughfully by Christian Vandendorpe in Du Papyrus a l\'Hypertexte of course.',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(32,114,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 19:24:10','2011-03-04 19:24:10','I love these insights about Whitman\'s scribal documents. One of the things I\'ve enjoyed so much about listening to you and Ed Folsom talk and write about your work on the Whitman Archive is that you\'ve discovered so many interesting things in the process of trying to collect material for the site. I\'m thinking of Folsom\'s census of the 1855 <em>Leaves of Grass</em> in particular and your comments about \"Debris\" at the sesquicentennial symposium at TCNJ. For all the talk of digital humanities scholarship creating new knowledge through the development and use of digital tools, you and Folsom have made so many discoveries through the simple act of trying to collect, catalog, and describe everything for the Archive. My sense is that this collecting, cataloging, and describing is a fundamental aspect of digital archiving, even if it doesn\'t <em>feel</em> as digital as, say, a visualization tool. Remediation from print/manuscript to digital involves describing objects in ways we haven\'t had to describe them before, and your efforts to describe these objects (again, I\'m thinking specifically of \"Debris\" here) have produced fascinating insights.',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(33,114,'Mark A. Greene','MGreene@uwyo.edu','','129.72.134.94','2011-03-19 00:19:27','2011-03-19 00:19:27','<em>What seems clear is that the Whitman Archive is one of a group of projects that are demonstrating how the print-based monumental scholarly edition can be reimagined and advanced in the form of an electronic archive.</em>\n \nIt is similarly true, I would posit, that the <em>Whitman Archive</em> is at the forefront of projects that are demonstrating how <em>bricks and mortar archives</em> can be reimagined and perhaps advanced in the form of a digital archive.  It is precisely this difference of perspectives that drew me to participating in <em>Archive:  A Digital Journal</em> in the first place.  Historians, literary scholars, digital humanists, electronic archive editors (who are one or more of the preceding, as well)<em> and</em> archivists viewing the same program or project through our distinct lenses, but then being encouraged to talk amongst ourselves.  It is a long overdue idea, one whose long-term significance will probably not appear immediately, but Lauren Coats and the others responsible for <em>Archive: A Digital Journal</em> should be congratulated on having given such conversations a beginning.\n \nJust how major online “archives” of digital facsimiles built around a single author or event will lead to reconfiguring and reimagining bricks and mortar archives is, I regret to say, beyond my ken at the moment—or perhaps more realistically beyond my ability to give serious and sustained thought to the matter.  But I can limn one possibility, providing, perhaps, sufficient impetus for others to take up study of this matter.  For example, in a 2002 interview Ken Price noted that “Most libraries and other institutions have been supportive and at times quite enthusiastic about our undertaking…. A couple of well-funded private libraries are resistant to having parts of their collections displayed on the web. They are working on a more proprietary and protective model.”<a href=\"#_ftn1\" rel=\"nofollow\">[1]</a>\n \nIndeed, Ken here identifies a significant gulf in the archival world, between those archivists and their repositories who are committed to expanding access to and use of their holdings to the widest possible audience on the one hand and those archivists and repositories who hew to an early 20th century notion of the “moral defence” (it comes from a British writer) of archives encompassing a rigorous gatekeeper role for our profession.  It is the same tradition whence derives vestigial but still enforced policies that only “qualified scholars” be permitted to have access to a particular repository.  Where it intersects the digital 21st century universe, this defensive tradition is adamant about not “losing control” of facsimiles of material in its holdings, regardless of whether the copyright in that material expired decades ago.  \n \nThe practical grounding of such defensiveness is the concern that repositories would otherwise see their on-site visitation gradually drop to zero, since researchers had access to good-quality copies of the material that once made the repository indispensible.  To date statistics suggest just the opposite has been occurring, that the more material is digitized the more on-site statistics increase:  because even when an entire collection is digitized and placed on the web, interested researchers still have (or, likely, have for the first time) reason to visit the repository to take advantage of all the corollary collections that have yet to be scanned.  The “protective” archives are apt to find themselves and their small portions of otherwise digitized collections increasingly ignored by users both on and off line.\n \nThere are, actually, several factors joining to force “proprietary” repositories to re-examine their philosophy and model,<a href=\"#_ftn2\" rel=\"nofollow\">[2]</a> but the existence of projects such as the <em>Whitman Archive</em> is part of that confluence.  And there are other issues that the <em>Archive</em> will force bricks and mortar repositories to re-examine.  One is the tradition of digitizing “gems” and patron requests versus a growing minority of repositories who are turning to digitizing only entire folders and sometimes full series or even entire collections; the <em>Whitman Archive</em> and others like it suggest powerfully that there is a large “market” for organic collections.  Less clear is the impact of digital archives on internal allocation of repository resources—what is more important now, digitizing entire collections or acquiring new ones, creating curriculum units to help students interpret sources, or improving capabilities to serve on-site patrons?  \n \nIf we pay close attention to one another—that is, the on-line archives and the earth-bound repositories—we have some interesting discussions ahead of us.  <em>Archive:  A Digital Journal</em> will give us a venue for those discussions.  I look forward to seeing the journal and the conversations evolve.\n \n\n\n\n\n\n<a href=\"#_ftnref1\" rel=\"nofollow\">[1]</a> See “<a href=\"http://www.whitmanarchive.org/about/history.html\" rel=\"nofollow\">History of the Project</a>,” <em>The Walt Whitman Archive</em>, part of the project’s substantial “About the <em>Archive</em>” section.\n \n\n\n<a href=\"#_ftnref2\" rel=\"nofollow\">[2]</a> See, for example, Mark A. Greene, “Existential Archives: Looking To the Value Propositions of Archives and Special Collections,” paper presented to the joint meeting of the Association of Research Libraries and the Coalition for Networked Information, “An Age of Discovery: Distinctive Collections in the Digital Age, October 2009,” available online at <a href=\"http://www.arl.org/bm~doc/mm09greeneremarks.pdf\" rel=\"nofollow\">http://www.arl.org/bm~doc/mm09greeneremarks.pdf</a>. \n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n',0,'1','','',0,4,NULL,NULL),(34,114,'Evan McGonagill','evan.mcgonagill@gmail.com','','208.105.94.161','2011-04-03 23:07:59','2011-04-03 23:07:59','<!--StartFragment-->\n \nIt seems like one of the biggest challenge in designing a database is wrestling with how to handle the narrowness of metadata: in databases, everything must be categorized to a certain extent: what about the items that are not easily assigned? Does it short-change them to categorize them as one thing or another for the sake of consistency within the system? Is it a disservice to both the document and the user to choose clarity over any intriguingly ambiguous qualities that the document might possess? Is it a failure of the database when the material resists its categorization strategy, or can we look at it differently?\n<!--EndFragment-->',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(35,117,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 17:03:10','2011-03-04 17:03:10','The footnotes you provide about site design and user experience are <em>really</em> helpful.',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(36,117,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 17:06:03','2011-03-04 17:06:03','Good point about the necessary interrelation between digital and physical archives: the goal of the digital archive isn\'t to supplant the physical one, but to work alongside it.',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(37,122,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 17:13:14','2011-03-04 17:13:14','You raise a good point about how the design of the site speaks to what I perceive to be a philosophical dilemma over what to do with the Disciples section of the site. The Archive directors wisely note that Whitman\'s relationship with his disciples (as well as his detractors, influences, etc.) provides an important context for understanding his poetry. Nevertheless, the Disciples section is underdeveloped and, as you note, disconnected from the poetry itself. The trouble with site design here speaks to an uncertainty over what, exactly, to do with Whitman\'s disciples: do they really belong on the site? and if <em>they</em> do, who else belongs on the site as well? and if we\'re including other folks along with Whitman, does that dilute the site\'s focus on Whitman? and would that necessarily be a bad thing to show that Whitman\'s life and career was inextricably connected to a network of other people?',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(38,122,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 17:14:32','2011-03-04 17:14:32','I couldn\'t agree more. I make some similar comments in one of my short essays as well.',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(39,122,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 17:17:05','2011-03-04 17:17:05','Crowd sourcing is where I get a bit more uncomfortable, though. Maybe it\'s just the old-fogey in me, but my inclination is for the Archive to find a way to involve users more without necessarily going to a crowd sourcing model. It seems like there should be a compromise position between crowd sourcing on the one hand, and merely having users email the site editors with suggestions on the other.',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(40,122,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.112.185.169','2011-03-10 08:12:07','2011-03-10 08:12:07','Well yes but crowd sourcing does not have to mean low quality content. Our experience with Bentham suggests that users produce very high quality transcription. It also goes through an editorial process before posting, so it\'s not unmoderated. Perhaps I should have stressed that there needs to be a balance between user input and expert comment or editing to ensure that the content is of good quality.',0,'1','','',39,5,NULL,NULL),(41,122,'Kenneth M. Price','kprice@unlnotes.unl.edu','','129.93.54.25','2011-03-16 20:41:09','2011-03-16 20:41:09','In another response to Ed Whitley, I explained that the Disciples section, as now developed, can be understood from a traditional author-centered viewpoint as featuring what we might call the collaborative Whitman, an aspect of his work all but completely ignored in the New York University Press multi-volume print edition of his works.  If we later extend the Disciples section to other people who had a close relationship with Whitman but didn\'t co-author with him in any sense (Anne Gilchrist to take one example), then we will face questions regarding who to include and why.  If the section expands a great deal, does the religious or semi-religious implication of the term still work as well?\n \nAn equally important issue has been raised about the internal integration of the site.  More can be done as the site develops more fully and we have time to implement what we have envisaged.  The Traubel volumes, for example, could be linked to various Whitman texts mentioned in them.  The correspondence often mentions journalistic pieces, and we can link to them once we have edited them.  The list goes on.....\n \nClaire Warwick suggests that the site be flattened to some degree so that users can get to the content they want with less clicking.  We understand this point.  We have improved this aspect of the site somewhat over the years.  One potential cost of flattening might be to lessen the clarity of the site\'s organization, an aspect of the <em>Whitman Archive</em> that everyone seems to like.',0,'1','','',0,7,NULL,NULL),(42,122,'Kenneth M. Price','kprice@unlnotes.unl.edu','','129.93.148.41','2011-03-16 21:34:22','2011-03-16 21:34:22',' \n \nAlthough there is no evidence of it yet on the site, we have been discussing user-generated content, with an appropriate level of editorial vetting, for a few years now.  We have been slow to move down this avenue not because of any philosophical antagonism or because of technical hurdles but merely because we have been busy meeting grant deadlines.\n \nIt seems likely that our first experiment with user-generated content may involve a database devoted to Whitman\'s reading.  There are book-length studies of Mark Twain and Emily Dickinson\'s reading.  What we imagine is the creation of a simple web form with boxes users could fill in.  They would supply information about what Whitman read, when he read it (if known), the evidence establishing that he read it, and so on.  I imagine that we would set this up so that information wouldn\'t immediately go \"live\" but would be first checked and then ordinarily approved.  Similar databases could potentially be developed to advance knowledge of poems speaking back to Whitman, television programs invoking him, advertisements using his image or words, and so on.  If we pursued the Bentham model, we could perhaps accomplish tasks we couldn\'t imagine completing with our current staff.  Still, setting up the framework to do crowdsourcing properly itself takes time.',0,'1','','',0,7,NULL,NULL),(43,122,'Mark A. Greene','MGreene@uwyo.edu','','129.72.134.94','2011-03-20 21:00:31','2011-03-20 21:00:31','I\'d just like to echo Ken that \"setting up the framework to do crowdsourcing properly itself takes time.\"  At my institution we have been discussing the use of crowdsourcing to create transcripts of oral histories conducted in the 50s and 60s, but everyone is already overworked and unable to set up the templates, figure out to whom we should issue a call, and then review and edit the products.  Digital sites have the tendency, I think, to make it too easy to envision how much more/else could be done, without accounting for how many more resources might be required to do it.  Without additional resources, crowdsourcing for the <em>Whitman Archive</em> might not be possible without ending work on some other facet of the project.',0,'1','','',0,4,NULL,NULL),(44,122,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.113.75.197','2011-04-21 17:44:45','2011-04-21 17:44:45','That\'s very true. Also once you start working with a user community you have to think about how to resource this interaction. Users need support and like to interact with resource creators, but that comes at a price in terms of person time. It really depends on the philosophy of the project and its priorities. We could have transcribed more material by Bentham if we hadn\'t crowd sourced, but we thought it was important to engage the community outside academia with our work. Public engagement is key to all our work at UCL, thanks partly to Bentham\'s own philosophy, and I am a passionate believer in it, whether digital or physical. But that doesn\'t have to be the case everywhere of course.',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(45,125,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 17:18:45','2011-03-04 17:18:45','I think this is a typo: \"most to the scholarly material that I need.\" Shouldn\'t it be \"most OF the scholarly material\"?',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(46,125,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.112.185.169','2011-03-10 08:15:25','2011-03-10 08:15:25','yes, but I don\'t think I can edit now. Could this be corrected please?',0,'1','','',0,5,NULL,NULL),(47,127,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 18:33:09','2011-03-04 18:33:09','<!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;     &lt;![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;  Normal 0     false false false  EN-US X-NONE X-NONE                           &lt;![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;                                                                                                                                            &lt;![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]&gt;-->\n\n /* Style Definitions */\n table.MsoNormalTable\n	{mso-style-name:\"Table Normal\";\n	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;\n	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;\n	mso-style-noshow:yes;\n	mso-style-priority:99;\n	mso-style-qformat:yes;\n	mso-style-parent:\"\";\n	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;\n	mso-para-margin-top:0in;\n	mso-para-margin-right:0in;\n	mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;\n	mso-para-margin-left:0in;\n	line-height:115%;\n	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;\n	font-size:11.0pt;\n	font-family:\"Calibri\",\"sans-serif\";\n	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;\n	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;\n	mso-fareast-font-family:\"Times New Roman\";\n	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;\n	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;\n	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;\n	mso-bidi-font-family:\"Times New Roman\";\n	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}\n\n\nOn the question of what to call The Whitman Archive, see Kenneth M. Price, “Edition, Project, Database, Archive, Thematic Research Collection: What\'s in a Name?” (http://www.whitmanarchive.org/about/articles/anc.00346.html)',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(48,127,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 18:35:23','2011-03-04 18:35:23','Typo: \"So this is this . . .\" Should this read, \"So WHAT is this . . .\"?',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(49,127,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 18:37:37','2011-03-04 18:37:37','Typo: \". . . . such as Whitman achieve a lustration of the decision making process. . . .\" Should \"a lustration\" be \"an illustration\"?',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(50,127,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 18:47:58','2011-03-04 18:47:58','Typo: \"Digital Humanities has have moved on . . \" Omit HAVE',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(51,127,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 18:52:02','2011-03-04 18:52:02','I really like the closing comments here: crowd sourcing is an important methodology that we should not overlook, but the jury is still out as to whether or not it will actually work for the kinds of projects that we are creating. Looking forward to the findings of the INKE project!',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(52,127,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.112.185.169','2011-03-10 08:17:05','2011-03-10 08:17:05','yes, it should',0,'1','','',0,5,NULL,NULL),(53,127,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.112.185.169','2011-03-10 08:17:58','2011-03-10 08:17:58','no I meant lustration, as in a process of making open and public',0,'1','','',0,5,NULL,NULL),(54,127,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.112.185.169','2011-03-10 08:18:19','2011-03-10 08:18:19','yes please',0,'1','','',0,5,NULL,NULL),(55,127,'Kenneth M. Price','kprice@unlnotes.unl.edu','','129.93.148.41','2011-03-16 21:49:36','2011-03-16 21:49:36','\n \nThe question of what \"counts\" in the academic world is of course crucial.  For years, in a print environment, scholarly editors have felt unappreciated and inadequately rewarded.  Some have dismissed their work as \"pre-critical.\"  The implication has been that the work is not very difficult intellectually.  Accuracy in transcription and stick-to-itiveness should be enough.  For people doing editorial work in an electronic environment, the risk has been in confronting a double prejudice: a misunderstanding of the real complexity of editorial questions and a dismissal of all things electronic as ephemeral.\n \nOur naming of our work thus far perhaps has not done us any favors.  We naturally have turned to the last medium to find metaphors for the work being done in a new medium.  I\'ve discussed the problems with all the terms currently in use in a piece published in DHQ but also available on the Archive: \"<a href=\"http://www.whitmanarchive.org/about/articles/anc.00346.html\" rel=\"nofollow\">Edition, Project, Database, Archive, Thematic Research Collection: What\'s in a Name?</a><strong>\"</strong>\n',0,'1','','',0,7,NULL,NULL),(56,127,'Mark A. Greene','MGreene@uwyo.edu','','129.72.134.94','2011-03-21 21:28:58','2011-03-21 21:28:58','Though Claire is careful to write, “<em>I do not mean to imply that creating and curating an archive in the analogue world is not an intellectual exercise,”</em> she certainly seems to suggest that the broad academic community does not view archival work as intellectual.  Otherwise it would not be possible for her to ask, as she does, <em>“does the name ‘archive’ under value the complex nature of what is being achieved in digital resources such as this?”</em>—and suggest that the answer is “yes.”<em> </em>She goes on to note that archival work “<em>is not in itself something for which scholars gain credit.”</em>  Why do they not gain credit?  I would suggest that it is exactly because of the perspective that archivists are not engaged in an intellectual exercise.  And why this perception?  \n \nWe can see a partial explanation further along in Claire’s essay:\n \n<em>The argument against granting digital resources scholarly status equivalent to a journal article, monograph or critical edition must surely be that such resources are performing a service, akin to that provided by an archive or library in the analogue world: that of bringing together useful materials for other scholars to use….</em>\n \n<em>… why is it then that creating a critical edition, whether print or digital form is considered to be a scholarly activity worthy of credit in its own right?</em>\n \n<em>It may be because in the print world editors are called upon to make selections and decisions about the best possible copy text, and which textual variants to include….</em>\n \nThis conviction that archivists uncritically gather primary sources “for other scholars to use” is reinforced in Ken Price’s 2009 essay from the Whitman Archive site, \"Edition, Project, Database, Archive, Thematic Research Collection: What\'s in a Name?” <a href=\"#_ftn1\" rel=\"nofollow\">[1]</a>  In it, Ken defines “the archival approach” as one that seeks “inclusiveness”—that is, gathering as comprehensive a set of Whitman material as possible.  The “editing” approach, by contrast, he explains as one that “winnows,” annotates, and provides a certain “care of treatment” for the material gathered.  \n \nAs an archivist myself I have an obvious stake in how my profession is perceived by others; as an archivist in a university setting I have a particular concern about how we are perceived by faculty and academic administrators.  I’m less concerned about earning labels like “intellectual” and “scholarly” than I am about being able to convey a more accurate understanding of the theory and practice of creating and administering (or curating) archives.<a href=\"#_ftn2\" rel=\"nofollow\">[2]</a> To concentrate on the portions of my profession that seem most germane to the current discussion, please permit me to focus on archivists gathering and cataloging sources, activities which are, to use Claire’s terms, service (or resource) for others but not perceived as scholarly endeavors in their own right.\n \nAs it happens, archivists themselves viewed their profession and its activities entirely as service for others until approximately the Second World War. <a href=\"#_ftn3\" rel=\"nofollow\">[3]</a>  The most famous and influential exposition of this position was given by a government records archivist in England, Hilary Jenkinson.<a href=\"#_ftn4\" rel=\"nofollow\">[4]</a>  His “moral defence” of archives, to over-simplify it, was the idea that archivists were responsible for acquiring an essentially pre-defined set of records, describing them with utmost objectivity, and doing or saying nothing that might prejudice a researcher’s interpretation of those records.<a href=\"#_ftn5\" rel=\"nofollow\">[5]</a>    \n \nWriting after WWII, an employee of the US National Archives, Theodore Schellenberg, turned Jenkinson’s conception of the profession on its head, and his books continue to dominate archival theory and practice in this country.<a href=\"#_ftn6\" rel=\"nofollow\">[6]</a>  Arguably the most important change Schellenberg brought to archives is also arguably the most likely reason for someone to consider archival work “intellectual.”  Rather than being “collectors,” Schellenberg’s archivists became “selectors,” making rational, informed, but ultimately subjective decisions about what primary source materials were going to be acquired and preserved by a repository and which were not.<a href=\"#_ftn7\" rel=\"nofollow\">[7]</a>  Taking it as a now ineluctable fact that archivists dramatically define the sources available for scholarly research, I suppose we must all at least hope that there is a great deal of intellectual activity taking place in my profession.\n \nThis archival selection occurs both passively and actively, I should explain.  Passively, archivists make decisions concerning whether collections offered to their repositories are accepted or declined—and, if accepted, which portions are retained or discarded.<a href=\"#_ftn8\" rel=\"nofollow\">[8]</a>  Actively, archivists define collecting policies and then search for the creators of records (individuals, families, organizations, businesses, governmental units) most likely to fulfill the goals of those policies.  We solicit donations (or, if we’re institutional archivists, we ask units to transfer inactive records to our unit), sometimes over the course of a half century,<a href=\"#_ftn9\" rel=\"nofollow\">[9]</a> sometimes directly shaping the very records a prospective donor creates or keeps based on what we’ve told him we want.\n \nThough selection may be our most intellectually demanding activity, much else that archivists do requires the type of learning and engagement <em>“for which scholars gain credit.”<a href=\"#_ftn10\" rel=\"nofollow\"><strong>[10]</strong></a></em>  If, “<em>As all digital humanists are aware, the act of marking up text is in itself one of scholarly interpretation,</em>” so too I must venture, is the act of arranging collections of what can be completely disorganized masses of dozens of boxes of records into coherent aggregations of folders and series that are intellectually described and physically organized to make them accessible for researchers to use.  Further, archival finding aids, in which collections of as much as several thousand boxes are summarized, analyzed, and given context through often detailed biographical sketches or organizational histories, reasonably mirror the “scholarly introductions, annotations, and textual histories” that Ken indicates give intellectual heft to the <em>Whitman Archive</em> and others like it.\n \nI strongly believe that if the actual work of archivists and special collections curators were better understood, that it would be impossible to<em> </em>ask,<em> “does the name ‘archive’ under value the complex nature of what is being achieved in digital resources such as this?”</em>  On the contrary, I think the <em>Whitman Archive</em> site’s editors were even more accurate than they may have known in choosing the name, and that the name becomes more accurate still as the editors wrangle with issues such as which and how many “disciples” to include and which to exclude. Selection, analysis, structure, contextualization—all these are as fundamental to archival work as they are to the impressive Whitman digital “archive”.\n \n\n\n\n\n\n<a href=\"#_ftnref1\" rel=\"nofollow\">[1]</a> Kenneth M. Price, <a href=\"http://www.whitmanarchive.org/about/articles/anc.00346.html\" rel=\"nofollow\">\"Edition, Project, Database, Archive, Thematic Research Collection: What\'s in a Name?</a>” <em>The Walt Whitman Archive</em>, (2009)\n \n\n\n<a href=\"#_ftnref2\" rel=\"nofollow\">[2]</a> At least as the profession has been conceived and practiced in the United States for the past 60 years or so.\n \n\n\n<a href=\"#_ftnref3\" rel=\"nofollow\">[3]</a> There is a vocal minority of archival professionals writing in English who continue to advocate this older vision of their work.  See, for example, Luciana Duranti, \"The Concept of Appraisal and Archival Theory,\" <em>American Archivist</em> 57 (Spring 1994), 328-44 and in response Frank Boles and Mark A. Greene, \"<em>Et tu</em> Schellenberg? Thoughts on the Dagger of American Appraisal Theory,\" <em>American Archivist</em> 59/3 (Summer 1996), pp. 298?310.\n \n\n\n<a href=\"#_ftnref4\" rel=\"nofollow\">[4]</a> Hilary Jenkinson, <em>A Manual of Archive Administration Including the Problems of War Archives and Archive Making</em> (Oxford: 1922).\n \n\n\n<a href=\"#_ftnref5\" rel=\"nofollow\">[5]</a> It may be of passing interest to note that Jenkinson did not envision archivists as serving primarily scholars; indeed, he saw such service as, in the words of one of his later intellectual disciples, “so much velvet.”  For Jenkinson, the most important use to which archival records could be put was use by their creating agencies (and collections of personal papers, among other materials considered archival today, he viewed as the province of librarians or historians).\n \n\n\n<a href=\"#_ftnref6\" rel=\"nofollow\">[6]</a> Among his several publications, the most appropriate to introduce his thinking is probably Theodore R. Schellenberg, <em>Modern Archives:  Principles and Techniques</em> (Chicago, 1956).\n \n\n\n<a href=\"#_ftnref7\" rel=\"nofollow\">[7]</a> This selection was made most often accompanied by the presumption that rejected material would wind up in Trotsky’s dustbin of history.\n \n\n\n<a href=\"#_ftnref8\" rel=\"nofollow\">[8]</a>Or possibly returned to the donor, depending upon the terms of the deed of gift.\n \n\n\n<a href=\"#_ftnref9\" rel=\"nofollow\">[9]</a> This may seem like hyperbole, but at the Minnesota Historical Society, where I was Curator of Manuscripts Acquisitions, I concluded a donation that had been initiated more than 50 years previously by my predecessors.\n \n\n\n<a href=\"#_ftnref10\" rel=\"nofollow\">[10]</a> This may be why in the US at least, archivists are often given faculty rank when working at colleges and universities (as are their librarian brethren).\n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n',0,'1','','',0,4,NULL,NULL),(57,127,'Evan McGonagill','evan.mcgonagill@gmail.com','','208.105.94.161','2011-04-03 22:41:26','2011-04-03 22:41:26','<!--StartFragment-->\nOn how we differentiate the scholarly usefulness of archives, versus editions, etc.: I like your point that digital humanists are advancing scholarship by illuminating their decisions and decision-making processes. I think that in doing so they are also pushing the definition of intellectual work, by asserting that those choices of presentation are active and interpretive—you cover this pretty well in your essay. My friend Jen has been doing some interesting work lately in which she interrogates the fact that scholars place a higher value on original written work than anything else, followed perhaps by curation and the compilation of edited volumes, with the act of reading ranking lowest of all. This implies that there are fewer intellectual claims being made in projects that do not culminate in the publication of the scholar’s original material. Jen wants to destabilize this hierarchy by theorizing reading as a productive act, especially with the aid of digital media in which the reader can leave footprints such as comments (like this one!), bringing the writer, editor, and reader more on par. I like your point that we need to consider the level of active scholarship that goes into curation, and I think that you and Jen are part of the same conversation. If you’re interested, you can check out her work on this idea at her blog (<a href=\"http://www.hastac.org/blogs/jenrajchel/reader-20-why-it-isnt-virginia-woolfs-judith-shakespeare\" rel=\"nofollow\">http://www.hastac.org/blogs/jenrajchel/reader-20-why-it-isnt-virginia-woolfs-judith-shakespeare</a>) or in the introduction to her digital thesis, here (http://mooreandpoetry.blogs.brynmawr.edu/2010/06/21/introduction/)\n<!--EndFragment-->',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(58,127,'Evan McGonagill','evan.mcgonagill@gmail.com','','208.105.94.161','2011-04-03 22:46:00','2011-04-03 22:46:00','<!--StartFragment-->\n“We can appreciate the new potential inherent in digital production for the scholars who produce such resources, but further work remains to be done on exactly how such editions or archives may transform the lives of their users.”\nI once spoke to a philosophy professor who dismissed the value of digital contributions to academia by claiming that he had not seen any visible improvement in the overall quality of philosophy scholarship since digital modes had become prevalent. This raises the difficult question of how to measure impact: do you base it on huge generalizations about the quality of an entire discipline changing over time, which would be contentious and doubtlessly impossible to effectively measure? Do you turn from the excessively broad to the small scale, and focus on experiences of individual users? I’m interested to see how digital humanists approach this question.\n<!--EndFragment-->',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(59,127,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.113.75.197','2011-04-21 18:17:25','2011-04-21 18:17:25','Both of these responses are very helpful and illuminating. As an undergraduate trained in a university where editing was very much considered subordinate to intepretation it was not until I encountered digital resources that I became aware of many of such issues.\nMark I really do not mean to denigrate archivists. I am now the acting Head of Department (Chair) of the only UK Department of Information Studies (iSchool) to have an archives programme so if I were I would be undermining my own institution. What I was trying to say is that, whether it\'s right or wrong, this is the perception in the scholarly profession, and that perception drives questions of reward, tenure, promotion etc. Digital resource creation is also similarly undervalued in many such processes. So what I am trying to interrogate is why such assumptions are made, and very much not lining myself up with those who make them.\nHaving said that I think the discussion of the scholarly process involed in creating an archive is fascinating and extremely valuable to those of us not expert in the area.',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(60,127,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.113.75.197','2011-04-21 18:19:28','2011-04-21 18:19:28','Thanks for the pointer. I\'ll certainly check out her work. It sounds fascinating.',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(61,127,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.113.75.197','2011-04-21 18:24:32','2011-04-21 18:24:32','Fascinating that you should raise this. Impact is an issue that we are grappling with accross the whole of UK academia, since it will be measured in the REF to which I refer above. Simon Tanner has, however, done some really interesting work on this issue the report of which may be found here http://www.jisc.ac.uk/media/documents/programmes/digitisation/12pagefinaldocumentbenefitssynthesis.pdf',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(62,130,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 15:24:39','2011-03-04 15:24:39','I like the example you give of browsing for items you \"already knew exited in the archive.\" Would it be worth doing a similar exercise to browse for items you <em>don\'t</em> know about? I\'d be interested to hear about the experience of a student who dove into the archive and explored around without necessarily knowing where he or she was going. What would that user experience look like?',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(63,130,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-08 21:03:48','2011-03-08 21:03:48','I like the example you give of browsing for items you “already knew exited in the archive.” Would it be worth doing a similar exercise to browse for items you <em>don’t</em> know about? I’d be interested to hear about the experience of a student who dove into the archive and explored around without necessarily knowing where he or she was going. What would that user experience look like?',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(64,132,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 15:29:18','2011-03-04 15:29:18','I\'m intrigued by your comment that \"it can be important to view thematic cross sections rather than vertical stacks of data.\" Could you elaborate on what you mean by \"thematic cross sections\"? Do you have an idea of what this would look like so that you could help the rest of us visualize what these thematic search results would be? Is there another website out there--either academic or non-academic--that provides these thematic search results? Citing that could provide an interesting point of reference.',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(65,132,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 15:31:19','2011-03-04 15:31:19','You make a good point that using folksonomy or crowd sourcing to tag the Whitman Archive might not be the best idea--given that the Archive is trying (and succeeding!) to preserve its image as a critical scholarly edition--but that curating a set of tags internally would be very helpful.',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(66,132,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 15:33:44','2011-03-04 15:33:44','You make an interesting point about the aesthetic and the functionality of scrolling. Frames have fallen out of favor as navigation tools--unless we want to party like it\'s 1996!--but you do raise a good point about the potential of getting lost in a long, scrolling page.',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(67,132,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 15:34:35','2011-03-04 15:34:35','You make an interesting point about the aesthetic and the functionality of scrolling. Frames have fallen out of favor as navigation tools–unless we want to party like it’s 1996!–but you do raise a good point about the potential of getting lost in a long, scrolling page',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(68,132,'Kenneth M. Price','kprice@unlnotes.unl.edu','','129.93.148.41','2011-03-16 21:12:57','2011-03-16 21:12:57','I agree completely about the inadequacy of the search.  In fact, it is discussed in the last paragraph of my response to the final question. That being said, I am more optimistic than ever before that we will see significant progress soon on the search front.  We are currently experimenting with eXist, and the preliminary results are promising.\n \nWe have long imagined that our laborious mark-up of texts would result in users being able to find and collocate texts from everywhere on the <em>Archive</em> according to complex sets of criteria.  But we\'re a long way from realizing the full grandeur of our dreams.',0,'1','','',0,7,NULL,NULL),(69,132,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.113.75.197','2011-04-21 17:16:32','2011-04-21 17:16:32','It\'s always possible to handle user generated content as they do in the museum world, and allow people to tag things but display them in a section of the site, or in such a way, using fonts or colours that indicates that these are not editorial. Users seem, in our experience, to find this perfectly comprehensible.',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(70,132,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.113.75.197','2011-04-21 17:19:20','2011-04-21 17:19:20','Yes, this is a fascinating idea, and very eloquently expressed. Do you have any ideas about what such a thing much look like? In early full text resources search result hits were used to expand paragraphs and provide higlighting on words. Could that work again?',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(71,134,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 15:41:23','2011-03-04 15:41:23','I like your provocative comment that the Archive doesn\'t currently allow you \"to stir up new configurations of information.\" Could you provide an example of what you imagine these \"new configurations\" would look like? What would a non-linear scholarly archive look like? What kinds of results would searching non-linearly give you?',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(72,134,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 15:42:53','2011-03-04 15:42:53','I really like the suggestion of browsing by year. It would be fascinating to see what Whitman was producing chronologically. Great idea!',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(73,136,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 15:55:59','2011-03-04 15:55:59','Intriguing and potentially problematic comment here: \". . . what sorts of orderings of information, or narratives . . .\" What leads you to the conclusion that \"ordering of information\" and \"narrative\" are synonyms? Certainly there are ways to order information that <em>don\'t</em> produce narratives, right?',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(74,136,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 15:58:42','2011-03-04 15:58:42','Oh, it seems like you\'re riffing off of Folsom\'s distinction between database and narrative. Perhaps be more self-reflexive that this is where you\'re coming from rather than just dropping, off-hand, that \"ordering of information\" and \"narrative\" are synonymous.',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(75,136,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 15:59:40','2011-03-04 15:59:40','I really like how you\'re using \"micro-narratives\" as a term for explaining the structure of the Archive. This term has a lot of potential.',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(76,136,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 16:02:04','2011-03-04 16:02:04','This is a really smart paragraph. I like the four categories you come up with to describe potential responses to the Archive, and I also like your comment that, as useful as these discrete categories may be, they are necessarily fluid as well.',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(77,136,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 16:03:06','2011-03-04 16:03:06','Good use of Amanda French here to up the ante of your argument.',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(78,136,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 16:04:39','2011-03-04 16:04:39','Very provocative: \"If each database frames its contents in an array of narrative claims,  then each one is specific, disputable, and limited. Rather than markers  of failure, however, we might use these idiosyncracies to reawaken us to  the particular experience that that tool offers.\" Perhaps too dense, though. There are a lot of great phrases here that it might be worth unpacking a little more, starting with the intriguing claim that a database \"frames its contents in an array of narrative claims.\"',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(79,136,'Edward Whitley','edw204@Lehigh.EDU','','128.180.73.220','2011-03-04 16:07:53','2011-03-04 16:07:53','Not to be completely self-serving here, but I have an essay titled \"Visualizing the Archive\" in Earhart and Jewell\'s <em>The American Literature Scholar in the Digital Age</em> in which I propose \"spatial reading\" as a method for reading Whitman both from a distance and up close. You don\'t <em>have</em> to footnote my article, but . . . ;-)',0,'1','','',0,6,NULL,NULL),(80,136,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.113.75.197','2011-04-22 14:03:36','2011-04-22 14:03:36','Absolutely, as with markup, tools are never neutral because they shape and determine how you can use information. Books do that too of course, but they are information technologies as well. How often do we find ourselves wishing we could key word search a printed book or flip through a digital resource after all?',0,'1','','',0,5,NULL,NULL),(81,136,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.113.75.197','2011-04-22 14:11:06','2011-04-22 14:11:06','I take your point, but this isn\'t limited to Whitman. What about Emily Dickinson for example, or of course Joyce? Even the writer on whom I worked in a former life, Richard Crashaw, is better done digitally in many senses because there is no truly authoritative copy text. All his English poems were printed after his exile from England or his death, and there are various different revised versions of the poems in subsequent editions. We know he didn\'t see any of these through the press and we cannot really be certain he even edited the later ones. So what would be more appropriate than a digital edition where all versions are given equal status? Sadly there isn\'t one: he wasn\'t considered important enough for me to get the funding to produce such a digital resource when I tried many years ago (back to that question that Mark raises above, of what gets funded and why...)',0,'1','','',0,5,NULL,NULL),(82,136,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.113.75.197','2011-04-22 14:14:23','2011-04-22 14:14:23','Sorry I have to disagree here. In no way should a digital resource ever force a user to adjust his or her response. It should always be flexible enough to respond to what a user would naturally want to do. If not, my research suggests that most users will simply resent the demands placed on them and swifty abandon the resource. I do agree with Amanda\'s view though: I have never seen the point of distant reading myself.',0,'1','','',0,5,NULL,NULL),(83,136,'Evan McGonagill','evan.mcgonagill@gmail.com','','74.88.116.124','2011-04-24 18:20:32','2011-04-24 18:20:32','<!--StartFragment-->\nThis is in response to the above comment and Edward\'s comment on the previous paragraph:\nThank you for pushing on this idea—I recognize that it was never fully developed in the essay, and it may be helpful if I take the opportunity to work on it a little bit more here. I didn’t mean to state that narrative and orderings of information are synonymous. (In the sentence that you point to I probably should have used the word “and” instead of “or.”) Rather, I was pursuing the thought that an ordering of information might be conceived as the embryo of narrative, with potential for development, and that the point at which one becomes the other can be a fuzzy boundary. The OED defines a narrative as “an account of a series of events, facts, etc., given in order and with the establishing of connections between them.” I suppose an “ordering of information,” of the type one would pull from a database, is a set of facts that have some order but often lack explicit linear connections. I would argue, however, that the way a user grabs information through a database moves towards the formation of connections: because she must access her data via defined avenues (think specific search terms, menus, etc.,) rather than dipping into a raw pool of unsorted data, any information that she views contains threads of connection pre-formed by metadata. I would not argue that this constitutes a fully formed narrative, but I would like to trouble the notion that database and narrative are fundamentally opposed.\n<!--EndFragment-->',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(84,136,'Evan McGonagill','evan.mcgonagill@gmail.com','','74.88.116.124','2011-04-24 18:27:59','2011-04-24 18:27:59','I absolutely agree that it is not limited to Whitman! A friend of mine recently did an extensive project on the poetry of Marianne Moore (which I linked to on a comment somewhere else on this roundtable) in which she explored the digital facets of that author\'s work. I tend to see examples of digical poetry more frequently than prose. I am fascinated with the practice of retroactively mapping digital structures onto old work.',0,'1','','',81,0,NULL,NULL),(85,138,'Evan McGonagill','evan.mcgonagill@gmail.com','','24.45.15.154','2011-04-03 00:59:27','2011-04-03 00:59:27','The idea of the database as storyteller is very interesting to me, particularly how it plays into the scholarly tension that has arisen over the field of digital humanities. Part of the momentum behind digital scholarship comes from the perceived inculcation of quantitative rigor into humanities work; in other words, the reinterpretation of \"stories\" into \"data.\" And yet, as you observe here, researchers who use the Archive as a source are tapping into something more than just data; the way they access the information often presents a story in its own right.',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(86,140,'Kenneth M. Price','kprice@unlnotes.unl.edu','','129.93.54.25','2011-03-16 20:13:46','2011-03-16 20:13:46',' \n \nIt has been illuminating to read this post (and ones by Claire Warwick and Evan McGonagill) underscoring the value of metacommentary in the <em>Whitman Archive</em>. Ed Whitley clearly wants us to devote more time to creating such metacommentary.  