Excursus: The Pipe as Rhetorical Artifact

Perhaps you may have noticed that smoking pipes are cropping up more lately in film and public consciousness. To be fair, pipes enjoyed a similar resurgence when Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings first came out ten years ago and many current, younger pipe smokers trace their initial interest to this film series. Still, I recently watched Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows during which I noticed more pipes than in the previous film. In the first film, Sherlock is the only pipe smoker but in the second film, Sherlock not only is a prominent pipe smoker but he smokes three different pipes. Also, other characters and random people passing by are smoking pipes throughout the film. Why is this? Why now?

The Three Pipe Problem

Of course pipe smoking is a significant part of both the Sherlock Holmes and Lord of the Rings (LTOR) canons. Still, with the anti-smoking gestalt today, why are movies including pipe smoking in the modern depictions? Certainly traditional pipe smokers identify with the Sherlock Holmes stories and many pipe smokers become "Holmesians" or those who study the Holmes cannon. Many pipe clubs, like the Sherlock Holmes Pipe Club of Boston, tie their identity to Holmes and Watson as the define themselves as pipe smokers. Some even emulate Holmes when they describe the severity of problems as taking one, two or three pipes to solve:

“As a rule,” said Holmes, “the more bizarre a thing is the less mysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless crimes which are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the most difficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this matter.”

“What are you going to do, then?” I asked.

“To smoke,” he answered. “It is quite a three pipe problem, and I beg that you won’t speak to me for fifty minutes.” He curled himself up in his chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his hawk-like nose, and there he sat with his eyes closed and his black clay pipe thrusting out like the bill of some strange bird. I had come to the conclusion that he had dropped asleep, and indeed was nodding myself, when he suddenly sprang out of his chair with the gesture of a man who has made up his mind and put his pipe down upon the mantelpiece.[1]

Perhaps fans of both Sherlock Holmes and LOTR represent niche groups or subcultures of geekdom (a collection of people who avidly follow and/or consume a certain genre or hobby) that have simply edged closer to mainstream consciousness. In order to attract the longterm fan of these stories, these movies use pipes as rhetorical touchstones to identify the film adaptations with these enthusiasts. Certainly pipes are identified with other subcultures of geekdom.

The Steampunk Pipe

Recently, the steampunk aesthetic is gaining in popularity. This genre has been showcased on episodes of Castle and many consider the recent Sherlock Holmes movies to be part of the steampunk movement. Definitions of steampunk are contested but overall it seems to be a retro-futuristic sub-culture of science fiction that focuses on an alternate Victorian Era history and steam power. A good explanation of this definition problem is found on Steampunk.com:

To me, Steampunk has always been first and foremost a literary genre, or least a subgenre of science fiction and fantasy that includes social or technological aspects of the 19th century (the steam) usually with some deconstruction of, reimagining of, or rebellion against parts of it (the punk). Unfortunately, it is a poorly defined subgenre, with plenty of disagreement about what is and is not included. [2]

Because steampunk identifies with Victorian England, many people who participate in this aesthetic use pipes to represent steampunk. Certainly many people smoked pipes during this era; in fact the Sherlock Holmes stories took place in Victorian London. Yeah, it was a good time to be a pipesmoker and many of the pipe styles we see today were originally shaped and defined during this time.

Often steampunk participants will use traditional briar, meerschaum or calabash pipes to define their characters but some pipe makers are experimenting with the genre in their pipecraft. For instance, this pipe was made by Nate King who enjoys the steampunk genre. Although he designed this pipe earlier, a steampunk author purchased this pipe and is going to incorporate it into his illustrations [3]. Nate is now looking at expanding his steampunk pipes into other styles and shapes; personally, I am looking forward to see how he incorporates gears into his designs.

Steampunk pipes seem to function in a similar manner to that of those portrayed in Sherlock Holmes and LOTR movies: they function as rhetorical touchstones that point the attention of the observer to those worlds created by the participants of the respective worlds. However, pipes are appearing more often in movies outside of these genres. Why is this?

