You can lead a horse to water

Taking risks in education is, well, risky. As I have mentioned in several previous posts, one of my SIF assignments is to work on the hybrid U.S. history sections being offered at GSU this fall. The course is innovative in a number of ways: it takes full advantage of the D2L platform, it has it’s own, custom made (and free!) textbook, and it uses video segments, essentially little documentaries, to supplement instruction and to create a class that meets in-person once a week, and in a virtual classroom on the other. The film segments, in combination with reading from both the textbook and from primary sources, become the material on which Thursday class is based. So, the classroom is also flipped, meaning that it replaces time often spent in lecturing for time spent on discussion or other types of activities that usually get little time in survey courses.
As great as this sounds, there is a little bug in the system so far – very few students are watching the video. Because they are accessed through D2L, the number of students accessing each video can be tracked, and the results to date have been discouraging. This is frustrating – not only because of the many hours that go into producing each video segment but also because the videos are an attempt to engage learners who are supposedly visual, and who will tell you that they don’t keep up with reading because of the medium, not because they are averse to learning.

Now, as Jeff Young (one of the instructors of the course) pointed out to me yesterday, this failure may look worse simply because D2L allows it to be quantified. We can suspect that many students don’t read their books, but this is something we can’t quantify. So, the poor rates of accessing the videos (and the rapidity with which they are abandoned) may be less of a reflection of the course than of the work habits of college freshmen.

But it also reflects the importance of finding a way to maximize the leverage of the videos, to tie them into the course in such a way that students feel compelled to watch them, or are more immediately rewarded for doing so. In the scheme of things, this is a normal bump on the road of innovation, which like many things, is built on failure as much as on success.

Discussion are on-going about how to increase the use of the videos. Any suggestions from the SIF crowd?

A sample video, featuring GSU Senior Lecturer Larry Grubbs

http://youtu.be/vBGTho09wzg

Paleography and the Digital Humanities

As I discussed last week, one of the things I find most compelling about the digital humanities is the way they bring together communicative technologies from various historical epochs, creating a new medium through which some of the basic humanistic skills developed in the renaissance can continue to flourish, in the process revitalizing them and perhaps reminding a higher-education industry that is currently infatuated with high-tech, with STEM fields, and with chasing the shiny and the new, of the enduring — I would even suggest foundational value — of the humanities to knowledge.

That, however, is a bigger nut than I want to crack today. Instead, I want to focus on one teeny example of a rather un-sexy technical skill, paleography (the reading of old handwriting), and how important it is to some of the most interesting and sexy digital humanities projects being undertaken today. In the last few years, very large amounts of manuscript material from the early modern era has been scanned and made available on the internet. Yet, much of that material is largely illegible. Posting it to the web has made it accessible, which is a massive step in the direction of the democratization of knowledge. But simple availability is very different from legibility – much of this material remains for all intents and purposes inaccessible, despite being only a google search away. OCR software has enough trouble with early modern printed texts (the recent project to transcribe the entire corpus of Early English Books Online has resorted to paying humans to make transcriptions of PRINTED texts because OCR technology is too inaccurate), and with manuscripts, or with hybrid-forms such as annotated books, displaying artifacts is really only the beginning of the work necessary to make them useful to researchers, especially undergraduates and non-specialists, and to data-miners and other computer-assisted researchers.

Let me just cite one example of how 21st century communicative tools intersect with early modern ones. Oxford’s University’s Cultures of Knowledge project, which is collecting metadata from what will eventually be literally hundreds of thousands of early modern letters, is creating amazing visual representations of early modern correspondence networks like this:

Mapping Early Modern Correspondence Networks

Mapping Early Modern Correspondence Networks

Behind the fancy graphics, however, is an immense amount of bibliographic and paleographic legwork – people have to read the letters, cataloging them, and identifying names and other key pieces of metadata that make these maps possible. For the most part, this needs to be done by people who can read the original manuscript letters, very few of which have been made legible for automated data-mining.

To make that map, in other words, you have to be able to read this:

Signature of Thomas Cromwell (1485?-1540) from

Signature of Thomas Cromwell, Folger Shakespeare Library MSS X.c.141

The Hoccleve Archive and the Sudden Currency of Old-Fashioned Skills

I haven’t written yet about what is probably my personal favorite of the SIF projects, an ambitious digital humanities project called the Hoccleve Archive, which is attempt to create a digital variorum edition of Thomas Hoccleve’s early 15th century poem, the Regiment of Princes. One aspect of this poem is the complex computing and scholarly challenge of collating, displaying and digitally ‘marking-up’ a 5500 line poem which exists in 43 different manuscript versions.