What we have to balance is the need to make headway on our attempt to edit Whitman\'s writings and to fulfill the promises made in grant applications against the development of the metacommentary.\n \nAt times, I have thought that we could host a blog dedicated to the process of creating the<em> Archive.</em> It could deal with the issues of encoding choices, as Ed W. mentions, but it could also deal with a host of other matters: workflow decisions, grant writing, negotiations with university administrators, questions of long term preservation, technical standards and platforms, and so on.  I think such a blog could be immensely valuable.  The only reason I haven\'t pushed for its creation is that we are scrambling to keep up with current obligations, and it is hard to imagine how to fit this undertaking into the schedule, too.  Nonetheless, given the amount of interest in this topic across several posts, I am sure we will think hard about this matter in coming years and perhaps we\'ll somehow find a way to discuss more fully and open up more completely the process of creating the <em>Archive. </em>',0,'1','','',0,7,NULL,NULL),(87,140,'Mark A. Greene','MGreene@uwyo.edu','','129.72.134.94','2011-03-18 17:16:26','2011-03-18 17:16:26','Notwithstanding my sympathy for transparency, I would reinforce Ken\'s caveat that the more effort put into explaining how the text is marked up, the less time there is to actually mark up text.  My own 2 cents is that the largest audience probably is intererested in seeing more product available through the <em>Archive</em> and that explications of how that product was created might wait until further along in the process.',0,'1','','',0,4,NULL,NULL),(88,140,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.113.75.197','2011-04-21 17:29:31','2011-04-21 17:29:31','I\ndo take the point about the trade off between doing the work and documenting it. But, as I said, we have found that a lot of users do value this. The blog approach sounds like a good one. It allows people to comment on their work as they do it with minimal fuss, and can easily be linked to the main project web page. We used this approach on the VERA (Virtual Environments for Research in Archaeology) project and it seemed to work very well.\nThis is also important for the sustainability of the resource of course. We hope this archive will be available long after you are no longer working on it, and indeed being used as an example of good practice. Thus, for those scholars who want to learn from you and for digital curators who want to preserve your work, it\'s vital to be able to understand your rationale for technical decision making.',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(89,142,'Mark A. Greene','MGreene@uwyo.edu','','129.72.134.94','2011-03-18 17:30:57','2011-03-18 17:30:57','“All users are potential co-editors.” “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.” There is no question about Web 2.0s capacity for enabling users to comment, suggest, even improve the content of sites like the Archive.  But as archivists have already begun to find out, while using Web 2.0 venues to welcome user input about everything from the accuracy and completeness of online finding aids to the identification of digital photographs, it can be time consuming to separate the gold from the dreck.  \nAnd it is one thing to ask the site editors to spend the time accomplishing such separation, harvesting the gold and ignoring the tailings; it is another to assume that users can make similarly accurate judgments about the comments from other users that they encounter on such a site.  The <em>Archive</em>, following the lead of some archival sites, can post a disclaimer that comments from outside the site are not endorsed by the site editors, but while this keeps the site largely above the fray it does nothing to assist users in interpreting the growing number of outside comments attached to the site. \nNone of which is to say the editors shouldn’t pursue Ed’s advice, but if they do it should be done with as much consideration as possible for the pros and cons.',0,'1','','',0,4,NULL,NULL),(90,144,'Mark A. Greene','MGreene@uwyo.edu','','129.72.134.94','2011-03-18 17:49:15','2011-03-18 17:49:15','The sometimes so-called information professions of libraries and archives have engaged in a great deal of this work already, although it has not been particularly in favor in the US for the better part of 30 years (the professional literature still holds the record of the earlier work, of course).  In addition to taxonomy, the impact of \"technology\" (such as letter-press books and filing cabinets) on the way content was created and organized, there is also the entire field of diplomatics, which examines the structural semiotics of individual documents, such as letters, in terms of how the form shapes the function and content.  In my field diplomatics enjoyed a very brief resurgence in the 1990s in examining the structure of electronic communications, though for the most part it had long been relegated to the realm of studying ancient manuscripts. ',0,'1','','',0,4,NULL,NULL),(91,144,'Evan McGonagill','evan.mcgonagill@gmail.com','','24.45.15.154','2011-04-03 01:11:11','2011-04-03 01:11:11','\"listeners will be pleasantly surprised to discover songs that they never knew they already liked.\"\n \nThis point is worth thinking about: the irony is that by matching songs based on such \"genes,\" Pandora allows people to make serendipitous discoveries that are primarily based on similarity. The site encourages exploration within a certain range, but maybe it also creates an environment that discourages new musical discoveries outside of the listener\'s comfort zone. Does this make the listener\'s world smaller, instead of larger? This dual restriction and facilitation of exploration enables the user to tightly control what kinds of \"surprises\" he/she encounters. Is that discovery at all? I think this kind of tension exists in archives and databases as well. Part of the challenge of designing such a resource seems to be asking oneself how to best manage information in a way that negotiates between chaos and rigid order.',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(92,144,'Claire Warwick','c.warwick@ucl.ac.uk','','87.113.75.197','2011-04-22 13:47:13','2011-04-22 13:47:13','Also I think that the study of categorisation is very much part of DH, and a demanding and exciting one at that. My colleagues at UCLDIS who study classification theory in the context of Libraries would certainly agree. It\'s ironic that they are suddenly very much in demand in this digital age: what used to be considered dry and old fashioned is suddenly cool. What could be more cutting edge than ontologies, linked data and semantic tagging after all, and what underlies all this is an understanding of the theory of categorisation that you discuss here.',0,'1','','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(93,1500,'Developing a Curriculum for Undergraduate Work in the Digital Archives &laquo; Rebecca Frost Davis','','http://rebeccafrostdavis.wordpress.com/2012/12/17/developing-a-curriculum-for-undergraduate-work-in-the-digital-archives/','74.200.244.85','2012-12-17 18:10:38','2012-12-17 18:10:38','[...] curriculum for digital archives.  The latest issue of the journal, Archive focuses on &#8220;Undergraduates in the Archives&#8220;, including a roundtable discussion and case studies of student work in the Archives.  In [...]',0,'1','','pingback',0,0,NULL,NULL),(113,127,'research paper blog','danielle.greenlee@yahoo.de','http://tspca.org/guidelines-to-become-a-excellent-paper-writer.htm','78.47.167.50','2013-07-01 07:04:46','2013-07-01 07:04:46','This design is incredible! You most certainly know how to keep a reader amused.\r\nBetween your wit and your videos, I was almost moved to start my own blog (well, almost.\r\n\r\n..HaHa!) Fantastic job. I really loved what you had to say, and more than that, how \r\nyou presented it. Too cool!',0,'spam','Mozilla/4.0 (compatible; MSIE 6.0; Windows NT 5.1; SV1; FunWebProducts; .NET CLR 1.1.4322; PeoplePal 6.2)','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(115,2199,'maillot foot','sknxlwkys@gmail.com','http://maillotdefootpascher.ethicalbase.com/','202.105.91.95','2013-07-12 17:00:11','2013-07-12 17:00:11','That is really attention-grabbing, You are an overly skilled blogger. I have joined your feed and sit up for searching for more of your wonderful post. Additionally, I’ve shared your website in my social networks!',0,'spam','Mozilla/4.0 (compatible; MSIE 6.0; Windows NT 5.1; SV1; Mozilla/4.0 (compatible; MSIE 6.0; Windows NT 5.1; SV1) )','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(112,1533,'Air max 2013','ijjmfwzoa@gmail.com','http://www.airmax2013.org','142.4.98.35','2013-06-26 11:35:22','2013-06-26 11:35:22','<a href=\"http://www.neweranfl.com\" rel=\"nofollow\">http://www.neweranfl.com</a>     <a href=\"http://www.fakeoakley-sunglasses.net/\" rel=\"nofollow\">http://www.fakeoakley-sunglasses.net/</a>    <a href=\"http://www.airmax2013.org/\" rel=\"nofollow\">http://www.airmax2013.org/</a>   <a href=\"http://www.nikeairjordan4.co.uk/\" rel=\"nofollow\">Nike Air Jordan 4</a>   <a href=\"http://www.saleralphlauren.co.uk/\" rel=\"nofollow\">Ralph Lauren sale</a>',0,'trash','Mozilla/4.0 (compatible; MSIE 6.0; Windows NT 5.1; SV1; Mozilla/4.0 (compatible; MSIE 6.0; Windows NT 5.1; SV1) ; .NET CLR 1.0.3705)','',0,0,NULL,NULL),(114,2199,'Disrespect des Fonds: Rethinking Arrangement and Description in Born-Digital Archives - Archive Journal Issue 3','','http://dev.archivejournal.net/issue/3/archives-remixed/disrespect-des-fonds-rethinking-arrangement-and-description-in-born-digital-archives/','69.167.147.200','2013-07-12 02:34:13','2013-07-12 02:34:13','[...] her article, “Disciplinarity and Disorder,” in Issue 1 of this journal, Gabrielle Dean opens her essay with a detailed and expressive [...]',0,'0','The Incutio XML-RPC PHP Library -- WordPress/3.5.2','pingback',0,0,NULL,NULL);

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INSERT INTO `archive_posts` VALUES (3600,1,'2013-04-15 02:42:33','2013-04-15 02:42:33','The primal scene of archival research takes place in a dreary reading room. A researcher sits at her table, inert. An archivist enters, pushing a cart that bears a dozen dusty gray boxes. (Can we get a close-up of a box, please, to show the label with the long call number? [note type=\'figure\' number=\'1\'] <iframe src=\"http://www.youtube.com/embed/5ykY6moIaDE?rel=0\" frameborder=\"0\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\"></iframe> A staged archival encounter.[/note]) The archivist unhinges a box, removes a numbered file folder and, placing it at the researcher’s elbow, steps back. The researcher stirs, then sits upright with a mechanical jolt. She turns sharply in the direction of the folder, flips it open and cocks her head towards the flimsy leaves inside; now she is reading. (Zoom in on the eyes as they click into focus.) Now she is reading, and now she truly comes alive; she bends towards the papers, taps her forehead in thought. A sheaf of blank paper and a pencil appear on her table, and she begins taking notes. Her fingers fly—and soon, so do the pages she is writing upon. Caught up in eddies of excitement, they swoop to the ceiling and around the room and down to the floor, where they fall together into perfect piles. Bindings sprout from the outer strata; the pages sew themselves into bright, tight, hard-cover books. These the archivist gathers up and places on the shelves that line the room, next to other books and gray boxes.\n\nI may have it backwards: in other versions of the fantasy, it is the archive that is first animated by the presence of the researcher, a Dr. Coppelius who waves a pencil and sets the dusty boxes to dancing. But either way, the archival imaginary posits a symbiotic relationship between researcher and source, a photogenic pas de deux that leads to a finished scholarly product. This work, in turn, enters the archive for the next generation of researchers; it might even be taken apart again so that its secret ingredients (notes, drafts, letters) can themselves be served up in a series of boxes. Such a strangely private form of publication it creates, the coupling of researcher and source.\n\nWhat Freudian trauma results from witnessing this sight? Only the harm that myth inflicts. This primal scene is a fiction, a dream of perfect union between researcher and source that ignores, first of all, the full cast of characters. What about the archivist, who is rendered invisible? What about all those within and without the archive, upon whose labor—acquiring, preserving, organizing, reading, cataloging, describing, interpreting, analyzing, debating, teaching, writing, editing, digitizing, referencing and publishing—the current project depends? More a barn dance than a pas de deux: an archival encounter is an enactment of social authorship long before the researcher enters the room. [note number=\'1\']See Jerome McGann, A Critique of Modern Textual Criticism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983) on the idea of social authorship, which could be described as “the dialectic between the historically located individual author and the historically developed institutions of literary production” that help create a work, eg, printers, publishers, editors and readers (81).[/note]\n\nBut even a barn dance is much too mannered a metaphor. The sketch above misleads us more generally about the experience on the ground. Doing time in an archive is often tedious, uncomfortable and bewildering. For librarians, there is the struggle to promote and simultaneously protect what you have; the difficulty of fitting unruly materials into arrangements and workflows; and worries about space and time—where to put it all, how to address your backlog. For researchers, there is the struggle to locate the archives you need and what matters to you inside them; the uncertainty created by unruly data; and worries about time and space— how to access what you need during your research trip, how to record and organize the information you gather. At both ends, the archival encounter is counter-cinematic and erratic, days of monotonous sifting and dead-ends punctuated by one or two, or maybe zero, hidden moments of vivid, peculiar joy.\n\nSo archival research does not fulfill its ideal outline. So what? Who cares? Why dredge up the fantasy? Because the fantasy continues to structure our archival encounters—what we expect and undertake in the reading room, what we allow it to mean. Twenty years ago, Alice Kaplan observed that “conventional academic discourse requires that when you write up the results of your archival work, you tell a story about what you found, but not about how you found it. The less the seams of your findings show, the better your discoveries lend themselves to use by others… tell[ing] these stories breaks their spell and violates the spirit of the archives.” [note number=\'2\']Alice Yaeger Kaplan, “Working in the Archives,” Yale French Studies 77 (1990): 103-116; 103, 107.[/note] With a few word changes, the same could be said about what counts as professional archivist discourse: the impersonal, neutral genre of the finding aid, for example, should say what is in a collection, but should not discuss what is confusing or missing in it, or the problems it posed in processing. [note number=\'3\']See, for example, James M. O’Toole and Richard J. Cox, Understanding Archives and Manuscripts (Chicago: Society of American Archivists, 2006).[/note] Despite the growing recognition that this sequestration is never completely possible—that the material conditions and social relations of the archive shape the work we do in it—that work continues to be represented in professional and scholarly publications as if it is. Despite the recent call to move to the fore “the backstage of the archives—how they are constructed, policed, experienced, and manipulated” in order to support historiography “not merely [as] a project of fact-retrieval” but as “a set of complex processes of selection, interpretation, and even creative invention,” the “backstage” stays in the background. [note number=\'4\']Antoinette Burton, “Introduction: Archive Fever, Archive Stories,” Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions, and the Writing of History, ed. Burton (Durham: Duke University Press, 2005), 7-8.[/note] Antoinette Burton may be correct that “many if not most historians operate under the assumption that history is a highly interpretive act,” but this belief is not yet reflected in the archival encounter: the ways that researchers (not just historians) and librarians report their experiences with primary sources; the ways that librarians and researchers work together; the ways librarians and researchers regard the involvement of “non specialists.” [note number=\'5\']Burton, 8. Burton notes that “whether historians concede or fully countenance the impact of such contingencies on their work is another question. They rarely speak of them, and even more rarely do they do so in print” (8). Her books recuperates some of those archive stories but this effort, I’ll suggest below, is hampered by other kinds of obligations.[/note] While the advent of digitization and electronic resource sharing has revolutionized the research landscape, making primary sources public in unprecedented ways, there remains in the archive a habitus of secret knowledge—the “spell” that Kaplan is loathe to break. This is not necessarily intentional. It is rather the effect of layering recent shifts in technology, theory and professional definition onto older foundations: petrified conditions, relations, expectations and systems that continue to operate in part through the enduring power of fantasies about research. What we have in the archive is a stratified groundwork that still governs our archival encounters.\n\nBut, you will object, the archive has already changed. Now we have the “archival turn”—the scholarly interest in the archive not just as a source of evidence but as an epistemological mode. Surely, this attention to the constructedness of the archive has led to a revealing reconsideration of what actually goes on inside an archive; surely, as a result, those archaic fantasies have diminished. Have they? In what follows, I begin by unearthing one stratum of the archival turn, the decade of the 1990s, as represented by three texts: Kaplan’s essay mentioned above, “Working in the Archives” (1990) [note type=\'figure\' number=\'2\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-2-kaplan.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-369\" title=\"fig 2 kaplan\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-2-kaplan-300x224.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Photocopy of Alice Yaeger Kaplan’s “Working in the Archives.”[/note]; Derrida’s Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression (1994/95) [note type=\'figure\' number=\'3\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-3-Derrida.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-372\" title=\"fig 3 Derrida\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-3-Derrida-300x224.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Print out of Jacque Derrida’s “Archive Fever” from Diacritics.[/note]; and Carolyn Steedman’s Dust: The Archive and Cultural History (2001). [note type=\'figure\' number=\'4\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-4-steedman.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-373\" title=\"fig 4 steedman\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-4-steedman-300x224.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Library copy of Carolyn Steedman’s Dust.[/note] [note number=\'6\']Jacques Derrida, “Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression,” Diacritics 25.2 (Summer 1995): 9-63. Web. 1 Dec. 2010. Carolyn Steedman, Dust: The Archive and Cultural History (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2001).[/note] A cross-examination of these three texts reveals a pattern of interests, a set of efforts to defy customary practices—but only, it turns out, “in theory.” While certain practices are challenged in these texts, they leave mostly intact the older strata of archival research fantasies and conventions. Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman do not dislodge the forces that organize the actual archival encounter.\n\nHow does this happen? Why is practice so stubborn? We need another take on archival practice: not practice in theory, but practice in action; not the 1990s, but now; not in terms of textual patterns, but in terms that suit the subject: the terms of the archival encounter itself, and the eccentric, anachronistic and even monotonous experience it generates. My second look at practice will take the form of a series of vignettes about a real-life archive, the George Peabody Library in Baltimore. While this narrative structure may seem to recreate the division of labor between theory and practice, my hope is that—by giving practice the last word—we’ll be in a better position to synthesize the two.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>I. “The library doubles as a detective’s office.” [note number=\'7\']Kaplan, 114.[/note]</strong>\n\nThe archival turn could be dated to the founding of “scientific” history in the mid-nineteenth century, or to the development a century later of the quantitative methods of the Annales School, or to other evidence-based movements in the history of history, but what is generally meant by this phrase corresponds with the formation of cultural studies and the use of the archive as a conceptual category. That is, the archival turn has to do with the notion of the “figuration” of the archive, a parallel decline in its empirical authority and a related expansion of its relevance within domains that are not exclusively historiographic, like art, literary criticism, textual studies, media studies and information studies. [note number=\'8\']See the use of the term in, for example, Carolyn Hamilton et al, eds., Refiguring the Archive (Boston: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2002), Cheryl Simon, ed., Following the Archival Turn: Photography, the Museum, and the Archive, special issue of Visual Resources: A Journal of Documentation 18.2 (June 2002), and Ann Laura Stoler, Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009). This turn is partially construed as a “move from archive-as-source to archive-as-subject,” but also by the earlier metaphorical interest in “the archive” that goes back to the 1980s (Stoler, 44-45) and by Foucauldian descriptions of archives as “‘monuments to particular configurations of power” (Hamilton, qtd. in Burton, 6).[/note] But it is not irrelevant that a devotion to archival methods precedes by many decades contemporary theories of the archive; if the archival turn lacks a precise origin, this (we will see) is completely in keeping with its own preoccupations.\n\nKaplan therefore represents in some ways an arbitrary beginning for this cross-examination—clearly the archive as a conceptual category predates 1990—but her article does initiate something new: the recognition that there is something called an “archive story” that must remain hidden in order for the official “results” to function authoritatively. In admitting this bit of professional legerdemain, and in telling her own archive story in a prestigious scholarly journal, Kaplan not only commits the violation she prohibits but also contradicts it. Through its publication, Kaplan’s own archive story is elevated to the status of “results”—a kind of research that shadows conventional academic discourse. Indeed, Kaplan notes, such “fables” of research “can be analyzed like a text,” a “mixed up genre” that combines the “redemptive detective fiction” with the epic and the dime novel. [note number=\'9\']Kaplan, 106, 107.[/note]\n\nKaplan’s archive story thus marks a distinctive moment in the archival turn—one which gained its most prominent authorization in 1994, with a paper that Jacques Derrida delivered (in English) to a conference sponsored by the Freud Museum, the Courtauld Institute and the Société International d’Histoire de la Psychiatrie et de la Psychoanalyse. Called initially “The Concept of the Archive: A Freudian Impression,” the lecture was revised and published in 1995 as Mal d’archive: une impression freudienne in French; the published English version echoed the French publication with its 1995 title Archive Fever. As Carolyn Steedman points out in Dust: The Archive and Cultural History, however, this work that has been assigned a seminal status in archival studies “for the main part… is not about archives at all, but is rather a sustained contemplation of a work of history, of Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi’s Freud’s Moses: Judaism Terminable and Interminable (1991),” itself a sustained contemplation of Moses and Monotheism—which (according to Steedman) Yerushalmi examines through Freud’s description of the work as a “‘historical novel,’ or a kind of historical story,” undertaken “in order to understand the period of baroque anti-semitism through which he was living.” [note number=\'10\']Steedman, 3.[/note]\n\nDizzy yet? Let’s undertake a more careful reading of this splatter pattern of intra-references—or, to stick with the archaeological metaphor, let’s call them groups of potsherds buried in the 1990s layer of the “archival turn.” Digging down to reassemble them reveals a set of interests with special implications for archival practice.\n\nThe most prominent group of sherds to note are the fragments of disciplinarity: the inter-, multi- or perhaps simply anti-disciplinarity of the texts, authors and audiences caught up in these three archival addresses. Kaplan, an American scholar of French literature, calls the post-theory exchange between literature and history a “cross-pollination of desire between historians and literary critics” undertaken “with the curiosity and energetic passion of collectors.” [note number=\'11\']Kaplan, 107-108.[/note] Steedman, a British historian, performs this cross-pollinating process without comment: her epigraph to Dust is from Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, one chapter treats George Eliot’s Middlemarch in depth… in fact, almost every chapter depends on a literary text. [note number=\'12\']Another chapter invokes Elizabeth Gaskell’s 1848 novel Mary Barton, a third is anchored by W. H. Auden’s poem “Homage to Clio,” and a fourth finds its most eloquent examples in Charles Dickens’ Our Mutual Friend.[/note] Derrida, a French philosopher, produced a work that has been exceptionally mobile across disciplines, forms, languages and professional domains. He gave his initial talk to an audience drawing on three different kinds of institutions; Mal d’Archive was published in book form in both French and English, but also made an intermediate appearance as an essay in the journal diacritics. All of these texts, it seems, respond to the provocations of the archive—to the materials and circumstances of discovery—rather than to the disciplinary distinctions that arguably divide the archive from itself.\n\nArchive Fever has become a founding document even though, as Steedman notes in the very beginning of her book, many in Derrida’s audience “knew the ‘archival turn’ to be [already] well underway” at the time of his talk. [note number=\'13\']Steedman, 2.[/note] As it happens—and this is the second group of sherds I see—these three essays have in common an investment in or a problem with origins, especially with the failure of origins. Derrida, for example, defines archive fever as a kind of Freudian death drive—a drive to fix and preserve which at the same time “works to destroy the archive: on the condition of effacing but also with a view to effacing its own ‘proper’ traces… [it] is above all anarchivic, one could say, or archiviolithic… the archive always works, and a priori, against itself.” [note number=\'14\']Derrida, 14. [/note] If the archival impulse is driven to destroy its own work, then the question of origins ultimately point to the larger question of disorder. [note number=\'15\']The disorder of origins makes frequent appearances in the essay but one example will make the point—in the “Preamble” where he recounts how he titled the talk that he had not yet written and was to give at the Freud Museum. The “Preamble” starts with his reflections on the word “impression,” which has several simultaneous registers of meaning for him. One of these is the “scriptural or typographic” register: that of the graphic impression that marks a substrate. In English, “impression” is phonetically related to “repression” and “suppression,” key words in the Freudian vocabulary, translated respectively from the German Verdrängung and Unterdrückung. English, that is, retains the rhyming relationship of the two German terms, and “impression” in this company comes to have a vaguely Freudian meaning as well. But in French, Verdrängung is “refoulement,” which means something more like expulsion, a driving away. The Freudian sense of the French word “répression” has been reserved for Unterdrückung. So English “repression” defines a phenomenon that must be distinguished from the French “répression.” These translational shifts “directly concern the structures of archivization,” Derrida says, “because they touch on the topic differences and thus on the location of the substrates of traces\" (Derrida, 23). In other words, how do you classify concepts whose meanings shift across languages? Where do you store them in a disciplinary grammar—or in an archive? How do these asymmetrical linguistic structures shape the establishment and extension of a new science? For Derrida, the difference between “repression” and “répression” is “enough to disrupt the tranquil landscape of all historical knowledge, of all historiography, and even of all self-consistent ‘scholarship’” (Derrida, 23).[/note]\n\nOrigin failure appears both as deliberate performance and as unintentional oversight in these essays. Derrida stages his own inability to get past “go”; with an introductory section, and subsequent sections sub-titled “Exergue,” “Preamble,” “Foreword,” his essay functions, Steedman notes, like a “primer offering instruction in the principle of deferral.” [note number=\'16\']A short notice called “Priere d’inserer,” published only in the French book version, carried the bulk of an argument for which there was no room in the lecture. Steedman, 7.[/note] For all her insight into Derrida’s titling adventures, however, Steedman’s title is marked by its own origin aporia. While her first chapter is devoted to Archive Fever—a “let’s begin at the beginning” homage to the seminal text—her book’s title, Dust, seems more indebted to the last sentence of Kaplan’s essay, published five years before Derrida’s: “Usually there is no mother lode, no original manuscript to be retrieved—the gold is all in the dust.” [note number=\'17\']Kaplan, 116.[/note] Kaplan, however, is never mentioned. [note number=\'18\']Kaplan also begins her essay with a brief consideration of the “arche,” the Greek and Latin term for the public records office, which is a major starting point for Derrida. Is he borrowing from her, or is she borrowing from him, given that this sort of etymological investigation was an established signature of Deconstruction?[/note]\n\nKaplan, for her part, unravels her own archive story. She gives us a kind of “whodunit”—her search for the ephemeral sources of Louis-Ferdinand Céline’s anti-semitic pamphlet Bagatelles pour un massacre (1937). She uses this account to exemplify her effort to “move through the archival process and recover some of the stories that get deleted in the final scholarly form.” [note number=\'19\']Kaplan, 104. For this reason, perhaps, Kaplan never reveals what she ultimately discovers in her successful search for Celine’s sources. In fact, it’s not entirely clear whether her pre-emptive and truncated treatment of her archive story is deliberate or not. Is this treatment meant to indirectly support her official claim about “results”? Or does the presence of the archive story suggest that telling it is an impulse she can’t quite control? Thanks, Lauren Coats, for helping tease this problem out.[/note] These beginnings are preemptively struck out, however, by what seems to be her main claim: “the passion of the archives must finally be used to eradicate all personal stories in the interests of the dry archival report, fit for a public.” [note number=\'20\']Kaplan, 103.[/note] Only in the “para-text”—a preface, for example—can the archive story appear without “interrupt[ing] or complicat[ing] the narrative so much that no results could ever be understood or perceived.” [note number=\'21\']Kaplan, 104.[/note] Despite this unequivocal assertion, the personal “whodunit” prevails in her essay, especially in the final section set in the Centre du documentation juive contemporain (CDJC). [note type=\'figure\' number=\'5\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-5-cdjc-2/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-423\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-423\" title=\"fig 5 cdjc\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-5-cdjc1-333x250.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Website for the Centre de documentation juive contemporain.[/note] It is this library, where Kaplan solves the mystery of Céline’s sources, that “doubles as a detective’s office.”\n\nWhile Kaplan’s research mystery resolves neatly, the truth about archives is that they are full of gaps, mistakes and excesses: in the words of one of the CDJC librarians, “‘ici on trouve tout’—there’s some of everything here”—but not, one could add, all of anything. [note number=\'22\']Kaplan, 115.[/note] Kaplan’s essay ends by nullifying both her detective story success and her “dry archival report,” by recognizing the disorder on which both of these narratives are unsteadily perched: “The archive is constituted by these errors, these pieces out of place, which are then reintegrated into a story of some kind.” [note number=\'23\']Kaplan, 115.[/note] “A story of some kind”? So much for “results.”\n\nKaplan sets us up to perceive one final potsherd pattern common to these three essays. If origin-less disorder is the order of the archive, it is a disorder that is generated out of human loss—a disorder that joins the body and the material world. The archive is always predicated on historical violence of some sort, whatever is censored, erased, excluded, trumped up, used up, misplaced, conquered, killed. Moreover, the archival categories that mark both the visible victories and hidden defeats do not stay within their walls; the archive is both a repository of existing schemas and a means of perpetuating them in the world beyond. While we might usually think of this disciplinary activity as a pact between the archive and its political authors, Steedman makes it clear that the dilemmas of order shape the archival body in many ways. For example, she takes literally the provocation of Derrida’s title Archive Fever to investigate the illness that researchers contract on the penultimate day of their trip to the archive: prompted by the anxiety of the task that remains unfinished, they end their research with night-sweats and head-aches. But what seems like a strangely specific malady is transformed by Steedman into a far-reaching social symptom: by relating the researcher’s “archive fever” to the terrible diseases suffered by tanners, skinners and other workers in the trades associated with paper and leather, Steedman expands our sense of who is in the archive—the bodies whose specialized labors populate our libraries with books, the many kinds of expertise the archive consumes.\n\nFor Derrida, the relation between the material archive and its human architects focuses on one kind of “graphic mark,” a particular “private inscription”: circumcision as the archival signature that is also the signature of patrimoine, with Freud’s relationship to his father as his main example. [note number=\'24\']Derrida, 19.[/note] It is perhaps not a coincidence that the body in question in both Kaplan’s and Derrida’s archive is Jewish, for that is a body that has come to symbolize the destructive power of classificatory regimes. Despite her contention that the private passions motivating research must be kept secret, Kaplan is fascinated by the “missing person stories” at the CDJC: by the “quantity of people who are there for personal reasons,” the survivors of occupation or deportation or camps, or their descendants, quietly looking up their lost ones or noisily dropping off their memoirs. [note number=\'25\']Kaplan, 113.[/note] This disorganized crowd of dead and living bodies tries to meet up with an equally disorganized crowd of materials—individual letters, trial transcripts, pamphlets, newspapers, first-person accounts, books, photographs, lists. The monumental task of match-making, the librarians’ work, is never complete. More papers are always generated or declassified or discovered, different human questions and needs emerge. The tidy choreography of the research fantasy, where the detective always finds her man, is not so much in evidence; what we have instead is corpora in excess of existing categories.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\nKaplan, Derrida and Steedman open up the archival body. They show us how paper meets the press of flesh; they make us feel just how intimate it is. [note number=\'26\']This interest in the corporeal dimensions and effects of order, its human and non-human components, has in common with their other gestures—an experimental attitude towards conventional disciplinarity and attention to the priority of disorder—the circumstances of the academic humanities in the 1990s. Since the archival turn came out of the ascent of cultural studies and allied intrigues in the 1970s and ‘80s, the circles in the Venn diagram of these ventures will necessarily overlap. We could also say that the archive took off when it did precisely because it made a clever new container for these preoccupations, thick in the humanities atmosphere at the time, where they were distilled and united. [/note] But for all their revelations about the limits of discipline and the multiplicities of disorder in the archive, these texts do not disclose the specific methods of engagement that led to their existence. While Kaplan offers up her own archival victory and outlines several other such stories, she still insists on their marginalization. [note number=\'27\']“Were the story of how you got the story really to be told inside the book, it would interrupt or complicate the narrative so much that no results could be understood or even perceived. Every story of success in the archives is emotionally charged, for only the most extreme emotions can drive people to the drudgery, to the discomfort, of sitting and sifting through dog-eared documents, manuscripts, microfilms. To reveal those emotions would not only gum up the narrative, it would threaten its credibility, by showing on what thin strands of coincidence, accident, or on what unfair forms of friendship, ownership, geographical proximity, the discoveries were based” (Kaplan, 104).[/note] If these texts are not concerned with actual practices in the archive or changes in its methodologies, what do they tell us?\n\nFirst, they suggest one reason for the perpetuation of myths about the archive. While Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman are eager to show how archival materials do not conform to disciplinary distinctions—an enthusiasm related to other disruptive tendencies in late twentieth-century humanist scholarship –they seem less cognizant of a related phenomenon: the archive does not obey strict professional divisions, either. In Kaplan’s library-as-detective’s-office metaphor, the scholar is the detective, but does the “Eureka” moment belong only to the scholar who pieces together a narrative? What about the people who prepared those pieces? The archivist is still missing in action. Likewise, these essays do not dwell on missing boxes, illegible papers, neglected citations. There are no descriptions of archival slogging, no admissions that some materials failed to be relevant. And of course, there are no prescriptions for a different order. It is not the main aim of Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman to effect an evolution of practice; archival turnistas are not interested in disorder in order to re-order. But it is worth remembering that it is not in their professional interest as scholars to make their practices more transparent.\n\nSecondly, along the same lines, these texts inform us of the duplicity of speculative practices that reveal but cannot live out the instability of their archival mandates. Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman are put into the position of saying, “Yes, the archive is biased, idiosyncratic and treacherous—but the observations I draw from it are flawless.” [note number=\'28\']Derrida, unlike Kaplan and Steedman, makes no claims to work inside an actual archive, unless we consider Yerushalmi’s book as a kind of archive. But the fact that the essay was written self-consciously for presentation at the Freud Museum suggests that it was made out of an archive indirectly—in its construction, if not in its contents. [/note]\n\nFinally, these texts suggest why archival studies that attempt to be explicit about the messy nature of the archive have become instead “archive studies.” In more recent works like Refiguring the Archive (2002), Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions and the Writing of History (2005) and Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense (2009), the archive appears as a subject in its own right. Although the archival scenarios that are put into play in each of these books incorporate different disciplines—art, history, anthropology, literature, post-colonial studies—they have essentially created a new discipline. “Archive studies” is something we might, in the taxonomy of disciplines, see as the love-child of cultural studies, history and archival methodology. Moreover, this new discipline has in common with other humanities disciplines a complete blindness about its professional investments; it does not register much awareness of the professional investments of librarians, archivists, curators and “non-specialists,” or invite insights from those perspectives. Perhaps this is inevitably what happens when academics must give legitimacy to something new, which in turn reflects the pressures of scholarly communication: a topic must be delineated in conventional terms in order to merit publication. [note number=\'29\']Perhaps this is also the moment to ask why we—I—have been using the term “archive” all along, with its statist resonances, rather than the term “collection,” which has institutional but also personal resonances. Does “archive” bring us closer to recognizably “serious scholarship”?[/note] But it is also true that in these more recent books, which openly investigate the archive’s power-politics, the disorderly drift of the archive and its hybrid corporeality have mostly been bent towards a particular narrative about the archive as an agent of history rather than as a set of ongoing practices. It is as if the historical archive has been assembled in ways that reflect and reiterate power relations, but the contemporary archive has not; it is as if the researcher’s own research travails remain a transparent layer over the body of work that it constructs. [note number=\'30\']Of course, this is precisely what Derrida meant about the “death drive” of the archival impulse. Archive Stories is something of an exception; researchers speak openly here about themselves as researchers. It is interesting, however, that this book—like Steedman’s—doesn’t cite Kaplan’s essay as a precursor text despite the clear titular link.[/note]\n\nPerhaps it would also be fair to note that, if archival studies are now being formulated as an interdisciplinary discipline called “archive studies,” this might be just another stage in the turn. It might be that what comes next reconfigures the premise of disciplinarity and the promise of disorder, with a different approach to the human/non-human interactions that the archive documents and realizes: a more diffuse and multi-vocal set of practices in place of a new field. One way to imagine this approach would be to fully embrace Kaplan’s idea of the archive story as an account of what one hoped for, looked for and found, what one did and did not do, in the archive—an account loosed from the quarantine she advocates. Some very basic genre precedents for the archive story do exist; the bibliographic essay and the methodology statement, for example, have played an important role in many disciplines in the past and still do in some. Instead of a para-textual nod towards that archive story (in Kaplan’s sense), why not create a parallel text written collaboratively by the researcher(s) and the librarian(s), or by one person acting in both professional capacities, that runs alongside the official “results”? Or in a set of expanded notes that address not just the “what” and “where” but the “how” and “why” of sources, which are lifted from their small-type, bottom-of-page basement up into the light? Or—to add yet another layer—parallel texts that also offer room for exchange with other researchers, archivists and even interested “non specialists,” like collectors, bibliophiles and fans?\n\nIf it is hasn’t been clear already that I have scrupulously avoided so far the other kind of archive, the digital archive, it will be now. What I am imagining would be far too complicated to produce or consult in print, but would not be at all difficult to organize as a digital object—as an archive in its own right. By avoiding the digital archive up to this point, I have also finessed the fact that our current archival research methods are completely reliant on the digital archive, along with the development of online research tools and electronic instruments of data discovery and organization. Those conditions probably bear the most responsibility for making the archive visible as something that warranted a “turn” in the first place. Even Derrida refers in each version of Archive Fever to the computer on which he is currently composing, predicting that email will not only totally transform the archive as he knows it, but will make his own essay obsolete.\n\nIn short, we already have in place both the theory and the media that will make it possible to enact a radical new archival practice. We have in place what we need to integrate the archive story into the archive itself, while making it visible as a new form of “results.”\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>II. The library doubles as a librarian’s office.</strong>\n\nI could end here, with a triumphant firing of the starter pistol and a rousing cheer. But that would be a bit disingenuous, given that the starter pistol for both the archival turn and the academic use of the internet actually went off decades ago. So the question remains, what stands in the way of the practical enactment of the archival turn’s speculative insights? I’d like to engage this question by following Kaplan’s example (but not her main claim): through some archive story-telling about the George Peabody Library. These three vignettes, identified as “typical” through conversations with my colleague Paul Espinosa, illustrate the intractable formations that present-day archival encounters come up against.\n\n<strong>1. The Perils of Description.</strong>\n<blockquote>A group of Russian speakers visits the Peabody Library. The dozen men and women sit down around the screen that Paul has set up. He narrates a brief slide-show about the Peabody’s history, then leads them to a table where a dozen books from the collection have been laid out in cradles. He tells them about each book: what it is, why it is interesting. Each phrase of his presentation is painstakingly translated by the group’s leader into Russian.</blockquote>\nWhen academic and community groups visit the Peabody, my colleagues and I draw upon a standard tour-guide’s repertoire to describe it. We explain that George Peabody was a tradesman cum financier cum philanthropist who decided in 1857 that Baltimore needed a cultural institution to support the arts and learning. We talk about the evolution of the Peabody Institute, the four-part athenaeum that resulted, with its art gallery, lecture series, conservatory and free, public, non-circulating library. We discuss the model of philanthropy that George Peabody initiated and its wide-ranging influence. We point out the signal features of the awe-inspiring architecture of the current library, built to accommodate a rapidly growing collection in 1878. But when it comes to the library itself, as a collection, it is hard to know what to say. How to accurately translate the library’s holdings into a succinct and memorable statement that conveys an appropriate level of detail to different audiences? While it poses specific challenges, the Peabody also exemplifies more general problems of collection description.\n\nWe do not lack evidence for the evolving contents of the Peabody. We have the two-volume printed list of “desiderata” drawn up by the Peabody’s first librarian, John G. Morris. [note number=\'31\']Alphabetical Catalogue of Books to be Purchased for the Library of the Peabody Institute, Baltimore, Vols. 1 and 2 (Baltimore: John D. Toy, 1861, 1863).