The Hipster Pipe

Hipsters are becoming more popular in the USA. This group, once seen as a small sub-culture, is growing. More movies are being made depicting hipsters as mainstream or at least equal to being a young adult today. Hipsters are considered easy to recognize and are defined as:

America does have a long love affair with being hip — not only up to date and au courant, but ahead of the curve. The Urban Dictionary defines hipsters as "a subculture of men and women typically in their 20s and 30s who value independent thinking, counter-culture, progressive politics, an appreciation of art and indie-rock, creativity, intelligence, and witty banter." [4]

Apparently, many feel that hipsters are rejecting cigarettes and turning more and more to pipes. Pipes are turning up more and more in pictures of hipsters found at various websites like LATFH. Certainly "drug-treatment" organizations are taking notice:

While parents were busy warning against the dangers of cigarettes, two new dangerous habits have snuck in, drawing the attention of teens and young adults. Hookahs and pipes are finding popularity among a new generation of hipsters who think the habits are less dangerous. [5]

Traditionally, many pipe smokers can identify with some elements of the hipster. Pipe smokers are often seen as being more intelligent, independent, and even counter-cultural. However, many hipsters may be adopting pipe smoking because it is "so not cool it is cool." In this way, the pipe serves as a rhetorical touchstone that invokes images of Ward Cleaver or even Hugh Hefner circa 1960 but in ironic ways. In other words, the hipster pipe may serve as an ironic iconoclast to modern pop culture by reframing past cultural memory of 1955 in ways that are seen as individualistic or independent rather than collective norm.

The Rhetorical Pipe

Certainly pipes and pipe smoking is increasing in the public awareness through film. Whether or not these appearances are tailored for specific sub-cultures within American pop culture, pipes do serve as rhetorical artifacts within film, literature, and other media today. Pipes can set the mood of a scene, sell the authenticity of a character, identify with a specific genre or world, or even serve as a way to reject modern culture. It can invoke a sense of nostalgia or fantasy for the observer. For many, it is a defining characteristic of a chosen lifestyle. When you, O' Gentle Reader, see a pipe or pipe smoker, what do you think? What do you feel? How does it affect your life?

-Safari Bob

References
[1] The Red Headed League by Conan Doyle
[2] http://www.steampunk.com/what-is-steampunk/
[3] http://www.natekingpipes.com/2011/12/13-11-gear-punk/
[4] http://www.npr.org/2011/11/16/142387490/the-hipsterfication-of-america
[5] http://www.thecyn.com/drug-treatment/hipsters-turn-to-hookahs-pipes.html

Book Review: Writing with Authority by David Foster

In Writing with Authority: Student’s Roles as Writers in Cross-National Perspective, David Foster centers the question of how students develop as writers within a cross-national context by comparing American and German student writing processes. American undergraduate student writers tend to operate under a semester-long deadline while German students often develop longer research agendas due to fewer writing timetables. American students operate in a highly regulated environment controlled by institutional administration while German students are given more freedom and forced to take a more active role in education—even to the point of being responsible for recording the amount of credits they earn each semester.

Foster’s goals in this book are (1) to identify crucial differences between German and American students’ development as academic writers, (2) to determine what this comparison suggests about American students’ roles and practices as academic writers, and (3) to propose how American undergraduate writing can be altered by integrating self-directed, goal-driven, knowledge-based writing into curriculum from the onset of college study. Ultimately, he argues that values of setting long-term goals, self-directed planning and writing, and interactive participation in knowledge communities be incorporated into student writing through changes in undergraduate American curriculum.

In order to better gauge the writing of American students, Foster compares the writing process of American students with that of German students. He conducted five case studies where he compares pairs of students, one from Germany and one from the United States, enrolled in similar programs and in a similar year of study. The participants represent four different disciplines: History, Religious Studies, Political Science, and English/Journalism. Foster clearly articulates his methods of research that include (1) interviews and student descriptions of educational backgrounds, literacy histories, and ongoing writing activities; (2) interviews with teachers to determine descriptions of pedagogical goals and practices towards writing; and (3) Foster’s personal observation of classroom and individual activities.

Foster describes himself as a participant/observer and strives for transparency by providing complete copies of interview questions administered to students and teachers in his research. Also he attempts to establish context for his research by divulging how he identified and analyzed specific sources of data including (1) his personal narrative as to how he became involved with both American and German students, (2) his analytic strategy for coding transcripts, and (3) descriptions of both universities and participant biographies.

The heart of Foster’s argument is that student writers should be challenged by academic institutions to write as transformative knowledge-makers through extended, goal-driven writing projects. This endeavor is woven throughout the book as he demonstrates how German students tend to write in this manner. In chapter 5, Foster offers a portfolio-based model course outline for a semester-long writing course as well as two models for project-based yearlong writing assignment. These models rely on establishing writing goals, peer critiques, recursive revision, and reflection—all valuable but hardly new.

The true innovation and difficulty of Foster’s pedagogical model is to establish writing projects across semesters and across disciplines. He argues for three goals of change: (1) to develop seminar-like courses at all levels of study that focuses on the student’s extended research goals, (2) to build extended writing expectations that support cumulative writing projects that incorporate courses across programs and disciplines, and (3) to encourage faculty to shape student roles as self-directed, long-term planners, researchers, and writers. These are all worthy goals but difficult to implement.