Bodleian Library, Oxford

MSS. Dugdale 45, Hoccleve’s Regiment Bodleian Library, Oxford

Another Manuscript version of Hoccleve's Regiment

Another Manuscript version of Hoccleve’s Regiment



In addition to these manuscripts, the Hoccleve Archive project hopes to conserve and make accessible a huge amount of material gathered in the 1980’s and 1990’s for what turned out to be a (very productive!) failure to produce a printed variorum edition of the Regiment. This extra material, which gives the Hoccleve Archive huge head start, includes over 6000 handwritten collation sheets, and nearly 150 text-based computer files containing an archaic, but still legible orthographic and lexical mark-up of Hoccleve’s holograph manuscripts.

Hoccleve Archive Collation Folders

Hoccleve Archive Collation Folders

Using these materials, however, is far from straightforward. The mark-up of the new, all digital archive will be done XML/TEI (a specialized tag set for manuscripts and literary documents), whereas the older mark-up was done in a customized language, which the computing end of our team (Ram, Sruthi, Rushitha), are translating into XML/TEI. Figuring out how to use the handwritten collation sheets, which have been scanned, but will also need considerable work to convert into digital form, is another looming computing challenge.

I, of course, am no programmer, though I have been acquiring some XML over the last few weeks and should be fairly proficient in it soon enough. To me, what is most engaging about the project is how it uses these multiple generations of editorial tools to make visible the history of editing, and – when combined with the pedagogical features that the Hoccleve Archive hopes to build – to teach students the techniques of textual scholarship.

The idea is to use this collection of artefacts to turn the Hoccleve Archive into both a home for Hoccleve’s Middle English text and for three historical levels of its editorial processing, ranging late medieval manuscript production and transmission through the early days of the digital humanities, and into the present. Our hope is that we can build interest not only in the poems as poems, but as platforms for the study of the historical production of texts and of contemporary digital practice. Much of this is down the road a ways (maybe years off), but the idea is to build a crowd-source style computing platform that will allow a community of interested researchers and of teachers to work on the edition of the Regiment. This will not only serve to provide labor for what is a massive scholarly project, but it will give large numbers of people the opportunity to develop meaningful skills as scholarly editors.

To me this is pure beauty. One of the things I have been most excited to discover about the digital humanities is the extent to which they can revitalize very-old fashioned, dusty, and venerable skills we associate with the most pedantic, least applicable branches of the humanities. Yet, as these tremendous archival materials continue to come online, they pose huge questions about who will know how to handle them and make their ‘translation’ from physical objects to digital representations meaningful and rich. This is work for people trained in paleography, collation, descriptive bibliography, the technical vocabulary of poet texts, meters, rhyme schemes, philology and a host of other skills that are just as necessary to make our image of a digital archive functional as are computing and programming skills.

Getting more from images in the classroom

The Armada Portrait of Queen Elizabeth

As I mentioned last week, one of my main tasks as a SIF fellow is to help generate video segments, essentially small documentaries, for GSU’s hybrid U.S. History survey course. Over the last week, I have been learning Adobe Premier Pro, so that I can transform a-roll footage of historians talking with each other about important historic events and phenomena into more engaging film. One of the questions I have been mulling over as I have been leaning the mechanics of video editing is how to maximize the pedagogical value of the films we are making. There is a kind of tension, hopefully a creative one over the long term, between the teacher in me (I have taught non-hybrid versions of the course several times), who thinks above all in terms of exposing students to important material, and to the complexity of historical circumstance, and the novice film-maker who is under the understandable mandate of producing a video that students will actually watch. All of the complexities of the discussion, which is a kind of wonderful dialectical back and forth between two historians trying to make sense of a complicated era, are lost if the audience for the film isn’t listening while watching. So, Ameer and I have been grappling with this question of how to use video as an engagement point, not a distraction, to produce videos that are as meaty as the lectures they are intended to replace, but hopefully will hold the attention of students in a way that a simple video of a lecture is unlikely to do.

As we have started working through these issues, I have been thinking about the pedagogical use of images. I use images a lot in my classroom — my PowerPoints are essential composed of maps and images — I avoid text whenever possible because I have found that students tend to write down whatever words appear on a PowerPoint and think they have ‘learned’ whatever it is they need to know about that topic. Like many teachers, I have spent a fair amount of time choosing images for these slides, picking those that seem especially rich, historically significant, or include telling details that can open up historical understanding. For example, if I want to show them an image of Queen Elizabeth, I’ll use the so-called “Armada Portrait” — because of its background panels depicting the defeat of the Spanish Armada, the way Elizabeth’s hand rests on a globe showing the Americas, and with it her imperial aspirations, details that make it the perfect chose for my class and for the story about Elizabeth that my students need to learn.