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'6\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-6-alpha-index-2/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-395\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-395\" title=\"fig 6 alpha index\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-6-alpha-index1-336x484.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"484\" /></a>Alphabetical index from Alphabetical Catalouge (“desiderata”).[/note] We have the collections register for several decades’-worth of acquisitions, recording bibliographic information and accession numbers that can still be found on the inside front end papers of many of the books in the collection. We have the librarians’ annual reports to the library trustees. [note number=\'32\']The Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore: The Founder’s Letters and the Papers Relating to its Dedication and History, Up to the 1st January, 1868 (Baltimore: William K. Boyle, 1868); and subsequent Annual Reports, 1869, etc.[/note] We have the library’s first printed catalogue, an unsurpassed achievement when first published in 1883, which listed 100,000 volumes by author and title. [note number=\'33\']Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore, Vols. 1-5 (Baltimore: Isaac Friedenwald, 1883; reprinted Boston: G. K. Hall, [1961?]; also on googlebooks), and Second Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore, Including the Additions Made Since 1882, Vols. 1-8 (Baltimore: Deutsch Lithographic and Printing, 1896; reprinted Boston: G. K. Hall, 1961).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'7\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-7-print-cat/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-396\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-396\" title=\"fig 7 print cat\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-7-print-cat-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Reprinted volumes of the Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute (1883).[/note] We have the cards from the Dewey decimal system card catalogue, which replaced the printed catalogue in the 1910s. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'8\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-8-card-cat/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-397\"><img class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-397\" title=\"fig 8 card cat\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-8-card-cat.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"448\" /></a>One of two card catalogues in the Peabody.[/note] Now, of course, the library’s collections are represented in an online catalogue that integrates them with other collections in the Hopkins library system.\n\nThese markers of the collection, however, fail to satisfy some contemporary research queries for reasons that are both practical and philosophical. The transfer of the printed index, organized by author, to the Dewey decimal system, organized by topic, represented a major epistemological shift that facilitated browsing by subject category. But of course, those categories are embedded in historically-bound notions about the subjects and structures of knowledge: Dewey was invented in the 1870s, and the 22 revisions it has undergone since then cannot overcome its essential organizational distortions. For example, the literature range—the 800s—offers only 10% of its categorical space to literatures in languages other than English, Germanic and Romance languages, Greek and Latin.\n\nIn the case of the Peabody, the Dewey arrangements overlay even older systems of knowledge hierarchy. Should we continue to offer, for example, a description of the Peabody’s “voyages and travels” books? This category represents a Renaissance schematic that was still in service in the mid-nineteenth century; while actual “voyages and travels” were extended by colonial ventures, the category was eventually disbanded. Dewey combined it with geography to make a sub-category of “history.” In keeping active the old-fashioned phrase “voyages and travels,” we are participating in a centuries-long project of euphemism about the material aims and actual activities of colonialism; we are privileging an early phase of the Peabody’s evolution over later phases; we may even be confusing modern researchers. And yet, as one of the topics in Morris’s “desiderata,” a considerable portion of the Peabody’s collection was acquired with the aim of fleshing out that descriptor. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'9\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-9-index-detail/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-398\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-398\" title=\"fig 9 index detail\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-9-index-detail-336x274.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"274\" /></a>Detail of subject index from Alphabetical Catalouge No. 2 (“desiderata”).[/note]\n\nYet another classificatory dilemma is expressed by George Peabody’s original statement of the library’s purpose: that it “be furnished in every department of knowledge, with the most approved literature… It should consist on the best works on every subject… to satisfy the researches of students who may be engaged in the pursuit of knowledge not ordinarily attainable in the private libraries of the country.” [note number=\'34\']“Letters from George Peabody, Esq.: Baltimore, February 12th, 1857,” in Founder’s Letters, 7.[/note] The Peabody was founded as a cultural institution for the people of Baltimore, but from the first, this democratic ambition was in conflict with the intellectual aspirations of the first librarians and their desire to facilitate civic “self-improvement.” Morris (a doctor of divinity), his successor Nathaniel Holmes Morison (a schoolmaster and poet), and Morison’s assistant and successor Philip Uhler (who had trained as an entomologist) were all devoted to the nineteenth-century idea of the scholar-librarian. Morison wrote in one annual report that “Education always proceeds from the above downward, from the best to the common minds, from the leaders of the people to the people themselves. Furnish... the foundations of intelligence and thought, and they will... stimulate and improve the whole community.\" [note number=\'35\']Qtd. in Franklin Parker and Betty J. Parker, “PIB Ref. Library. 8-Morison\'s Philosophy of Excellence,” in George Peabody (1795-1869): A-Z Handbook of the Massachusetts-Born Merchant in the South, London-Based Banker, and Philanthropist\'s Life, Influence, and Related People, Places, Events, and Institutions. . 11 Mar. 2011.[/note] When the Johns Hopkins University was founded in 1876 in close proximity to the Peabody—in large part to take advantage of the library—the tendency of the librarians to address scholarly needs and “approved literature” over popular desires was given additional momentum. In keeping with these ideas, the Peabody’s librarians kept careful track of their readers’ choices, noting with special caution the numbers of novels that were requested. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'10\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-10-annual-report-detail/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-399\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-399\" title=\"fig 10 annual report detail\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-10-annual-report-detail-336x452.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"452\" /></a>Detail from First Annual Report showing chart of books read, with special mention of fiction.[/note] This schism at the heart of the library’s collecting paradigm was not unique to the Peabody; the question of reading matter—should it offer leisure for the masses or the means of social uplift?—was central to the public library movement of the second half of the nineteenth century. [note number=\'36\']See, for example, Alexis McCrossen, “’One Cathedral More’ or ‘Mere Lounging Places for Bummers’? The Cultural Politics of Leisure and the Public Library in Gilded Age America,” Libraries &amp; Culture 41.2 (2006): 169-188; Paul Sturges, “The Public Library and Reading by the Masses: Historical Perspectives on the USA and Britain 1850-1900,” ; Trustees of the Public Library of the City of Boston, Upon the Objects to be Attained by the Establishment of a Public Library, 12 Dec. 2010.[/note]\n\nFinally, the Peabody’s “desiderata” acquisitions and librarians’ selections were supplemented by book donations from local elites—bibliophiles with extensive private collections that included incunabula, classical authors in Renaissance editions, expensive illustrated atlases. At the same time, book donations came in from more plebian sources. The Peabody’s growth overlapped with the decline of the local social libraries, and it eventually absorbed some of the books from the Library Company of Baltimore, Robinson’s Circulating Library and several small professional and mechanics’ libraries. And I haven’t even touched on the Peabody’s twentieth-century fate.\n\nThe variety of philanthropic impulses, resource streams and classification philosophies that have fed the Peabody over the 150 years of its existence has led to a collection that does not so much map the nineteenth-century mind as signal its odd amalgam of popular and scholarly investments. The Peabody’s collection effectively evades succinct description—at least, any kind of description that pretends to be coherent, that is not perforated by its stakes in local history, library history, book history. But more importantly, it suggests the degree to which accident and opportunity and prejudice and wealth and the changing winds of cataloguing rules shape any archive. Description, which should be the most fundamental tool of communication between librarians and researchers, turns out to be utterly elusive. Yet we do not know what to replace them with, these inadequate descriptions, these exercises in stilted and partial translation.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>2. The Researcher’s Progress.</strong>\n<blockquote>I am preparing for my class about women and nineteenth-century print culture, which meets in the Peabody; we have reached the part of the syllabus where we look at gift books and annuals. I want students to examine several examples of these literary miscellanies, offering some illustration of their variety, and I have a list of such items that I have used in the past. But since I also want to show the students new acquisitions, I need to refresh my list. I will start with “gift book” as a keyword in the online catalogue.</blockquote>\nIn place of perfect and commensurate description—not possible—what we have are cataloguing systems that indexically represent collections through data and metadata that are, as I have already suggested, historically marked and inevitably inconsistent. In the case of the Peabody, these records are further compromised: Dewey cards developed from a nineteenth-century print index do not offer Library of Congress subject terms or detailed tables of contents; they also frequently lack other kinds of information. [note number=\'37\']Many of the electronic records for Peabody books have been copy-cataloged, that is, developed from records for identical books in other libraries. But these records might also be incomplete or inconsistent, given that many are quite old. The expense of original cataloging prevents our staff from creating full, new records for every item in the Peabody’s collection of over 300,000 titles.[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'11\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-11-ddc-cards/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-400\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-400\" title=\"fig 11 ddc cards\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-11-ddc-cards-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Dewey cards for “gift books.”[/note] My search for “gift book” will turn up bequests—the term “gift book” is often attached to these donations—and it will miss many of the nineteenth-century gift books and annuals in our collection whose records lack subject classifications, or whose subject classifications reference the book’s contents, not its format. For example, the 1848 Rough and Ready Annual: or, Military Souvenir published by Appleton’s has been assigned the subject “Mexican War, 1846-1848—Anecdotes.” [note number=\'38\']Rough and Ready Annual (New York: D. Appleton; Philadelphia: G.S. Appleton, 1848).[/note]\n\nThe problem of finding is perhaps only a sub-set of the problem of description, but I want to give it special attention because it introduces another variable: the physical space of the object. My search for gift books in the Peabody also entails the privilege of retrieving the books from the stacks. There are two search processes, the intellectual and the physical, that I must navigate. The intellectual search in this case requires a variety of keyword/date range combinations, and ultimately, recourse to my prepared bibliography—a holdover from pre-catalogue research methods. Now the second search begins.\n\nThe Rough and Ready Annual is at 973.62 A5121, in the “general history of North America; United States” category. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'12\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-12-rr/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-401\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-401\" title=\"fig 12 r&amp;r\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-12-rr-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>The Rough and Ready Annual in the stacks.[/note] This call number range is on the second floor, west side. Other items on my list are in very different parts of the library. Orange Blossoms: A Gift Book for All Who Have Worn, Are Wearing, Or are Likely to Wear Them, edited by the temperance writer T. S. Arthur and published in London, has been given the call number 813 A7910 duodecimo—fourth floor east, in the “American literature in English, fiction” section. [note number=\'39\']Orange Blossoms: A Gift Book for All Who Have Worn, Are Wearing, Or are Likely to Wear Them (London: Knight &amp; Co., [1857]). This title does not appear in at least one Arthur bibliography; see Donald A Koch, \"Timothy Shay Arthur,\" Antebellum Writers in New York and the South, ed. Joel Myerson (Detroit: Gale Research, 1979), from Literature Resource Center. Web. 19 Feb. 2011. To check on this, I need Mitchell Sharpe Jr.’s A Bibliography of the Published Books of Timothy Shay Arthur (Atlanta: Emory University, 1954), a typewritten quarto at 012 A791S, but it seems to be missing.[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'13\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-13-orange/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-402\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-402\" title=\"fig 13 orange\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-13-orange-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Orange Blossoms in the stacks.[/note] Arthur shows up again as co-editor of The Baltimore Book: A Christmas and New-Year\'s Present, which has received more extensive description as it contains the first printing of Edgar Allan Poe’s short story “Siope.” [note number=\'40\']The Baltimore Book: A Christmas and New-Year\'s Present (Baltimore: Bayly and Burns, [1838]).[/note] We have two copies of this very genteel little gift book, one at 808.83 B2175 (rhetoric &amp; collections of literature), and one at 810.8 C297 (American literature in English). The New Casket: A Gift Book for All Seasons is in the rare book room at the south end of the third floor. [note number=\'41\']The New Casket: A Gift Book for All Seasons (London: The Religious Tract Society, ca. 1850).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'14\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-14-rbr/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-403\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-403\" title=\"fig 14 rbr\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-14-rbr-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>The rare book room.[/note] In this case, the book’s rarity has to do with a lovely fore-edge painting. It has been assigned to 820.8 N42017 (general books about literature). On the other end of the “rare” continuum is The Family Circle and Parlor Annual, volume 5 in a series, which is shelved up on the sixth floor with the periodicals at 051 F198 (serials in American English). [note number=\'42\']The Family Circle and Parlor Annual (New York: Comstock, 1847).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'15\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-15-parlor/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-404\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-404\" title=\"fig 15 parlor\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-15-parlor-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>The Parlor Annual in the stacks.[/note]\n\nI’ll fill out call slips for each book, stick the slips into red flags, and put the flags in an order that will help me chart a logical course through the stacks. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'16\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-16-slips/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-405\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-405\" title=\"fig 16 slips\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-16-slips-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Call slips and flags.[/note] It’s easiest to start on the sixth floor and work one’s way down, picking up books along the way. Usually I find other interesting items as I go, so I carry a batch of blank call slips and extra flags. (On this occasion, for example, I find The New American Reader: Containing Choice Pieces, in Prose and Verse; published in 1813 and inscribed by its owner in 1817, it pre-dates by several years the official beginning of the gift book phenomenon. It might be more of a “literary almanac.” [note number=\'43\']The New American Reader: Containing Choice Pieces, in Prose and Verse (Philadelphia: David Hogan, 1813).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'17\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-17-new-reader/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-406\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-406\" title=\"fig 17 new reader\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-17-new-reader-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Inscription in The New American Reader.[/note]) Usually I am also unable to locate at least one of the books I have set out to find. Most likely the book has been misshelved, so I’ll check the quartos and folios, which are shelved separately; then I’ll check the rare book room’s octavo, duodecimo and quarto shelving areas. It used to astonish me that books were still shelved by format in the Peabody, but it does save space. At the same time, this shelving system—along with the multiple distinct areas within the library where books may reside, eg the rare book room, the reference section, the genealogy books, the Limited Editions Club, and several discrete named collections—means that retrieving a few books can take quite a long time, as I traipse up and down the six floors of the library, thread through stacks, open secured doors with multiple keys, turn lights on and off, and maneuver a book truck in and out of a tiny service elevator built in the 1920s. By the end of the journey, the library and I will have exchanged dust; I’ll take on a few streaks of red rot, and the library will have taken in particles from my body as well.\n\nWhile the Peabody is unique, these conditions are not in the end very unusual. In terms of the intellectual search, the absence of “gift book” from many of the catalogue records is no less egregious than the absence of other information—the names of all the contributors; the subjects of the illustrations. The metadata is potentially infinite. The “gift book” only exists as a category because of scholars who teased out this cultural phenomenon; it would be very difficult to define its absolute borders. In terms of the physical search, the Peabody might be messier than, say, a rare book library that has assigned current LC call numbers to all its contents and houses them in compact shelving, but it exemplifies the general on-the-ground situation. As I wind my way through the Peabody stacks, I remember how much more difficult it is to gather research materials from several different institutions.\n\nThe fact is, for scholars who rely on archives, research is something you do only after you have already undertaken a rigorous search. It is the search that provides you with the foundational sense of your subject. But the search is rarely acknowledged or accredited; even the foot-soldier craft of bibliography, the link between “librarianship” and “scholarship,” has largely lost its scholarly status.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>3. An Architecture of Disctinction.</strong>\n<blockquote>A non-affiliate researcher contacts the Peabody about our H. L. Mencken collections. Since she will bring a couple of graduate students with her, I set up a group work space in one of the library alcoves where the three of them can share materials and talk without disturbing other readers. I pull the requested volumes with the help of some students and set the cart up within easy reach of the alcove. When the researchers arrive, I show them the Mencken collections on the ground floor. Then I lead them to their group work space and leave them, returning to the glassed-in office behind the reading room, the vantage point that allows me to monitor the otherwise empty reading room.</blockquote>\nIn “The Silence of the Library: Environment, Situational Norm, and Social Behavior,” a team of Dutch sociologists investigates the library as a space that is strongly marked by situational norms—“knowledge-based beliefs about how to behave in particular situations that are shaped by social influence.” [note number=\'44\']Henk Aarts and Ap Dijksterhuis, “The Silence of the Library: Environment, Situational Norm, and Social Behavior,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 84.1 (2003), 19.[/note] Their research leads them to argue, however, that such norms do not require direct social influences to be triggered; in fact, “the situation can activate mental representations of normative behaviors automatically. And once activated, these representations provide the knowledge necessary for guiding one’s own situationally appropriate behavior.” [note number=\'45\']Aarts and Dijksterhuis, 19.[/note] Physical environments do not necessarily prompt these behaviors; rather, the behavior “depend[s] on whether the environment is of immediate behavioral relevance.” [note number=\'46\']Aarts and Dijksterhuis, 20.[/note] Talking in a quiet voice in the library, a normative behavior, is only activated for those who plan to visit the library.\n\nTen years ago, when the research for this article was conducted, the “silence of the library” was still a widespread norm. While the situation is now often reversed—in our main campus library, we must designate specific quiet areas because otherwise a sociable undergraduate din would take over—the norm of silence does continue to preside at the Peabody. Because it is off campus, the Peabody is often attractively under-populated compared to the crowded main library; it is mostly used by advanced researchers and those who seek a quiet place to study. The large central open area catches and amplifies even the smallest noises. The shelf-lined alcoves on either side of this central area offer the appearance of privacy, but in fact are little echo chambers. Visitors immediately detect these acoustics, and—except for the periodic tour groups—most spend their time in the Peabody in silence. But it is not just the physics of sound that shape behaviors here, as the Dutch researchers show; the social expectations of the space prefigure those behaviors.\n\nIn setting up a group work space for the Mencken researchers, I have quite deliberately contravened the usual norm of silence. Clearly, I am not inviting them to shout, and by putting them in an alcove in back, I have taken measures to protect any quiet-seeking visitors who might arrive. But in accordance with new ideas about the use of library space, my colleagues and I have decided that we must accommodate group study even if it might occasionally disrupt the silence desired by others. As it happens, the Mencken researchers’ conversation is eventually interrupted by a tour group, and the two activities play out side by side.\n\nI must admit that at moments I have mixed feelings about the tour groups and even the study cohorts. While my pedagogical instincts tend towards cheerful hub-bub, there is a part of me that is still in awe of the sanctuary-like atmosphere of the Peabody. John Morris called the library a “cathedral of books,” and clearly that’s what architect Edmund G. Lind had in mind. The central area with its grand skylight and the alcoves on its sides is like a nave bordered with chapels. Lind didn’t need a psychological study of environment-based situational norms to tell him that he might activate different behaviors within his building. The great central space inspires reverence—your eye is drawn to the skylight the way it would be drawn to the rose windows of Chartres, and on its way up catches row upon solemn row of books stowed behind gilded railings, a testament to the accumulated wisdom of the ages. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'18\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-18-skylight/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-407\"><img class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-407\" title=\"fig 18 skylight\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-18-skylight.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"448\" /></a>The skylight in the George Peabody Library.[/note] But step into an alcove, especially on the ground floor where each is filled with an immense wooden table, and you instantly feel something else, something no less grand but more human. The alcoves are study-sized, and once you sit down at one of those dark, gleaming, broad tables, it is like you are the master of your own private library. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'19\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-19-alcove/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-408\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-408\" title=\"fig 19 alcove\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-19-alcove-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Alcove in the George Peabody Library.[/note]\n\nIronically, the Peabody’s architecture was out-dated by the time it was completed. With the professionalization of librarianship and the evolution of library science in the late nineteenth century, librarians like William Frederick Poole advocated for a functional rather than decorative design of interior library space. [note number=\'47\']See William Frederick Poole, Remarks on Library Construction (Chicago: Jansen, McClurg, 1884).[/note] Moreover, the actual use of space in the Peabody in the late nineteenth century was at odds with its symbolic appeal. The main library was known as the “stack room”; readers were seated in a comparatively plain reading room on the other side of the main doors. In this arrangement, the librarians reigned inside the gorgeous “cathedral of books,” but the building’s potential to civilize the masses was lost.\n\nNow, of course, we do not send readers outside. Inside the “stack room,” we explicitly call visitors’ attention to its beauty to explain the connections between the library’s architecture and its collections—how both speak eloquently of Victorian values. At the same time, we who staff the library have relegated ourselves to its periphery. We work in the glassed-in room at one end that serves as a monitoring point and occasional classroom; the official “librarian’s office” in one corner—its luxurious proportions suggesting something like a sacristy and something like a robber baron’s lair—is now shared work-space stuffed with several desks and laden book trucks. There is another monitoring station near the main doors. I often do my work at the photography station, in the back of one of the alcoves [note type=\'figure\' number=\'20\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-20-station/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-409\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-409\" title=\"fig 20 station\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-20-station-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Photography station in the George Peabody Library.[/note]. It offers some privacy but is close enough to the central reading tables to be accessible to readers.\n\nThe space of the Peabody initiates other situational behaviors besides the norm of silence, and our work-station arrangements testify to this. The spatial re-centralizing of readers and marginalization of staff is not merely practical; it is a reflection of the modern office of librarianship. We are there to be of service, in a para-textual position. Consequently, our work should be out of sight; it should be separate from and secondary to the work that readers do. Our locations call upon us, in other words, to support the scholar’s effort to hide the “seams of [her] findings” by hiding the ways we contribute to that work—by the ways we sometimes do that work.\n\nI think about these complications as I escort the Mencken researchers to their table and walk back to the glassed-in office, where there is nothing pressing for me to do. I’d rather spend more time talking with them. I’d like to learn about their research and introduce them to some underappreciated parts of the collection. I’d like to share with them what I learned curating an exhibition of Mencken-related magazines and writing about one of those magazines. But I don’t want to get in their way; it’s likely that they are ready to get on with work that they don’t see as connected to mine. The professional norms of the archive are strong, and although I know how to talk about my research in many contexts—in presentations, interviews, hotel elevators—I haven’t figured out how to mix my scholarly role with the curatorial role I am supposed to play here, in the Peabody. In the end, I say nothing. Professional segregation is another kind of silence in the library.\n\nWe cannot change the archaeological record beneath our feet, but we can rearrange the fossils we dig up to create new narratives. We can tell different kinds of archive stories, including the story of what research in the archive was and is. Is it too idealistic to expect that dissolving the entrenched fantasies about archival research will make room for new methods? Is it naïve to imagine a space that, in putting into practice the archival turn’s preliminary insights about disciplinary and disorder, can support experimentation, facilitate connection across professions and disciplines, and enable new discoveries?','Disciplinarity and Disorder','','inherit','open','open','','2199-revision-3','','','2013-04-15 02:42:33','2013-04-15 02:42:33','',2199,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/issue/%issue%/uncategorized/2199-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(4431,1,'2013-04-21 20:14:11','2013-04-21 20:14:11','<h3>Students as Archivists</h3>\nBehind the scenes in special collections libraries and archives across the country, undergraduate students are being hired as part-time, temporary employees to assist with processing cultural-heritage materials. A recent survey of recipients of Cataloging Hidden Collections Special Collections and Archives grant projects<sup><a title=\"footnote\" href=\"#_ftn1\">[1]</a></sup> found that 97% of respondents employ student workers, and 73% reported that their student workers included undergraduate students. Students are assisting with civil rights collections at Emory University, modernist architectural drawings and plans at North Carolina State University, Jewish cultural-heritage materials at the College of Charleston, and Moravian historical documents at Lehigh University, to name just a few examples. Employing students in special collections libraries and archives is not a new practice; indeed, many of today\'s career librarians and archivists were once student workers themselves. Generally this is a budget-driven practice: students are in need of work and their labor is relatively inexpensive. The educational impact on students, however, is not widely understood or even acknowledged. How does working in archives impact students themselves? What skills do they acquire? Is their library employment connected to their studies? Does this work experience influence their career path? How does engagement with cultural-heritage materials affect their learning in the digital age?\n<h3>Archivists as Educators</h3>\nStudent workers require management: recruitment, training, oversight, and mentorship. In fact, when viewed strictly as employees, student workers—a transitory population with jam-packed, fluctuating schedules—do not represent the ideal work force. At the same time, we know that employment in the archives gives students an exceptional opportunity for applied learning under the guidance of professional archivists who can provide for the growth of intellectual and practical skills. These skills include exposure to primary sources combined with hands-on training in cataloging, processing, preserving, and digitizing such materials. Working with primary sources involves precisely the kind of active, integrative, experiential learning that is vital to inspiring undergraduate research.<sup><a title=\"footnote\" href=\"#_ftn2\">[2]</a></sup> So, how can we better reconcile the challenges of employing student workers with the potential educational benefits of such labor? We believe that by recognizing and empowering archivists in their roles as teachers, the informal or “hidden” learning that student workers gain can become more visible.\n<h3>Linking Archival Work to the Educational Missions of Universities and Colleges</h3>\nBased on anecdotal evidence, we know that student workers\' exposure to primary sources and the skills and technologies necessary to preserve, manage, and study them is resulting in student learning, informing choices of major, and altering career paths. Yet, the informal or \"hidden learning” that is occurring behind the scenes in libraries and archives is treated largely as a side effect, a fortunate but contingent byproduct of labor, rather than as an integral part of the educational mission. We hope this situation changes with closer attention to the educational experiences of students working in the archives. To that end, we are currently engaged in a study that investigates the impact of working in libraries and archives on students involved in civil rights-related hidden collections projects. These civil rights collections—records of organizations such as the Mexican American Legal Defense and Education Fund, Alianza Hispano-Americana, the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, and the Voter Education Project—are often directly connected to local communities and relevant to contemporary issues and curricula. Most importantly, students are often able to recognize themselves and their communities in the collections, thus increasing the potential for transformative educational experiences. We believe that such work should be acknowledged as precisely the kind of applied learning that most higher education institutions are now actively pursuing in the form of internships, field work, and community service. Our study raises the following questions:\n<ul>\n	<li>What if “student workers” were perceived as “student archivists,” “young researchers,” or “apprentice scholars”?</li>\n	<li>What if student participation in the work of libraries and archives was foregrounded and celebrated, instead of remaining largely anonymous?</li>\n	<li>What if training students was seen as central to the business of library and archival practice in educational institutions?</li>\n	<li>What if the work students were being hired to do was considered essential to their educational experience and the mission of their universities?</li>\n	<li>What if professional archivists emphasized their role as teachers within institutions of higher education?</li>\n</ul>\n<br></br>\n<h3>Archival Work, the Digital Humanities, and the Library Commons</h3>\nConnecting informal learning to university education requires that librarians, archivists, and technologists view themselves as educators working alongside faculty to<em> </em>help students become researchers in a hybrid analog-digital world. Twenty-first-century models for collaborative learning and teaching are emerging, especially in the digital humanities, where students study primary sources in digital formats and apply new technologies to pose and answer research questions. In the digital humanities, students are being guided by faculty to identify and study research questions using new technologies in partnership with their peers. At many institutions, such classes and activities are being supported in Library Commons\' spaces—multi-service research and learning hubs that are technology-enabled and staffed by professional librarians and technologists. How might the hidden learning that students are experiencing behind the scenes in special collections libraries and archives be connected to the digital humanities and the Library Commons?\n<h3>Teaching the Whole Student: Faculty, Librarian, Archivist, and Technologist as a Team</h3>\nCreating an integrated learning experience demands a symbiotic mindset—a team approach—with archivists, librarians, technologists, and faculty working together to support student learning through engagement with primary sources and new technologies. At the very least, expanding access to primary sources, both physical and digital, in the undergraduate curriculum will require intensifying and scaling coordination and collaboration between the faculty member teaching disciplinary content, the librarian teaching research strategies, the technologist teaching digital tools, and the archivist teaching primary sources. The aim of such coordination would be to provide an environment in which students were more likely to develop skills necessary for success in the knowledge-driven economy of the twenty-first century. Today\'s students must learn not only to find and analyze reliable information, but also to communicate effectively, solve problems, work in teams, use advanced digital tools to create new knowledge, and engage in multicultural communities. The phenomenon of student employment on archival projects is happening largely undetected at the margins of higher education, but it could inspire a new approach to undergraduate learning that foregrounds the role of cultural heritage in the digital age.\n<div class=\"footnote\"><sup title=\"footnote\">[1]</sup> The <a href=\"http://www.clir.org/hiddencollections/index.html\">Cataloging Hidden Special Collections and Archives</a> grant program, funded by The Mellon Foundation and administered by the Council on Library and Information Resources, addresses the problem of “hidden collections”: millions of cultural heritage materials held by libraries and archives that have not been adequately described and remain unavailable to researchers.\n<sup title=\"footnote\">[2]</sup> See, the definition of “high-impact educational practices” articulated by the Association of American Colleges and Universities LEAP (Liberal Education and America’s Promise) Program: http://www.aacu.org/leap/.</div>','Hidden Learning: Undergraduates at Work in the Archives','Student workers require management:  recruitment, training, oversight, and mentorship. In fact, when viewed strictly as employees, student workers—a transitory population with jam-packed, fluctuating schedules—do not represent the ideal work force. At the same time, we know that employment in the archives gives students an exceptional opportunity for applied learning under the guidance of professional archivists who can provide for the growth of intellectual and practical skills. ','inherit','open','open','','1899-revision-7','','','2013-04-21 20:14:11','2013-04-21 20:14:11','',1899,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/issue//uncategorized/1899-revision-7/',0,'revision','',0),(3581,1,'2012-09-25 05:49:22','2012-09-25 05:49:22','','Past Issues','','inherit','open','open','','2529-revision','','','2012-09-25 05:49:22','2012-09-25 05:49:22','',2529,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/issue/%issue%/uncategorized/2529-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(3582,1,'2013-04-15 00:06:40','2013-04-15 00:06:40',' ','','','publish','open','open','','3582','','','2013-04-19 03:45:35','2013-04-19 03:45:35','',0,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/?p=3582',4,'nav_menu_item','',0),(3583,1,'2013-04-15 00:06:40','2013-04-15 00:06:40','','Contact','','publish','open','open','','contact-2','','','2013-04-19 03:45:35','2013-04-19 03:45:35','',0,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/?p=3583',3,'nav_menu_item','',0),(3584,1,'2013-04-15 00:06:40','2013-04-15 00:06:40','','Submit','','publish','open','open','','submit-2','','','2013-04-19 03:45:35','2013-04-19 03:45:35','',0,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/?p=3584',2,'nav_menu_item','',0),(3585,1,'2013-04-15 00:06:40','2013-04-15 00:06:40',' ','','','publish','open','open','','3585','','','2013-04-19 03:45:35','2013-04-19 03:45:35','',0,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/?p=3585',1,'nav_menu_item','',0),(4003,1,'2013-04-19 03:11:43','2013-04-19 03:11:43','test','Test','','inherit','open','open','','3999-revision-2','','','2013-04-19 03:11:43','2013-04-19 03:11:43','',3999,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/%issue%/uncategorized/3999-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3589,1,'2013-04-15 00:46:23','2013-04-15 00:46:23','Since I came to Wesleyan nearly fifteen years ago, a key focus of my job has been outreach to the faculty, and thus the undergraduates, through the curriculum. To this end, I teach thirty-five to fifty class sessions each academic year in Special Collections &amp; Archives (SC&amp;A). Disciplines range from astronomy to writing, and just about everything in between.\n\nThough all class sessions have the common goal of raising undergraduate awareness of and interest in the holdings of SC&amp;A, each class presentation is different, based on both the subject of the course and the pedagogical purpose for which the materials will be used. Some sessions take a classic “dog and pony show” approach in which I, or sometimes the professor and I, present a group of interesting materials from our collections and talk briefly about each item, how it connects to the course, and/or how it might be used in the students’ research. In other sessions, students take a more active role by doing an in-class assignment. One such assignment we often use is the “mystery book exercise” that a History of Science faculty member and I developed together. “Mystery book” is a fun, fast-paced exercise that trains students to evaluate an unfamiliar source quickly and teaches information-literacy skills using books or documents connected to the subject of the course. After spending a few minutes looking at a book they have not seen before, students answer ten questions, which range from the (usually) easy identification of the author to more complex considerations of how the mystery book might inform their research. Still other classes use the visit to SC&amp;A to prepare for an in-depth paper or project that requires, or at least strongly encourages, the use of materials in SC&amp;A. These longer assignments are as varied as the classes, and they include traditional term papers, documentary editing projects, artists’ books, and creative writing based on primary sources, among others. For the full list of mystery book questions, other assignments, and comments from Wesleyan professors who use SC&amp;A in teaching, see the online exhibition, <em><a href=\"http://oldbooks.site.wesleyan.edu/\">Old Books, New Pedagogy: Special Collections and Archives in the Curriculum</a></em>.\n\nOf course, not all the work I do with undergraduates is teaching them about archives and special collections in class settings. Often class visits spark students to use SC&amp;A for other courses, senior theses or essays, co-curricular activities, or just simple personal interest. In many of these cases, I work one-on-one with the students to help them identify relevant materials, focus topics, find related books or documents, and understand the context, all of which are typical functions of reference and instruction librarians.\n\nMuch of my recent professional activity has focused on teaching undergraduates to use archives and special collections. I have just co-edited a volume of case studies on this topic, entitled <em>Past or Portal? Enhancing Undergraduate Learning through Special Collections and Archives</em>. The book, which was<a href=\"http://www.alastore.ala.org/detail.aspx?ID=3828\"> recently published by the Association of College and Research Libraries</a>, contains nearly fifty real-life examples of undergraduate curricular uses of archives and special collections in a wide variety of institutions.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Taraba 1','','inherit','open','open','','1558-autosave','','','2013-04-15 00:46:23','2013-04-15 00:46:23','',1558,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/issue/%issue%/uncategorized/1558-autosave/',0,'revision','',0),(3590,1,'2010-11-02 17:30:09','2010-11-02 17:30:09','<h3><a href=\"#welcome\">Welcome</a> | <a href=\"#mission\">Mission</a> | <a href=\"#content\">Journal Content</a> | <a href=\"#editors\">Editorial Team &amp; Editorial Board</a> | <a href=\"#submissions\">Submissions</a>\n<a href=\"#review\">Peer Review</a> | <a href=\"#copyright\">Copyright &amp; Licenses</a> | <a href=\"#publication\">Publication</a> | <a href=\"#design\">Web Design</a> | <a href=\"#support\"> Support</a></h3>\n&nbsp;\n<h3><a name=\"welcome\"></a>Welcome</h3>\n<p class=\"textblock\">What you see on this site is Issue 2 (Fall 2012).  Work is underway on Issue 3,  a special issue focused on data curation.</p>\n\n<h3><a name=\"mission\"></a>Mission</h3>\n<em>Archive</em> focuses on the use and theory of archives and special collections in higher education.\n<p class=\"textblock\">The academic community has invested deeply in the preservation, use, and digitization of materials in special collections, and <em>Archive</em> provides the space to reflect on this investment. The objects and texts in special collections and archives are the focus of this journal, just as they are the focus of the many projects from and in archives that have been executed and continue with great success. Digitization efforts large and small have freed archives from the bounds of brick and mortar by bringing a wealth of texts and objects into virtual circulation. Teachers and librarians have increasingly emphasized work with original materials for students at all levels as a way to enrich student experience and position students as researchers. The use of materials in special collections as the objects of scholarly study continues to be a key methodology of humanities disciplines even as new technologies, from data mining to visualizations, open up possibilities for what scholars learn from these objects. Recent archival projects have involved multiple institutions (universities and colleges, independent libraries and archives, and non-profit organizations) and multiple constituencies (including librarians, archivists, undergraduate and graduate students, faculty, university press directors, and information technologists). In this moment when archival projects, both virtual and real, have become the norm rather than the exception, <em>Archive</em> offers a way to forge connections among the projects and the communities producing them.</p>\n\n<h3><a name=\"content\"></a>Journal Content</h3>\n<p class=\"textblock\">The journal consists of three content areas:</p>\n\n<ul>\n	<li><em>360°: Analysis and Discussion in the Round</em> features an asynchronous “discussion” among contributors from various backgrounds — in the form of several individual, linked essays — on a single archive or archival topic.</li>\n	<li><em>Archives, Remixed: Critical Perspectives and Pathways</em> invites analytical and creative pieces that reflect on meaning-making in and through archives. The format is open to both traditional research or theoretical essays, as well as multi-modal, alternate, or experimental formats. Contributions that analyze, use, theorize, create, find ways through, or reconstitute particular archives, objects or exhibits are invited. Only original work that has not been published elsewhere will be accepted for publication.</li>\n	<li>Notes + Queriesserves as a community space for people to share best practices, archival finds, reports from the field, and thoughts on current work in the field.