Writing with Authority constitutes a solid approach to analyzing student writing through case study. The book contributes to the field of Composition and Rhetoric by comparing the writing strategies of students from two different cultures and by providing some insight into how to research writing through case study as a participant/observer. Foster’s conclusions are hardly revolutionary or expeditious; this book may best serve as a text for an introductory Qualitative Field Research Methods class.

-Safari Bob

Foster, D. (2006). Writing with Authority: Student’s Roles as Writers in Cross-National Perspective. Carbondale, Illinois: Southern Illinois University Press, 193 pp.

Book Review: Starring the Text by Alan G. Gross

In Starring the Text: The Place of Rhetoric in Science Studies, Alan G. Gross examines the role of science texts as persuasive communication by applying the traditions of rhetorical analysis to the writings of science greats such as Copernicus, Darwin, and Newton. Scientific advancement is expressed through written communication including texts, tables, and visual representations of explanation and argument. Gross asserts that “the texts of science are not just texts; they are what the Bible once was: revealed truth about the causal structure of the universe” (p. ix).

To accomplish his analysis of scientific communication, Gross conducts a series of case studies centered on specific scientific texts to demonstrate the use of rhetorical conventions, by the authors, to argue for their findings and persuade their peers to accept their positions. In doing so, Gross implements rigorous rhetorical analysis to illuminate how the writers of scientific texts discovered, presented, and contested the results of their search for understanding. In this book, Gross presents his findings in four major sections.

In Part One, Gross defends the necessity for a rhetorical analysis of science writing. He explores the history of rhetoric of science and exposes how rhetoric is used to promote scientific writing and the techniques of persuasion used to sway audiences to accept findings and theories. Specifically, Gross provides an excellent brief history of rhetoric of science in Chapter 1 that demonstrates a personal knowledge of how this valuable academic discipline developed a critical voice within scientific writing.

Gross then turns his attention to explore the limits of rhetorical analysis of science. In Part Two, he explores the rhetorical construct of taxonomy as persuasion to accept evolutionary theory and how both Newton and Descartes used rhetoric to each promote their own theories of optics. Although Gross does not assert that a full rhetorical description of scientific texts is possible, he does use these case studies to suggest that “rhetoric is a discipline; moreover, its disciplinary status entitles us to speak of all written and visual records of the scientific from a rhetorical perspective” (p. 78).

In Part Three, Gross explores the range of rhetorical analysis of science by examining how evolution evolved in Darwin’s notebooks, articulating the importance of peer-review in certifying consensus within a scientific community, and tracing heliocentricity as the origin of rational conversation which Gross asserts was an essential ingredient to the spread of Copernicanism in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. In all, Gross conducts five case studies in this section not to demonstrate that science is rhetoric but that no one discipline “can be relied on to provide a fully adequate explanation of what science is and how it works” (p. 141).

Finally, Gross attempts to place rhetoric within scientific inquiry by exploring the compatibility of rhetoric and sociology as well as psychology and the history of science. Of particular value in Part Four is Chapter 11 where Gross analyzes the Newton-Leibniz debate to demonstrate the role of priority in the social invention of scientific history. Because scientific advancements may happen nearly simultaneously, “the actual effect of an emphasis on priority may undermine its intended effect, the encouragement of scientific advance. Every scientific paper instantiates the tension created by these opposing tendencies” (p. 178).

Starring The Text represents a major re-tooling of Gross’ earlier book, The Rhetoric of Science and constitutes a shift from arguments anchored in the rhetorical to the philosophical. This book offers a major contribution to the field of rhetoric of science and is a must read for both students and scholars of this field as well as technical communicators who specialize within this context. In addition, this book offers and excellent history of rhetorical scientific criticism and should be considered as a text for the classroom.

-Safari Bob

Gross, A. G. (2006). Starring the Text: The Place of Rhetoric in Science Studies. Carbondale, Illinois: Southern Illinois University Press, 216 pp.

2011 Rocky Mountain Modern Language Association Conference

On 8 October 2011, I was fortunate enough to present a paper at the 2011 Rocky Mountain Modern Languages Association in Scottsdale Arizona. I had never been to Scottsdale but I found it beautiful. The weather was perfect and I had a great time wondering around the Old Town district. Unfortunately, I did not get to visit The Poisoned Pen; an independent bookstore that specializes in crime fiction, carrying British and Canadian as well as American titles. I love mysteries and I would have spent way too much time and money there. Still, I would that I could have visited; next time!

