Writing for the public

The Information Society An International Journal ISSN: 0197-2243 (Print) 1087-6537 (Online) Journal homepage: https://www.tandfonline.com/loi/utis20 Writing for the public Hailley Fargo, Kristina Franklin, Peyton Loomis, Brooke Long-Yarrison, Kristin Newvine & Nicholas J. Rowland To cite this article: Hailley Fargo, Kristina Franklin, Peyton Loomis, Brooke Long-Yarrison, Kristin Newvine & Nicholas J. Rowland (2020) Writing for the public, The Information Society, 36:2, 124-129, DOI: 10.1080/01972243.2019.1711322 To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/01972243.2019.1711322 Published online: 12 Jan 2020. Submit your article to this journal Article views: 84 View related articles View Crossmark data Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at https://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=utis20 THE INFORMATION SOCIETY 2020, VOL. 36, NO. 2, 124–129 BOOK REVIEW Writing for the public The quantified self: A sociology of self-tracking, by Deborah Lupton. Malden, MA: Polity, 2016. 240 pp. $19.95 £15.24 e17.58 paper. ISBN 9781509500604 (paper), $64.95 £49.60 e57.24 hardback, ISBN 9781509500598 (hardback). The Internet of Things, by Samuel Greengard. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2015. 232 pp. $15.95 £11.95 e12.95 paper. ISBN: 9780262527736 (paper). Irresistible: The rise of addictive technology and the business of keeping us hooked, by Adam Alter. New York: Penguin, 2017, xi þ 354 pp. $17.00 £12.97 e14.95 paper, ISBN 978073522847 (paper), $27.00 £20.61 e23.75 hardback, ISBN 9781594206641 (hardback), $12.99 £9.92 e11.43 e-book. ISBN 9780698402638 (e-book). It is not easy to write for the public. But, as we shall see, that is what the authors set out to do in the texts under examination in this review essay. In The Quantified Self, Lupton (2016) introduces the public to the sociology of self-tracking. In The Internet of Things, Greengard (2015) primes the public on the reality and repercussions of an interconnected world of things. Finally, in Irresistible, Alter (2017) informs the public about how compulsive self-tracking and the increasing interconnectedness of people and things can result in near inevitable behavioral addiction to the devices that track and connect us. Each book takes a different approach to the task of translating scientific evidence for the purpose of public consumption, but, in the end, none of them quite hits the mark. Still, in considering the titles together, and comparing their attempts to engage the public, something can be learned that is not evident in any one book but only between them as a group, which elucidates why rendering scholarly conversations for public consumption is, at times, nigh impossible. Framed by literature on the public understanding of science, this review discusses the pressure scholars face to write for a public audience, examines the books under review, and then concludes with literature from library science on why scholarly communication is so challenging to share with a public audience. Communicating scientific knowledge to the public, often, but not solely, through the mouthpiece of news media, is a significant research topic in numerous disciplines, especially science and technology studies (STS) where the “public understanding of science” enjoys sustained analytical attention (see, for example, the journal devoted to the topic, unsurprisingly titled, Public Understanding of Science). It is important for reflexive scientists to recognize the public nature of the scientific enterprise (Stephan 2004) and to consider the ability of the public to understand scientific contributions (Lewenstein 1992). While this topic of research is primarily about scientific communication to the public, and, in turn, public perceptions and representations of science, it also examines public engagement and intervention into science, among other issues. The Royal Society’s 1985 report, “The Public Understanding of Science” is usually heralded as the origin of this line of thinking. Because “[m]any personal decisions, for example about diet, vaccination, personal hygiene or safety at home and at work, would be helped by some understanding of the underlying science” and because “national prosperity depend[s]” on adequate funding for scientific innovation, the Royal Society (1985, 6) decided it “should make improving public understanding of science one of its major activities.” The interventionist tone of the report unintentionally cast the public’s knowledge in terms of a deficit to be improved upon, a model that became dominant in this line of thinking and is still influential in some public policy circles (Simis et al. 2016). Numerous cases since have demonstrated, however, that the deficit model of the public understanding of science is limited and, without irony, has some deficits of its own. For example, Moreira’s (2012) case of public intervention in dementia trials in the United Kingdom demonstrates that scientific knowledge, and the process by which is it produced for public “use,” can – and perhaps should – occasionally be challenged directly by members of the public. Scientific accounts of dementia examine, for example, verified tests of cognitive scores, which, when combined from many patients over time, aids in creating generalized knowledge about managing dementia. In contrast, personal accounts (i.e., pleas or “human interest stories”) operate according to an alternative dynamic. They communicate dementia as a lived experience. Loved ones report whether or not the family member is doing well and is feeling comfortable in stories that are drawn-up against THE INFORMATION SOCIETY the backdrop of the home. The implicit