Yet, as a PowerPoint slide, I imagine that few students ever really pick up on these details unless I specifically call them to their attention. Indeed, they may not even show up clearly on the projector screens, and thus the information I’d love them to see — and the habit it fosters of looking closely and paying attention to detail (one of the basic skills of a historian, and indeed of any kind of scholar) — are essentially lost opportunities.

I can get around this by occasionally pausing to consider detailed analysis of an image. For instance, we always do an exercise with John Gast’s American Progress, we I get students to break the painting into pieces and identify individual elements of the ideology of Western Expansion that the image contains. But, over the course of a semester, there are limited opportunities for this type of exercise.

This brings me back to the video project and one of the great advantages that it has over the lecture-power point combo. With video, we can use the camera to direct the eye, to linger on details, to zoom in, pan away, and otherwise provide a ‘reading’ of the image in a way that goes well beyond what I have seen anyone do with a power point.

Making e-reading more productive in the classroom

One of the major projects that I will be working on this fall is a project coming out of the history department’s efforts to re-imagine the US history survey (2110). This is perhaps the key course offering of the entire history department. Certainly, it is the primary, and in many cases only, exposure that GSU students will have to history as an academic discipline. Two faculty members in the department, Rob Baker & Jeff Youngs, have been working for over a year on their version of the course, which will be a hybrid class featuring a custom-built and custom-written multimedia textbook. The course is being offered this fall for the first time as a hybrid course, meaning that students meeting physically only 1 time per week, using the other course period to engage with video segments, online activities (such as quizzes), and the traditional staple of 2110, reading assignments from a textbook coupled with a hefty dose of primary documents. As a SIF fellow, I’ll be helping primarily with editing ‘raw’ video segments, most of which take the form of conversations or debates between historians about important historical topics, adding visuals to the footage to make a more engaging viewing experience.

Today, though, I want to talk a little bit out the readings for Rob & Jeff’s version of 2110. Both the primary sources and the textbook itself exist as PDF files, which students access and read through D2l (Desire-to-Learn, GSU’s commercial class portal pages). Having all the readings available as PDF serves a number of very important purposes, not least of which is that they provide a much more convenient and flexible way of giving students free access to course material than the old standby, library reserves. Textbook costs, while not as outrageous in history as they are in many other disciplines, are still a significant expense for any college student, and even more so at schools like Georgia State, which educates an abnormally high percentage of students with very limited financial means.

In the bigger picture, all of us now spend at least some time reading on PDF’s. For all practical purposes, academic journals are essentially now little more than part of the citation for a PDF file, and many of us are interacting with books this way as well. Even an early modernist like me mostly interacts with PDF facsimiles of old books, rather the real thing. There is little doubt that there are huge advantages to PDF’s. They are more convenient, more portable, and — take my beloved 16th and 17th books for example — much easier to get ahold of. The work I do would be almost impossible without PDF’s without long periods of travel, since most of the primary sources I need for my dissertation certainly aren’t available at GSU, and very few are even in the much better-stocked rare books libraries at major public or private universities in the southeastern U.S.

But for all their strength’s, PDF’s have significant disadvantages. Studies have shown that reading comprehension is lessened by interacting with material on a computer screen. I suspect that a lot of the reason for that is that PDF reading can easily be very passive. Good, well-trained readers can compensate for this. For example, I take pretty thorough notes in Zotero while I read material on PDF, which at least provides some of the advantages of writing/paraphrasing material that note-taking offers. But, many of the students in 2110 are not well-trained readers, and I worry that relying heavily of PDF’s might aggravate their worst habits as readers. In particular, it can discourage marking up texts, highlighting, underlining, making marginal notations, etc., all of which increase comprehension and make it easy to return to and reuse texts once they have been read.

Fortunately, there are ways around this. Even the basic adobe software needed to open PDF’s includes a highlighting feature and a ‘sticky’ note feature that can be used to make some kinds of notations on the PDF file. I know there are commercial software packages available as well that might offer more robust annotation features, especially the ability to write on PDF’s using a stylus (which might mimic some of the enhanced mnemonic advantages of a pen over typing). I have not personally used any of these, but perhaps some of my other SIFers may have a recommendation. If there is a standout product, perhaps GSU should consider adding it to the list of software it provides free or at reduced cost to students.

As a teacher, I think it is important that if we are going to us PDF files in the classroom we take the time to show students how to make notes on their texts, even if it is only the highlighting/sticky note options available through adobe acrobat. Many students will not know that these features exist, and may well use them if a few minutes of class time were spent familiarizing them with what they are and how they can be helpful. Perhaps it would even be worth requiring students to turn in their PDF’s. This would be a simple assignment that could yield useful information about how students are reading the assigned material, and give instructors an idea of how many of their students are picking up on the major points and arguments of the reading.

