Bottom line is stark: paper and ink books are on the way out. There, I said it. Printed books will still exist – like vinyl records still exist, in vanishingly small numbers, bought by collectors. Printed books – especially hardcovers — will become collectibles. Too many trends are working against print: (1) market economics (e-books are cheaper to produce, ship, and buy); (2) reader convenience (e-books offer immediate delivery, lower price, and bells and whistles like the ability to enlarge text); and (3) electronic infrastructure (a growing number of people are comfortable reading on little screens, they can do it on multiple devices (I just read my first book on my iPod Touch and the experience was fine), the little screens are getting better and cheaper and more attractive, the large-scale computing and communications systems are in place). And the technology just keeps getting better and cheaper. Three years ago, the first Kindle cost $399. Today’s improved version sells for half that. Eventually we’ll have screens you can roll up, put in your pocket, and unfurl as you lay on the couch, like the evening paper (but in full color, with video, web access, and no ink stains).

I initially decided to purchase an e-book technology after deciding to reduce my printing of massive amounts of pdfs (and thus contributing to the reduction of my carbon footprint). Although I can see the benefits of an e-reader, personally, there’s nothing like flipping through the pages of a well-work paperback, or being overwhelmed with the musty smell of a rare 18^th century leather-bound. I wrote a course paper on the history of the commonplace book—essentially an elaborated scrapbook, emerging (possibly) in the fifteenth century. Much like today’s blogs, many commonplace books were collections of writing, documents, poems, drawings, etc., each particular to the author who composed the book. These books were fascinating glimpses into the lives of early modern people, but what really struck me about the commonplace books were the personalized approach writers took with paper and ink.

Writing in the sixteenth century required a different type of skill than reading; it is quite probable that sixteenth century folks could read, but not write. So for those that mastered both skills, it appeared many chose to write about what they knew best: their lives and the lives of those of around them, capturing not only key words of wisdom, but songs of the heart, woes of the mind, and concerns of the town. A far cry from Victorian private diarists, these medieval individuals were seemingly proud of their writing skills and strove to display those skills in the best means as possible: writing to share,  teach, and notify others who could not write or perhaps even read.

Early modern books were—and are—valuable in themselves. Adrian Johns’ The Nature of the Book: Print and Knowledge in the Making (Chicago, 1998) provides a wonderful analysis of the cultural construction of the printing revolution and its impact both on readership and the value of the book, contextualizing the analysis within historical debates on the origin of the printing press, the role of the Stationer’s register and royal patents, and on the notion of literacy rights.

Printed books, in other words, have a rich and diverse history. Moreover, they create a personalized relationship between the reader and the book that I find missing in e-books (childhood trips to the library were always the highlight of my week!). I’ve never gotten on board with the new print paradigm, and am conflicted with my newfound contribution to the e-book revolution, but I do know that this is not going to stop me from visiting Amazon or my local bookstore and purchasing more print books to add to my growing collection.

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It is apparent that there is a new historiographical tide sweeping scholars and encouraging new studies and methodologies for working with scientific artifacts, objects and images. Having examined all sorts of hearing aid devices and instruments for my own research, I was automatically drawn to the “Reading Artifacts” Institute and participated in the inaugural launch last August. As anthropologists and scholars of material culture are aware, artifacts are tangible incarnations of the culture from which they emerged, providing unique information on the attitudes and behaviors of the past.

Examining artifacts as a historical source is one thing. Using artifacts as three-dimensional substitutes for the two-dimensional pages of a text is another. One of the primary goals of at the Institute was to develop a modern methodology suitable to teaching with artifacts. The successes of Rich Kramer’s seminars at Dartmouth and David Pantalony’s at University of Ottawa have demonstrated that artifacts are attractive and popular additions to general history of science courses. As participants—myself included—learned at the Institute, in practice it is often difficult to “read” an artifact without the proper methodology to guide the reading.