message is that people in the story simply cannot wait for the next round of trials – they need help now. To characterize these members of the public as absent of knowledge is unfair; families living with dementia understand it all too well, even if it is in their own way. Whether or not the authors under review assume this deficit model of the public understanding of their science is yet to determined; however, that the authors are writing for the public, and likely feel some pressure to do so, is sufficiently obvious. To be fair, there is a long but declining tradition of scholars writing for the public, historically, as individuals labeled “public intellectuals” (Jacoby 1989). Currently, “we face the rise of a new intellectual class,” Jacoby (2000, 52) writes, “using a new scholasticism accessible only to the mandarins, who have turned their back on public life and letters.” In a related note, challenges to the legitimacy of higher education appear to be on the rise (Carlson 2019; Grief 2015), academic writing and academic publishing are being challenged on cultural and economic grounds (Camhi 2015; Lepore 2013), and efforts to improve the situation, by making faculty responsive public audiences, are being publicized (Cordell 2011; Hardy and Milanese 2016). According to Carlson (2019, n.p.): [i]n the past several years, higher education has been at the tip of … [journalists’] very sharp pens. College, my peers have said, is bloated, broken, unsustainable, failing, irrelevant, obsolete. Thus, in academic writing, it follows, “[a]cademic publishers [now] have a particular obligation to measure the distance between the university and the public, and to think about whose work spans it” (Lepore 2013, n.p.). Academic journals and university presses have, historically, “not rewarded clarity or beauty or timeliness, and it has not made a priority of satisfying readers or earning profits because it was not designed to do any of these things: It was designed to advance scholarship” (Lepore 2013, n.p.). In the conventional account, the antidote to past incentives that internalize scholarly conversation in the walls and halls of the ivory tower is to, once again, address the public. One of the challenges is that few contemporary faculty were taught explicitly to write for the public (Camhi 2015). In response to these concerns, the State University of New York at Stony Brook debuted “a program to train faculty members and graduate students to become public intellectuals,” and to address a firmly embedded, preconceived notion held by academics, namely: The question of whether academics should try to reach a popular audience has been, for decades, a nonquestion: Scholars typically assumed there was no way to popularize their work for the general public without abandoning their mission as intellectuals (Wolf and Kopp 2016, n.p.). 125 Still, according to Lepore (2013, n.p.): “Writing for the public” is, by now, a fairly meaningless thing to say. Everyone who tweets “writes for the public.” Lectures are posted online. So are papers. Most of what academics produce can be found, by anyone who wants to find it, by searching Google. Thus, it is in this tangled web of pressures and incentives that the authors of The Quantified Self (Lupton 2016), The Internet of Things (Greengard 2015), and Irresistible (Alter 2017) will be read and reviewed. The quantified self Deborah Lupton, at The University of Canberra, is the author of The Quantified Self (2016), a book analyzing self-tracking practices in western culture. Lupton has coauthored and edited nearly 20 books and has written over 170 journal articles and book chapters with topics varying broadly across several disciplines, including: sociology, media, health, communication, and cultural studies. Lupton’s key areas of foci include the social and cultural dimensions of medicine and public health; risk; the body; parenting cultures; digital sociology; food; obesity politics; and emotion. Lupton advocates for the use of technology as a means of learning in the classroom, and is not shy about this in her book, The Quantified Self. At the beginning of the book, Lupton describes her work as a “contemporary view of self-tracking cultures, analyzed from a critical sociological perspective.” (1) Though she does mention the book is about the selftracking culture, she fails to mention the majority of individuals Lupton refers to are a unique sub-group, who have imbued self-tracking practices into all facets of their everyday lives from eating, drinking, exercising, sleeping, bodily functions, even sex patterns. This extensive version of self-monitoring, while creating a vivid example of this particular issue in society, is quite obviously contained within a subculture; a group that accepts aspects of the dominant culture but are set apart from it in some significant way (Ritzer 2018). Since Lupton’s work focuses on aspects of a small percent of the greater population, many topics covered, including, theoretical perspectives, personal data meanings, practices, materialisations, and data politics, would be lost on the general populace. Florian Mueller, Director, Exertion Games Lab, RMIT University, is quoted on the back of the book saying: “I highly recommend it to researchers and practitioners who wish to gain a comprehensive account of self-tracking practices.” While an engaging read for people with a richer background in this topic, the density of information leaves it inaccessible to the general public, a vivid example of the difficulty of writing for the public as well as the academic sphere. 