</li>\n</ul>\n&nbsp;\n<h3><a name=\"editors\"></a>Editorial Team</h3>\n<table>\n<thead>\n<tr>\n<td width=\"160px\"></td>\n<td></td>\n<td></td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td colspan=\"3\">\n<h2>Editor</h2>\n</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Lauren Coats</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Assistant Professor of English (LSU)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td colspan=\"3\">\n<h2>Managing Editor</h2>\n</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Gabrielle Dean</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Curator of Modern Literary Rare Books and Manuscripts, Librarian for English and the Writing Seminars (Johns Hopkins University)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td colspan=\"3\">\n<h2>Technical Editor</h2>\n</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Daniel Chamberlain</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Director, Center for Digital Learning and Research (Occidental College)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td colspan=\"3\">\n<h2>Contributing Editors</h2>\n</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Cecily Marcus</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Curator in Archives and Special Collections (University of Minnesota)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Laurie N. Taylor</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Digital Humanities Librarian, Digital Library Center (University of Florida)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td colspan=\"3\">\n<h2>Editorial Board</h2>\n</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Wendy Hui Kyong Chun</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Professor of Modern Culture and Media (Brown University)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Dan Cohen</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Associate Professor, Department of History and Art History; Director, Center for History and New Media (George Mason University)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Sharon Farb</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Associate University Librarian (UCLA)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Kathleen Fitzpatrick</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Director of Scholarly Communications (MLA) and Professor of Media Studies (Pomona College)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Julia Flanders</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Director, Women Writers Project; Associate Director for Textbase Development, Center for Digital Scholarship (Brown University)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Amanda French</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>THATCamp Coordinator, Center for History and New Media (George Mason University)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Chuck Henry</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>President, Council on Library and Information Resources (CLIR)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Patricia Hswe</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Digital Collections Curator (Penn State University)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Tara McPherson</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Associate Professor of Critical Studies, School of Cinematic Arts (University of Southern California)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Kenneth M. Price</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>University Professor and Hillegass Chair of American Literature; Co-Director, Center for Digital Research in the Humanities (University of Nebraska-Lincoln)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Elliott Shore</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>CIO, Director of Libraries, and Professor of History (Bryn Mawr College)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Richard Szary</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Director, Louis Round Wilson Library; Associate University Librarian for Special Collections (UNC-Chapel Hill)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Ed Whitley</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Associate Professor of English (Lehigh University)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">John Willinsky</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Khosla Family Professor of Education (Stanford University)</td>\n</tr>\n</thead>\n</table>\n&nbsp;\n<h3><a name=\"submissions\"></a>Submissions</h3>\nPlease review our <a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/home/submit-to-archive-journal/\">submit page</a>, if you are interested in submitting to the journal, or have any suggestions for or comments about the journal.\n\n&nbsp;\n<h3><a name=\"review\"></a>Peer Review</h3>\nAll materials in <em>Archive Journal</em> are peer-reviewed.\n\nPeer review is central to scholarly communication by providing feedback for improvement, ensuring the quality of published materials, and validating the scholarly merit and proper credentialing of published materials. <em>Archive Journal</em>’s peer review policy is designed to achieve these goals, while also using emerging forms of peer review. Because <em>Archive Journal</em> focuses on the use and theory of archives and special collections in higher education, offering a way to forge connections among diverse projects and the communities producing them, the review process is structured to support building connections while retaining the scholarly rigor inherent in peer review.\n\nOur review process consists of editorial and open review in the following stages:\n<ul>\n	<li>Every submission is read by the Editorial Team to determine suitability for publication. The Editorial Team declines materials that are not appropriate at this stage; gives detailed feedback and the opportunity to resubmit for appropriate materials that need substantial revision; and gives feedback and facilitates the process towards publication for appropriate materials that need minor or no revisions. Because <em>Archive Journal</em> is an interdisciplinary space to forge connections and because the online format continues to evolve, this stage may include a series of back and forth feedback from the Editorial Team in order to ensure scholarly rigor, communicability across scholarly fields, and appropriateness of online display.</li>\n	<li>If deemed necessary by the Editorial Team, submissions within specialized subject areas that the Editorial Team cannot assess will be sent to reviewers with the appropriate expertise. Reviewers are encouraged to provide guidance to the Editorial Team and constructive feedback for the authors.</li>\n	<li>Revised submissions are reviewed after revision for final approval by the Editorial Team before publication. <em>Archive Journal</em> reserves the right to reject revised materials that are deemed not suitable for publication.</li>\n	<li>Following peer review and before publication, all accepted materials are copyedited for style and consistency.</li>\n	<li>All submissions will be subject to open review via reader comments. After an appropriate open review period has passed, the author(s) will have the opportunity to revise the submission. The final version will be posted and marked as such, with a clear link to the original version and associated open review comments.</li>\n</ul>\n&nbsp;\n<h3><a name=\"copyright\"></a>Copyright &amp; Licenses</h3>\nAuthors published in <em>Archive Journal</em> retain permanent ownership of their work via an open-access license. In order to facilitate access and preservation, <em>Archive Journal</em> retains a perpetual, non-exclusive right to publish accepted work and to include it in other aggregations and indexes. Authors are free to deposit a pre-publication version in an institutional repository, individual webpage, or similar site, as well as to reprint, reuse, or republish their work in any venue after one year.\n\nThe <em>Archive Journal</em> site is made available under the terms of a <a href=\"http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/us/\">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License</a>. The license grants permission for non-commercial, attributed re-use of content that is produced by <em>Archive Journal</em>.\n<a href=\"http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/us/\" rel=\"license\"><img style=\"border-width: 0;\" src=\"http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-sa/3.0/us/88x31.png\" alt=\"Creative Commons License\" /></a>\n<em>Archive</em> has made every effort to ensure that third-party materials used in this journal and on this site follows all copyright and other restrictions. If you have any more information about an item you\'ve seen on our website or if you are the copyright owner and believe our website has not properly attributed your work to you or has used it without permission, we want to hear from you. Please email us at <a href=\"mailto:contact@archivejournal.net\">contact@archivejournal.net</a> with your contact information and a link to the relevant content.\n\n&nbsp;\n<h3><a name=\"publication\"></a>Publication</h3>\nPermanent access and preservation for citation and reproducible research are core components of scholarly communication. <em>Archive Journal</em> provides permanent open, online access for all journal issues.\n\nISSN 2166-1189\n\n&nbsp;\n<h3><a name=\"design\"></a>Web Design</h3>\n<a href=\"http://lamppostcreative.com/\">Lamppost Creative</a> serves as the current developer and designer.\n<a href=\"http://infernalcontraption.com/\">Infernal Contraption</a> provided the original design and layout.\n\n&nbsp;\n<h3><a name=\"support\"></a>Support</h3>\nThe project has been generously supported with grant funds from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation.','About','','inherit','open','open','','3549-revision','','','2010-11-02 17:30:09','2010-11-02 17:30:09','',3549,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/issue/%issue%/uncategorized/3549-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(3592,1,'2013-04-15 01:08:34','2013-04-15 01:08:34','<h3><a href=\"#welcome\">Welcome</a> | <a href=\"#mission\">Mission</a> | <a href=\"#content\">Journal Content</a> | <a href=\"#editors\">Editorial Team &amp; Editorial Board</a> | <a href=\"#submissions\">Submissions</a>\n<a href=\"#review\">Peer Review</a> | <a href=\"#copyright\">Copyright &amp; Licenses</a> | <a href=\"#publication\">Publication</a> | <a href=\"#design\">Web Design</a> | <a href=\"#support\"> Support</a></h3>\n&nbsp;\n<h3><a name=\"welcome\"></a>Welcome</h3>\n<p class=\"textblock\">What you see on this site is Issue 2 (Fall 2012).  Work is underway on Issue 3,  a special issue focused on data curation.</p>\n\n<h3><a name=\"mission\"></a>Mission</h3>\n<em>Archive</em> focuses on the use and theory of archives and special collections in higher education.\n<p class=\"textblock\">The academic community has invested deeply in the preservation, use, and digitization of materials in special collections, and <em>Archive</em> provides the space to reflect on this investment. The objects and texts in special collections and archives are the focus of this journal, just as they are the focus of the many projects from and in archives that have been executed and continue with great success. Digitization efforts large and small have freed archives from the bounds of brick and mortar by bringing a wealth of texts and objects into virtual circulation. Teachers and librarians have increasingly emphasized work with original materials for students at all levels as a way to enrich student experience and position students as researchers. The use of materials in special collections as the objects of scholarly study continues to be a key methodology of humanities disciplines even as new technologies, from data mining to visualizations, open up possibilities for what scholars learn from these objects. Recent archival projects have involved multiple institutions (universities and colleges, independent libraries and archives, and non-profit organizations) and multiple constituencies (including librarians, archivists, undergraduate and graduate students, faculty, university press directors, and information technologists). In this moment when archival projects, both virtual and real, have become the norm rather than the exception, <em>Archive</em> offers a way to forge connections among the projects and the communities producing them.</p>\n\n<h3><a name=\"content\"></a>Journal Content</h3>\n<p class=\"textblock\">The journal consists of three content areas:</p>\n\n<ul>\n	<li><em>360°: Analysis and Discussion in the Round</em> features an asynchronous “discussion” among contributors from various backgrounds — in the form of several individual, linked essays — on a single archive or archival topic.</li>\n	<li><em>Archives, Remixed: Critical Perspectives and Pathways</em> invites analytical and creative pieces that reflect on meaning-making in and through archives. The format is open to both traditional research or theoretical essays, as well as multi-modal, alternate, or experimental formats. Contributions that analyze, use, theorize, create, find ways through, or reconstitute particular archives, objects or exhibits are invited. Only original work that has not been published elsewhere will be accepted for publication.</li>\n	<li>Notes + Queriesserves as a community space for people to share best practices, archival finds, reports from the field, and thoughts on current work in the field.</li>\n</ul>\n&nbsp;\n<h3><a name=\"editors\"></a>Editorial Team</h3>\n<table>\n<thead>\n<tr>\n<td width=\"160px\"></td>\n<td></td>\n<td></td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td colspan=\"3\">\n<h2>Editor</h2>\n</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Lauren Coats</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Assistant Professor of English (LSU)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td colspan=\"3\">\n<h2>Managing Editor</h2>\n</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Gabrielle Dean</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Curator of Modern Literary Rare Books and Manuscripts, Librarian for English and the Writing Seminars (Johns Hopkins University)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td colspan=\"3\">\n<h2>Technical Editor</h2>\n</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Daniel Chamberlain</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Director, Center for Digital Learning and Research (Occidental College)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td colspan=\"3\">\n<h2>Contributing Editors</h2>\n</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Cecily Marcus</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Curator in Archives and Special Collections (University of Minnesota)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Laurie N. Taylor</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Digital Humanities Librarian, Digital Library Center (University of Florida)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td colspan=\"3\">\n<h2>Editorial Board</h2>\n</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Wendy Hui Kyong Chun</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Professor of Modern Culture and Media (Brown University)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Dan Cohen</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Associate Professor, Department of History and Art History; Director, Center for History and New Media (George Mason University)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Sharon Farb</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Associate University Librarian (UCLA)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Kathleen Fitzpatrick</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Director of Scholarly Communications (MLA) and Professor of Media Studies (Pomona College)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Julia Flanders</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Director, Women Writers Project; Associate Director for Textbase Development, Center for Digital Scholarship (Brown University)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Amanda French</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>THATCamp Coordinator, Center for History and New Media (George Mason University)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Chuck Henry</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>President, Council on Library and Information Resources (CLIR)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Patricia Hswe</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Digital Collections Curator (Penn State University)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Tara McPherson</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Associate Professor of Critical Studies, School of Cinematic Arts (University of Southern California)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Kenneth M. Price</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>University Professor and Hillegass Chair of American Literature; Co-Director, Center for Digital Research in the Humanities (University of Nebraska-Lincoln)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Elliott Shore</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>CIO, Director of Libraries, and Professor of History (Bryn Mawr College)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Richard Szary</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Director, Louis Round Wilson Library; Associate University Librarian for Special Collections (UNC-Chapel Hill)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">Ed Whitley</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Associate Professor of English (Lehigh University)</td>\n</tr>\n<tr>\n<td class=\"name\">John Willinsky</td>\n<td>.......</td>\n<td>Khosla Family Professor of Education (Stanford University)</td>\n</tr>\n</thead>\n</table>\n&nbsp;\n<h3><a name=\"submissions\"></a>Submissions</h3>\nPlease review our <a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/home/submit-to-archive-journal/\">submit page</a>, if you are interested in submitting to the journal, or have any suggestions for or comments about the journal.\n\n&nbsp;\n<h3><a name=\"review\"></a>Peer Review</h3>\nAll materials in <em>Archive Journal</em> are peer-reviewed.\n\nPeer review is central to scholarly communication by providing feedback for improvement, ensuring the quality of published materials, and validating the scholarly merit and proper credentialing of published materials. <em>Archive Journal</em>’s peer review policy is designed to achieve these goals, while also using emerging forms of peer review. Because <em>Archive Journal</em> focuses on the use and theory of archives and special collections in higher education, offering a way to forge connections among diverse projects and the communities producing them, the review process is structured to support building connections while retaining the scholarly rigor inherent in peer review.\n\nOur review process consists of editorial and open review in the following stages:\n<ul>\n	<li>Every submission is read by the Editorial Team to determine suitability for publication. The Editorial Team declines materials that are not appropriate at this stage; gives detailed feedback and the opportunity to resubmit for appropriate materials that need substantial revision; and gives feedback and facilitates the process towards publication for appropriate materials that need minor or no revisions. Because <em>Archive Journal</em> is an interdisciplinary space to forge connections and because the online format continues to evolve, this stage may include a series of back and forth feedback from the Editorial Team in order to ensure scholarly rigor, communicability across scholarly fields, and appropriateness of online display.</li>\n	<li>If deemed necessary by the Editorial Team, submissions within specialized subject areas that the Editorial Team cannot assess will be sent to reviewers with the appropriate expertise. Reviewers are encouraged to provide guidance to the Editorial Team and constructive feedback for the authors.</li>\n	<li>Revised submissions are reviewed after revision for final approval by the Editorial Team before publication. <em>Archive Journal</em> reserves the right to reject revised materials that are deemed not suitable for publication.</li>\n	<li>Following peer review and before publication, all accepted materials are copyedited for style and consistency.</li>\n	<li>All submissions will be subject to open review via reader comments. After an appropriate open review period has passed, the author(s) will have the opportunity to revise the submission. The final version will be posted and marked as such, with a clear link to the original version and associated open review comments.</li>\n</ul>\n&nbsp;\n<h3><a name=\"copyright\"></a>Copyright &amp; Licenses</h3>\nAuthors published in <em>Archive Journal</em> retain permanent ownership of their work via an open-access license. In order to facilitate access and preservation, <em>Archive Journal</em> retains a perpetual, non-exclusive right to publish accepted work and to include it in other aggregations and indexes. Authors are free to deposit a pre-publication version in an institutional repository, individual webpage, or similar site, as well as to reprint, reuse, or republish their work in any venue after one year.\n\nThe <em>Archive Journal</em> site is made available under the terms of a <a href=\"http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/us/\">Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License</a>. The license grants permission for non-commercial, attributed re-use of content that is produced by <em>Archive Journal</em>.\n<a href=\"http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/us/\" rel=\"license\"><img style=\"border-width: 0;\" src=\"http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-sa/3.0/us/88x31.png\" alt=\"Creative Commons License\" /></a>\n<em>Archive</em> has made every effort to ensure that third-party materials used in this journal and on this site follows all copyright and other restrictions. If you have any more information about an item you\'ve seen on our website or if you are the copyright owner and believe our website has not properly attributed your work to you or has used it without permission, we want to hear from you. Please email us at <a href=\"mailto:contact@archivejournal.net\">contact@archivejournal.net</a> with your contact information and a link to the relevant content.\n\n&nbsp;\n<h3><a name=\"publication\"></a>Publication</h3>\nPermanent access and preservation for citation and reproducible research are core components of scholarly communication. <em>Archive Journal</em> provides permanent open, online access for all journal issues.\n\nISSN 2166-1189\n\n&nbsp;\n<h3><a name=\"design\"></a>Web Design</h3>\n<a href=\"http://lamppostcreative.com/\">Lamppost Creative</a> serves as the current developer and designer.\n<a href=\"http://infernalcontraption.com/\">Infernal Contraption</a> provided the original design and layout.\n\n&nbsp;\n<h3><a name=\"support\"></a>Support</h3>\nThe project has been generously supported with grant funds from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation.','About','','inherit','open','open','','3549-revision-3','','','2013-04-15 01:08:34','2013-04-15 01:08:34','',3549,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/issue/%issue%/uncategorized/3549-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3593,1,'2010-12-09 19:55:13','2010-12-09 19:55:13','[contact]\n\nUse the contact form above to reach the editor. Or, you can reach the editor by email (archivex AT archivejournal.net) or phone (225-578-3130).\n','Contact Us','','inherit','open','open','','30-revision','','','2010-12-09 19:55:13','2010-12-09 19:55:13','',30,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/issue/%issue%/uncategorized/30-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(3595,1,'2010-12-09 19:06:40','2010-12-09 19:06:40','Please contact the editor Lauren Coats if you have materials for or questions about submitting to <em>Archive Journal</em>: <a href=\"mailto:contact@archivejournal.net\">contact@archivejournal.net</a>.\nWe are currently accepting proposals for Issues 4, \"Publishing the Archive\" (<a href=\"#CFP\">CFP</a> below). The submission window has closed for Issue 3, a special issue on data curation.\n<strong></strong>\n<p dir=\"ltr\"><span style=\"text-decoration: underline;\">Submission Specifications</span>\nWe welcome submissions in a variety of formats.   If you have a project that is in an experimental of unusual format, please contact the editor to discuss.  For more traditional textual and/or multimedia submissions, please follow these guidelines:</p>\n\n<ul>\n	<li>Text should be submitted as a Microsoft Word document or .rtf file</li>\n	<li>Should use Chicago style for citation (Chicago Manual of Style 16e)</li>\n	<li>Multimedia components should be submitted as separate files:</li>\n	<li>Images: sent as .jpg (480 x 640).</li>\n	<li>Video: we prefer a link to a hosted video at Vimeo.  Please contact the editors if you’d like to send a video file instead.</li>\n	<li>Sound files: .wav</li>\n	<li>Maps: .kml</li>\n	<li>Material in other formats: please discuss with the editor</li>\n	<li>If the files are too large to send by email, please contact the editor to discuss an alternate method for submission.</li>\n</ul>\n&nbsp;\n\n<a name=\"CFP\"></a>\n<span style=\"text-decoration: underline;\"><strong>Call for Proposals for Archive Journal Special Issue on \"Publishing the Archive\"</strong></span>\n\n<em>Archive</em> <em>Journal </em>is now accepting project and essay proposals for the “Archives, Remixed” section of its upcoming fourth issue, “Publishing the Archive.” This issue will examine how technological developments—from discrete digitization projects and databases to linked data and APIs for extensible machine-readability—are changing how we produce and publish archives and archival research.\n\nThe overarching question of this issue is: how do new forms of structured data and new modes for exhibiting archival materials constitute something more than straightforward repositories—becoming instead publications in their own right? And, a related question: What theoretical and operational changes occur when we think of archives and collections as data aggregations in need of publishing? In this sense the term “publishing” means “making public,” but it also means providing high-quality forms of access (as well as human- and machine-friendly metadata) for using, reusing, and remixing archival data.\n\nWe invite proposals that investigate the possibilities and limits of “publishing the archive.”  Projects might include, but are not limited to:\n<ul>\n	<li>Development of a specific archive-oriented API along with a narrative account of what the application seeks to achieve.</li>\n</ul>\n<ul>\n	<li>Textual and/or multimedia explorations of the challenges and promises of linked data with regard to specific archives, collections, or databases.</li>\n</ul>\n<ul>\n	<li>Examinations of the history of archival interoperability (for instance, thinking critically about how the evolution of metadata schemas has led to new archival structures and new ways of linking across archives).</li>\n</ul>\n<ul>\n	<li>Analysis, modeling, or development of new modes of presenting archives on the web, including new kinds of searchability, visualizations of data, and capacity for user-driven contributions.</li>\n</ul>\n<ul>\n	<li>Analysis, modeling, or development of new tools and platforms for working in archives and collections (e.g., an application that allows scholars to produce research--annotations, essays, or experimentations--in the same space as the cultural artifact).</li>\n</ul>\n<ul>\n	<li>Specific discussions not only about what can be published, but about what <em>should </em>be published. That is, in an environment where wholesale digital access is possible, do we need specific parameters for authoritative “editions” of the archive?</li>\n</ul>\n<ul>\n	<li>Discussions of how to effectively address copyright restrictions preventing archival material from being published.</li>\n</ul>\n<ul>\n	<li>Discussions about what happens to analog archives that do not have a digital presence. Or, related to this: what are the effects of the digital surrogate becoming increasingly de rigueur?<strong>\n</strong></li>\n</ul>\n<strong>Submitting proposals</strong>\n\nAn<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/home/about/#review\"> open access, peer-reviewed journal</a>, <em>Archive Journal</em> seeks content that speaks to its diverse audience of librarians, scholars, archivists, and technologists. We encourage proposals from humanities and social science researchers, archive developers and directors, and special collections librarians and library technologists. In your 500-1000 word proposal, please include:\n<ul>\n	<li>a description of the project’s argument and scholarly significance</li>\n	<li>the archives, collections, or databases to be addressed in the project</li>\n	<li>a description of the project components and format (e.g., traditional text or multimedia essay; a streaming media work; an archival tool, code or API, etc.; interactive visualization, etc.)</li>\n</ul>\nThis issue is being guest edited by <a href=\"http://anvilacademic.org/\">Anvil Academic</a>. If you have any questions about your proposal, please feel free to contact Korey Jackson at <a href=\"mailto:kjackson@anvilacademic.org\">kjackson@anvilacademic.org</a>.  Submit proposals to Fred Moody (<a href=\"mailto:fmoody@anvilacademic.org\">fmoody@anvilacademic.org</a>) by June 3, 2013. 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19:06:40','2010-12-09 19:06:40','',27,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/issue/%issue%/uncategorized/27-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(3627,1,'2012-02-16 21:01:25','2012-02-16 21:01:25','I have only recently begun experimenting with using archival materials in the classroom, so I am still learning how to achieve the best results. Initially, I began by limiting student involvement to two or three weeks of the semester. I found that, practically, the students did much better when they worked in groups, in part because of the potential for some students to be more engaged than others, and in part because the students enjoyed being part of a team. Penn, of course, is home to the Wharton School of Business, and I often have a few Wharton students in class. These students helpfully pointed out that many Wharton classes assign students to a team in order to better prepare them for the private sector. This also allows the students to divide up the work according to each individual’s skill set. I have found the team-oriented approach—with all of the teams working together as one larger group devoted to producing a quality product for Native American clients—to work very well in the highly professionalized culture of Penn. However, this culture is double edged, for it also makes it difficult to attract pre-professional students to courses on Native American studies, which is not a program or a department at Penn.\n\nAs I became more comfortable and was able to prepare more quickly for the semester, I found that I could make more materials available to the students. I try to balance the students’ exposure to the originals by providing them with digital surrogates and by visiting the Penn Museum and the APS. This can be challenging because the APS is not set up for student visits; it is only because of my position as Director of Native American projects that I am able to arrange for a classroom to view original documents. The Penn Museum, on the other hand, actively encourages professors to bring their classes and provides access to the storage facilities. This planning paid off when, to my surprise, the students asked to have more time to work on their projects. Last semester, one student suggested that the entire semester should be devoted to creating the exhibits for the class project. When we talked about this together, the students expressed that they felt their work with archival materials would be more meaningful if they learned more about their historical and cultural background. The best students had done this research on their own, but I realized that the early part of the course could be structured to teach the students a great deal more about the cultural context of the archival materials, which would result in them understanding the materials better and doing a better job designing the exhibits. So this spring I am devoting an entire semester of a graduate seminar to researching archival materials and creating a digital exhibit based on student research. The APS recently acquired more than 500 hours of audio recordings related to Ojibwe culture in northern Canada (the acquisition was an outcome of the Pimachiowin Aki collaboration). The first five weeks of the class will be devoted to teaching the students the religious background necessary to understand the Ojibwe ceremonies being discussed; the ethics of working with religious materials in terms of what can or cannot be placed on the web; and basic archival skills so that the students can create a database and tags to make this new material more accessible to scholars and the Ojibwe communities where the material originated. All of the students’ work will be donated to those communities and the database will be housed at the APS.','Undergraduates in the Archives - Powell 5','I have only recently begun experimenting with using archival materials in the classroom, so I am still learning how to achieve the best results. Initially, I began by limiting student involvement to two or three weeks of the semester. I found that, practically, the students did much better when they worked in groups, in part because of the potential for some students to be more engaged than others, and in part because the students enjoyed being part of a team.','inherit','open','open','','1589-revision','','','2012-02-16 21:01:25','2012-02-16 21:01:25','',1589,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/issue-1/%category$/1589-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(3626,1,'2013-04-17 21:05:37','2013-04-17 21:05:37','','Issues','','publish','open','open','','issue','','','2013-04-18 21:00:55','2013-04-18 21:00:55','',0,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/?post_type=_pods_pod&#038;p=3626',0,'_pods_pod','',0),(3598,1,'2012-09-21 19:22:36','2012-09-21 19:22:36','The primal scene of archival research takes place in a dreary reading room. A researcher sits at her table, inert. An archivist enters, pushing a cart that bears a dozen dusty gray boxes. (Can we get a close-up of a box, please, to show the label with the long call number? [note type=\'figure\' number=\'1\'] <iframe src=\"http://www.youtube.com/embed/5ykY6moIaDE?rel=0\" frameborder=\"0\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\"></iframe> A staged archival encounter.[/note]) The archivist unhinges a box, removes a numbered file folder and, placing it at the researcher’s elbow, steps back. The researcher stirs, then sits upright with a mechanical jolt. She turns sharply in the direction of the folder, flips it open and cocks her head towards the flimsy leaves inside; now she is reading. (Zoom in on the eyes as they click into focus.) Now she is reading, and now she truly comes alive; she bends towards the papers, taps her forehead in thought. A sheaf of blank paper and a pencil appear on her table, and she begins taking notes. Her fingers fly—and soon, so do the pages she is writing upon. Caught up in eddies of excitement, they swoop to the ceiling and around the room and down to the floor, where they fall together into perfect piles. Bindings sprout from the outer strata; the pages sew themselves into bright, tight, hard-cover books. These the archivist gathers up and places on the shelves that line the room, next to other books and gray boxes.\n\nI may have it backwards: in other versions of the fantasy, it is the archive that is first animated by the presence of the researcher, a Dr. Coppelius who waves a pencil and sets the dusty boxes to dancing. But either way, the archival imaginary posits a symbiotic relationship between researcher and source, a photogenic pas de deux that leads to a finished scholarly product. This work, in turn, enters the archive for the next generation of researchers; it might even be taken apart again so that its secret ingredients (notes, drafts, letters) can themselves be served up in a series of boxes. Such a strangely private form of publication it creates, the coupling of researcher and source.\n\nWhat Freudian trauma results from witnessing this sight? Only the harm that myth inflicts. This primal scene is a fiction, a dream of perfect union between researcher and source that ignores, first of all, the full cast of characters. What about the archivist, who is rendered invisible? What about all those within and without the archive, upon whose labor—acquiring, preserving, organizing, reading, cataloging, describing, interpreting, analyzing, debating, teaching, writing, editing, digitizing, referencing and publishing—the current project depends? More a barn dance than a pas de deux: an archival encounter is an enactment of social authorship long before the researcher enters the room. [note number=\'1\']See Jerome McGann, A Critique of Modern Textual Criticism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983) on the idea of social authorship, which could be described as “the dialectic between the historically located individual author and the historically developed institutions of literary production” that help create a work, eg, printers, publishers, editors and readers (81).[/note]\n\nBut even a barn dance is much too mannered a metaphor. The sketch above misleads us more generally about the experience on the ground. Doing time in an archive is often tedious, uncomfortable and bewildering. For librarians, there is the struggle to promote and simultaneously protect what you have; the difficulty of fitting unruly materials into arrangements and workflows; and worries about space and time—where to put it all, how to address your backlog. For researchers, there is the struggle to locate the archives you need and what matters to you inside them; the uncertainty created by unruly data; and worries about time and space— how to access what you need during your research trip, how to record and organize the information you gather. At both ends, the archival encounter is counter-cinematic and erratic, days of monotonous sifting and dead-ends punctuated by one or two, or maybe zero, hidden moments of vivid, peculiar joy.\n\nSo archival research does not fulfill its ideal outline. So what? Who cares? Why dredge up the fantasy? Because the fantasy continues to structure our archival encounters—what we expect and undertake in the reading room, what we allow it to mean. Twenty years ago, Alice Kaplan observed that “conventional academic discourse requires that when you write up the results of your archival work, you tell a story about what you found, but not about how you found it. The less the seams of your findings show, the better your discoveries lend themselves to use by others… tell[ing] these stories breaks their spell and violates the spirit of the archives.” [note number=\'2\']Alice Yaeger Kaplan, “Working in the Archives,” Yale French Studies 77 (1990): 103-116; 103, 107.[/note] With a few word changes, the same could be said about what counts as professional archivist discourse: the impersonal, neutral genre of the finding aid, for example, should say what is in a collection, but should not discuss what is confusing or missing in it, or the problems it posed in processing. [note number=\'3\']See, for example, James M. O’Toole and Richard J. Cox, Understanding Archives and Manuscripts (Chicago: Society of American Archivists, 2006).[/note] Despite the growing recognition that this sequestration is never completely possible—that the material conditions and social relations of the archive shape the work we do in it—that work continues to be represented in professional and scholarly publications as if it is. Despite the recent call to move to the fore “the backstage of the archives—how they are constructed, policed, experienced, and manipulated” in order to support historiography “not merely [as] a project of fact-retrieval” but as “a set of complex processes of selection, interpretation, and even creative invention,” the “backstage” stays in the background. [note number=\'4\']Antoinette Burton, “Introduction: Archive Fever, Archive Stories,” Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions, and the Writing of History, ed. Burton (Durham: Duke University Press, 2005), 7-8.[/note] Antoinette Burton may be correct that “many if not most historians operate under the assumption that history is a highly interpretive act,” but this belief is not yet reflected in the archival encounter: the ways that researchers (not just historians) and librarians report their experiences with primary sources; the ways that librarians and researchers work together; the ways librarians and researchers regard the involvement of “non specialists.” [note number=\'5\']Burton, 8. Burton notes that “whether historians concede or fully countenance the impact of such contingencies on their work is another question. They rarely speak of them, and even more rarely do they do so in print” (8). Her books recuperates some of those archive stories but this effort, I’ll suggest below, is hampered by other kinds of obligations.[/note] While the advent of digitization and electronic resource sharing has revolutionized the research landscape, making primary sources public in unprecedented ways, there remains in the archive a habitus of secret knowledge—the “spell” that Kaplan is loathe to break. This is not necessarily intentional. It is rather the effect of layering recent shifts in technology, theory and professional definition onto older foundations: petrified conditions, relations, expectations and systems that continue to operate in part through the enduring power of fantasies about research. What we have in the archive is a stratified groundwork that still governs our archival encounters.\n\nBut, you will object, the archive has already changed. Now we have the “archival turn”—the scholarly interest in the archive not just as a source of evidence but as an epistemological mode. Surely, this attention to the constructedness of the archive has led to a revealing reconsideration of what actually goes on inside an archive; surely, as a result, those archaic fantasies have diminished. Have they? In what follows, I begin by unearthing one stratum of the archival turn, the decade of the 1990s, as represented by three texts: Kaplan’s essay mentioned above, “Working in the Archives” (1990) [note type=\'figure\' number=\'2\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-2-kaplan.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-369\" title=\"fig 2 kaplan\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-2-kaplan-300x224.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Photocopy of Alice Yaeger Kaplan’s “Working in the Archives.”[/note]; Derrida’s Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression (1994/95) [note type=\'figure\' number=\'3\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-3-Derrida.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-372\" title=\"fig 3 Derrida\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-3-Derrida-300x224.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Print out of Jacque Derrida’s “Archive Fever” from Diacritics.[/note]; and Carolyn Steedman’s Dust: The Archive and Cultural History (2001). [note type=\'figure\' number=\'4\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-4-steedman.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-373\" title=\"fig 4 steedman\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-4-steedman-300x224.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Library copy of Carolyn Steedman’s Dust.[/note] [note number=\'6\']Jacques Derrida, “Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression,” Diacritics 25.2 (Summer 1995): 9-63. Web. 1 Dec. 2010. Carolyn Steedman, Dust: The Archive and Cultural History (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2001).[/note] A cross-examination of these three texts reveals a pattern of interests, a set of efforts to defy customary practices—but only, it turns out, “in theory.” While certain practices are challenged in these texts, they leave mostly intact the older strata of archival research fantasies and conventions. Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman do not dislodge the forces that organize the actual archival encounter.\n\nHow does this happen? Why is practice so stubborn? We need another take on archival practice: not practice in theory, but practice in action; not the 1990s, but now; not in terms of textual patterns, but in terms that suit the subject: the terms of the archival encounter itself, and the eccentric, anachronistic and even monotonous experience it generates. My second look at practice will take the form of a series of vignettes about a real-life archive, the George Peabody Library in Baltimore. While this narrative structure may seem to recreate the division of labor between theory and practice, my hope is that—by giving practice the last word—we’ll be in a better position to synthesize the two.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>I. “The library doubles as a detective’s office.” [note number=\'7\']Kaplan, 114.[/note]</strong>\n\nThe archival turn could be dated to the founding of “scientific” history in the mid-nineteenth century, or to the development a century later of the quantitative methods of the Annales School, or to other evidence-based movements in the history of history, but what is generally meant by this phrase corresponds with the formation of cultural studies and the use of the archive as a conceptual category. That is, the archival turn has to do with the notion of the “figuration” of the archive, a parallel decline in its empirical authority and a related expansion of its relevance within domains that are not exclusively historiographic, like art, literary criticism, textual studies, media studies and information studies. [note number=\'8\']See the use of the term in, for example, Carolyn Hamilton et al, eds., Refiguring the Archive (Boston: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2002), Cheryl Simon, ed., Following the Archival Turn: Photography, the Museum, and the Archive, special issue of Visual Resources: A Journal of Documentation 18.2 (June 2002), and Ann Laura Stoler, Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009). This turn is partially construed as a “move from archive-as-source to archive-as-subject,” but also by the earlier metaphorical interest in “the archive” that goes back to the 1980s (Stoler, 44-45) and by Foucauldian descriptions of archives as “‘monuments to particular configurations of power” (Hamilton, qtd. in Burton, 6).[/note] But it is not irrelevant that a devotion to archival methods precedes by many decades contemporary theories of the archive; if the archival turn lacks a precise origin, this (we will see) is completely in keeping with its own preoccupations.\n\nKaplan therefore represents in some ways an arbitrary beginning for this cross-examination—clearly the archive as a conceptual category predates 1990—but her article does initiate something new: the recognition that there is something called an “archive story” that must remain hidden in order for the official “results” to function authoritatively. In admitting this bit of professional legerdemain, and in telling her own archive story in a prestigious scholarly journal, Kaplan not only commits the violation she prohibits but also contradicts it. Through its publication, Kaplan’s own archive story is elevated to the status of “results”—a kind of research that shadows conventional academic discourse. Indeed, Kaplan notes, such “fables” of research “can be analyzed like a text,” a “mixed up genre” that combines the “redemptive detective fiction” with the epic and the dime novel. [note number=\'9\']Kaplan, 106, 107.[/note]\n\nKaplan’s archive story thus marks a distinctive moment in the archival turn—one which gained its most prominent authorization in 1994, with a paper that Jacques Derrida delivered (in English) to a conference sponsored by the Freud Museum, the Courtauld Institute and the Société International d’Histoire de la Psychiatrie et de la Psychoanalyse. Called initially “The Concept of the Archive: A Freudian Impression,” the lecture was revised and published in 1995 as Mal d’archive: une impression freudienne in French; the published English version echoed the French publication with its 1995 title Archive Fever. As Carolyn Steedman points out in Dust: The Archive and Cultural History, however, this work that has been assigned a seminal status in archival studies “for the main part… is not about archives at all, but is rather a sustained contemplation of a work of history, of Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi’s Freud’s Moses: Judaism Terminable and Interminable (1991),” itself a sustained contemplation of Moses and Monotheism—which (according to Steedman) Yerushalmi examines through Freud’s description of the work as a “‘historical novel,’ or a kind of historical story,” undertaken “in order to understand the period of baroque anti-semitism through which he was living.” [note number=\'10\']Steedman, 3.[/note]\n\nDizzy yet? Let’s undertake a more careful reading of this splatter pattern of intra-references—or, to stick with the archaeological metaphor, let’s call them groups of potsherds buried in the 1990s layer of the “archival turn.” Digging down to reassemble them reveals a set of interests with special implications for archival practice.\n\nThe most prominent group of sherds to note are the fragments of disciplinarity: the inter-, multi- or perhaps simply anti-disciplinarity of the texts, authors and audiences caught up in these three archival addresses. Kaplan, an American scholar of French literature, calls the post-theory exchange between literature and history a “cross-pollination of desire between historians and literary critics” undertaken “with the curiosity and energetic passion of collectors.” [note number=\'11\']Kaplan, 107-108.