At least the conference was great! Here is my proposal:

Mining YouTube to Research “Real-World” Intercultural Communication Contexts for the Service-Level Technical Writing Classroom

Abstract

Analyzing and articulating different audiences is a significant challenge for students of technical communication. Teaching intercultural writing to beginning technical communication students can often seem manufactured and artificial. By exploring cultural expectations in “real-world” contexts, instructors of technical communication can provide these future practitioners of technical writing the tools necessary to identify and articulate specific targeted audiences within a global environment.

This paper/presentation examines how to best use YouTube, a popular video sharing website on which both companies and consumers can upload and view videos, to study and identify differing intercultural “real-world” communication contexts. To do so, I will first explore Edward Hall’s heuristic of High- and Low-context cultures and how culture is manifested in his “situation frame”, the smallest identifiable unit of culture. Next, I will demonstrate where to find and how to use videos posted on YouTube to provide insight to technical writing students into the cultural norms and expectations of a given, targeted, cross-cultural audience. Finally, I will explore how to synthesize the cultural research conducted by students on YouTube with Hall’s heuristic of High- and Low-context into explicit writing strategies to a targeted, “real-world” audience.

Essentially, I introduce Edward T. Hall's heuristic of High/Low Context and demonstrate how students can collect data from cultures by analyzing primary sources: TV commercials. Using Hall's model, students can conduct analysis on these commercials and construct rhetorical strategies--based on Hall's model--to reach their targeted audience. For instance, this commercial is targeted to Americans:

Here you can see how the authors demonstrate the features, explain the rationale behind everything, and privilege the technology--all signs of a Low Context culture. Now look at this commercial for French consumers:

This commercial is different in that it focuses on human relations, unspoken rules of behavior, and the technology is not privileged--all signs of a High Context culture. Although this is a simplistic example, students can learn more by searching more commercials or focusing on one product and researching how this product is marketed to different cultures.

Here are my slides:

If you are so inclined, or if you suffer from insomnia, you can read more about my conference presentations at Academia.edu.

-Safari Bob

Presentation to The TTU Secular Student Society

On Monday, 15 November 2010 I had the honor to address the TTU Secular Student Society concerning the topic "Is science a religion?" This event was open to the public and took place in Holden Hall on campus. The lecture hall was full and I was expecting a good mixture of those in both the skeptic and religious camps. Unfortunately, not as many pro-religion people attended but it was till a good discussion. Here are my thoughts on the talk which certainly could have been much clearer that night.

In this presentation I argued four main points: (1) Both camps use similar (or even the same) terms but with different meanings, (2) neither camp is composed solely of idiots, (3) each camp privileges different kinds of evidence and (4) decision makers of education policy are not really stakeholders in the debate (or do not really see themselves as such).

Both camps use similar (or even the same) terms but with different meanings.

Consider the four reasons that Carl Sagan proposed for studying science:



These are all great reasons to study science but if one were to replace "science" with "religion", one could make the same argument. In the past, Christianity was seen (especially in the colonial powers) as a means to escape poverty. Most any religion argues that it best explains the "deeper mysteries of life" while warning of the technological perils created by modern society. Most religions also see themselves as compatible to democracy; only some few religious fundamentalists would quibble with that. For someone not in the debate, this looks similar.

Also, for most scientists, religion is not seen as falsifiable; this is in some ways a mistake. True, no one has devised a means to test for God but religion is flexible and does correct itself to adapt to cultural norms. Once, the Quakers did not use cars because it was deemed "worldly". Now, they do as long as it is simple, black, and with no radio. This is but one example of how religion adapts and morphs to the current needs of its members. For many people, this is quite similar to the notion of science changing through evidence. Although the change may be slower, change does happen and, to the outsider, this is similar to falsification.

Neither camp are idiots.

This should be obvious. Many pro-religion and pro-science people are highly educated and intelligent. What constitutes as evidence, however, is what is different. One may not agree but this does not mean that they are ignorant sheep, heathens who "God has darkened their intellect", or idiots. They simply believe differently (and with good reasons) according to their world views. If each side cannot summon respect, each should, at least, be gracious.

Both religion and science do study similar social effects, teleology, and cosmology. This desire to understand the world may incubate competing dialectics which seem similar to the outsider:



Both camps are interested in understanding the world but go about it in different ways.

Each camp privileges different kinds of evidence.

One aspect that religion and science have in common is that they both are built on underlying assumptions, albeit they are different ones, i.e., each discipline has its own set of assumptions. Not only do religion and science rest on differing underlying assumptions, only one -- science -- goes about rationally testing its assumptions.