126 BOOK REVIEW With the rapid growth of digital technology and software in recent years, the book, just published in 2016, has aged prematurely due, in part, to newer versions of technology available to replace those mentioned in the book. Another question, then, arises: is there a way to write about technology that does not become quickly outdated? Unfortunately, Lupton’s attempt to do this, in The Quantified Self, falls flat. On the other hand, Lupton does an excellent job at reaching out to the academic community at large. For example, Petrakaki (2017) praises the book for its ability to generate broad questions, bridge theoretical perspectives, and provide potential avenues for future research that spans numerous disciplines. While speaking to the broader academic community, Lupton also is able to explain the phenomenon of self-tracking practices and technology in such a way that is not biased in regard to advocating for or against the technology; it just simply states the facts. Lupton excels at describing the self-tracking practices she refers to throughout the book with numerous examples and lengthy details, that leaves the reader with a complete picture of what this self-tracking culture is like, but she fails to explain the very basics of the Quantified Self Movement, which might leave some readers missing crucial components of her reasoning for writing this book. In the same token, she focuses primarily on the self-tracking practices themselves, and leaves just one chapter to talk about the most controversial area of selftracking practices: big data. The two sections of the book that might have warranted additional exploration were the section on data politics and the brief segment on the relationship between race and data consciousness, as Lauber (2016) notes. The book may also have benefitted from placing this chapter at the beginning of the book, and building off of this idea, because it provides rich context within which the phenomenon is occurring and may have made the book more beneficial for both the public and private sectors. As for where The Quantified Self should be placed on the bookshelf, its most natural neighbor happens to be Greengard’s (2015) Internet of Things, as Lupton quotes the book several times. It might be in the reader’s best interest to first read the Internet of Things, which would give the reader the underlying knowledge that is necessary to better comprehend the content in The Quantified Self. In the end, Lupton’s lasting message is that technology is one of the few real ways for human beings to understand themselves and their bodies, but, at the same time, neglects to address that human beings are still granted cognitive liberties, such as thoughts, feelings, and emotions, which are at this point in time, unquantifiable. “With that perspective, the human subject is just another node on the Internet of Things,” says Jo Aurea M. Imbong (2018, 151), another reviewer. The Internet of Things Samuel Greengard is a freelance writer and instructor at the UCLA’s writers program. As an experienced writer with a long history of writing for companies and businesses such as Charles Schwab & Co., Intel, and Microsoft, he has written hundreds of articles for consumer and trade magazines such as American Way, America West, Amtrak’s Arrive, Discover, Engineering Inc., Industry Week, MSNBC/MSN Online, and PM Network. Greengard authored The Internet of Things published in MIT’s Essential Knowledge series, which is known for having experts write about complex topics for public consumption and a global audience. The Internet of Things gives the reader a step-by-step history of how devices are becoming interconnected, a futuristic view of this interconnectedness, and some commentary on the potential misuse of this technology. The manner of his book is concise and straightforward which has been noted by other reviewers (Olson 2016; Medina 2018). While Greengard is concise and straightforward in his description of the Internet of Things (IoT), he fails to educate his readers who might know little about this field of technology. Throughout the book, Greengard is optimistic about the impact of the IoT. His technological utopianism carries throughout the book and makes readers (and society at large) believe that all their problems can be solved through the IoT, Greengard (2015, xv) reenforces his pro-tech side by claiming the IoT can transform the world as we know it: “We will live in automated homes, drive smart vehicles on networked roads, shop in highly interactive stores, and connect to medical and wellness products that redefine our basic approach to health.” As amazing as this sounds, this is not the world we live in, and a more informed reader might think Greengard’s idealistic outlook on the IoT is extravagant. Greengard’s writing style affirms his belief in the IoT; a reader is led to believe that either the IoT creates a utopian society where humans and technology can coexist or a dystopian society full of crime. He allocates more than half of the seven chapters in the book to concentrate on the benefits of the IoT and how humans cannot live without it. Eventually, as if to redeem himself, he goes on to briefly mention the more extreme disadvantages associated with the IoT in the last two chapters. This includes extreme measures such as misuse by terrorists, criminals, and hackers through means of cyberattacks, cyber-espionage, and fraud. In Greengard’s eyes, there is no middle ground with the IoT. He even ventures as far as to inform the reader how 3 D printers allowed criminals to bypass legal control by manufacturing plastic guns and weapons which can remain undetected by metal detectors or other types of security devices. This could allow criminals to smuggle weapons past airports, stadiums, and heavily secured public areas. THE