So how does one “read” an artifact? Moreover, is “reading” even the correct metaphor for analyzing artifacts, as a museum blog discussed recently? Fleming’s 1974 paper, “Artifact Study: A Proposed Model,”** presented a comprehensive model for interpreting an artifact, and remains a staple for material culture seminars. The Fleming framework is two-fold: classification, which can be broken down further to include the artifact’s properties (history, material, construction, design, and function), and analysis, which consists of a cultural understanding of the artifact, identification, evaluation, and interpretation. What remained clear at the Institute, however, is that the Fleming methodology is badly in need of an update, but the question remained as to how it should be modified for history of science.

Being a specialist in the history of medicine and the general history of science, I pondered whether the epistemology of artifact-reading is different for historians of science than those teaching or researching general history or material culture studies. I don’t have an answer to this question yet, but I also wonder when it even matters, since it seems to me that artifacts contain innate properties, so to speak, to dissolve the boundaries between disciplines. Thoughts on this?

*phrase from Sam Alberti, “Objects and Museums,” Isis 96 (2005): 560.
**E.M.C. Fleming, “Artifact Study: A Proposed Model,” Winterthur Portfolio vol. 9 (1974), p.153-173.

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Wellcome Trust Centre for the History of Medicine

On March 21, 2010, the United States Health Care Reform Bill passed in Capitol Hill, voting to provide medical coverage to millions of uninsured Americans. The New York Times article emphasized how Democrats hailed the votes as

“a historic advance in social justice, comparable to the establishment of Medicare and Social Security. They said the bill would also put pressure on rising health care costs and rein in federal budget deficits.”

The New York Times also captured various quotes from various Democrat Representatives, signifying the historical milestone of the bill:

“This is the Civil Rights Act of the 21^st Century” (Representative James E. Clybum of South Carolina)
“This isn’t radical reform, but it is major reform” (President Barack Obama)
The bill heralded “a new day in America” (Representative Marcy Kaptur of Ohio)

And so forth. The bottom line is this: it is clear that the Health Reform Bill was not only an important milestone in the history of the United States, but also raises significant political, social, economic, and cultural issues, and thus embodying these issues within the fabric of the nation.

10 days after the bill passed, the Wellcome Trust in London, England abruptly announced that intended to withdraw its funding from the Wellcome Trust Centre for the History of Medicine. The Center does not supply health care for its population but rather provides an institutional source for historians of medicine to evaluate the history of health and illness. In 2000 the Trust reviewed the history of medicine in the United Kingdom and explored the developments of medicine, its current status, and the role of the Center within the area. The Center has thus become an important staple in London and as a friend of mine so eloquently exclaimed, the Center has since then been considered as “the Mecca for historians of medicine.”

The Center has been committed to furthering the knowledge of medicine’s history in health and illness, not just in the United Kingdom, but also in other nations as well. The Center has produced and led by some of the most eminent historians of medicine, historians whose texts and articles built the bedrock of history of medicine courses. The late Roy Porter, wrote and edited over a hundred books and played a pivotal role in producing a new generation of social historians of medicine. Historians William Bynum, Vivian Nutton, Janet Browne, Christopher Lawrence and other wonderful scholars have worked and studied there—so has a great number of graduate students and postdocs. This is evident from the number of international scholars expressing their support against the closure.

Having already expressed worries to my fellow peers at the Institute for the History and Philosophy of Science and Technology about the place of history of medicine in HPS departments, this announcement came as a tremendous blow. I imagine its worse for those who risk losing their livelihoods with the closure, or those academics, like my supervisor, who were once trained at the Center and may lose a part of their (academic) identity. Yet, for me, this announcement places the future of the history of medicine on immensely shaky ground. To make matters worse, no reason has given for the closure—although fiscal considerations are probably the culprit— nor has a debate been held prior to the announcement.

I invite you all to sign the petition against the closure that is now online at:
www.petitiononline.com/WTCHOM/petition.html

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