[/note] Steedman, a British historian, performs this cross-pollinating process without comment: her epigraph to Dust is from Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, one chapter treats George Eliot’s Middlemarch in depth… in fact, almost every chapter depends on a literary text. [note number=\'12\']Another chapter invokes Elizabeth Gaskell’s 1848 novel Mary Barton, a third is anchored by W. H. Auden’s poem “Homage to Clio,” and a fourth finds its most eloquent examples in Charles Dickens’ Our Mutual Friend.[/note] Derrida, a French philosopher, produced a work that has been exceptionally mobile across disciplines, forms, languages and professional domains. He gave his initial talk to an audience drawing on three different kinds of institutions; Mal d’Archive was published in book form in both French and English, but also made an intermediate appearance as an essay in the journal diacritics. All of these texts, it seems, respond to the provocations of the archive—to the materials and circumstances of discovery—rather than to the disciplinary distinctions that arguably divide the archive from itself.\n\nArchive Fever has become a founding document even though, as Steedman notes in the very beginning of her book, many in Derrida’s audience “knew the ‘archival turn’ to be [already] well underway” at the time of his talk. [note number=\'13\']Steedman, 2.[/note] As it happens—and this is the second group of sherds I see—these three essays have in common an investment in or a problem with origins, especially with the failure of origins. Derrida, for example, defines archive fever as a kind of Freudian death drive—a drive to fix and preserve which at the same time “works to destroy the archive: on the condition of effacing but also with a view to effacing its own ‘proper’ traces… [it] is above all anarchivic, one could say, or archiviolithic… the archive always works, and a priori, against itself.” [note number=\'14\']Derrida, 14. [/note] If the archival impulse is driven to destroy its own work, then the question of origins ultimately point to the larger question of disorder. [note number=\'15\']The disorder of origins makes frequent appearances in the essay but one example will make the point—in the “Preamble” where he recounts how he titled the talk that he had not yet written and was to give at the Freud Museum. The “Preamble” starts with his reflections on the word “impression,” which has several simultaneous registers of meaning for him. One of these is the “scriptural or typographic” register: that of the graphic impression that marks a substrate. In English, “impression” is phonetically related to “repression” and “suppression,” key words in the Freudian vocabulary, translated respectively from the German Verdrängung and Unterdrückung. English, that is, retains the rhyming relationship of the two German terms, and “impression” in this company comes to have a vaguely Freudian meaning as well. But in French, Verdrängung is “refoulement,” which means something more like expulsion, a driving away. The Freudian sense of the French word “répression” has been reserved for Unterdrückung. So English “repression” defines a phenomenon that must be distinguished from the French “répression.” These translational shifts “directly concern the structures of archivization,” Derrida says, “because they touch on the topic differences and thus on the location of the substrates of traces\" (Derrida, 23). In other words, how do you classify concepts whose meanings shift across languages? Where do you store them in a disciplinary grammar—or in an archive? How do these asymmetrical linguistic structures shape the establishment and extension of a new science? For Derrida, the difference between “repression” and “répression” is “enough to disrupt the tranquil landscape of all historical knowledge, of all historiography, and even of all self-consistent ‘scholarship’” (Derrida, 23).[/note]\n\nOrigin failure appears both as deliberate performance and as unintentional oversight in these essays. Derrida stages his own inability to get past “go”; with an introductory section, and subsequent sections sub-titled “Exergue,” “Preamble,” “Foreword,” his essay functions, Steedman notes, like a “primer offering instruction in the principle of deferral.” [note number=\'16\']A short notice called “Priere d’inserer,” published only in the French book version, carried the bulk of an argument for which there was no room in the lecture. Steedman, 7.[/note] For all her insight into Derrida’s titling adventures, however, Steedman’s title is marked by its own origin aporia. While her first chapter is devoted to Archive Fever—a “let’s begin at the beginning” homage to the seminal text—her book’s title, Dust, seems more indebted to the last sentence of Kaplan’s essay, published five years before Derrida’s: “Usually there is no mother lode, no original manuscript to be retrieved—the gold is all in the dust.” [note number=\'17\']Kaplan, 116.[/note] Kaplan, however, is never mentioned. [note number=\'18\']Kaplan also begins her essay with a brief consideration of the “arche,” the Greek and Latin term for the public records office, which is a major starting point for Derrida. Is he borrowing from her, or is she borrowing from him, given that this sort of etymological investigation was an established signature of Deconstruction?[/note]\n\nKaplan, for her part, unravels her own archive story. She gives us a kind of “whodunit”—her search for the ephemeral sources of Louis-Ferdinand Céline’s anti-semitic pamphlet Bagatelles pour un massacre (1937). She uses this account to exemplify her effort to “move through the archival process and recover some of the stories that get deleted in the final scholarly form.” [note number=\'19\']Kaplan, 104. For this reason, perhaps, Kaplan never reveals what she ultimately discovers in her successful search for Celine’s sources. In fact, it’s not entirely clear whether her pre-emptive and truncated treatment of her archive story is deliberate or not. Is this treatment meant to indirectly support her official claim about “results”? Or does the presence of the archive story suggest that telling it is an impulse she can’t quite control? Thanks, Lauren Coats, for helping tease this problem out.[/note] These beginnings are preemptively struck out, however, by what seems to be her main claim: “the passion of the archives must finally be used to eradicate all personal stories in the interests of the dry archival report, fit for a public.” [note number=\'20\']Kaplan, 103.[/note] Only in the “para-text”—a preface, for example—can the archive story appear without “interrupt[ing] or complicat[ing] the narrative so much that no results could ever be understood or perceived.” [note number=\'21\']Kaplan, 104.[/note] Despite this unequivocal assertion, the personal “whodunit” prevails in her essay, especially in the final section set in the Centre du documentation juive contemporain (CDJC). [note type=\'figure\' number=\'5\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-5-cdjc-2/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-423\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-423\" title=\"fig 5 cdjc\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-5-cdjc1-333x250.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Website for the Centre de documentation juive contemporain.[/note] It is this library, where Kaplan solves the mystery of Céline’s sources, that “doubles as a detective’s office.”\n\nWhile Kaplan’s research mystery resolves neatly, the truth about archives is that they are full of gaps, mistakes and excesses: in the words of one of the CDJC librarians, “‘ici on trouve tout’—there’s some of everything here”—but not, one could add, all of anything. [note number=\'22\']Kaplan, 115.[/note] Kaplan’s essay ends by nullifying both her detective story success and her “dry archival report,” by recognizing the disorder on which both of these narratives are unsteadily perched: “The archive is constituted by these errors, these pieces out of place, which are then reintegrated into a story of some kind.” [note number=\'23\']Kaplan, 115.[/note] “A story of some kind”? So much for “results.”\n\nKaplan sets us up to perceive one final potsherd pattern common to these three essays. If origin-less disorder is the order of the archive, it is a disorder that is generated out of human loss—a disorder that joins the body and the material world. The archive is always predicated on historical violence of some sort, whatever is censored, erased, excluded, trumped up, used up, misplaced, conquered, killed. Moreover, the archival categories that mark both the visible victories and hidden defeats do not stay within their walls; the archive is both a repository of existing schemas and a means of perpetuating them in the world beyond. While we might usually think of this disciplinary activity as a pact between the archive and its political authors, Steedman makes it clear that the dilemmas of order shape the archival body in many ways. For example, she takes literally the provocation of Derrida’s title Archive Fever to investigate the illness that researchers contract on the penultimate day of their trip to the archive: prompted by the anxiety of the task that remains unfinished, they end their research with night-sweats and head-aches. But what seems like a strangely specific malady is transformed by Steedman into a far-reaching social symptom: by relating the researcher’s “archive fever” to the terrible diseases suffered by tanners, skinners and other workers in the trades associated with paper and leather, Steedman expands our sense of who is in the archive—the bodies whose specialized labors populate our libraries with books, the many kinds of expertise the archive consumes.\n\nFor Derrida, the relation between the material archive and its human architects focuses on one kind of “graphic mark,” a particular “private inscription”: circumcision as the archival signature that is also the signature of patrimoine, with Freud’s relationship to his father as his main example. [note number=\'24\']Derrida, 19.[/note] It is perhaps not a coincidence that the body in question in both Kaplan’s and Derrida’s archive is Jewish, for that is a body that has come to symbolize the destructive power of classificatory regimes. Despite her contention that the private passions motivating research must be kept secret, Kaplan is fascinated by the “missing person stories” at the CDJC: by the “quantity of people who are there for personal reasons,” the survivors of occupation or deportation or camps, or their descendants, quietly looking up their lost ones or noisily dropping off their memoirs. [note number=\'25\']Kaplan, 113.[/note] This disorganized crowd of dead and living bodies tries to meet up with an equally disorganized crowd of materials—individual letters, trial transcripts, pamphlets, newspapers, first-person accounts, books, photographs, lists. The monumental task of match-making, the librarians’ work, is never complete. More papers are always generated or declassified or discovered, different human questions and needs emerge. The tidy choreography of the research fantasy, where the detective always finds her man, is not so much in evidence; what we have instead is corpora in excess of existing categories.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\nKaplan, Derrida and Steedman open up the archival body. They show us how paper meets the press of flesh; they make us feel just how intimate it is. [note number=\'26\']This interest in the corporeal dimensions and effects of order, its human and non-human components, has in common with their other gestures—an experimental attitude towards conventional disciplinarity and attention to the priority of disorder—the circumstances of the academic humanities in the 1990s. Since the archival turn came out of the ascent of cultural studies and allied intrigues in the 1970s and ‘80s, the circles in the Venn diagram of these ventures will necessarily overlap. We could also say that the archive took off when it did precisely because it made a clever new container for these preoccupations, thick in the humanities atmosphere at the time, where they were distilled and united. [/note] But for all their revelations about the limits of discipline and the multiplicities of disorder in the archive, these texts do not disclose the specific methods of engagement that led to their existence. While Kaplan offers up her own archival victory and outlines several other such stories, she still insists on their marginalization. [note number=\'27\']“Were the story of how you got the story really to be told inside the book, it would interrupt or complicate the narrative so much that no results could be understood or even perceived. Every story of success in the archives is emotionally charged, for only the most extreme emotions can drive people to the drudgery, to the discomfort, of sitting and sifting through dog-eared documents, manuscripts, microfilms. To reveal those emotions would not only gum up the narrative, it would threaten its credibility, by showing on what thin strands of coincidence, accident, or on what unfair forms of friendship, ownership, geographical proximity, the discoveries were based” (Kaplan, 104).[/note] If these texts are not concerned with actual practices in the archive or changes in its methodologies, what do they tell us?\n\nFirst, they suggest one reason for the perpetuation of myths about the archive. While Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman are eager to show how archival materials do not conform to disciplinary distinctions—an enthusiasm related to other disruptive tendencies in late twentieth-century humanist scholarship –they seem less cognizant of a related phenomenon: the archive does not obey strict professional divisions, either. In Kaplan’s library-as-detective’s-office metaphor, the scholar is the detective, but does the “Eureka” moment belong only to the scholar who pieces together a narrative? What about the people who prepared those pieces? The archivist is still missing in action. Likewise, these essays do not dwell on missing boxes, illegible papers, neglected citations. There are no descriptions of archival slogging, no admissions that some materials failed to be relevant. And of course, there are no prescriptions for a different order. It is not the main aim of Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman to effect an evolution of practice; archival turnistas are not interested in disorder in order to re-order. But it is worth remembering that it is not in their professional interest as scholars to make their practices more transparent.\n\nSecondly, along the same lines, these texts inform us of the duplicity of speculative practices that reveal but cannot live out the instability of their archival mandates. Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman are put into the position of saying, “Yes, the archive is biased, idiosyncratic and treacherous—but the observations I draw from it are flawless.” [note number=\'28\']Derrida, unlike Kaplan and Steedman, makes no claims to work inside an actual archive, unless we consider Yerushalmi’s book as a kind of archive. But the fact that the essay was written self-consciously for presentation at the Freud Museum suggests that it was made out of an archive indirectly—in its construction, if not in its contents. [/note]\n\nFinally, these texts suggest why archival studies that attempt to be explicit about the messy nature of the archive have become instead “archive studies.” In more recent works like Refiguring the Archive (2002), Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions and the Writing of History (2005) and Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense (2009), the archive appears as a subject in its own right. Although the archival scenarios that are put into play in each of these books incorporate different disciplines—art, history, anthropology, literature, post-colonial studies—they have essentially created a new discipline. “Archive studies” is something we might, in the taxonomy of disciplines, see as the love-child of cultural studies, history and archival methodology. Moreover, this new discipline has in common with other humanities disciplines a complete blindness about its professional investments; it does not register much awareness of the professional investments of librarians, archivists, curators and “non-specialists,” or invite insights from those perspectives. Perhaps this is inevitably what happens when academics must give legitimacy to something new, which in turn reflects the pressures of scholarly communication: a topic must be delineated in conventional terms in order to merit publication. [note number=\'29\']Perhaps this is also the moment to ask why we—I—have been using the term “archive” all along, with its statist resonances, rather than the term “collection,” which has institutional but also personal resonances. Does “archive” bring us closer to recognizably “serious scholarship”?[/note] But it is also true that in these more recent books, which openly investigate the archive’s power-politics, the disorderly drift of the archive and its hybrid corporeality have mostly been bent towards a particular narrative about the archive as an agent of history rather than as a set of ongoing practices. It is as if the historical archive has been assembled in ways that reflect and reiterate power relations, but the contemporary archive has not; it is as if the researcher’s own research travails remain a transparent layer over the body of work that it constructs. [note number=\'30\']Of course, this is precisely what Derrida meant about the “death drive” of the archival impulse. Archive Stories is something of an exception; researchers speak openly here about themselves as researchers. It is interesting, however, that this book—like Steedman’s—doesn’t cite Kaplan’s essay as a precursor text despite the clear titular link.[/note]\n\nPerhaps it would also be fair to note that, if archival studies are now being formulated as an interdisciplinary discipline called “archive studies,” this might be just another stage in the turn. It might be that what comes next reconfigures the premise of disciplinarity and the promise of disorder, with a different approach to the human/non-human interactions that the archive documents and realizes: a more diffuse and multi-vocal set of practices in place of a new field. One way to imagine this approach would be to fully embrace Kaplan’s idea of the archive story as an account of what one hoped for, looked for and found, what one did and did not do, in the archive—an account loosed from the quarantine she advocates. Some very basic genre precedents for the archive story do exist; the bibliographic essay and the methodology statement, for example, have played an important role in many disciplines in the past and still do in some. Instead of a para-textual nod towards that archive story (in Kaplan’s sense), why not create a parallel text written collaboratively by the researcher(s) and the librarian(s), or by one person acting in both professional capacities, that runs alongside the official “results”? Or in a set of expanded notes that address not just the “what” and “where” but the “how” and “why” of sources, which are lifted from their small-type, bottom-of-page basement up into the light? Or—to add yet another layer—parallel texts that also offer room for exchange with other researchers, archivists and even interested “non specialists,” like collectors, bibliophiles and fans?\n\nIf it is hasn’t been clear already that I have scrupulously avoided so far the other kind of archive, the digital archive, it will be now. What I am imagining would be far too complicated to produce or consult in print, but would not be at all difficult to organize as a digital object—as an archive in its own right. By avoiding the digital archive up to this point, I have also finessed the fact that our current archival research methods are completely reliant on the digital archive, along with the development of online research tools and electronic instruments of data discovery and organization. Those conditions probably bear the most responsibility for making the archive visible as something that warranted a “turn” in the first place. Even Derrida refers in each version of Archive Fever to the computer on which he is currently composing, predicting that email will not only totally transform the archive as he knows it, but will make his own essay obsolete.\n\nIn short, we already have in place both the theory and the media that will make it possible to enact a radical new archival practice. We have in place what we need to integrate the archive story into the archive itself, while making it visible as a new form of “results.”\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>II. The library doubles as a librarian’s office.</strong>\n\nI could end here, with a triumphant firing of the starter pistol and a rousing cheer. But that would be a bit disingenuous, given that the starter pistol for both the archival turn and the academic use of the internet actually went off decades ago. So the question remains, what stands in the way of the practical enactment of the archival turn’s speculative insights? I’d like to engage this question by following Kaplan’s example (but not her main claim): through some archive story-telling about the George Peabody Library. These three vignettes, identified as “typical” through conversations with my colleague Paul Espinosa, illustrate the intractable formations that present-day archival encounters come up against.\n\n<strong>1. The Perils of Description.</strong>\n<blockquote>A group of Russian speakers visits the Peabody Library. The dozen men and women sit down around the screen that Paul has set up. He narrates a brief slide-show about the Peabody’s history, then leads them to a table where a dozen books from the collection have been laid out in cradles. He tells them about each book: what it is, why it is interesting. Each phrase of his presentation is painstakingly translated by the group’s leader into Russian.</blockquote>\nWhen academic and community groups visit the Peabody, my colleagues and I draw upon a standard tour-guide’s repertoire to describe it. We explain that George Peabody was a tradesman cum financier cum philanthropist who decided in 1857 that Baltimore needed a cultural institution to support the arts and learning. We talk about the evolution of the Peabody Institute, the four-part athenaeum that resulted, with its art gallery, lecture series, conservatory and free, public, non-circulating library. We discuss the model of philanthropy that George Peabody initiated and its wide-ranging influence. We point out the signal features of the awe-inspiring architecture of the current library, built to accommodate a rapidly growing collection in 1878. But when it comes to the library itself, as a collection, it is hard to know what to say. How to accurately translate the library’s holdings into a succinct and memorable statement that conveys an appropriate level of detail to different audiences? While it poses specific challenges, the Peabody also exemplifies more general problems of collection description.\n\nWe do not lack evidence for the evolving contents of the Peabody. We have the two-volume printed list of “desiderata” drawn up by the Peabody’s first librarian, John G. Morris. [note number=\'31\']Alphabetical Catalogue of Books to be Purchased for the Library of the Peabody Institute, Baltimore, Vols. 1 and 2 (Baltimore: John D. Toy, 1861, 1863).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'6\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-6-alpha-index-2/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-395\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-395\" title=\"fig 6 alpha index\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-6-alpha-index1-336x484.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"484\" /></a>Alphabetical index from Alphabetical Catalouge (“desiderata”).[/note] We have the collections register for several decades’-worth of acquisitions, recording bibliographic information and accession numbers that can still be found on the inside front end papers of many of the books in the collection. We have the librarians’ annual reports to the library trustees. [note number=\'32\']The Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore: The Founder’s Letters and the Papers Relating to its Dedication and History, Up to the 1st January, 1868 (Baltimore: William K. Boyle, 1868); and subsequent Annual Reports, 1869, etc.[/note] We have the library’s first printed catalogue, an unsurpassed achievement when first published in 1883, which listed 100,000 volumes by author and title. [note number=\'33\']Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore, Vols. 1-5 (Baltimore: Isaac Friedenwald, 1883; reprinted Boston: G. K. Hall, [1961?]; also on googlebooks), and Second Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore, Including the Additions Made Since 1882, Vols. 1-8 (Baltimore: Deutsch Lithographic and Printing, 1896; reprinted Boston: G. K. Hall, 1961).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'7\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-7-print-cat/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-396\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-396\" title=\"fig 7 print cat\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-7-print-cat-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Reprinted volumes of the Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute (1883).[/note] We have the cards from the Dewey decimal system card catalogue, which replaced the printed catalogue in the 1910s. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'8\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-8-card-cat/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-397\"><img class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-397\" title=\"fig 8 card cat\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-8-card-cat.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"448\" /></a>One of two card catalogues in the Peabody.[/note] Now, of course, the library’s collections are represented in an online catalogue that integrates them with other collections in the Hopkins library system.\n\nThese markers of the collection, however, fail to satisfy some contemporary research queries for reasons that are both practical and philosophical. The transfer of the printed index, organized by author, to the Dewey decimal system, organized by topic, represented a major epistemological shift that facilitated browsing by subject category. But of course, those categories are embedded in historically-bound notions about the subjects and structures of knowledge: Dewey was invented in the 1870s, and the 22 revisions it has undergone since then cannot overcome its essential organizational distortions. For example, the literature range—the 800s—offers only 10% of its categorical space to literatures in languages other than English, Germanic and Romance languages, Greek and Latin.\n\nIn the case of the Peabody, the Dewey arrangements overlay even older systems of knowledge hierarchy. Should we continue to offer, for example, a description of the Peabody’s “voyages and travels” books? This category represents a Renaissance schematic that was still in service in the mid-nineteenth century; while actual “voyages and travels” were extended by colonial ventures, the category was eventually disbanded. Dewey combined it with geography to make a sub-category of “history.” In keeping active the old-fashioned phrase “voyages and travels,” we are participating in a centuries-long project of euphemism about the material aims and actual activities of colonialism; we are privileging an early phase of the Peabody’s evolution over later phases; we may even be confusing modern researchers. And yet, as one of the topics in Morris’s “desiderata,” a considerable portion of the Peabody’s collection was acquired with the aim of fleshing out that descriptor. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'9\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-9-index-detail/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-398\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-398\" title=\"fig 9 index detail\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-9-index-detail-336x274.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"274\" /></a>Detail of subject index from Alphabetical Catalouge No. 2 (“desiderata”).[/note]\n\nYet another classificatory dilemma is expressed by George Peabody’s original statement of the library’s purpose: that it “be furnished in every department of knowledge, with the most approved literature… It should consist on the best works on every subject… to satisfy the researches of students who may be engaged in the pursuit of knowledge not ordinarily attainable in the private libraries of the country.” [note number=\'34\']“Letters from George Peabody, Esq.: Baltimore, February 12th, 1857,” in Founder’s Letters, 7.[/note] The Peabody was founded as a cultural institution for the people of Baltimore, but from the first, this democratic ambition was in conflict with the intellectual aspirations of the first librarians and their desire to facilitate civic “self-improvement.” Morris (a doctor of divinity), his successor Nathaniel Holmes Morison (a schoolmaster and poet), and Morison’s assistant and successor Philip Uhler (who had trained as an entomologist) were all devoted to the nineteenth-century idea of the scholar-librarian. Morison wrote in one annual report that “Education always proceeds from the above downward, from the best to the common minds, from the leaders of the people to the people themselves. Furnish... the foundations of intelligence and thought, and they will... stimulate and improve the whole community.\" [note number=\'35\']Qtd. in Franklin Parker and Betty J. Parker, “PIB Ref. Library. 8-Morison\'s Philosophy of Excellence,” in George Peabody (1795-1869): A-Z Handbook of the Massachusetts-Born Merchant in the South, London-Based Banker, and Philanthropist\'s Life, Influence, and Related People, Places, Events, and Institutions. . 11 Mar. 2011.[/note] When the Johns Hopkins University was founded in 1876 in close proximity to the Peabody—in large part to take advantage of the library—the tendency of the librarians to address scholarly needs and “approved literature” over popular desires was given additional momentum. In keeping with these ideas, the Peabody’s librarians kept careful track of their readers’ choices, noting with special caution the numbers of novels that were requested. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'10\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-10-annual-report-detail/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-399\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-399\" title=\"fig 10 annual report detail\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-10-annual-report-detail-336x452.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"452\" /></a>Detail from First Annual Report showing chart of books read, with special mention of fiction.[/note] This schism at the heart of the library’s collecting paradigm was not unique to the Peabody; the question of reading matter—should it offer leisure for the masses or the means of social uplift?—was central to the public library movement of the second half of the nineteenth century. [note number=\'36\']See, for example, Alexis McCrossen, “’One Cathedral More’ or ‘Mere Lounging Places for Bummers’? The Cultural Politics of Leisure and the Public Library in Gilded Age America,” Libraries &amp; Culture 41.2 (2006): 169-188; Paul Sturges, “The Public Library and Reading by the Masses: Historical Perspectives on the USA and Britain 1850-1900,” ; Trustees of the Public Library of the City of Boston, Upon the Objects to be Attained by the Establishment of a Public Library, 12 Dec. 2010.[/note]\n\nFinally, the Peabody’s “desiderata” acquisitions and librarians’ selections were supplemented by book donations from local elites—bibliophiles with extensive private collections that included incunabula, classical authors in Renaissance editions, expensive illustrated atlases. At the same time, book donations came in from more plebian sources. The Peabody’s growth overlapped with the decline of the local social libraries, and it eventually absorbed some of the books from the Library Company of Baltimore, Robinson’s Circulating Library and several small professional and mechanics’ libraries. And I haven’t even touched on the Peabody’s twentieth-century fate.\n\nThe variety of philanthropic impulses, resource streams and classification philosophies that have fed the Peabody over the 150 years of its existence has led to a collection that does not so much map the nineteenth-century mind as signal its odd amalgam of popular and scholarly investments. The Peabody’s collection effectively evades succinct description—at least, any kind of description that pretends to be coherent, that is not perforated by its stakes in local history, library history, book history. But more importantly, it suggests the degree to which accident and opportunity and prejudice and wealth and the changing winds of cataloguing rules shape any archive. Description, which should be the most fundamental tool of communication between librarians and researchers, turns out to be utterly elusive. Yet we do not know what to replace them with, these inadequate descriptions, these exercises in stilted and partial translation.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>2. The Researcher’s Progress.</strong>\n<blockquote>I am preparing for my class about women and nineteenth-century print culture, which meets in the Peabody; we have reached the part of the syllabus where we look at gift books and annuals. I want students to examine several examples of these literary miscellanies, offering some illustration of their variety, and I have a list of such items that I have used in the past. But since I also want to show the students new acquisitions, I need to refresh my list. I will start with “gift book” as a keyword in the online catalogue.</blockquote>\nIn place of perfect and commensurate description—not possible—what we have are cataloguing systems that indexically represent collections through data and metadata that are, as I have already suggested, historically marked and inevitably inconsistent. In the case of the Peabody, these records are further compromised: Dewey cards developed from a nineteenth-century print index do not offer Library of Congress subject terms or detailed tables of contents; they also frequently lack other kinds of information. [note number=\'37\']Many of the electronic records for Peabody books have been copy-cataloged, that is, developed from records for identical books in other libraries. But these records might also be incomplete or inconsistent, given that many are quite old. The expense of original cataloging prevents our staff from creating full, new records for every item in the Peabody’s collection of over 300,000 titles.[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'11\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-11-ddc-cards/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-400\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-400\" title=\"fig 11 ddc cards\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-11-ddc-cards-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Dewey cards for “gift books.”[/note] My search for “gift book” will turn up bequests—the term “gift book” is often attached to these donations—and it will miss many of the nineteenth-century gift books and annuals in our collection whose records lack subject classifications, or whose subject classifications reference the book’s contents, not its format. For example, the 1848 Rough and Ready Annual: or, Military Souvenir published by Appleton’s has been assigned the subject “Mexican War, 1846-1848—Anecdotes.” [note number=\'38\']Rough and Ready Annual (New York: D. Appleton; Philadelphia: G.S. Appleton, 1848).[/note]\n\nThe problem of finding is perhaps only a sub-set of the problem of description, but I want to give it special attention because it introduces another variable: the physical space of the object. My search for gift books in the Peabody also entails the privilege of retrieving the books from the stacks. There are two search processes, the intellectual and the physical, that I must navigate. The intellectual search in this case requires a variety of keyword/date range combinations, and ultimately, recourse to my prepared bibliography—a holdover from pre-catalogue research methods. Now the second search begins.\n\nThe Rough and Ready Annual is at 973.62 A5121, in the “general history of North America; United States” category. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'12\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-12-rr/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-401\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-401\" title=\"fig 12 r&amp;r\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-12-rr-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>The Rough and Ready Annual in the stacks.[/note] This call number range is on the second floor, west side. Other items on my list are in very different parts of the library. Orange Blossoms: A Gift Book for All Who Have Worn, Are Wearing, Or are Likely to Wear Them, edited by the temperance writer T. S. Arthur and published in London, has been given the call number 813 A7910 duodecimo—fourth floor east, in the “American literature in English, fiction” section. [note number=\'39\']Orange Blossoms: A Gift Book for All Who Have Worn, Are Wearing, Or are Likely to Wear Them (London: Knight &amp; Co., [1857]). This title does not appear in at least one Arthur bibliography; see Donald A Koch, \"Timothy Shay Arthur,\" Antebellum Writers in New York and the South, ed. Joel Myerson (Detroit: Gale Research, 1979), from Literature Resource Center. Web. 19 Feb. 2011. To check on this, I need Mitchell Sharpe Jr.’s A Bibliography of the Published Books of Timothy Shay Arthur (Atlanta: Emory University, 1954), a typewritten quarto at 012 A791S, but it seems to be missing.[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'13\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-13-orange/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-402\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-402\" title=\"fig 13 orange\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-13-orange-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Orange Blossoms in the stacks.[/note] Arthur shows up again as co-editor of The Baltimore Book: A Christmas and New-Year\'s Present, which has received more extensive description as it contains the first printing of Edgar Allan Poe’s short story “Siope.” [note number=\'40\']The Baltimore Book: A Christmas and New-Year\'s Present (Baltimore: Bayly and Burns, [1838]).[/note] We have two copies of this very genteel little gift book, one at 808.83 B2175 (rhetoric &amp; collections of literature), and one at 810.8 C297 (American literature in English). The New Casket: A Gift Book for All Seasons is in the rare book room at the south end of the third floor. [note number=\'41\']The New Casket: A Gift Book for All Seasons (London: The Religious Tract Society, ca. 1850).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'14\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-14-rbr/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-403\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-403\" title=\"fig 14 rbr\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-14-rbr-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>The rare book room.[/note] In this case, the book’s rarity has to do with a lovely fore-edge painting. It has been assigned to 820.8 N42017 (general books about literature). On the other end of the “rare” continuum is The Family Circle and Parlor Annual, volume 5 in a series, which is shelved up on the sixth floor with the periodicals at 051 F198 (serials in American English). [note number=\'42\']The Family Circle and Parlor Annual (New York: Comstock, 1847).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'15\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-15-parlor/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-404\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-404\" title=\"fig 15 parlor\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-15-parlor-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>The Parlor Annual in the stacks.[/note]\n\nI’ll fill out call slips for each book, stick the slips into red flags, and put the flags in an order that will help me chart a logical course through the stacks. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'16\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-16-slips/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-405\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-405\" title=\"fig 16 slips\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-16-slips-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Call slips and flags.[/note] It’s easiest to start on the sixth floor and work one’s way down, picking up books along the way. Usually I find other interesting items as I go, so I carry a batch of blank call slips and extra flags. (On this occasion, for example, I find The New American Reader: Containing Choice Pieces, in Prose and Verse; published in 1813 and inscribed by its owner in 1817, it pre-dates by several years the official beginning of the gift book phenomenon. It might be more of a “literary almanac.” [note number=\'43\']The New American Reader: Containing Choice Pieces, in Prose and Verse (Philadelphia: David Hogan, 1813).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'17\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-17-new-reader/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-406\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-406\" title=\"fig 17 new reader\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-17-new-reader-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Inscription in The New American Reader.[/note]) Usually I am also unable to locate at least one of the books I have set out to find. Most likely the book has been misshelved, so I’ll check the quartos and folios, which are shelved separately; then I’ll check the rare book room’s octavo, duodecimo and quarto shelving areas. It used to astonish me that books were still shelved by format in the Peabody, but it does save space. At the same time, this shelving system—along with the multiple distinct areas within the library where books may reside, eg the rare book room, the reference section, the genealogy books, the Limited Editions Club, and several discrete named collections—means that retrieving a few books can take quite a long time, as I traipse up and down the six floors of the library, thread through stacks, open secured doors with multiple keys, turn lights on and off, and maneuver a book truck in and out of a tiny service elevator built in the 1920s. By the end of the journey, the library and I will have exchanged dust; I’ll take on a few streaks of red rot, and the library will have taken in particles from my body as well.\n\nWhile the Peabody is unique, these conditions are not in the end very unusual. In terms of the intellectual search, the absence of “gift book” from many of the catalogue records is no less egregious than the absence of other information—the names of all the contributors; the subjects of the illustrations. The metadata is potentially infinite. The “gift book” only exists as a category because of scholars who teased out this cultural phenomenon; it would be very difficult to define its absolute borders. In terms of the physical search, the Peabody might be messier than, say, a rare book library that has assigned current LC call numbers to all its contents and houses them in compact shelving, but it exemplifies the general on-the-ground situation. As I wind my way through the Peabody stacks, I remember how much more difficult it is to gather research materials from several different institutions.\n\nThe fact is, for scholars who rely on archives, research is something you do only after you have already undertaken a rigorous search. It is the search that provides you with the foundational sense of your subject. But the search is rarely acknowledged or accredited; even the foot-soldier craft of bibliography, the link between “librarianship” and “scholarship,” has largely lost its scholarly status.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>3. An Architecture of Disctinction.</strong>\n<blockquote>A non-affiliate researcher contacts the Peabody about our H. L. Mencken collections. Since she will bring a couple of graduate students with her, I set up a group work space in one of the library alcoves where the three of them can share materials and talk without disturbing other readers. I pull the requested volumes with the help of some students and set the cart up within easy reach of the alcove. When the researchers arrive, I show them the Mencken collections on the ground floor. Then I lead them to their group work space and leave them, returning to the glassed-in office behind the reading room, the vantage point that allows me to monitor the otherwise empty reading room.</blockquote>\nIn “The Silence of the Library: Environment, Situational Norm, and Social Behavior,” a team of Dutch sociologists investigates the library as a space that is strongly marked by situational norms—“knowledge-based beliefs about how to behave in particular situations that are shaped by social influence.” [note number=\'44\']Henk Aarts and Ap Dijksterhuis, “The Silence of the Library: Environment, Situational Norm, and Social Behavior,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 84.1 (2003), 19.[/note] Their research leads them to argue, however, that such norms do not require direct social influences to be triggered; in fact, “the situation can activate mental representations of normative behaviors automatically. And once activated, these representations provide the knowledge necessary for guiding one’s own situationally appropriate behavior.” [note number=\'45\']Aarts and Dijksterhuis, 19.[/note] Physical environments do not necessarily prompt these behaviors; rather, the behavior “depend[s] on whether the environment is of immediate behavioral relevance.” [note number=\'46\']Aarts and Dijksterhuis, 20.[/note] Talking in a quiet voice in the library, a normative behavior, is only activated for those who plan to visit the library.\n\nTen years ago, when the research for this article was conducted, the “silence of the library” was still a widespread norm. While the situation is now often reversed—in our main campus library, we must designate specific quiet areas because otherwise a sociable undergraduate din would take over—the norm of silence does continue to preside at the Peabody. Because it is off campus, the Peabody is often attractively under-populated compared to the crowded main library; it is mostly used by advanced researchers and those who seek a quiet place to study. The large central open area catches and amplifies even the smallest noises. The shelf-lined alcoves on either side of this central area offer the appearance of privacy, but in fact are little echo chambers. Visitors immediately detect these acoustics, and—except for the periodic tour groups—most spend their time in the Peabody in silence. But it is not just the physics of sound that shape behaviors here, as the Dutch researchers show; the social expectations of the space prefigure those behaviors.\n\nIn setting up a group work space for the Mencken researchers, I have quite deliberately contravened the usual norm of silence. Clearly, I am not inviting them to shout, and by putting them in an alcove in back, I have taken measures to protect any quiet-seeking visitors who might arrive. But in accordance with new ideas about the use of library space, my colleagues and I have decided that we must accommodate group study even if it might occasionally disrupt the silence desired by others. As it happens, the Mencken researchers’ conversation is eventually interrupted by a tour group, and the two activities play out side by side.\n\nI must admit that at moments I have mixed feelings about the tour groups and even the study cohorts. While my pedagogical instincts tend towards cheerful hub-bub, there is a part of me that is still in awe of the sanctuary-like atmosphere of the Peabody. John Morris called the library a “cathedral of books,” and clearly that’s what architect Edmund G. Lind had in mind. The central area with its grand skylight and the alcoves on its sides is like a nave bordered with chapels. Lind didn’t need a psychological study of environment-based situational norms to tell him that he might activate different behaviors within his building. The great central space inspires reverence—your eye is drawn to the skylight the way it would be drawn to the rose windows of Chartres, and on its way up catches row upon solemn row of books stowed behind gilded railings, a testament to the accumulated wisdom of the ages. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'18\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-18-skylight/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-407\"><img class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-407\" title=\"fig 18 skylight\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-18-skylight.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"448\" /></a>The skylight in the George Peabody Library.