INFORMATION SOCIETY He also describes how drones can be used to commit acts of terrorism by dropping highly targeted bombs. It is quite obvious that by putting more emphasis on the advantages of the IoT, along with his reluctance to fully develop the consequences of the IoT, Greengard struggles to be objective and, instead, takes an “technological deterministic stance” (Olson 2016, 681). Because Greengard argues that all aspects of today’s world are influenced (and improved) by technology, it provides the reader with a one-sided, essentially naive view of technology. For Greengard, the IoT is a money-making venture, although, at the same time, is unsure if businesses will collaborate to maximize profits. According to one reviewer, Greengard idealizes technology almost as if he is selling the idea that one cannot live without it with his pro-tech outlook (Olson 2016). Instead of educating the reader on the different components of science and technology that make up the IoT, Greengard shares examples of the IoT already present in businesses such as Apple, Netflix, Motorola, AT&T, and Amazon as well as apps such as Myfitness-Pal, Metromile, WeMo, and DocScanner. We cannot fail to acknowledge that this book might do a disservice to those who are not critically “plugged into” technology. A reader who only reads The Internet of Things might be led to believe in a perfect world where “ … the lines between human and machine will continue to blur” (Greengard 2015, 26). One might question if Greengard succeeds in educating the public on how technology in our world works. Can readers gain a profound knowledge of technological aspects of the IoT? Greengard composed this book in such a way that in order to fully understand its ideas you would need to first acquire previous knowledge in the technology field. Cameron (2016, 87) claims that reading The Internet of Things “feels a little like reading Wikipedia;” this is possibly due to the way that Greengard is unenthusiastically telling and not teaching his reader the technological aspects of this emergent world of the future. Greengard primarily focused on showing off what the IoT (commercially) can do instead of focusing on how he can engage his readers into really understanding the roots and implications of the IoT. Irresistible Adam Alter’s (2017) Irresistible: The Rise of Addictive Technology and the Business of Keeping Us Hooked is a follow-up to his 2013 Drunk tank pink: And other unexpected forces that shape how we think, feel, and behave. In the intervening period between these two books, Alter’s experience writing for the public grew, as he frequently wrote for New York Times, Washington Post, and other such publications. His first work, Drunk Tank Pink (Alter 2013) is a New York Times best seller and 127 also received recognized as a Barnes and Noble Book of the Month. Alter, a social psychologist on NYU’s marketing faculty, jumps down the rabbit hole of technology in everyday life, but not quite as expected. From the title, a reader would imagine the book would investigate the forces binding mankind to devices. In fact, the “real” title of the book can be found in a paragraph description on the back cover: “Welcome to the age of Behavioral Addiction … ” – a far more accurate description of Alter’s book. It is broken into three parts titled: (1) What is behavioral addiction and where did it come from? (2) The ingredients of behavioral addiction (or, how to engineer an addictive experience), and (3) The future of behavioral addictions (and some solutions). It is noteworthy that none of them mention technology. It is only seen as a facilitator and intensifier of a deep malady of our times – behavioral addiction. Technology is portrayed in each part as a distraction that entices students to lose their way in college, or a vehicle for attention capture that keeps the public tuned into the next episode of a serial. However, it is not the technology itself that is the culprit, but the activities enacted through it. Therefore “we need to understand how, why, and when people first develop and then escape behavioral addictions” (Alter 2017, 317). Alter spends the first section of the book exploring the historical and psychological background of behavioral addiction, examining everything from smartphone screen time to World of Warcraft – said to be the first of addictive online games – to the heroin epidemics amongst U.S. soldiers during the Vietnam War. He concludes the section with the observation that there’s a certain biological urge behind society’s growing addiction. He also considers the long-running debate as to whether addiction is a disease or a choice, including the addition of substance and behavioral to the 5th Edition of the DSM: Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders published in 2013. In the second section, Alter examines example after example of the ingredients of behavioral addiction, using real life examples like Netflix binge watching, which very many people have fallen victim to at one point in their lives. Alter presents very many examples of activities that humans engage in nearly every day in modern society, including email, social media, entertainment streaming services, video games, and so on. Each contains their own addictive qualities, something Alter flagged in the opening pages of the book: Millions of recovering alcoholics manage to avoid bars altogether, but recovering Internet addicts are forced to use email. You can’t apply for a travel visa or a job, or begin working, without email address. Fewer and fewer modern jobs allow you to avoid using computers and smartphones. Addictive tech is part of the mainstream in a way that addictive substances never