This is a simple little thing. But I think it is an important thing. Even a simple piece of software like a PDF viewer can be used more or less effectively, and in this case, meaningful gains in student comprehension and in their development as active and engaged readers might be possible with a small investment of class-room time.

Welcome to the Table-Book

I’ve decided to name my SIF blog after an essentially forgotten technology of the Renaissance. Having spent the summer somewhat schizophrenically split between preparations for a fellowship in digital pedagogy and straining my eyes over early modern manuscripts and four hundred year old books, I have been thinking a lot about how the communication revolution that we are living through, excited by and struggling with, compares with the equally powerful communicative revolutions of the Renaissance. The classical way of framing these transformations is the story of how the printing press enabled the explosive growth of “print culture,” which is now rapidly retreating before the dawning of the digital age. There are a lot of problematic and useful aspects of this line of thought, and I hope to use this blog in part as a forum for thinking them through. But today, I want to start with something much simpler, modest, and concrete, the table-book.

Table-books were composed of specially manufactured paper, coated with gesso (a plaster) and glue so that the pages could be written on with pen, or more commonly a stylus, and then erased. Though they survive only in small numbers, table-books appear to have been in relatively common use in early modern England, by a wide variety of users. Many extant table-books were bound inside almanacs, books marketed towards merchants and relatively popular audiences. Some were ornately bound, presented as gifts to the nobility, even to Queen Elizabeth herself. Scholars and students would likely have used them quite often in the course of their studies.

Writing tables with a kalender for xxiiii. yeeres, with sundry necessarie rules (London, 1604), Folger Shakespeare Library (STC 24284), used by permission of the Folger Shakespeare Library under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

Table-books were technologically important in part because of their portability — when used with a stylus, they allowed a writer to make jottings and notes in much more causal settings than was possible using a quill and inkhorn. Moreover, they facilitated the pedagogical principles of commonplacing and memory-building that were at the heart of renaissance education. Table-books were used as a place for note-taking while reading, allowing students to quickly and relatively indiscriminately collect extracts, notes, and aphorisms (“commonplaces”), as they read. These would later be transferred to paper and ink when the student recopied them into their commonplace book. This may seem redundant, but the act of copying twice served important intellectual purposes. In the first instance, it reinforced memory, taking double advantage of the memory-enhancing qualities of writing something down. Second, it gave students the chance to sharpen their discrimination by deciding which of their initial notes warranted secondary, and more permanent, entry into a commonplace book, and — ideally at least — into the mind the student.

Like the technologies we will be working with in SIF, table-books sat at the intersection of broad social and economic forces, pedagogy, and technological change. In the early modern era, these included not only the much-celebrated advent of the printing press, but a much less renowned, but perhaps equally significant set of changes spawned by the economics of cheaper paper. Paper, at least as much as the printed letters sometimes applied to it, greatly facilitated the spread of literacy in early modern England, enabling a history of writing to develop alongside the better-understood and much more storied history of reading. In -the renaissance, the intersection of the new cultures of paper and ink would form a distinctive pedagogy grounded in the reading, extraction, and re-writing of classical texts, and to the cultivation of a model of learning rooted in memory.  It is arguably memory itself that ts being most transformed by the computing revolution that universities are struggling to adapt to and understand. The vast expansion and exponentially increasing cheapness of digital memory has displaced the renaissance emphasis on personal memory within pedagogy. Google is becoming the vault of memory on both a cultural and an individual level. I don’t bring this up to deride it or celebrate it – my point is neither to play the futurist or the Luddite.  The tension between technologies of learning and memory is hardly a product of the internet era. This is another reason to be thinking about table-books: as metaphor they force us to think not only about inscription but erasure. Indeed, in Hamlet and other early modern texts, table-books were used as symbols of both memory and forgetting, and early modern scholars felt acutely how printing could enable, overwhelm, and threaten memory. What I think does sometimes get lost now is the urgency of this tension, and the recognition of the value of personal knowledge in an era when most information is just a few keystrokes out of reach. Memory, and the possibilities and limits of technology as tools for memory, is something that I suggest we be thinking about in SIF.

Folger V.a.480 folio 8v-9r. Used by permission of the Folger Shakespeare Library under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

[This post draws on the excellent article on table-books by Peter Stallybrass, Roger Chartier, J. Franklin Mowery, and Heather Wolfe, “Hamlet’s Tables and the Technologies of Writing in Renaissance England,” Shakespeare Quarterly 55:4 (Winter 2004): 379-419.]