[/note] But step into an alcove, especially on the ground floor where each is filled with an immense wooden table, and you instantly feel something else, something no less grand but more human. The alcoves are study-sized, and once you sit down at one of those dark, gleaming, broad tables, it is like you are the master of your own private library. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'19\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-19-alcove/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-408\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-408\" title=\"fig 19 alcove\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-19-alcove-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Alcove in the George Peabody Library.[/note]\n\nIronically, the Peabody’s architecture was out-dated by the time it was completed. With the professionalization of librarianship and the evolution of library science in the late nineteenth century, librarians like William Frederick Poole advocated for a functional rather than decorative design of interior library space. [note number=\'47\']See William Frederick Poole, Remarks on Library Construction (Chicago: Jansen, McClurg, 1884).[/note] Moreover, the actual use of space in the Peabody in the late nineteenth century was at odds with its symbolic appeal. The main library was known as the “stack room”; readers were seated in a comparatively plain reading room on the other side of the main doors. In this arrangement, the librarians reigned inside the gorgeous “cathedral of books,” but the building’s potential to civilize the masses was lost.\n\nNow, of course, we do not send readers outside. Inside the “stack room,” we explicitly call visitors’ attention to its beauty to explain the connections between the library’s architecture and its collections—how both speak eloquently of Victorian values. At the same time, we who staff the library have relegated ourselves to its periphery. We work in the glassed-in room at one end that serves as a monitoring point and occasional classroom; the official “librarian’s office” in one corner—its luxurious proportions suggesting something like a sacristy and something like a robber baron’s lair—is now shared work-space stuffed with several desks and laden book trucks. There is another monitoring station near the main doors. I often do my work at the photography station, in the back of one of the alcoves [note type=\'figure\' number=\'20\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-20-station/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-409\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-409\" title=\"fig 20 station\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-20-station-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Photography station in the George Peabody Library.[/note]. It offers some privacy but is close enough to the central reading tables to be accessible to readers.\n\nThe space of the Peabody initiates other situational behaviors besides the norm of silence, and our work-station arrangements testify to this. The spatial re-centralizing of readers and marginalization of staff is not merely practical; it is a reflection of the modern office of librarianship. We are there to be of service, in a para-textual position. Consequently, our work should be out of sight; it should be separate from and secondary to the work that readers do. Our locations call upon us, in other words, to support the scholar’s effort to hide the “seams of [her] findings” by hiding the ways we contribute to that work—by the ways we sometimes do that work.\n\nI think about these complications as I escort the Mencken researchers to their table and walk back to the glassed-in office, where there is nothing pressing for me to do. I’d rather spend more time talking with them. I’d like to learn about their research and introduce them to some underappreciated parts of the collection. I’d like to share with them what I learned curating an exhibition of Mencken-related magazines and writing about one of those magazines. But I don’t want to get in their way; it’s likely that they are ready to get on with work that they don’t see as connected to mine. The professional norms of the archive are strong, and although I know how to talk about my research in many contexts—in presentations, interviews, hotel elevators—I haven’t figured out how to mix my scholarly role with the curatorial role I am supposed to play here, in the Peabody. In the end, I say nothing. Professional segregation is another kind of silence in the library.\n\nWe cannot change the archaeological record beneath our feet, but we can rearrange the fossils we dig up to create new narratives. We can tell different kinds of archive stories, including the story of what research in the archive was and is. Is it too idealistic to expect that dissolving the entrenched fantasies about archival research will make room for new methods? Is it naïve to imagine a space that, in putting into practice the archival turn’s preliminary insights about disciplinary and disorder, can support experimentation, facilitate connection across professions and disciplines, and enable new discoveries?','Disciplinarity and Disorder','','inherit','open','open','','2199-revision','','','2012-09-21 19:22:36','2012-09-21 19:22:36','',2199,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/issue/%issue%/uncategorized/2199-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(3599,1,'2013-04-15 02:40:26','2013-04-15 02:40:26','The primal scene of archival research takes place in a dreary reading room. A researcher sits at her table, inert. An archivist enters, pushing a cart that bears a dozen dusty gray boxes. (Can we get a close-up of a box, please, to show the label with the long call number? [note type=\'figure\' number=\'1\'] <iframe src=\"http://www.youtube.com/embed/5ykY6moIaDE?rel=0\" frameborder=\"0\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\"></iframe> A staged archival encounter.[/note]) The archivist unhinges a box, removes a numbered file folder and, placing it at the researcher’s elbow, steps back. The researcher stirs, then sits upright with a mechanical jolt. She turns sharply in the direction of the folder, flips it open and cocks her head towards the flimsy leaves inside; now she is reading. (Zoom in on the eyes as they click into focus.) Now she is reading, and now she truly comes alive; she bends towards the papers, taps her forehead in thought. A sheaf of blank paper and a pencil appear on her table, and she begins taking notes. Her fingers fly—and soon, so do the pages she is writing upon. Caught up in eddies of excitement, they swoop to the ceiling and around the room and down to the floor, where they fall together into perfect piles. Bindings sprout from the outer strata; the pages sew themselves into bright, tight, hard-cover books. These the archivist gathers up and places on the shelves that line the room, next to other books and gray boxes.\n\nI may have it backwards: in other versions of the fantasy, it is the archive that is first animated by the presence of the researcher, a Dr. Coppelius who waves a pencil and sets the dusty boxes to dancing. But either way, the archival imaginary posits a symbiotic relationship between researcher and source, a photogenic pas de deux that leads to a finished scholarly product. This work, in turn, enters the archive for the next generation of researchers; it might even be taken apart again so that its secret ingredients (notes, drafts, letters) can themselves be served up in a series of boxes. Such a strangely private form of publication it creates, the coupling of researcher and source.\n\nWhat Freudian trauma results from witnessing this sight? Only the harm that myth inflicts. This primal scene is a fiction, a dream of perfect union between researcher and source that ignores, first of all, the full cast of characters. What about the archivist, who is rendered invisible? What about all those within and without the archive, upon whose labor—acquiring, preserving, organizing, reading, cataloging, describing, interpreting, analyzing, debating, teaching, writing, editing, digitizing, referencing and publishing—the current project depends? More a barn dance than a pas de deux: an archival encounter is an enactment of social authorship long before the researcher enters the room. [note number=\'1\']See Jerome McGann, A Critique of Modern Textual Criticism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983) on the idea of social authorship, which could be described as “the dialectic between the historically located individual author and the historically developed institutions of literary production” that help create a work, eg, printers, publishers, editors and readers (81).[/note]\n\nBut even a barn dance is much too mannered a metaphor. The sketch above misleads us more generally about the experience on the ground. Doing time in an archive is often tedious, uncomfortable and bewildering. For librarians, there is the struggle to promote and simultaneously protect what you have; the difficulty of fitting unruly materials into arrangements and workflows; and worries about space and time—where to put it all, how to address your backlog. For researchers, there is the struggle to locate the archives you need and what matters to you inside them; the uncertainty created by unruly data; and worries about time and space— how to access what you need during your research trip, how to record and organize the information you gather. At both ends, the archival encounter is counter-cinematic and erratic, days of monotonous sifting and dead-ends punctuated by one or two, or maybe zero, hidden moments of vivid, peculiar joy.\n\nSo archival research does not fulfill its ideal outline. So what? Who cares? Why dredge up the fantasy? Because the fantasy continues to structure our archival encounters—what we expect and undertake in the reading room, what we allow it to mean. Twenty years ago, Alice Kaplan observed that “conventional academic discourse requires that when you write up the results of your archival work, you tell a story about what you found, but not about how you found it. The less the seams of your findings show, the better your discoveries lend themselves to use by others… tell[ing] these stories breaks their spell and violates the spirit of the archives.” [note number=\'2\']Alice Yaeger Kaplan, “Working in the Archives,” Yale French Studies 77 (1990): 103-116; 103, 107.[/note] With a few word changes, the same could be said about what counts as professional archivist discourse: the impersonal, neutral genre of the finding aid, for example, should say what is in a collection, but should not discuss what is confusing or missing in it, or the problems it posed in processing. [note number=\'3\']See, for example, James M. O’Toole and Richard J. Cox, Understanding Archives and Manuscripts (Chicago: Society of American Archivists, 2006).[/note] Despite the growing recognition that this sequestration is never completely possible—that the material conditions and social relations of the archive shape the work we do in it—that work continues to be represented in professional and scholarly publications as if it is. Despite the recent call to move to the fore “the backstage of the archives—how they are constructed, policed, experienced, and manipulated” in order to support historiography “not merely [as] a project of fact-retrieval” but as “a set of complex processes of selection, interpretation, and even creative invention,” the “backstage” stays in the background. [note number=\'4\']Antoinette Burton, “Introduction: Archive Fever, Archive Stories,” Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions, and the Writing of History, ed. Burton (Durham: Duke University Press, 2005), 7-8.[/note] Antoinette Burton may be correct that “many if not most historians operate under the assumption that history is a highly interpretive act,” but this belief is not yet reflected in the archival encounter: the ways that researchers (not just historians) and librarians report their experiences with primary sources; the ways that librarians and researchers work together; the ways librarians and researchers regard the involvement of “non specialists.” [note number=\'5\']Burton, 8. Burton notes that “whether historians concede or fully countenance the impact of such contingencies on their work is another question. They rarely speak of them, and even more rarely do they do so in print” (8). Her books recuperates some of those archive stories but this effort, I’ll suggest below, is hampered by other kinds of obligations.[/note] While the advent of digitization and electronic resource sharing has revolutionized the research landscape, making primary sources public in unprecedented ways, there remains in the archive a habitus of secret knowledge—the “spell” that Kaplan is loathe to break. This is not necessarily intentional. It is rather the effect of layering recent shifts in technology, theory and professional definition onto older foundations: petrified conditions, relations, expectations and systems that continue to operate in part through the enduring power of fantasies about research. What we have in the archive is a stratified groundwork that still governs our archival encounters.\n\nBut, you will object, the archive has already changed. Now we have the “archival turn”—the scholarly interest in the archive not just as a source of evidence but as an epistemological mode. Surely, this attention to the constructedness of the archive has led to a revealing reconsideration of what actually goes on inside an archive; surely, as a result, those archaic fantasies have diminished. Have they? In what follows, I begin by unearthing one stratum of the archival turn, the decade of the 1990s, as represented by three texts: Kaplan’s essay mentioned above, “Working in the Archives” (1990) [note type=\'figure\' number=\'2\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-2-kaplan.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-369\" title=\"fig 2 kaplan\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-2-kaplan-300x224.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Photocopy of Alice Yaeger Kaplan’s “Working in the Archives.”[/note]; Derrida’s Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression (1994/95) [note type=\'figure\' number=\'3\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-3-Derrida.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-372\" title=\"fig 3 Derrida\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-3-Derrida-300x224.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Print out of Jacque Derrida’s “Archive Fever” from Diacritics.[/note]; and Carolyn Steedman’s Dust: The Archive and Cultural History (2001). [note type=\'figure\' number=\'4\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-4-steedman.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-373\" title=\"fig 4 steedman\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-4-steedman-300x224.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Library copy of Carolyn Steedman’s Dust.[/note] [note number=\'6\']Jacques Derrida, “Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression,” Diacritics 25.2 (Summer 1995): 9-63. Web. 1 Dec. 2010. Carolyn Steedman, Dust: The Archive and Cultural History (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2001).[/note] A cross-examination of these three texts reveals a pattern of interests, a set of efforts to defy customary practices—but only, it turns out, “in theory.” While certain practices are challenged in these texts, they leave mostly intact the older strata of archival research fantasies and conventions. Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman do not dislodge the forces that organize the actual archival encounter.\n\nHow does this happen? Why is practice so stubborn? We need another take on archival practice: not practice in theory, but practice in action; not the 1990s, but now; not in terms of textual patterns, but in terms that suit the subject: the terms of the archival encounter itself, and the eccentric, anachronistic and even monotonous experience it generates. My second look at practice will take the form of a series of vignettes about a real-life archive, the George Peabody Library in Baltimore. While this narrative structure may seem to recreate the division of labor between theory and practice, my hope is that—by giving practice the last word—we’ll be in a better position to synthesize the two.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>I. “The library doubles as a detective’s office.” [note number=\'7\']Kaplan, 114.[/note]</strong>\n\nThe archival turn could be dated to the founding of “scientific” history in the mid-nineteenth century, or to the development a century later of the quantitative methods of the Annales School, or to other evidence-based movements in the history of history, but what is generally meant by this phrase corresponds with the formation of cultural studies and the use of the archive as a conceptual category. That is, the archival turn has to do with the notion of the “figuration” of the archive, a parallel decline in its empirical authority and a related expansion of its relevance within domains that are not exclusively historiographic, like art, literary criticism, textual studies, media studies and information studies. [note number=\'8\']See the use of the term in, for example, Carolyn Hamilton et al, eds., Refiguring the Archive (Boston: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2002), Cheryl Simon, ed., Following the Archival Turn: Photography, the Museum, and the Archive, special issue of Visual Resources: A Journal of Documentation 18.2 (June 2002), and Ann Laura Stoler, Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009). This turn is partially construed as a “move from archive-as-source to archive-as-subject,” but also by the earlier metaphorical interest in “the archive” that goes back to the 1980s (Stoler, 44-45) and by Foucauldian descriptions of archives as “‘monuments to particular configurations of power” (Hamilton, qtd. in Burton, 6).[/note] But it is not irrelevant that a devotion to archival methods precedes by many decades contemporary theories of the archive; if the archival turn lacks a precise origin, this (we will see) is completely in keeping with its own preoccupations.\n\nKaplan therefore represents in some ways an arbitrary beginning for this cross-examination—clearly the archive as a conceptual category predates 1990—but her article does initiate something new: the recognition that there is something called an “archive story” that must remain hidden in order for the official “results” to function authoritatively. In admitting this bit of professional legerdemain, and in telling her own archive story in a prestigious scholarly journal, Kaplan not only commits the violation she prohibits but also contradicts it. Through its publication, Kaplan’s own archive story is elevated to the status of “results”—a kind of research that shadows conventional academic discourse. Indeed, Kaplan notes, such “fables” of research “can be analyzed like a text,” a “mixed up genre” that combines the “redemptive detective fiction” with the epic and the dime novel. [note number=\'9\']Kaplan, 106, 107.[/note]\n\nKaplan’s archive story thus marks a distinctive moment in the archival turn—one which gained its most prominent authorization in 1994, with a paper that Jacques Derrida delivered (in English) to a conference sponsored by the Freud Museum, the Courtauld Institute and the Société International d’Histoire de la Psychiatrie et de la Psychoanalyse. Called initially “The Concept of the Archive: A Freudian Impression,” the lecture was revised and published in 1995 as Mal d’archive: une impression freudienne in French; the published English version echoed the French publication with its 1995 title Archive Fever. As Carolyn Steedman points out in Dust: The Archive and Cultural History, however, this work that has been assigned a seminal status in archival studies “for the main part… is not about archives at all, but is rather a sustained contemplation of a work of history, of Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi’s Freud’s Moses: Judaism Terminable and Interminable (1991),” itself a sustained contemplation of Moses and Monotheism—which (according to Steedman) Yerushalmi examines through Freud’s description of the work as a “‘historical novel,’ or a kind of historical story,” undertaken “in order to understand the period of baroque anti-semitism through which he was living.” [note number=\'10\']Steedman, 3.[/note]\n\nDizzy yet? Let’s undertake a more careful reading of this splatter pattern of intra-references—or, to stick with the archaeological metaphor, let’s call them groups of potsherds buried in the 1990s layer of the “archival turn.” Digging down to reassemble them reveals a set of interests with special implications for archival practice.\n\nThe most prominent group of sherds to note are the fragments of disciplinarity: the inter-, multi- or perhaps simply anti-disciplinarity of the texts, authors and audiences caught up in these three archival addresses. Kaplan, an American scholar of French literature, calls the post-theory exchange between literature and history a “cross-pollination of desire between historians and literary critics” undertaken “with the curiosity and energetic passion of collectors.” [note number=\'11\']Kaplan, 107-108.[/note] Steedman, a British historian, performs this cross-pollinating process without comment: her epigraph to Dust is from Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, one chapter treats George Eliot’s Middlemarch in depth… in fact, almost every chapter depends on a literary text. [note number=\'12\']Another chapter invokes Elizabeth Gaskell’s 1848 novel Mary Barton, a third is anchored by W. H. Auden’s poem “Homage to Clio,” and a fourth finds its most eloquent examples in Charles Dickens’ Our Mutual Friend.[/note] Derrida, a French philosopher, produced a work that has been exceptionally mobile across disciplines, forms, languages and professional domains. He gave his initial talk to an audience drawing on three different kinds of institutions; Mal d’Archive was published in book form in both French and English, but also made an intermediate appearance as an essay in the journal diacritics. All of these texts, it seems, respond to the provocations of the archive—to the materials and circumstances of discovery—rather than to the disciplinary distinctions that arguably divide the archive from itself.\n\nArchive Fever has become a founding document even though, as Steedman notes in the very beginning of her book, many in Derrida’s audience “knew the ‘archival turn’ to be [already] well underway” at the time of his talk. [note number=\'13\']Steedman, 2.[/note] As it happens—and this is the second group of sherds I see—these three essays have in common an investment in or a problem with origins, especially with the failure of origins. Derrida, for example, defines archive fever as a kind of Freudian death drive—a drive to fix and preserve which at the same time “works to destroy the archive: on the condition of effacing but also with a view to effacing its own ‘proper’ traces… [it] is above all anarchivic, one could say, or archiviolithic… the archive always works, and a priori, against itself.” [note number=\'14\']Derrida, 14. [/note] If the archival impulse is driven to destroy its own work, then the question of origins ultimately point to the larger question of disorder. [note number=\'15\']The disorder of origins makes frequent appearances in the essay but one example will make the point—in the “Preamble” where he recounts how he titled the talk that he had not yet written and was to give at the Freud Museum. The “Preamble” starts with his reflections on the word “impression,” which has several simultaneous registers of meaning for him. One of these is the “scriptural or typographic” register: that of the graphic impression that marks a substrate. In English, “impression” is phonetically related to “repression” and “suppression,” key words in the Freudian vocabulary, translated respectively from the German Verdrängung and Unterdrückung. English, that is, retains the rhyming relationship of the two German terms, and “impression” in this company comes to have a vaguely Freudian meaning as well. But in French, Verdrängung is “refoulement,” which means something more like expulsion, a driving away. The Freudian sense of the French word “répression” has been reserved for Unterdrückung. So English “repression” defines a phenomenon that must be distinguished from the French “répression.” These translational shifts “directly concern the structures of archivization,” Derrida says, “because they touch on the topic differences and thus on the location of the substrates of traces\" (Derrida, 23). In other words, how do you classify concepts whose meanings shift across languages? Where do you store them in a disciplinary grammar—or in an archive? How do these asymmetrical linguistic structures shape the establishment and extension of a new science? For Derrida, the difference between “repression” and “répression” is “enough to disrupt the tranquil landscape of all historical knowledge, of all historiography, and even of all self-consistent ‘scholarship’” (Derrida, 23).[/note]\n\nOrigin failure appears both as deliberate performance and as unintentional oversight in these essays. Derrida stages his own inability to get past “go”; with an introductory section, and subsequent sections sub-titled “Exergue,” “Preamble,” “Foreword,” his essay functions, Steedman notes, like a “primer offering instruction in the principle of deferral.” [note number=\'16\']A short notice called “Priere d’inserer,” published only in the French book version, carried the bulk of an argument for which there was no room in the lecture. Steedman, 7.[/note] For all her insight into Derrida’s titling adventures, however, Steedman’s title is marked by its own origin aporia. While her first chapter is devoted to Archive Fever—a “let’s begin at the beginning” homage to the seminal text—her book’s title, Dust, seems more indebted to the last sentence of Kaplan’s essay, published five years before Derrida’s: “Usually there is no mother lode, no original manuscript to be retrieved—the gold is all in the dust.” [note number=\'17\']Kaplan, 116.[/note] Kaplan, however, is never mentioned. [note number=\'18\']Kaplan also begins her essay with a brief consideration of the “arche,” the Greek and Latin term for the public records office, which is a major starting point for Derrida. Is he borrowing from her, or is she borrowing from him, given that this sort of etymological investigation was an established signature of Deconstruction?[/note]\n\nKaplan, for her part, unravels her own archive story. She gives us a kind of “whodunit”—her search for the ephemeral sources of Louis-Ferdinand Céline’s anti-semitic pamphlet Bagatelles pour un massacre (1937). She uses this account to exemplify her effort to “move through the archival process and recover some of the stories that get deleted in the final scholarly form.” [note number=\'19\']Kaplan, 104. For this reason, perhaps, Kaplan never reveals what she ultimately discovers in her successful search for Celine’s sources. In fact, it’s not entirely clear whether her pre-emptive and truncated treatment of her archive story is deliberate or not. Is this treatment meant to indirectly support her official claim about “results”? Or does the presence of the archive story suggest that telling it is an impulse she can’t quite control? Thanks, Lauren Coats, for helping tease this problem out.[/note] These beginnings are preemptively struck out, however, by what seems to be her main claim: “the passion of the archives must finally be used to eradicate all personal stories in the interests of the dry archival report, fit for a public.” [note number=\'20\']Kaplan, 103.[/note] Only in the “para-text”—a preface, for example—can the archive story appear without “interrupt[ing] or complicat[ing] the narrative so much that no results could ever be understood or perceived.” [note number=\'21\']Kaplan, 104.[/note] Despite this unequivocal assertion, the personal “whodunit” prevails in her essay, especially in the final section set in the Centre du documentation juive contemporain (CDJC). [note type=\'figure\' number=\'5\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-5-cdjc-2/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-423\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-423\" title=\"fig 5 cdjc\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-5-cdjc1-333x250.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Website for the Centre de documentation juive contemporain.[/note] It is this library, where Kaplan solves the mystery of Céline’s sources, that “doubles as a detective’s office.”\n\nWhile Kaplan’s research mystery resolves neatly, the truth about archives is that they are full of gaps, mistakes and excesses: in the words of one of the CDJC librarians, “‘ici on trouve tout’—there’s some of everything here”—but not, one could add, all of anything. [note number=\'22\']Kaplan, 115.[/note] Kaplan’s essay ends by nullifying both her detective story success and her “dry archival report,” by recognizing the disorder on which both of these narratives are unsteadily perched: “The archive is constituted by these errors, these pieces out of place, which are then reintegrated into a story of some kind.” [note number=\'23\']Kaplan, 115.[/note] “A story of some kind”? So much for “results.”\n\nKaplan sets us up to perceive one final potsherd pattern common to these three essays. If origin-less disorder is the order of the archive, it is a disorder that is generated out of human loss—a disorder that joins the body and the material world. The archive is always predicated on historical violence of some sort, whatever is censored, erased, excluded, trumped up, used up, misplaced, conquered, killed. Moreover, the archival categories that mark both the visible victories and hidden defeats do not stay within their walls; the archive is both a repository of existing schemas and a means of perpetuating them in the world beyond. While we might usually think of this disciplinary activity as a pact between the archive and its political authors, Steedman makes it clear that the dilemmas of order shape the archival body in many ways. For example, she takes literally the provocation of Derrida’s title Archive Fever to investigate the illness that researchers contract on the penultimate day of their trip to the archive: prompted by the anxiety of the task that remains unfinished, they end their research with night-sweats and head-aches. But what seems like a strangely specific malady is transformed by Steedman into a far-reaching social symptom: by relating the researcher’s “archive fever” to the terrible diseases suffered by tanners, skinners and other workers in the trades associated with paper and leather, Steedman expands our sense of who is in the archive—the bodies whose specialized labors populate our libraries with books, the many kinds of expertise the archive consumes.\n\nFor Derrida, the relation between the material archive and its human architects focuses on one kind of “graphic mark,” a particular “private inscription”: circumcision as the archival signature that is also the signature of patrimoine, with Freud’s relationship to his father as his main example. [note number=\'24\']Derrida, 19.[/note] It is perhaps not a coincidence that the body in question in both Kaplan’s and Derrida’s archive is Jewish, for that is a body that has come to symbolize the destructive power of classificatory regimes. Despite her contention that the private passions motivating research must be kept secret, Kaplan is fascinated by the “missing person stories” at the CDJC: by the “quantity of people who are there for personal reasons,” the survivors of occupation or deportation or camps, or their descendants, quietly looking up their lost ones or noisily dropping off their memoirs. [note number=\'25\']Kaplan, 113.[/note] This disorganized crowd of dead and living bodies tries to meet up with an equally disorganized crowd of materials—individual letters, trial transcripts, pamphlets, newspapers, first-person accounts, books, photographs, lists. The monumental task of match-making, the librarians’ work, is never complete. More papers are always generated or declassified or discovered, different human questions and needs emerge. The tidy choreography of the research fantasy, where the detective always finds her man, is not so much in evidence; what we have instead is corpora in excess of existing categories.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\nKaplan, Derrida and Steedman open up the archival body. They show us how paper meets the press of flesh; they make us feel just how intimate it is. [note number=\'26\']This interest in the corporeal dimensions and effects of order, its human and non-human components, has in common with their other gestures—an experimental attitude towards conventional disciplinarity and attention to the priority of disorder—the circumstances of the academic humanities in the 1990s. Since the archival turn came out of the ascent of cultural studies and allied intrigues in the 1970s and ‘80s, the circles in the Venn diagram of these ventures will necessarily overlap. We could also say that the archive took off when it did precisely because it made a clever new container for these preoccupations, thick in the humanities atmosphere at the time, where they were distilled and united. [/note] But for all their revelations about the limits of discipline and the multiplicities of disorder in the archive, these texts do not disclose the specific methods of engagement that led to their existence. While Kaplan offers up her own archival victory and outlines several other such stories, she still insists on their marginalization. [note number=\'27\']“Were the story of how you got the story really to be told inside the book, it would interrupt or complicate the narrative so much that no results could be understood or even perceived. Every story of success in the archives is emotionally charged, for only the most extreme emotions can drive people to the drudgery, to the discomfort, of sitting and sifting through dog-eared documents, manuscripts, microfilms. To reveal those emotions would not only gum up the narrative, it would threaten its credibility, by showing on what thin strands of coincidence, accident, or on what unfair forms of friendship, ownership, geographical proximity, the discoveries were based” (Kaplan, 104).[/note] If these texts are not concerned with actual practices in the archive or changes in its methodologies, what do they tell us?\n\nFirst, they suggest one reason for the perpetuation of myths about the archive. While Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman are eager to show how archival materials do not conform to disciplinary distinctions—an enthusiasm related to other disruptive tendencies in late twentieth-century humanist scholarship –they seem less cognizant of a related phenomenon: the archive does not obey strict professional divisions, either. In Kaplan’s library-as-detective’s-office metaphor, the scholar is the detective, but does the “Eureka” moment belong only to the scholar who pieces together a narrative? What about the people who prepared those pieces? The archivist is still missing in action. Likewise, these essays do not dwell on missing boxes, illegible papers, neglected citations. There are no descriptions of archival slogging, no admissions that some materials failed to be relevant. And of course, there are no prescriptions for a different order. It is not the main aim of Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman to effect an evolution of practice; archival turnistas are not interested in disorder in order to re-order. But it is worth remembering that it is not in their professional interest as scholars to make their practices more transparent.\n\nSecondly, along the same lines, these texts inform us of the duplicity of speculative practices that reveal but cannot live out the instability of their archival mandates. Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman are put into the position of saying, “Yes, the archive is biased, idiosyncratic and treacherous—but the observations I draw from it are flawless.” [note number=\'28\']Derrida, unlike Kaplan and Steedman, makes no claims to work inside an actual archive, unless we consider Yerushalmi’s book as a kind of archive. But the fact that the essay was written self-consciously for presentation at the Freud Museum suggests that it was made out of an archive indirectly—in its construction, if not in its contents. [/note]\n\nFinally, these texts suggest why archival studies that attempt to be explicit about the messy nature of the archive have become instead “archive studies.” In more recent works like Refiguring the Archive (2002), Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions and the Writing of History (2005) and Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense (2009), the archive appears as a subject in its own right. Although the archival scenarios that are put into play in each of these books incorporate different disciplines—art, history, anthropology, literature, post-colonial studies—they have essentially created a new discipline. “Archive studies” is something we might, in the taxonomy of disciplines, see as the love-child of cultural studies, history and archival methodology. Moreover, this new discipline has in common with other humanities disciplines a complete blindness about its professional investments; it does not register much awareness of the professional investments of librarians, archivists, curators and “non-specialists,” or invite insights from those perspectives. Perhaps this is inevitably what happens when academics must give legitimacy to something new, which in turn reflects the pressures of scholarly communication: a topic must be delineated in conventional terms in order to merit publication. [note number=\'29\']Perhaps this is also the moment to ask why we—I—have been using the term “archive” all along, with its statist resonances, rather than the term “collection,” which has institutional but also personal resonances. Does “archive” bring us closer to recognizably “serious scholarship”?[/note] But it is also true that in these more recent books, which openly investigate the archive’s power-politics, the disorderly drift of the archive and its hybrid corporeality have mostly been bent towards a particular narrative about the archive as an agent of history rather than as a set of ongoing practices. It is as if the historical archive has been assembled in ways that reflect and reiterate power relations, but the contemporary archive has not; it is as if the researcher’s own research travails remain a transparent layer over the body of work that it constructs. [note number=\'30\']Of course, this is precisely what Derrida meant about the “death drive” of the archival impulse. Archive Stories is something of an exception; researchers speak openly here about themselves as researchers. It is interesting, however, that this book—like Steedman’s—doesn’t cite Kaplan’s essay as a precursor text despite the clear titular link.[/note]\n\nPerhaps it would also be fair to note that, if archival studies are now being formulated as an interdisciplinary discipline called “archive studies,” this might be just another stage in the turn. It might be that what comes next reconfigures the premise of disciplinarity and the promise of disorder, with a different approach to the human/non-human interactions that the archive documents and realizes: a more diffuse and multi-vocal set of practices in place of a new field. One way to imagine this approach would be to fully embrace Kaplan’s idea of the archive story as an account of what one hoped for, looked for and found, what one did and did not do, in the archive—an account loosed from the quarantine she advocates. Some very basic genre precedents for the archive story do exist; the bibliographic essay and the methodology statement, for example, have played an important role in many disciplines in the past and still do in some. Instead of a para-textual nod towards that archive story (in Kaplan’s sense), why not create a parallel text written collaboratively by the researcher(s) and the librarian(s), or by one person acting in both professional capacities, that runs alongside the official “results”? Or in a set of expanded notes that address not just the “what” and “where” but the “how” and “why” of sources, which are lifted from their small-type, bottom-of-page basement up into the light? Or—to add yet another layer—parallel texts that also offer room for exchange with other researchers, archivists and even interested “non specialists,” like collectors, bibliophiles and fans?\n\nIf it is hasn’t been clear already that I have scrupulously avoided so far the other kind of archive, the digital archive, it will be now. What I am imagining would be far too complicated to produce or consult in print, but would not be at all difficult to organize as a digital object—as an archive in its own right. By avoiding the digital archive up to this point, I have also finessed the fact that our current archival research methods are completely reliant on the digital archive, along with the development of online research tools and electronic instruments of data discovery and organization. Those conditions probably bear the most responsibility for making the archive visible as something that warranted a “turn” in the first place. Even Derrida refers in each version of Archive Fever to the computer on which he is currently composing, predicting that email will not only totally transform the archive as he knows it, but will make his own essay obsolete.\n\nIn short, we already have in place both the theory and the media that will make it possible to enact a radical new archival practice. We have in place what we need to integrate the archive story into the archive itself, while making it visible as a new form of “results.”\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>II. The library doubles as a librarian’s office.</strong>\n\nI could end here, with a triumphant firing of the starter pistol and a rousing cheer. But that would be a bit disingenuous, given that the starter pistol for both the archival turn and the academic use of the internet actually went off decades ago. So the question remains, what stands in the way of the practical enactment of the archival turn’s speculative insights? I’d like to engage this question by following Kaplan’s example (but not her main claim): through some archive story-telling about the George Peabody Library. These three vignettes, identified as “typical” through conversations with my colleague Paul Espinosa, illustrate the intractable formations that present-day archival encounters come up against.\n\n<strong>1. The Perils of Description.</strong>\n<blockquote>A group of Russian speakers visits the Peabody Library. The dozen men and women sit down around the screen that Paul has set up. He narrates a brief slide-show about the Peabody’s history, then leads them to a table where a dozen books from the collection have been laid out in cradles. He tells them about each book: what it is, why it is interesting. Each phrase of his presentation is painstakingly translated by the group’s leader into Russian.</blockquote>\nWhen academic and community groups visit the Peabody, my colleagues and I draw upon a standard tour-guide’s repertoire to describe it. We explain that George Peabody was a tradesman cum financier cum philanthropist who decided in 1857 that Baltimore needed a cultural institution to support the arts and learning. We talk about the evolution of the Peabody Institute, the four-part athenaeum that resulted, with its art gallery, lecture series, conservatory and free, public, non-circulating library. We discuss the model of philanthropy that George Peabody initiated and its wide-ranging influence. We point out the signal features of the awe-inspiring architecture of the current library, built to accommodate a rapidly growing collection in 1878. But when it comes to the library itself, as a collection, it is hard to know what to say. How to accurately translate the library’s holdings into a succinct and memorable statement that conveys an appropriate level of detail to different audiences? While it poses specific challenges, the Peabody also exemplifies more general problems of collection description.\n\nWe do not lack evidence for the evolving contents of the Peabody. We have the two-volume printed list of “desiderata” drawn up by the Peabody’s first librarian, John G. Morris. [note number=\'31\']Alphabetical Catalogue of Books to be Purchased for the Library of the Peabody Institute, Baltimore, Vols. 1 and 2 (Baltimore: John D. Toy, 1861, 1863).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'6\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-6-alpha-index-2/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-395\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-395\" title=\"fig 6 alpha index\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-6-alpha-index1-336x484.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"484\" /></a>Alphabetical index from Alphabetical Catalouge (“desiderata”).[/note] We have the collections register for several decades’-worth of acquisitions, recording bibliographic information and accession numbers that can still be found on the inside front end papers of many of the books in the collection. We have the librarians’ annual reports to the library trustees. [note number=\'32\']The Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore: The Founder’s Letters and the Papers Relating to its Dedication and History, Up to the 1st January, 1868 (Baltimore: William K. Boyle, 1868); and subsequent Annual Reports, 1869, etc.[/note] We have the library’s first printed catalogue, an unsurpassed achievement when first published in 1883, which listed 100,000 volumes by author and title. [note number=\'33\']Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore, Vols. 1-5 (Baltimore: Isaac Friedenwald, 1883; reprinted Boston: G. K. Hall, [1961?]; also on googlebooks), and Second Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore, Including the Additions Made Since 1882, Vols. 1-8 (Baltimore: Deutsch Lithographic and Printing, 1896; reprinted Boston: G. K. Hall, 1961).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'7\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-7-print-cat/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-396\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-396\" title=\"fig 7 print cat\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-7-print-cat-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Reprinted volumes of the Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute (1883).[/note] We have the cards from the Dewey decimal system card catalogue, which replaced the printed catalogue in the 1910s. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'8\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-8-card-cat/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-397\"><img class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-397\" title=\"fig 8 card cat\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-8-card-cat.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"448\" /></a>One of two card catalogues in the Peabody.[/note] Now, of course, the library’s collections are represented in an online catalogue that integrates them with other collections in the Hopkins library system.\n\nThese markers of the collection, however, fail to satisfy some contemporary research queries for reasons that are both practical and philosophical. The transfer of the printed index, organized by author, to the Dewey decimal system, organized by topic, represented a major epistemological shift that facilitated browsing by subject category. But of course, those categories are embedded in historically-bound notions about the subjects and structures of knowledge: Dewey was invented in the 1870s, and the 22 revisions it has undergone since then cannot overcome its essential organizational distortions. For example, the literature range—the 800s—offers only 10% of its categorical space to literatures in languages other than English, Germanic and Romance languages, Greek and Latin.\n\nIn the case of the Peabody, the Dewey arrangements overlay even older systems of knowledge hierarchy. Should we continue to offer, for example, a description of the Peabody’s “voyages and travels” books? This category represents a Renaissance schematic that was still in service in the mid-nineteenth century; while actual “voyages and travels” were extended by colonial ventures, the category was eventually disbanded. Dewey combined it with geography to make a sub-category of “history.” In keeping active the old-fashioned phrase “voyages and travels,” we are participating in a centuries-long project of euphemism about the material aims and actual activities of colonialism; we are privileging an early phase of the Peabody’s evolution over later phases; we may even be confusing modern researchers. And yet, as one of the topics in Morris’s “desiderata,” a considerable portion of the Peabody’s collection was acquired with the aim of fleshing out that descriptor. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'9\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-9-index-detail/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-398\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-398\" title=\"fig 9 index detail\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-9-index-detail-336x274.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"274\" /></a>Detail of subject index from Alphabetical Catalouge No. 2 (“desiderata”).