will be (Alter 2017, 9) 128 BOOK REVIEW In his final section, Alter presents possibilities for decreasing the level of behavioral addiction the people faces in their daily lives. Changing phrases such as “I can’t” to “I don’t” can help to avoid negative behavior. It is scientifically proven that people can design their environment to foster better control. According to Alter (2017, 291), “If you design your environment wisely, you’ll stand a better chance of avoiding harmful behavioral addiction.” Alter is optimistic about our ability to do so. Brewer (2018) disagrees with Alter’s main recommendation; as a social psychologist himself, Brewer advises readers to replace negative behaviors with more positive ones as a method of dealing with any associated addiction. Alter walks the tightrope of a producing a scholarly book while keeping a public angle, evident, for example, in his mixed references – everything from the New York Times to the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology. As reviewer Hill (2017, 99) remarks, the book is “[a]n excellent offering for those interested in technology, especially those grappling with the topic themselves.” This book is fit for anyone, whether they possess previous knowledge on the subject or not. As reviewer Konkel claims (2017), Alter’s “book is an engrossing – albeit alarming – read that will make you want to chuck your smartphone out the window.” If you have a smartphone, use the Internet, or are living in the 21st century then this book will connect with your life, a fact that makes Alter’s chief arguments even harder to deny. Conclusion While each of the authors attempts to inform the public on an aspect of technology, each book falters in that endeavor. When writing for the public, an assumption is made that the one singular book will be enough for the reader to become informed and, in some cases, to become a critic. In reality, that is all but an insurmountable goal; after all, every conversation, scholarly or not, is informed from the conversations that came before it. Within the field of library and information science (LIS), librarians work to help learners understand how information is created, disseminated, and valued in society. One guiding document for academic librarians is the Association of College and Research Libraries’ (ACRL (Association of College and Research Libraries) 2016) Framework for Information Literacy for Higher Education. This framework proposes six concepts that can be used to think about information and teach students information literacy skills. One of the frames, “Scholarship as Conversation” helps to understand why Lupton, Greengard, and Alter ultimately came up short. Within the “Scholarship as Conversation” frame, “Communities of scholars, researchers, or professionals engage in sustained discourse with new insights and discoveries occurring over time as a result of varied perspective and interpretations” (ACRL (Association of College and Research Libraries) 2016, 8). The authors of this review would like to emphasize “sustained” within the quoted section. Lupton, Greengard, and Alter are providing readers with a snapshot of the conversation, but do not expect their readers to sustain the conversation beyond the pages of their book. These books are a window into the scholarly conversations but provide no instructions on how to enter and add to this conversation. By attempting to provide an “inclusive” look into the topics, the experts downplay the fact that conversations around self-tracking, the IoT, and behavioral addiction to technology have been discussed for decades. If a reader only reads one of these books, they are missing out on the work that has come before and will come after Lupton, Greengard, and Alter. In reading only one of these books, the reader will receive only one perspective on this topic and therefore, is unable to be critical of the experts because they do not know the other or alternative perspectives. Readers should review the bibliographies from each book and ask: “how many of these resources are available to the public?” Between paywalls and requisite knowledge, how can any reader gain access to the foundational work supporting these books under review? Without access to the foundational work, how can the reader critically assess each book? While the task of communicating scientific knowledge to the public is necessary, it will require experts writing the books to improve the ways they help to bring the public into the conversation. 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Hailley Fargo http://orcid.org/0000-0003-2316-502X University Library, Pennsylvania State University, State College, Pennsylvania, USA Kristina Franklin Division of Education, Human Development, and Social Sciences, Pennsylvania State University, Altoona, Pennsylvania, USA Peyton Loomis Division of Education, Human Development, and Social Sciences, Pennsylvania State University, Altoona, Pennsylvania, USA Brooke Long-Yarrison Division of Education, Human Development, and Social Sciences, Pennsylvania State University, Altoona, Pennsylvania, USA Kristin Newvine Division of Education, Human Development, and Social Sciences, Pennsylvania State University, Altoona, Pennsylvania, USA Nicholas J. Rowland http://orcid.org/0000-0003-2917-578X Division of Education, Human Development, and Social Sciences, Pennsylvania State University, Altoona, Pennsylvania, USA Schreyer Institute for Teaching Excellence, Pennsylvania State University, State College, Pennsylvania, USA [email protected] ß 2020 Hailley Fargo, Kristina Franklin, Peyton Loomis, Brooke Long-Yarrison, Kristin Newvine, and Nicholas J. Rowland https://doi.org/10.1080/01972243.2019.1711322