[/note]\n\nYet another classificatory dilemma is expressed by George Peabody’s original statement of the library’s purpose: that it “be furnished in every department of knowledge, with the most approved literature… It should consist on the best works on every subject… to satisfy the researches of students who may be engaged in the pursuit of knowledge not ordinarily attainable in the private libraries of the country.” [note number=\'34\']“Letters from George Peabody, Esq.: Baltimore, February 12th, 1857,” in Founder’s Letters, 7.[/note] The Peabody was founded as a cultural institution for the people of Baltimore, but from the first, this democratic ambition was in conflict with the intellectual aspirations of the first librarians and their desire to facilitate civic “self-improvement.” Morris (a doctor of divinity), his successor Nathaniel Holmes Morison (a schoolmaster and poet), and Morison’s assistant and successor Philip Uhler (who had trained as an entomologist) were all devoted to the nineteenth-century idea of the scholar-librarian. Morison wrote in one annual report that “Education always proceeds from the above downward, from the best to the common minds, from the leaders of the people to the people themselves. Furnish... the foundations of intelligence and thought, and they will... stimulate and improve the whole community.\" [note number=\'35\']Qtd. in Franklin Parker and Betty J. Parker, “PIB Ref. Library. 8-Morison\'s Philosophy of Excellence,” in George Peabody (1795-1869): A-Z Handbook of the Massachusetts-Born Merchant in the South, London-Based Banker, and Philanthropist\'s Life, Influence, and Related People, Places, Events, and Institutions. . 11 Mar. 2011.[/note] When the Johns Hopkins University was founded in 1876 in close proximity to the Peabody—in large part to take advantage of the library—the tendency of the librarians to address scholarly needs and “approved literature” over popular desires was given additional momentum. In keeping with these ideas, the Peabody’s librarians kept careful track of their readers’ choices, noting with special caution the numbers of novels that were requested. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'10\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-10-annual-report-detail/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-399\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-399\" title=\"fig 10 annual report detail\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-10-annual-report-detail-336x452.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"452\" /></a>Detail from First Annual Report showing chart of books read, with special mention of fiction.[/note] This schism at the heart of the library’s collecting paradigm was not unique to the Peabody; the question of reading matter—should it offer leisure for the masses or the means of social uplift?—was central to the public library movement of the second half of the nineteenth century. [note number=\'36\']See, for example, Alexis McCrossen, “’One Cathedral More’ or ‘Mere Lounging Places for Bummers’? The Cultural Politics of Leisure and the Public Library in Gilded Age America,” Libraries &amp; Culture 41.2 (2006): 169-188; Paul Sturges, “The Public Library and Reading by the Masses: Historical Perspectives on the USA and Britain 1850-1900,” ; Trustees of the Public Library of the City of Boston, Upon the Objects to be Attained by the Establishment of a Public Library, 12 Dec. 2010.[/note]\n\nFinally, the Peabody’s “desiderata” acquisitions and librarians’ selections were supplemented by book donations from local elites—bibliophiles with extensive private collections that included incunabula, classical authors in Renaissance editions, expensive illustrated atlases. At the same time, book donations came in from more plebian sources. The Peabody’s growth overlapped with the decline of the local social libraries, and it eventually absorbed some of the books from the Library Company of Baltimore, Robinson’s Circulating Library and several small professional and mechanics’ libraries. And I haven’t even touched on the Peabody’s twentieth-century fate.\n\nThe variety of philanthropic impulses, resource streams and classification philosophies that have fed the Peabody over the 150 years of its existence has led to a collection that does not so much map the nineteenth-century mind as signal its odd amalgam of popular and scholarly investments. The Peabody’s collection effectively evades succinct description—at least, any kind of description that pretends to be coherent, that is not perforated by its stakes in local history, library history, book history. But more importantly, it suggests the degree to which accident and opportunity and prejudice and wealth and the changing winds of cataloguing rules shape any archive. Description, which should be the most fundamental tool of communication between librarians and researchers, turns out to be utterly elusive. Yet we do not know what to replace them with, these inadequate descriptions, these exercises in stilted and partial translation.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>2. The Researcher’s Progress.</strong>\n<blockquote>I am preparing for my class about women and nineteenth-century print culture, which meets in the Peabody; we have reached the part of the syllabus where we look at gift books and annuals. I want students to examine several examples of these literary miscellanies, offering some illustration of their variety, and I have a list of such items that I have used in the past. But since I also want to show the students new acquisitions, I need to refresh my list. I will start with “gift book” as a keyword in the online catalogue.</blockquote>\nIn place of perfect and commensurate description—not possible—what we have are cataloguing systems that indexically represent collections through data and metadata that are, as I have already suggested, historically marked and inevitably inconsistent. In the case of the Peabody, these records are further compromised: Dewey cards developed from a nineteenth-century print index do not offer Library of Congress subject terms or detailed tables of contents; they also frequently lack other kinds of information. [note number=\'37\']Many of the electronic records for Peabody books have been copy-cataloged, that is, developed from records for identical books in other libraries. But these records might also be incomplete or inconsistent, given that many are quite old. The expense of original cataloging prevents our staff from creating full, new records for every item in the Peabody’s collection of over 300,000 titles.[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'11\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-11-ddc-cards/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-400\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-400\" title=\"fig 11 ddc cards\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-11-ddc-cards-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Dewey cards for “gift books.”[/note] My search for “gift book” will turn up bequests—the term “gift book” is often attached to these donations—and it will miss many of the nineteenth-century gift books and annuals in our collection whose records lack subject classifications, or whose subject classifications reference the book’s contents, not its format. For example, the 1848 Rough and Ready Annual: or, Military Souvenir published by Appleton’s has been assigned the subject “Mexican War, 1846-1848—Anecdotes.” [note number=\'38\']Rough and Ready Annual (New York: D. Appleton; Philadelphia: G.S. Appleton, 1848).[/note]\n\nThe problem of finding is perhaps only a sub-set of the problem of description, but I want to give it special attention because it introduces another variable: the physical space of the object. My search for gift books in the Peabody also entails the privilege of retrieving the books from the stacks. There are two search processes, the intellectual and the physical, that I must navigate. The intellectual search in this case requires a variety of keyword/date range combinations, and ultimately, recourse to my prepared bibliography—a holdover from pre-catalogue research methods. Now the second search begins.\n\nThe Rough and Ready Annual is at 973.62 A5121, in the “general history of North America; United States” category. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'12\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-12-rr/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-401\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-401\" title=\"fig 12 r&amp;r\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-12-rr-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>The Rough and Ready Annual in the stacks.[/note] This call number range is on the second floor, west side. Other items on my list are in very different parts of the library. Orange Blossoms: A Gift Book for All Who Have Worn, Are Wearing, Or are Likely to Wear Them, edited by the temperance writer T. S. Arthur and published in London, has been given the call number 813 A7910 duodecimo—fourth floor east, in the “American literature in English, fiction” section. [note number=\'39\']Orange Blossoms: A Gift Book for All Who Have Worn, Are Wearing, Or are Likely to Wear Them (London: Knight &amp; Co., [1857]). This title does not appear in at least one Arthur bibliography; see Donald A Koch, \"Timothy Shay Arthur,\" Antebellum Writers in New York and the South, ed. Joel Myerson (Detroit: Gale Research, 1979), from Literature Resource Center. Web. 19 Feb. 2011. To check on this, I need Mitchell Sharpe Jr.’s A Bibliography of the Published Books of Timothy Shay Arthur (Atlanta: Emory University, 1954), a typewritten quarto at 012 A791S, but it seems to be missing.[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'13\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-13-orange/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-402\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-402\" title=\"fig 13 orange\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-13-orange-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Orange Blossoms in the stacks.[/note] Arthur shows up again as co-editor of The Baltimore Book: A Christmas and New-Year\'s Present, which has received more extensive description as it contains the first printing of Edgar Allan Poe’s short story “Siope.” [note number=\'40\']The Baltimore Book: A Christmas and New-Year\'s Present (Baltimore: Bayly and Burns, [1838]).[/note] We have two copies of this very genteel little gift book, one at 808.83 B2175 (rhetoric &amp; collections of literature), and one at 810.8 C297 (American literature in English). The New Casket: A Gift Book for All Seasons is in the rare book room at the south end of the third floor. [note number=\'41\']The New Casket: A Gift Book for All Seasons (London: The Religious Tract Society, ca. 1850).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'14\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-14-rbr/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-403\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-403\" title=\"fig 14 rbr\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-14-rbr-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>The rare book room.[/note] In this case, the book’s rarity has to do with a lovely fore-edge painting. It has been assigned to 820.8 N42017 (general books about literature). On the other end of the “rare” continuum is The Family Circle and Parlor Annual, volume 5 in a series, which is shelved up on the sixth floor with the periodicals at 051 F198 (serials in American English). [note number=\'42\']The Family Circle and Parlor Annual (New York: Comstock, 1847).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'15\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-15-parlor/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-404\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-404\" title=\"fig 15 parlor\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-15-parlor-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>The Parlor Annual in the stacks.[/note]\n\nI’ll fill out call slips for each book, stick the slips into red flags, and put the flags in an order that will help me chart a logical course through the stacks. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'16\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-16-slips/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-405\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-405\" title=\"fig 16 slips\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-16-slips-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Call slips and flags.[/note] It’s easiest to start on the sixth floor and work one’s way down, picking up books along the way. Usually I find other interesting items as I go, so I carry a batch of blank call slips and extra flags. (On this occasion, for example, I find The New American Reader: Containing Choice Pieces, in Prose and Verse; published in 1813 and inscribed by its owner in 1817, it pre-dates by several years the official beginning of the gift book phenomenon. It might be more of a “literary almanac.” [note number=\'43\']The New American Reader: Containing Choice Pieces, in Prose and Verse (Philadelphia: David Hogan, 1813).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'17\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-17-new-reader/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-406\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-406\" title=\"fig 17 new reader\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-17-new-reader-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Inscription in The New American Reader.[/note]) Usually I am also unable to locate at least one of the books I have set out to find. Most likely the book has been misshelved, so I’ll check the quartos and folios, which are shelved separately; then I’ll check the rare book room’s octavo, duodecimo and quarto shelving areas. It used to astonish me that books were still shelved by format in the Peabody, but it does save space. At the same time, this shelving system—along with the multiple distinct areas within the library where books may reside, eg the rare book room, the reference section, the genealogy books, the Limited Editions Club, and several discrete named collections—means that retrieving a few books can take quite a long time, as I traipse up and down the six floors of the library, thread through stacks, open secured doors with multiple keys, turn lights on and off, and maneuver a book truck in and out of a tiny service elevator built in the 1920s. By the end of the journey, the library and I will have exchanged dust; I’ll take on a few streaks of red rot, and the library will have taken in particles from my body as well.\n\nWhile the Peabody is unique, these conditions are not in the end very unusual. In terms of the intellectual search, the absence of “gift book” from many of the catalogue records is no less egregious than the absence of other information—the names of all the contributors; the subjects of the illustrations. The metadata is potentially infinite. The “gift book” only exists as a category because of scholars who teased out this cultural phenomenon; it would be very difficult to define its absolute borders. In terms of the physical search, the Peabody might be messier than, say, a rare book library that has assigned current LC call numbers to all its contents and houses them in compact shelving, but it exemplifies the general on-the-ground situation. As I wind my way through the Peabody stacks, I remember how much more difficult it is to gather research materials from several different institutions.\n\nThe fact is, for scholars who rely on archives, research is something you do only after you have already undertaken a rigorous search. It is the search that provides you with the foundational sense of your subject. But the search is rarely acknowledged or accredited; even the foot-soldier craft of bibliography, the link between “librarianship” and “scholarship,” has largely lost its scholarly status.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>3. An Architecture of Disctinction.</strong>\n<blockquote>A non-affiliate researcher contacts the Peabody about our H. L. Mencken collections. Since she will bring a couple of graduate students with her, I set up a group work space in one of the library alcoves where the three of them can share materials and talk without disturbing other readers. I pull the requested volumes with the help of some students and set the cart up within easy reach of the alcove. When the researchers arrive, I show them the Mencken collections on the ground floor. Then I lead them to their group work space and leave them, returning to the glassed-in office behind the reading room, the vantage point that allows me to monitor the otherwise empty reading room.</blockquote>\nIn “The Silence of the Library: Environment, Situational Norm, and Social Behavior,” a team of Dutch sociologists investigates the library as a space that is strongly marked by situational norms—“knowledge-based beliefs about how to behave in particular situations that are shaped by social influence.” [note number=\'44\']Henk Aarts and Ap Dijksterhuis, “The Silence of the Library: Environment, Situational Norm, and Social Behavior,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 84.1 (2003), 19.[/note] Their research leads them to argue, however, that such norms do not require direct social influences to be triggered; in fact, “the situation can activate mental representations of normative behaviors automatically. And once activated, these representations provide the knowledge necessary for guiding one’s own situationally appropriate behavior.” [note number=\'45\']Aarts and Dijksterhuis, 19.[/note] Physical environments do not necessarily prompt these behaviors; rather, the behavior “depend[s] on whether the environment is of immediate behavioral relevance.” [note number=\'46\']Aarts and Dijksterhuis, 20.[/note] Talking in a quiet voice in the library, a normative behavior, is only activated for those who plan to visit the library.\n\nTen years ago, when the research for this article was conducted, the “silence of the library” was still a widespread norm. While the situation is now often reversed—in our main campus library, we must designate specific quiet areas because otherwise a sociable undergraduate din would take over—the norm of silence does continue to preside at the Peabody. Because it is off campus, the Peabody is often attractively under-populated compared to the crowded main library; it is mostly used by advanced researchers and those who seek a quiet place to study. The large central open area catches and amplifies even the smallest noises. The shelf-lined alcoves on either side of this central area offer the appearance of privacy, but in fact are little echo chambers. Visitors immediately detect these acoustics, and—except for the periodic tour groups—most spend their time in the Peabody in silence. But it is not just the physics of sound that shape behaviors here, as the Dutch researchers show; the social expectations of the space prefigure those behaviors.\n\nIn setting up a group work space for the Mencken researchers, I have quite deliberately contravened the usual norm of silence. Clearly, I am not inviting them to shout, and by putting them in an alcove in back, I have taken measures to protect any quiet-seeking visitors who might arrive. But in accordance with new ideas about the use of library space, my colleagues and I have decided that we must accommodate group study even if it might occasionally disrupt the silence desired by others. As it happens, the Mencken researchers’ conversation is eventually interrupted by a tour group, and the two activities play out side by side.\n\nI must admit that at moments I have mixed feelings about the tour groups and even the study cohorts. While my pedagogical instincts tend towards cheerful hub-bub, there is a part of me that is still in awe of the sanctuary-like atmosphere of the Peabody. John Morris called the library a “cathedral of books,” and clearly that’s what architect Edmund G. Lind had in mind. The central area with its grand skylight and the alcoves on its sides is like a nave bordered with chapels. Lind didn’t need a psychological study of environment-based situational norms to tell him that he might activate different behaviors within his building. The great central space inspires reverence—your eye is drawn to the skylight the way it would be drawn to the rose windows of Chartres, and on its way up catches row upon solemn row of books stowed behind gilded railings, a testament to the accumulated wisdom of the ages. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'18\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-18-skylight/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-407\"><img class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-407\" title=\"fig 18 skylight\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-18-skylight.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"448\" /></a>The skylight in the George Peabody Library.[/note] But step into an alcove, especially on the ground floor where each is filled with an immense wooden table, and you instantly feel something else, something no less grand but more human. The alcoves are study-sized, and once you sit down at one of those dark, gleaming, broad tables, it is like you are the master of your own private library. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'19\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-19-alcove/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-408\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-408\" title=\"fig 19 alcove\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-19-alcove-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Alcove in the George Peabody Library.[/note]\n\nIronically, the Peabody’s architecture was out-dated by the time it was completed. With the professionalization of librarianship and the evolution of library science in the late nineteenth century, librarians like William Frederick Poole advocated for a functional rather than decorative design of interior library space. [note number=\'47\']See William Frederick Poole, Remarks on Library Construction (Chicago: Jansen, McClurg, 1884).[/note] Moreover, the actual use of space in the Peabody in the late nineteenth century was at odds with its symbolic appeal. The main library was known as the “stack room”; readers were seated in a comparatively plain reading room on the other side of the main doors. In this arrangement, the librarians reigned inside the gorgeous “cathedral of books,” but the building’s potential to civilize the masses was lost.\n\nNow, of course, we do not send readers outside. Inside the “stack room,” we explicitly call visitors’ attention to its beauty to explain the connections between the library’s architecture and its collections—how both speak eloquently of Victorian values. At the same time, we who staff the library have relegated ourselves to its periphery. We work in the glassed-in room at one end that serves as a monitoring point and occasional classroom; the official “librarian’s office” in one corner—its luxurious proportions suggesting something like a sacristy and something like a robber baron’s lair—is now shared work-space stuffed with several desks and laden book trucks. There is another monitoring station near the main doors. I often do my work at the photography station, in the back of one of the alcoves [note type=\'figure\' number=\'20\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-20-station/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-409\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-409\" title=\"fig 20 station\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-20-station-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Photography station in the George Peabody Library.[/note]. It offers some privacy but is close enough to the central reading tables to be accessible to readers.\n\nThe space of the Peabody initiates other situational behaviors besides the norm of silence, and our work-station arrangements testify to this. The spatial re-centralizing of readers and marginalization of staff is not merely practical; it is a reflection of the modern office of librarianship. We are there to be of service, in a para-textual position. Consequently, our work should be out of sight; it should be separate from and secondary to the work that readers do. Our locations call upon us, in other words, to support the scholar’s effort to hide the “seams of [her] findings” by hiding the ways we contribute to that work—by the ways we sometimes do that work.\n\nI think about these complications as I escort the Mencken researchers to their table and walk back to the glassed-in office, where there is nothing pressing for me to do. I’d rather spend more time talking with them. I’d like to learn about their research and introduce them to some underappreciated parts of the collection. I’d like to share with them what I learned curating an exhibition of Mencken-related magazines and writing about one of those magazines. But I don’t want to get in their way; it’s likely that they are ready to get on with work that they don’t see as connected to mine. The professional norms of the archive are strong, and although I know how to talk about my research in many contexts—in presentations, interviews, hotel elevators—I haven’t figured out how to mix my scholarly role with the curatorial role I am supposed to play here, in the Peabody. In the end, I say nothing. Professional segregation is another kind of silence in the library.\n\nWe cannot change the archaeological record beneath our feet, but we can rearrange the fossils we dig up to create new narratives. We can tell different kinds of archive stories, including the story of what research in the archive was and is. Is it too idealistic to expect that dissolving the entrenched fantasies about archival research will make room for new methods? Is it naïve to imagine a space that, in putting into practice the archival turn’s preliminary insights about disciplinary and disorder, can support experimentation, facilitate connection across professions and disciplines, and enable new discoveries?','Disciplinarity and Disorder','','inherit','open','open','','2199-revision-2','','','2013-04-15 02:40:26','2013-04-15 02:40:26','',2199,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/issue/%issue%/uncategorized/2199-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3601,1,'2013-04-15 02:43:25','2013-04-15 02:43:25','The primal scene of archival research takes place in a dreary reading room. A researcher sits at her table, inert. An archivist enters, pushing a cart that bears a dozen dusty gray boxes. (Can we get a close-up of a box, please, to show the label with the long call number? [note type=\'figure\' number=\'1\'] <iframe src=\"http://www.youtube.com/embed/5ykY6moIaDE?rel=0\" frameborder=\"0\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\"></iframe> A staged archival encounter.[/note]) The archivist unhinges a box, removes a numbered file folder and, placing it at the researcher’s elbow, steps back. The researcher stirs, then sits upright with a mechanical jolt. She turns sharply in the direction of the folder, flips it open and cocks her head towards the flimsy leaves inside; now she is reading. (Zoom in on the eyes as they click into focus.) Now she is reading, and now she truly comes alive; she bends towards the papers, taps her forehead in thought. A sheaf of blank paper and a pencil appear on her table, and she begins taking notes. Her fingers fly—and soon, so do the pages she is writing upon. Caught up in eddies of excitement, they swoop to the ceiling and around the room and down to the floor, where they fall together into perfect piles. Bindings sprout from the outer strata; the pages sew themselves into bright, tight, hard-cover books. These the archivist gathers up and places on the shelves that line the room, next to other books and gray boxes.\n\nI may have it backwards: in other versions of the fantasy, it is the archive that is first animated by the presence of the researcher, a Dr. Coppelius who waves a pencil and sets the dusty boxes to dancing. But either way, the archival imaginary posits a symbiotic relationship between researcher and source, a photogenic pas de deux that leads to a finished scholarly product. This work, in turn, enters the archive for the next generation of researchers; it might even be taken apart again so that its secret ingredients (notes, drafts, letters) can themselves be served up in a series of boxes. Such a strangely private form of publication it creates, the coupling of researcher and source.\n\nWhat Freudian trauma results from witnessing this sight? Only the harm that myth inflicts. This primal scene is a fiction, a dream of perfect union between researcher and source that ignores, first of all, the full cast of characters. What about the archivist, who is rendered invisible? What about all those within and without the archive, upon whose labor—acquiring, preserving, organizing, reading, cataloging, describing, interpreting, analyzing, debating, teaching, writing, editing, digitizing, referencing and publishing—the current project depends? More a barn dance than a pas de deux: an archival encounter is an enactment of social authorship long before the researcher enters the room. [note number=\'1\']See Jerome McGann, A Critique of Modern Textual Criticism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983) on the idea of social authorship, which could be described as “the dialectic between the historically located individual author and the historically developed institutions of literary production” that help create a work, eg, printers, publishers, editors and readers (81).[/note]\n\nBut even a barn dance is much too mannered a metaphor. The sketch above misleads us more generally about the experience on the ground. Doing time in an archive is often tedious, uncomfortable and bewildering. For librarians, there is the struggle to promote and simultaneously protect what you have; the difficulty of fitting unruly materials into arrangements and workflows; and worries about space and time—where to put it all, how to address your backlog. For researchers, there is the struggle to locate the archives you need and what matters to you inside them; the uncertainty created by unruly data; and worries about time and space— how to access what you need during your research trip, how to record and organize the information you gather. At both ends, the archival encounter is counter-cinematic and erratic, days of monotonous sifting and dead-ends punctuated by one or two, or maybe zero, hidden moments of vivid, peculiar joy.\n\nSo archival research does not fulfill its ideal outline. So what? Who cares? Why dredge up the fantasy? Because the fantasy continues to structure our archival encounters—what we expect and undertake in the reading room, what we allow it to mean. Twenty years ago, Alice Kaplan observed that “conventional academic discourse requires that when you write up the results of your archival work, you tell a story about what you found, but not about how you found it. The less the seams of your findings show, the better your discoveries lend themselves to use by others… tell[ing] these stories breaks their spell and violates the spirit of the archives.” [note number=\'2\']Alice Yaeger Kaplan, “Working in the Archives,” Yale French Studies 77 (1990): 103-116; 103, 107.[/note] With a few word changes, the same could be said about what counts as professional archivist discourse: the impersonal, neutral genre of the finding aid, for example, should say what is in a collection, but should not discuss what is confusing or missing in it, or the problems it posed in processing. [note number=\'3\']See, for example, James M. O’Toole and Richard J. Cox, Understanding Archives and Manuscripts (Chicago: Society of American Archivists, 2006).[/note] Despite the growing recognition that this sequestration is never completely possible—that the material conditions and social relations of the archive shape the work we do in it—that work continues to be represented in professional and scholarly publications as if it is. Despite the recent call to move to the fore “the backstage of the archives—how they are constructed, policed, experienced, and manipulated” in order to support historiography “not merely [as] a project of fact-retrieval” but as “a set of complex processes of selection, interpretation, and even creative invention,” the “backstage” stays in the background. [note number=\'4\']Antoinette Burton, “Introduction: Archive Fever, Archive Stories,” Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions, and the Writing of History, ed. Burton (Durham: Duke University Press, 2005), 7-8.[/note] Antoinette Burton may be correct that “many if not most historians operate under the assumption that history is a highly interpretive act,” but this belief is not yet reflected in the archival encounter: the ways that researchers (not just historians) and librarians report their experiences with primary sources; the ways that librarians and researchers work together; the ways librarians and researchers regard the involvement of “non specialists.” [note number=\'5\']Burton, 8. Burton notes that “whether historians concede or fully countenance the impact of such contingencies on their work is another question. They rarely speak of them, and even more rarely do they do so in print” (8). Her books recuperates some of those archive stories but this effort, I’ll suggest below, is hampered by other kinds of obligations.[/note] While the advent of digitization and electronic resource sharing has revolutionized the research landscape, making primary sources public in unprecedented ways, there remains in the archive a habitus of secret knowledge—the “spell” that Kaplan is loathe to break. This is not necessarily intentional. It is rather the effect of layering recent shifts in technology, theory and professional definition onto older foundations: petrified conditions, relations, expectations and systems that continue to operate in part through the enduring power of fantasies about research. What we have in the archive is a stratified groundwork that still governs our archival encounters.\n\nBut, you will object, the archive has already changed. Now we have the “archival turn”—the scholarly interest in the archive not just as a source of evidence but as an epistemological mode. Surely, this attention to the constructedness of the archive has led to a revealing reconsideration of what actually goes on inside an archive; surely, as a result, those archaic fantasies have diminished. Have they? In what follows, I begin by unearthing one stratum of the archival turn, the decade of the 1990s, as represented by three texts: Kaplan’s essay mentioned above, “Working in the Archives” (1990) [note type=\'figure\' number=\'2\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-2-kaplan.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-369\" title=\"fig 2 kaplan\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-2-kaplan-300x224.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Photocopy of Alice Yaeger Kaplan’s “Working in the Archives.”[/note]; Derrida’s Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression (1994/95) [note type=\'figure\' number=\'3\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-3-Derrida.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-372\" title=\"fig 3 Derrida\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-3-Derrida-300x224.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Print out of Jacque Derrida’s “Archive Fever” from Diacritics.[/note]; and Carolyn Steedman’s Dust: The Archive and Cultural History (2001). [note type=\'figure\' number=\'4\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-4-steedman.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-373\" title=\"fig 4 steedman\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-4-steedman-300x224.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Library copy of Carolyn Steedman’s Dust.[/note] [note number=\'6\']Jacques Derrida, “Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression,” Diacritics 25.2 (Summer 1995): 9-63. Web. 1 Dec. 2010. Carolyn Steedman, Dust: The Archive and Cultural History (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2001).[/note] A cross-examination of these three texts reveals a pattern of interests, a set of efforts to defy customary practices—but only, it turns out, “in theory.” While certain practices are challenged in these texts, they leave mostly intact the older strata of archival research fantasies and conventions. Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman do not dislodge the forces that organize the actual archival encounter.\n\nHow does this happen? Why is practice so stubborn? We need another take on archival practice: not practice in theory, but practice in action; not the 1990s, but now; not in terms of textual patterns, but in terms that suit the subject: the terms of the archival encounter itself, and the eccentric, anachronistic and even monotonous experience it generates. My second look at practice will take the form of a series of vignettes about a real-life archive, the George Peabody Library in Baltimore. While this narrative structure may seem to recreate the division of labor between theory and practice, my hope is that—by giving practice the last word—we’ll be in a better position to synthesize the two.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>I. “The library doubles as a detective’s office.” [note number=\'7\']Kaplan, 114.[/note]</strong>\n\nThe archival turn could be dated to the founding of “scientific” history in the mid-nineteenth century, or to the development a century later of the quantitative methods of the Annales School, or to other evidence-based movements in the history of history, but what is generally meant by this phrase corresponds with the formation of cultural studies and the use of the archive as a conceptual category. That is, the archival turn has to do with the notion of the “figuration” of the archive, a parallel decline in its empirical authority and a related expansion of its relevance within domains that are not exclusively historiographic, like art, literary criticism, textual studies, media studies and information studies. [note number=\'8\']See the use of the term in, for example, Carolyn Hamilton et al, eds., Refiguring the Archive (Boston: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2002), Cheryl Simon, ed., Following the Archival Turn: Photography, the Museum, and the Archive, special issue of Visual Resources: A Journal of Documentation 18.2 (June 2002), and Ann Laura Stoler, Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009). This turn is partially construed as a “move from archive-as-source to archive-as-subject,” but also by the earlier metaphorical interest in “the archive” that goes back to the 1980s (Stoler, 44-45) and by Foucauldian descriptions of archives as “‘monuments to particular configurations of power” (Hamilton, qtd. in Burton, 6).[/note] But it is not irrelevant that a devotion to archival methods precedes by many decades contemporary theories of the archive; if the archival turn lacks a precise origin, this (we will see) is completely in keeping with its own preoccupations.\n\nKaplan therefore represents in some ways an arbitrary beginning for this cross-examination—clearly the archive as a conceptual category predates 1990—but her article does initiate something new: the recognition that there is something called an “archive story” that must remain hidden in order for the official “results” to function authoritatively. In admitting this bit of professional legerdemain, and in telling her own archive story in a prestigious scholarly journal, Kaplan not only commits the violation she prohibits but also contradicts it. Through its publication, Kaplan’s own archive story is elevated to the status of “results”—a kind of research that shadows conventional academic discourse. Indeed, Kaplan notes, such “fables” of research “can be analyzed like a text,” a “mixed up genre” that combines the “redemptive detective fiction” with the epic and the dime novel. [note number=\'9\']Kaplan, 106, 107.[/note]\n\nKaplan’s archive story thus marks a distinctive moment in the archival turn—one which gained its most prominent authorization in 1994, with a paper that Jacques Derrida delivered (in English) to a conference sponsored by the Freud Museum, the Courtauld Institute and the Société International d’Histoire de la Psychiatrie et de la Psychoanalyse. Called initially “The Concept of the Archive: A Freudian Impression,” the lecture was revised and published in 1995 as Mal d’archive: une impression freudienne in French; the published English version echoed the French publication with its 1995 title Archive Fever. As Carolyn Steedman points out in Dust: The Archive and Cultural History, however, this work that has been assigned a seminal status in archival studies “for the main part… is not about archives at all, but is rather a sustained contemplation of a work of history, of Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi’s Freud’s Moses: Judaism Terminable and Interminable (1991),” itself a sustained contemplation of Moses and Monotheism—which (according to Steedman) Yerushalmi examines through Freud’s description of the work as a “‘historical novel,’ or a kind of historical story,” undertaken “in order to understand the period of baroque anti-semitism through which he was living.” [note number=\'10\']Steedman, 3.[/note]\n\nDizzy yet? Let’s undertake a more careful reading of this splatter pattern of intra-references—or, to stick with the archaeological metaphor, let’s call them groups of potsherds buried in the 1990s layer of the “archival turn.” Digging down to reassemble them reveals a set of interests with special implications for archival practice.\n\nThe most prominent group of sherds to note are the fragments of disciplinarity: the inter-, multi- or perhaps simply anti-disciplinarity of the texts, authors and audiences caught up in these three archival addresses. Kaplan, an American scholar of French literature, calls the post-theory exchange between literature and history a “cross-pollination of desire between historians and literary critics” undertaken “with the curiosity and energetic passion of collectors.” [note number=\'11\']Kaplan, 107-108.[/note] Steedman, a British historian, performs this cross-pollinating process without comment: her epigraph to Dust is from Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, one chapter treats George Eliot’s Middlemarch in depth… in fact, almost every chapter depends on a literary text. [note number=\'12\']Another chapter invokes Elizabeth Gaskell’s 1848 novel Mary Barton, a third is anchored by W. H. Auden’s poem “Homage to Clio,” and a fourth finds its most eloquent examples in Charles Dickens’ Our Mutual Friend.[/note] Derrida, a French philosopher, produced a work that has been exceptionally mobile across disciplines, forms, languages and professional domains. He gave his initial talk to an audience drawing on three different kinds of institutions; Mal d’Archive was published in book form in both French and English, but also made an intermediate appearance as an essay in the journal diacritics. All of these texts, it seems, respond to the provocations of the archive—to the materials and circumstances of discovery—rather than to the disciplinary distinctions that arguably divide the archive from itself.\n\nArchive Fever has become a founding document even though, as Steedman notes in the very beginning of her book, many in Derrida’s audience “knew the ‘archival turn’ to be [already] well underway” at the time of his talk. [note number=\'13\']Steedman, 2.[/note] As it happens—and this is the second group of sherds I see—these three essays have in common an investment in or a problem with origins, especially with the failure of origins. Derrida, for example, defines archive fever as a kind of Freudian death drive—a drive to fix and preserve which at the same time “works to destroy the archive: on the condition of effacing but also with a view to effacing its own ‘proper’ traces… [it] is above all anarchivic, one could say, or archiviolithic… the archive always works, and a priori, against itself.” [note number=\'14\']Derrida, 14. [/note] If the archival impulse is driven to destroy its own work, then the question of origins ultimately point to the larger question of disorder. [note number=\'15\']The disorder of origins makes frequent appearances in the essay but one example will make the point—in the “Preamble” where he recounts how he titled the talk that he had not yet written and was to give at the Freud Museum. The “Preamble” starts with his reflections on the word “impression,” which has several simultaneous registers of meaning for him. One of these is the “scriptural or typographic” register: that of the graphic impression that marks a substrate. In English, “impression” is phonetically related to “repression” and “suppression,” key words in the Freudian vocabulary, translated respectively from the German Verdrängung and Unterdrückung. English, that is, retains the rhyming relationship of the two German terms, and “impression” in this company comes to have a vaguely Freudian meaning as well. But in French, Verdrängung is “refoulement,” which means something more like expulsion, a driving away. The Freudian sense of the French word “répression” has been reserved for Unterdrückung. So English “repression” defines a phenomenon that must be distinguished from the French “répression.” These translational shifts “directly concern the structures of archivization,” Derrida says, “because they touch on the topic differences and thus on the location of the substrates of traces\" (Derrida, 23). In other words, how do you classify concepts whose meanings shift across languages? Where do you store them in a disciplinary grammar—or in an archive? How do these asymmetrical linguistic structures shape the establishment and extension of a new science? For Derrida, the difference between “repression” and “répression” is “enough to disrupt the tranquil landscape of all historical knowledge, of all historiography, and even of all self-consistent ‘scholarship’” (Derrida, 23).[/note]\n\nOrigin failure appears both as deliberate performance and as unintentional oversight in these essays. Derrida stages his own inability to get past “go”; with an introductory section, and subsequent sections sub-titled “Exergue,” “Preamble,” “Foreword,” his essay functions, Steedman notes, like a “primer offering instruction in the principle of deferral.” [note number=\'16\']A short notice called “Priere d’inserer,” published only in the French book version, carried the bulk of an argument for which there was no room in the lecture. Steedman, 7.[/note] For all her insight into Derrida’s titling adventures, however, Steedman’s title is marked by its own origin aporia. While her first chapter is devoted to Archive Fever—a “let’s begin at the beginning” homage to the seminal text—her book’s title, Dust, seems more indebted to the last sentence of Kaplan’s essay, published five years before Derrida’s: “Usually there is no mother lode, no original manuscript to be retrieved—the gold is all in the dust.” [note number=\'17\']Kaplan, 116.[/note] Kaplan, however, is never mentioned. [note number=\'18\']Kaplan also begins her essay with a brief consideration of the “arche,” the Greek and Latin term for the public records office, which is a major starting point for Derrida. Is he borrowing from her, or is she borrowing from him, given that this sort of etymological investigation was an established signature of Deconstruction?[/note]\n\nKaplan, for her part, unravels her own archive story. She gives us a kind of “whodunit”—her search for the ephemeral sources of Louis-Ferdinand Céline’s anti-semitic pamphlet Bagatelles pour un massacre (1937). She uses this account to exemplify her effort to “move through the archival process and recover some of the stories that get deleted in the final scholarly form.” [note number=\'19\']Kaplan, 104. For this reason, perhaps, Kaplan never reveals what she ultimately discovers in her successful search for Celine’s sources. In fact, it’s not entirely clear whether her pre-emptive and truncated treatment of her archive story is deliberate or not. Is this treatment meant to indirectly support her official claim about “results”? Or does the presence of the archive story suggest that telling it is an impulse she can’t quite control? Thanks, Lauren Coats, for helping tease this problem out.[/note] These beginnings are preemptively struck out, however, by what seems to be her main claim: “the passion of the archives must finally be used to eradicate all personal stories in the interests of the dry archival report, fit for a public.” [note number=\'20\']Kaplan, 103.[/note] Only in the “para-text”—a preface, for example—can the archive story appear without “interrupt[ing] or complicat[ing] the narrative so much that no results could ever be understood or perceived.” [note number=\'21\']Kaplan, 104.[/note] Despite this unequivocal assertion, the personal “whodunit” prevails in her essay, especially in the final section set in the Centre du documentation juive contemporain (CDJC). [note type=\'figure\' number=\'5\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-5-cdjc-2/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-423\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-423\" title=\"fig 5 cdjc\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-5-cdjc1-333x250.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Website for the Centre de documentation juive contemporain.[/note] It is this library, where Kaplan solves the mystery of Céline’s sources, that “doubles as a detective’s office.”\n\nWhile Kaplan’s research mystery resolves neatly, the truth about archives is that they are full of gaps, mistakes and excesses: in the words of one of the CDJC librarians, “‘ici on trouve tout’—there’s some of everything here”—but not, one could add, all of anything. [note number=\'22\']Kaplan, 115.[/note] Kaplan’s essay ends by nullifying both her detective story success and her “dry archival report,” by recognizing the disorder on which both of these narratives are unsteadily perched: “The archive is constituted by these errors, these pieces out of place, which are then reintegrated into a story of some kind.” [note number=\'23\']Kaplan, 115.[/note] “A story of some kind”? So much for “results.”\n\nKaplan sets us up to perceive one final potsherd pattern common to these three essays. If origin-less disorder is the order of the archive, it is a disorder that is generated out of human loss—a disorder that joins the body and the material world. The archive is always predicated on historical violence of some sort, whatever is censored, erased, excluded, trumped up, used up, misplaced, conquered, killed. Moreover, the archival categories that mark both the visible victories and hidden defeats do not stay within their walls; the archive is both a repository of existing schemas and a means of perpetuating them in the world beyond. While we might usually think of this disciplinary activity as a pact between the archive and its political authors, Steedman makes it clear that the dilemmas of order shape the archival body in many ways. For example, she takes literally the provocation of Derrida’s title Archive Fever to investigate the illness that researchers contract on the penultimate day of their trip to the archive: prompted by the anxiety of the task that remains unfinished, they end their research with night-sweats and head-aches. But what seems like a strangely specific malady is transformed by Steedman into a far-reaching social symptom: by relating the researcher’s “archive fever” to the terrible diseases suffered by tanners, skinners and other workers in the trades associated with paper and leather, Steedman expands our sense of who is in the archive—the bodies whose specialized labors populate our libraries with books, the many kinds of expertise the archive consumes.\n\nFor Derrida, the relation between the material archive and its human architects focuses on one kind of “graphic mark,” a particular “private inscription”: circumcision as the archival signature that is also the signature of patrimoine, with Freud’s relationship to his father as his main example. [note number=\'24\']Derrida, 19.[/note] It is perhaps not a coincidence that the body in question in both Kaplan’s and Derrida’s archive is Jewish, for that is a body that has come to symbolize the destructive power of classificatory regimes. Despite her contention that the private passions motivating research must be kept secret, Kaplan is fascinated by the “missing person stories” at the CDJC: by the “quantity of people who are there for personal reasons,” the survivors of occupation or deportation or camps, or their descendants, quietly looking up their lost ones or noisily dropping off their memoirs. [note number=\'25\']Kaplan, 113.[/note] This disorganized crowd of dead and living bodies tries to meet up with an equally disorganized crowd of materials—individual letters, trial transcripts, pamphlets, newspapers, first-person accounts, books, photographs, lists. The monumental task of match-making, the librarians’ work, is never complete. More papers are always generated or declassified or discovered, different human questions and needs emerge. The tidy choreography of the research fantasy, where the detective always finds her man, is not so much in evidence; what we have instead is corpora in excess of existing categories.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\nKaplan, Derrida and Steedman open up the archival body. They show us how paper meets the press of flesh; they make us feel just how intimate it is. [note number=\'26\']This interest in the corporeal dimensions and effects of order, its human and non-human components, has in common with their other gestures—an experimental attitude towards conventional disciplinarity and attention to the priority of disorder—the circumstances of the academic humanities in the 1990s. Since the archival turn came out of the ascent of cultural studies and allied intrigues in the 1970s and ‘80s, the circles in the Venn diagram of these ventures will necessarily overlap. We could also say that the archive took off when it did precisely because it made a clever new container for these preoccupations, thick in the humanities atmosphere at the time, where they were distilled and united. [/note] But for all their revelations about the limits of discipline and the multiplicities of disorder in the archive, these texts do not disclose the specific methods of engagement that led to their existence. While Kaplan offers up her own archival victory and outlines several other such stories, she still insists on their marginalization. [note number=\'27\']“Were the story of how you got the story really to be told inside the book, it would interrupt or complicate the narrative so much that no results could be understood or even perceived. Every story of success in the archives is emotionally charged, for only the most extreme emotions can drive people to the drudgery, to the discomfort, of sitting and sifting through dog-eared documents, manuscripts, microfilms. To reveal those emotions would not only gum up the narrative, it would threaten its credibility, by showing on what thin strands of coincidence, accident, or on what unfair forms of friendship, ownership, geographical proximity, the discoveries were based” (Kaplan, 104).[/note] If these texts are not concerned with actual practices in the archive or changes in its methodologies, what do they tell us?\n\nFirst, they suggest one reason for the perpetuation of myths about the archive. While Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman are eager to show how archival materials do not conform to disciplinary distinctions—an enthusiasm related to other disruptive tendencies in late twentieth-century humanist scholarship –they seem less cognizant of a related phenomenon: the archive does not obey strict professional divisions, either. In Kaplan’s library-as-detective’s-office metaphor, the scholar is the detective, but does the “Eureka” moment belong only to the scholar who pieces together a narrative? What about the people who prepared those pieces? The archivist is still missing in action. Likewise, these essays do not dwell on missing boxes, illegible papers, neglected citations. There are no descriptions of archival slogging, no admissions that some materials failed to be relevant. And of course, there are no prescriptions for a different order. It is not the main aim of Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman to effect an evolution of practice; archival turnistas are not interested in disorder in order to re-order. But it is worth remembering that it is not in their professional interest as scholars to make their practices more transparent.\n\nSecondly, along the same lines, these texts inform us of the duplicity of speculative practices that reveal but cannot live out the instability of their archival mandates. Kaplan, Derrida and Steedman are put into the position of saying, “Yes, the archive is biased, idiosyncratic and treacherous—but the observations I draw from it are flawless.” [note number=\'28\']Derrida, unlike Kaplan and Steedman, makes no claims to work inside an actual archive, unless we consider Yerushalmi’s book as a kind of archive. But the fact that the essay was written self-consciously for presentation at the Freud Museum suggests that it was made out of an archive indirectly—in its construction, if not in its contents. [/note]\n\nFinally, these texts suggest why archival studies that attempt to be explicit about the messy nature of the archive have become instead “archive studies.” In more recent works like Refiguring the Archive (2002), Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions and the Writing of History (2005) and Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense (2009), the archive appears as a subject in its own right. Although the archival scenarios that are put into play in each of these books incorporate different disciplines—art, history, anthropology, literature, post-colonial studies—they have essentially created a new discipline. “Archive studies” is something we might, in the taxonomy of disciplines, see as the love-child of cultural studies, history and archival methodology. Moreover, this new discipline has in common with other humanities disciplines a complete blindness about its professional investments; it does not register much awareness of the professional investments of librarians, archivists, curators and “non-specialists,” or invite insights from those perspectives. Perhaps this is inevitably what happens when academics must give legitimacy to something new, which in turn reflects the pressures of scholarly communication: a topic must be delineated in conventional terms in order to merit publication. [note number=\'29\']Perhaps this is also the moment to ask why we—I—have been using the term “archive” all along, with its statist resonances, rather than the term “collection,” which has institutional but also personal resonances. Does “archive” bring us closer to recognizably “serious scholarship”?[/note] But it is also true that in these more recent books, which openly investigate the archive’s power-politics, the disorderly drift of the archive and its hybrid corporeality have mostly been bent towards a particular narrative about the archive as an agent of history rather than as a set of ongoing practices. It is as if the historical archive has been assembled in ways that reflect and reiterate power relations, but the contemporary archive has not; it is as if the researcher’s own research travails remain a transparent layer over the body of work that it constructs. [note number=\'30\']Of course, this is precisely what Derrida meant about the “death drive” of the archival impulse. Archive Stories is something of an exception; researchers speak openly here about themselves as researchers. It is interesting, however, that this book—like Steedman’s—doesn’t cite Kaplan’s essay as a precursor text despite the clear titular link.[/note]\n\nPerhaps it would also be fair to note that, if archival studies are now being formulated as an interdisciplinary discipline called “archive studies,” this might be just another stage in the turn. It might be that what comes next reconfigures the premise of disciplinarity and the promise of disorder, with a different approach to the human/non-human interactions that the archive documents and realizes: a more diffuse and multi-vocal set of practices in place of a new field. One way to imagine this approach would be to fully embrace Kaplan’s idea of the archive story as an account of what one hoped for, looked for and found, what one did and did not do, in the archive—an account loosed from the quarantine she advocates. Some very basic genre precedents for the archive story do exist; the bibliographic essay and the methodology statement, for example, have played an important role in many disciplines in the past and still do in some. Instead of a para-textual nod towards that archive story (in Kaplan’s sense), why not create a parallel text written collaboratively by the researcher(s) and the librarian(s), or by one person acting in both professional capacities, that runs alongside the official “results”? Or in a set of expanded notes that address not just the “what” and “where” but the “how” and “why” of sources, which are lifted from their small-type, bottom-of-page basement up into the light? Or—to add yet another layer—parallel texts that also offer room for exchange with other researchers, archivists and even interested “non specialists,” like collectors, bibliophiles and fans?\n\nIf it is hasn’t been clear already that I have scrupulously avoided so far the other kind of archive, the digital archive, it will be now. What I am imagining would be far too complicated to produce or consult in print, but would not be at all difficult to organize as a digital object—as an archive in its own right. By avoiding the digital archive up to this point, I have also finessed the fact that our current archival research methods are completely reliant on the digital archive, along with the development of online research tools and electronic instruments of data discovery and organization. Those conditions probably bear the most responsibility for making the archive visible as something that warranted a “turn” in the first place. Even Derrida refers in each version of Archive Fever to the computer on which he is currently composing, predicting that email will not only totally transform the archive as he knows it, but will make his own essay obsolete.\n\nIn short, we already have in place both the theory and the media that will make it possible to enact a radical new archival practice. We have in place what we need to integrate the archive story into the archive itself, while making it visible as a new form of “results.”\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>II. The library doubles as a librarian’s office.</strong>\n\nI could end here, with a triumphant firing of the starter pistol and a rousing cheer. But that would be a bit disingenuous, given that the starter pistol for both the archival turn and the academic use of the internet actually went off decades ago. So the question remains, what stands in the way of the practical enactment of the archival turn’s speculative insights? I’d like to engage this question by following Kaplan’s example (but not her main claim): through some archive story-telling about the George Peabody Library. These three vignettes, identified as “typical” through conversations with my colleague Paul Espinosa, illustrate the intractable formations that present-day archival encounters come up against.\n\n<strong>1. The Perils of Description.</strong>\n<blockquote>A group of Russian speakers visits the Peabody Library. The dozen men and women sit down around the screen that Paul has set up. He narrates a brief slide-show about the Peabody’s history, then leads them to a table where a dozen books from the collection have been laid out in cradles. He tells them about each book: what it is, why it is interesting. Each phrase of his presentation is painstakingly translated by the group’s leader into Russian.</blockquote>\nWhen academic and community groups visit the Peabody, my colleagues and I draw upon a standard tour-guide’s repertoire to describe it. We explain that George Peabody was a tradesman cum financier cum philanthropist who decided in 1857 that Baltimore needed a cultural institution to support the arts and learning. We talk about the evolution of the Peabody Institute, the four-part athenaeum that resulted, with its art gallery, lecture series, conservatory and free, public, non-circulating library. We discuss the model of philanthropy that George Peabody initiated and its wide-ranging influence. We point out the signal features of the awe-inspiring architecture of the current library, built to accommodate a rapidly growing collection in 1878. But when it comes to the library itself, as a collection, it is hard to know what to say. How to accurately translate the library’s holdings into a succinct and memorable statement that conveys an appropriate level of detail to different audiences? While it poses specific challenges, the Peabody also exemplifies more general problems of collection description.\n\nWe do not lack evidence for the evolving contents of the Peabody. We have the two-volume printed list of “desiderata” drawn up by the Peabody’s first librarian, John G. Morris. [note number=\'31\']Alphabetical Catalogue of Books to be Purchased for the Library of the Peabody Institute, Baltimore, Vols. 1 and 2 (Baltimore: John D. Toy, 1861, 1863).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'6\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-6-alpha-index-2/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-395\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-395\" title=\"fig 6 alpha index\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-6-alpha-index1-336x484.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"484\" /></a>Alphabetical index from Alphabetical Catalouge (“desiderata”).[/note] We have the collections register for several decades’-worth of acquisitions, recording bibliographic information and accession numbers that can still be found on the inside front end papers of many of the books in the collection. We have the librarians’ annual reports to the library trustees. [note number=\'32\']The Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore: The Founder’s Letters and the Papers Relating to its Dedication and History, Up to the 1st January, 1868 (Baltimore: William K. Boyle, 1868); and subsequent Annual Reports, 1869, etc.[/note] We have the library’s first printed catalogue, an unsurpassed achievement when first published in 1883, which listed 100,000 volumes by author and title. [note number=\'33\']Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore, Vols. 1-5 (Baltimore: Isaac Friedenwald, 1883; reprinted Boston: G. K. Hall, [1961?]; also on googlebooks), and Second Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute of the City of Baltimore, Including the Additions Made Since 1882, Vols. 1-8 (Baltimore: Deutsch Lithographic and Printing, 1896; reprinted Boston: G. K. Hall, 1961).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'7\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-7-print-cat/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-396\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-396\" title=\"fig 7 print cat\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-7-print-cat-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Reprinted volumes of the Catalogue of the Library of the Peabody Institute (1883).[/note] We have the cards from the Dewey decimal system card catalogue, which replaced the printed catalogue in the 1910s. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'8\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-8-card-cat/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-397\"><img class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-397\" title=\"fig 8 card cat\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-8-card-cat.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"448\" /></a>One of two card catalogues in the Peabody.[/note] Now, of course, the library’s collections are represented in an online catalogue that integrates them with other collections in the Hopkins library system.\n\nThese markers of the collection, however, fail to satisfy some contemporary research queries for reasons that are both practical and philosophical. The transfer of the printed index, organized by author, to the Dewey decimal system, organized by topic, represented a major epistemological shift that facilitated browsing by subject category. But of course, those categories are embedded in historically-bound notions about the subjects and structures of knowledge: Dewey was invented in the 1870s, and the 22 revisions it has undergone since then cannot overcome its essential organizational distortions. For example, the literature range—the 800s—offers only 10% of its categorical space to literatures in languages other than English, Germanic and Romance languages, Greek and Latin.\n\nIn the case of the Peabody, the Dewey arrangements overlay even older systems of knowledge hierarchy. Should we continue to offer, for example, a description of the Peabody’s “voyages and travels” books? This category represents a Renaissance schematic that was still in service in the mid-nineteenth century; while actual “voyages and travels” were extended by colonial ventures, the category was eventually disbanded. Dewey combined it with geography to make a sub-category of “history.” In keeping active the old-fashioned phrase “voyages and travels,” we are participating in a centuries-long project of euphemism about the material aims and actual activities of colonialism; we are privileging an early phase of the Peabody’s evolution over later phases; we may even be confusing modern researchers. And yet, as one of the topics in Morris’s “desiderata,” a considerable portion of the Peabody’s collection was acquired with the aim of fleshing out that descriptor. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'9\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-9-index-detail/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-398\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-398\" title=\"fig 9 index detail\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-9-index-detail-336x274.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"274\" /></a>Detail of subject index from Alphabetical Catalouge No. 2 (“desiderata”).[/note]\n\nYet another classificatory dilemma is expressed by George Peabody’s original statement of the library’s purpose: that it “be furnished in every department of knowledge, with the most approved literature… It should consist on the best works on every subject… to satisfy the researches of students who may be engaged in the pursuit of knowledge not ordinarily attainable in the private libraries of the country.” [note number=\'34\']“Letters from George Peabody, Esq.: Baltimore, February 12th, 1857,” in Founder’s Letters, 7.[/note] The Peabody was founded as a cultural institution for the people of Baltimore, but from the first, this democratic ambition was in conflict with the intellectual aspirations of the first librarians and their desire to facilitate civic “self-improvement.” Morris (a doctor of divinity), his successor Nathaniel Holmes Morison (a schoolmaster and poet), and Morison’s assistant and successor Philip Uhler (who had trained as an entomologist) were all devoted to the nineteenth-century idea of the scholar-librarian. Morison wrote in one annual report that “Education always proceeds from the above downward, from the best to the common minds, from the leaders of the people to the people themselves. Furnish... the foundations of intelligence and thought, and they will... stimulate and improve the whole community.\" [note number=\'35\']Qtd. in Franklin Parker and Betty J. Parker, “PIB Ref. Library. 8-Morison\'s Philosophy of Excellence,” in George Peabody (1795-1869): A-Z Handbook of the Massachusetts-Born Merchant in the South, London-Based Banker, and Philanthropist\'s Life, Influence, and Related People, Places, Events, and Institutions. . 11 Mar. 2011.[/note] When the Johns Hopkins University was founded in 1876 in close proximity to the Peabody—in large part to take advantage of the library—the tendency of the librarians to address scholarly needs and “approved literature” over popular desires was given additional momentum. In keeping with these ideas, the Peabody’s librarians kept careful track of their readers’ choices, noting with special caution the numbers of novels that were requested. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'10\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-10-annual-report-detail/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-399\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-399\" title=\"fig 10 annual report detail\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-10-annual-report-detail-336x452.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"452\" /></a>Detail from First Annual Report showing chart of books read, with special mention of fiction.[/note] This schism at the heart of the library’s collecting paradigm was not unique to the Peabody; the question of reading matter—should it offer leisure for the masses or the means of social uplift?—was central to the public library movement of the second half of the nineteenth century. [note number=\'36\']See, for example, Alexis McCrossen, “’One Cathedral More’ or ‘Mere Lounging Places for Bummers’? The Cultural Politics of Leisure and the Public Library in Gilded Age America,” Libraries &amp; Culture 41.2 (2006): 169-188; Paul Sturges, “The Public Library and Reading by the Masses: Historical Perspectives on the USA and Britain 1850-1900,” ; Trustees of the Public Library of the City of Boston, Upon the Objects to be Attained by the Establishment of a Public Library, 12 Dec. 2010.[/note]\n\nFinally, the Peabody’s “desiderata” acquisitions and librarians’ selections were supplemented by book donations from local elites—bibliophiles with extensive private collections that included incunabula, classical authors in Renaissance editions, expensive illustrated atlases. At the same time, book donations came in from more plebian sources. The Peabody’s growth overlapped with the decline of the local social libraries, and it eventually absorbed some of the books from the Library Company of Baltimore, Robinson’s Circulating Library and several small professional and mechanics’ libraries. And I haven’t even touched on the Peabody’s twentieth-century fate.\n\nThe variety of philanthropic impulses, resource streams and classification philosophies that have fed the Peabody over the 150 years of its existence has led to a collection that does not so much map the nineteenth-century mind as signal its odd amalgam of popular and scholarly investments. The Peabody’s collection effectively evades succinct description—at least, any kind of description that pretends to be coherent, that is not perforated by its stakes in local history, library history, book history. But more importantly, it suggests the degree to which accident and opportunity and prejudice and wealth and the changing winds of cataloguing rules shape any archive. Description, which should be the most fundamental tool of communication between librarians and researchers, turns out to be utterly elusive. Yet we do not know what to replace them with, these inadequate descriptions, these exercises in stilted and partial translation.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>2. The Researcher’s Progress.</strong>\n<blockquote>I am preparing for my class about women and nineteenth-century print culture, which meets in the Peabody; we have reached the part of the syllabus where we look at gift books and annuals. I want students to examine several examples of these literary miscellanies, offering some illustration of their variety, and I have a list of such items that I have used in the past. But since I also want to show the students new acquisitions, I need to refresh my list. I will start with “gift book” as a keyword in the online catalogue.</blockquote>\nIn place of perfect and commensurate description—not possible—what we have are cataloguing systems that indexically represent collections through data and metadata that are, as I have already suggested, historically marked and inevitably inconsistent. In the case of the Peabody, these records are further compromised: Dewey cards developed from a nineteenth-century print index do not offer Library of Congress subject terms or detailed tables of contents; they also frequently lack other kinds of information. [note number=\'37\']Many of the electronic records for Peabody books have been copy-cataloged, that is, developed from records for identical books in other libraries. But these records might also be incomplete or inconsistent, given that many are quite old. The expense of original cataloging prevents our staff from creating full, new records for every item in the Peabody’s collection of over 300,000 titles.[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'11\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-11-ddc-cards/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-400\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-400\" title=\"fig 11 ddc cards\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-11-ddc-cards-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Dewey cards for “gift books.”[/note] My search for “gift book” will turn up bequests—the term “gift book” is often attached to these donations—and it will miss many of the nineteenth-century gift books and annuals in our collection whose records lack subject classifications, or whose subject classifications reference the book’s contents, not its format. For example, the 1848 Rough and Ready Annual: or, Military Souvenir published by Appleton’s has been assigned the subject “Mexican War, 1846-1848—Anecdotes.” [note number=\'38\']Rough and Ready Annual (New York: D. Appleton; Philadelphia: G.S. Appleton, 1848).[/note]\n\nThe problem of finding is perhaps only a sub-set of the problem of description, but I want to give it special attention because it introduces another variable: the physical space of the object. My search for gift books in the Peabody also entails the privilege of retrieving the books from the stacks. There are two search processes, the intellectual and the physical, that I must navigate. The intellectual search in this case requires a variety of keyword/date range combinations, and ultimately, recourse to my prepared bibliography—a holdover from pre-catalogue research methods. Now the second search begins.\n\nThe Rough and Ready Annual is at 973.62 A5121, in the “general history of North America; United States” category. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'12\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-12-rr/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-401\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-401\" title=\"fig 12 r&amp;r\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-12-rr-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>The Rough and Ready Annual in the stacks.[/note] This call number range is on the second floor, west side. Other items on my list are in very different parts of the library. Orange Blossoms: A Gift Book for All Who Have Worn, Are Wearing, Or are Likely to Wear Them, edited by the temperance writer T. S. Arthur and published in London, has been given the call number 813 A7910 duodecimo—fourth floor east, in the “American literature in English, fiction” section. [note number=\'39\']Orange Blossoms: A Gift Book for All Who Have Worn, Are Wearing, Or are Likely to Wear Them (London: Knight &amp; Co., [1857]). This title does not appear in at least one Arthur bibliography; see Donald A Koch, \"Timothy Shay Arthur,\" Antebellum Writers in New York and the South, ed. Joel Myerson (Detroit: Gale Research, 1979), from Literature Resource Center. Web. 19 Feb. 2011. To check on this, I need Mitchell Sharpe Jr.’s A Bibliography of the Published Books of Timothy Shay Arthur (Atlanta: Emory University, 1954), a typewritten quarto at 012 A791S, but it seems to be missing.[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'13\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-13-orange/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-402\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-402\" title=\"fig 13 orange\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-13-orange-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Orange Blossoms in the stacks.[/note] Arthur shows up again as co-editor of The Baltimore Book: A Christmas and New-Year\'s Present, which has received more extensive description as it contains the first printing of Edgar Allan Poe’s short story “Siope.” [note number=\'40\']The Baltimore Book: A Christmas and New-Year\'s Present (Baltimore: Bayly and Burns, [1838]).[/note] We have two copies of this very genteel little gift book, one at 808.83 B2175 (rhetoric &amp; collections of literature), and one at 810.8 C297 (American literature in English). The New Casket: A Gift Book for All Seasons is in the rare book room at the south end of the third floor. [note number=\'41\']The New Casket: A Gift Book for All Seasons (London: The Religious Tract Society, ca. 1850).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'14\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-14-rbr/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-403\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-403\" title=\"fig 14 rbr\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-14-rbr-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>The rare book room.[/note] In this case, the book’s rarity has to do with a lovely fore-edge painting. It has been assigned to 820.8 N42017 (general books about literature). On the other end of the “rare” continuum is The Family Circle and Parlor Annual, volume 5 in a series, which is shelved up on the sixth floor with the periodicals at 051 F198 (serials in American English). [note number=\'42\']The Family Circle and Parlor Annual (New York: Comstock, 1847).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'15\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-15-parlor/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-404\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-404\" title=\"fig 15 parlor\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-15-parlor-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>The Parlor Annual in the stacks.[/note]\n\nI’ll fill out call slips for each book, stick the slips into red flags, and put the flags in an order that will help me chart a logical course through the stacks. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'16\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-16-slips/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-405\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-405\" title=\"fig 16 slips\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-16-slips-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Call slips and flags.[/note] It’s easiest to start on the sixth floor and work one’s way down, picking up books along the way. Usually I find other interesting items as I go, so I carry a batch of blank call slips and extra flags. (On this occasion, for example, I find The New American Reader: Containing Choice Pieces, in Prose and Verse; published in 1813 and inscribed by its owner in 1817, it pre-dates by several years the official beginning of the gift book phenomenon. It might be more of a “literary almanac.” [note number=\'43\']The New American Reader: Containing Choice Pieces, in Prose and Verse (Philadelphia: David Hogan, 1813).[/note] [note type=\'figure\' number=\'17\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-17-new-reader/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-406\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-406\" title=\"fig 17 new reader\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-17-new-reader-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Inscription in The New American Reader.[/note]) Usually I am also unable to locate at least one of the books I have set out to find. Most likely the book has been misshelved, so I’ll check the quartos and folios, which are shelved separately; then I’ll check the rare book room’s octavo, duodecimo and quarto shelving areas. It used to astonish me that books were still shelved by format in the Peabody, but it does save space. At the same time, this shelving system—along with the multiple distinct areas within the library where books may reside, eg the rare book room, the reference section, the genealogy books, the Limited Editions Club, and several discrete named collections—means that retrieving a few books can take quite a long time, as I traipse up and down the six floors of the library, thread through stacks, open secured doors with multiple keys, turn lights on and off, and maneuver a book truck in and out of a tiny service elevator built in the 1920s. By the end of the journey, the library and I will have exchanged dust; I’ll take on a few streaks of red rot, and the library will have taken in particles from my body as well.\n\nWhile the Peabody is unique, these conditions are not in the end very unusual. In terms of the intellectual search, the absence of “gift book” from many of the catalogue records is no less egregious than the absence of other information—the names of all the contributors; the subjects of the illustrations. The metadata is potentially infinite. The “gift book” only exists as a category because of scholars who teased out this cultural phenomenon; it would be very difficult to define its absolute borders. In terms of the physical search, the Peabody might be messier than, say, a rare book library that has assigned current LC call numbers to all its contents and houses them in compact shelving, but it exemplifies the general on-the-ground situation. As I wind my way through the Peabody stacks, I remember how much more difficult it is to gather research materials from several different institutions.\n\nThe fact is, for scholars who rely on archives, research is something you do only after you have already undertaken a rigorous search. It is the search that provides you with the foundational sense of your subject. But the search is rarely acknowledged or accredited; even the foot-soldier craft of bibliography, the link between “librarianship” and “scholarship,” has largely lost its scholarly status.\n\n<!--nextpage-->\n\n<strong>3. An Architecture of Disctinction.</strong>\n<blockquote>A non-affiliate researcher contacts the Peabody about our H. L. Mencken collections. Since she will bring a couple of graduate students with her, I set up a group work space in one of the library alcoves where the three of them can share materials and talk without disturbing other readers. I pull the requested volumes with the help of some students and set the cart up within easy reach of the alcove. When the researchers arrive, I show them the Mencken collections on the ground floor. Then I lead them to their group work space and leave them, returning to the glassed-in office behind the reading room, the vantage point that allows me to monitor the otherwise empty reading room.</blockquote>\nIn “The Silence of the Library: Environment, Situational Norm, and Social Behavior,” a team of Dutch sociologists investigates the library as a space that is strongly marked by situational norms—“knowledge-based beliefs about how to behave in particular situations that are shaped by social influence.” [note number=\'44\']Henk Aarts and Ap Dijksterhuis, “The Silence of the Library: Environment, Situational Norm, and Social Behavior,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 84.1 (2003), 19.[/note] Their research leads them to argue, however, that such norms do not require direct social influences to be triggered; in fact, “the situation can activate mental representations of normative behaviors automatically. And once activated, these representations provide the knowledge necessary for guiding one’s own situationally appropriate behavior.” [note number=\'45\']Aarts and Dijksterhuis, 19.[/note] Physical environments do not necessarily prompt these behaviors; rather, the behavior “depend[s] on whether the environment is of immediate behavioral relevance.” [note number=\'46\']Aarts and Dijksterhuis, 20.[/note] Talking in a quiet voice in the library, a normative behavior, is only activated for those who plan to visit the library.\n\nTen years ago, when the research for this article was conducted, the “silence of the library” was still a widespread norm. While the situation is now often reversed—in our main campus library, we must designate specific quiet areas because otherwise a sociable undergraduate din would take over—the norm of silence does continue to preside at the Peabody. Because it is off campus, the Peabody is often attractively under-populated compared to the crowded main library; it is mostly used by advanced researchers and those who seek a quiet place to study. The large central open area catches and amplifies even the smallest noises. The shelf-lined alcoves on either side of this central area offer the appearance of privacy, but in fact are little echo chambers. Visitors immediately detect these acoustics, and—except for the periodic tour groups—most spend their time in the Peabody in silence. But it is not just the physics of sound that shape behaviors here, as the Dutch researchers show; the social expectations of the space prefigure those behaviors.\n\nIn setting up a group work space for the Mencken researchers, I have quite deliberately contravened the usual norm of silence. Clearly, I am not inviting them to shout, and by putting them in an alcove in back, I have taken measures to protect any quiet-seeking visitors who might arrive. But in accordance with new ideas about the use of library space, my colleagues and I have decided that we must accommodate group study even if it might occasionally disrupt the silence desired by others. As it happens, the Mencken researchers’ conversation is eventually interrupted by a tour group, and the two activities play out side by side.\n\nI must admit that at moments I have mixed feelings about the tour groups and even the study cohorts. While my pedagogical instincts tend towards cheerful hub-bub, there is a part of me that is still in awe of the sanctuary-like atmosphere of the Peabody. John Morris called the library a “cathedral of books,” and clearly that’s what architect Edmund G. Lind had in mind. The central area with its grand skylight and the alcoves on its sides is like a nave bordered with chapels. Lind didn’t need a psychological study of environment-based situational norms to tell him that he might activate different behaviors within his building. The great central space inspires reverence—your eye is drawn to the skylight the way it would be drawn to the rose windows of Chartres, and on its way up catches row upon solemn row of books stowed behind gilded railings, a testament to the accumulated wisdom of the ages. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'18\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-18-skylight/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-407\"><img class=\"alignnone size-full wp-image-407\" title=\"fig 18 skylight\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-18-skylight.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"448\" /></a>The skylight in the George Peabody Library.[/note] But step into an alcove, especially on the ground floor where each is filled with an immense wooden table, and you instantly feel something else, something no less grand but more human. The alcoves are study-sized, and once you sit down at one of those dark, gleaming, broad tables, it is like you are the master of your own private library. [note type=\'figure\' number=\'19\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-19-alcove/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-408\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-408\" title=\"fig 19 alcove\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-19-alcove-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Alcove in the George Peabody Library.[/note]\n\nIronically, the Peabody’s architecture was out-dated by the time it was completed. With the professionalization of librarianship and the evolution of library science in the late nineteenth century, librarians like William Frederick Poole advocated for a functional rather than decorative design of interior library space. [note number=\'47\']See William Frederick Poole, Remarks on Library Construction (Chicago: Jansen, McClurg, 1884).[/note] Moreover, the actual use of space in the Peabody in the late nineteenth century was at odds with its symbolic appeal. The main library was known as the “stack room”; readers were seated in a comparatively plain reading room on the other side of the main doors. In this arrangement, the librarians reigned inside the gorgeous “cathedral of books,” but the building’s potential to civilize the masses was lost.\n\nNow, of course, we do not send readers outside. Inside the “stack room,” we explicitly call visitors’ attention to its beauty to explain the connections between the library’s architecture and its collections—how both speak eloquently of Victorian values. At the same time, we who staff the library have relegated ourselves to its periphery. We work in the glassed-in room at one end that serves as a monitoring point and occasional classroom; the official “librarian’s office” in one corner—its luxurious proportions suggesting something like a sacristy and something like a robber baron’s lair—is now shared work-space stuffed with several desks and laden book trucks. There is another monitoring station near the main doors. I often do my work at the photography station, in the back of one of the alcoves [note type=\'figure\' number=\'20\']<a href=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/2011/04/archeology-of-archival-practice/fig-20-station/\" rel=\"attachment wp-att-409\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-409\" title=\"fig 20 station\" src=\"http://archivejournal.net/journal/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/fig-20-station-336x252.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"333\" height=\"250\" /></a>Photography station in the George Peabody Library.[/note]. It offers some privacy but is close enough to the central reading tables to be accessible to readers.\n\nThe space of the Peabody initiates other situational behaviors besides the norm of silence, and our work-station arrangements testify to this. The spatial re-centralizing of readers and marginalization of staff is not merely practical; it is a reflection of the modern office of librarianship. We are there to be of service, in a para-textual position. Consequently, our work should be out of sight; it should be separate from and secondary to the work that readers do. Our locations call upon us, in other words, to support the scholar’s effort to hide the “seams of [her] findings” by hiding the ways we contribute to that work—by the ways we sometimes do that work.\n\nI think about these complications as I escort the Mencken researchers to their table and walk back to the glassed-in office, where there is nothing pressing for me to do. I’d rather spend more time talking with them. I’d like to learn about their research and introduce them to some underappreciated parts of the collection. I’d like to share with them what I learned curating an exhibition of Mencken-related magazines and writing about one of those magazines. But I don’t want to get in their way; it’s likely that they are ready to get on with work that they don’t see as connected to mine. The professional norms of the archive are strong, and although I know how to talk about my research in many contexts—in presentations, interviews, hotel elevators—I haven’t figured out how to mix my scholarly role with the curatorial role I am supposed to play here, in the Peabody. In the end, I say nothing. Professional segregation is another kind of silence in the library.\n\nWe cannot change the archaeological record beneath our feet, but we can rearrange the fossils we dig up to create new narratives. We can tell different kinds of archive stories, including the story of what research in the archive was and is. Is it too idealistic to expect that dissolving the entrenched fantasies about archival research will make room for new methods? Is it naïve to imagine a space that, in putting into practice the archival turn’s preliminary insights about disciplinary and disorder, can support experimentation, facilitate connection across professions and disciplines, and enable new discoveries?','Disciplinarity and Disorder','','inherit','open','open','','2199-revision-4','','','2013-04-15 02:43:25','2013-04-15 02:43:25','',2199,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/issue/%issue%/uncategorized/2199-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(4520,1,'2013-05-31 01:48:37','2013-05-31 01:48:37','','eshore','','inherit','open','open','','eshore','','','2013-05-31 01:48:37','2013-05-31 01:48:37','',0,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/eshore.jpg',0,'attachment','image/jpeg',0),(4319,1,'2013-05-08 01:02:39','2013-05-08 01:02:39','Do not delete this page. Page content is generated with a custom template.','All Comments','','publish','closed','closed','','all-comments','','','2013-05-08 01:02:39','2013-05-08 01:02:39','',0,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/all-comments/',0,'page','',0),(4256,1,'2013-04-30 02:54:45','2013-04-30 02:54:45','How have you worked with undergraduates in archives and/or special collections?<icc-first-publish><in-context-comment:auto-on>','Undergraduates in the Archives - Question 1','','publish','open','open','','undergraduates-in-the-archives-question-1','','','2013-05-08 01:29:53','2013-05-08 01:29:53','',0,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/?p=4256',0,'post','',0),(4257,1,'2013-04-30 02:54:18','2013-04-30 02:54:18','','Undergraduates in the Archives - ','','inherit','open','open','','4256-revision','','','2013-04-30 02:54:18','2013-04-30 02:54:18','',4256,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/issue//uncategorized/4256-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(4255,1,'2013-04-21 17:21:04','2013-04-21 17:21:04','In this issue, five contributors address how hands-on work with archives has been incorporated into undergraduate education.  They each answer a series of five questions to report on what they have done, what worked or not, and what value bringing archives into the classroom, or the classroom into the archive, has.  We invite you to read through the responses by author or by question.','Undergraduates in the Archives','','inherit','open','open','','1500-revision-7','','','2013-04-21 17:21:04','2013-04-21 17:21:04','',1500,'http://dev.archivejournal.net/issue//uncategorized/1500-revision-7/',0,'revision','',0),