- Gottlieb, S. (1997, April 8). Religion & Science: The Best of Enemies, The Worst of Friends. The Harbinger.

When one asks "What is the evidence?" during this debate, each camp believes that they have overwhelming evidence for their position. This is because each camp privileges what kinds of argument constitutes evidence. Both camps may use various methods of evidence, but each camp privileges what is the best kind of evidence as rational. This is confusing for people who are trying to understand the debate.

In general, science prefers inductive reasoning. Most people see a simplistic example of this in police procedure TV shows such as Sherlock or CSI. Certainly the scientific method uses this line of reasoning in order to present evidence of a scientific or empirical understanding of nature. This line of reasoning is contingent on observation and extrapolation based on empirical evidence. This lies at the heart of science and may seem to be unfair to religious thinkers; after all, who has observed anything beyond 100 years ago? How can tradition be understood using this line of reasoning?

Religion, on the other hand, tends to prefer deductive reasoning in its investigation of reality. Most people would equate deductive reasoning as a series of "if/then" statements. Scientists may use this reasoning to create a hypothesis but certainly not to argue conclusions. For religious thinkers, however, this line of reasoning tends to be acceptable to discover understanding about God, social practice, and the world. Of course scientists may concede that this may be a good start for investigation but how can one say its definitive?

My point here is that both systems of evidence are rational--from each perspective. Science is based on observations of nature while religion is based on deductions from tradition. This needs to be understood, articulated, and defined before a meaningful debate can occur with any hope of resolution.

Decision makers of education policy are not really stakeholders in the debate.

Most people in the United States are woefully educated in both science and religion. Even people who practice a given religion really know little about the religion they practice--let alone any other religion--and have difficulty in conversing in even their own practices. For many people, religion is more of a social institution where practitioners simply attend occasional services and celebrate life goals, such as marriage or baptism, or holidays. This is lost in the cacophony of fundamentalist voices who often speak the loudest--regardless of religious or atheistic worldview--but most people view themselves outside of the battle. To these people, scientism and religion look quite similar so why not teach both? For many people, the big bang and the Genesis account are separated by context, one in church and one in the classroom, but both are just as unlikely or inscrutable. After all, how does this effect real day-to-day life?

Religion has the advantage of tradition and that it does impact (albeit occasionally) their lives in a more visible way. Science is often understood in terms of technology--most of which is hidden--and in the form of the high-paying jobs that "may exist" in the future. Eventually, if proponents of science education do not change their tone and tactics, these decision-makers will eventually elect to just teach both views because it is simply easier.

Also, we live in a postmodern world, like it or not. In the modern era, science was king and empirical evidence was privileged over philosophical conclusions. This has changed. Most people are accustomed to considering competing ideas and weighing the "pros and cons" of both based on what they believe is true. Decision-makers will have no trouble presenting both and letting students decide for themselves.

Conclusion

Science and religion are conceptually similar. They both seek to explain the world, through an ill-defined ideology, in which their participants exist. However, they are functionally dissimilar because of potential empirical falsification. In short, religion seeks truth from which to identify laws. Science seeks to identify laws from which to garner truth. Because of empirical falsification, science is not a religion within the context of a science classroom.

Still, they do seem similar to outsiders. This must be taken into account for advocates of science if they truly want to keep science out of the classroom. Pejorative attacks will only harm their cause. This is the classic emic/etic debate. Of course there are identifiable differences when one is in one camp or the other but, from the outside looking in, decision-makers will have difficulty in seeing just what the big fight is all about.

-Safari Bob

2010 Rocky Mountain Modern Language Association Conference

On 14 October 2010, I was fortunate to present a paper at the 2010 Rocky Mountain Modern Language Association (RMMLA) conference in Albuquerque, NM. Now I love Albuquerque and I have attended some conference there every year since 2006 (5 total) so I was really hoping to get to participate. Once I got there, however, I could little believe how friendly and open the other conference attendees were both at my presentation and out by the coffee/tea bar. In addition, I listened to some fine papers in both Technical communication and literature. I hope that I will be able to attend next year in Scottsdale, AZ and, if you study literature, writing, or technical communication, you should too. Here is a snapshot of my presentation:

Multi-dimensional Audience Analysis: Synthesizing Technical Expertise and Cultural Dimensions as Audience Heuristic

Abstract
Analyzing and articulating different audiences is a significant challenge for students of technical communication. Instructors of technical communication can provide these future practitioners with the tools to accurately identify and profile specific audiences by introducing heuristics that synthesize dimensions of technical expertise and culture. By practicing how to use this heuristic in ‘real-world’ contexts, instructors can provide students the tools necessary to identify and articulate specific targeted audiences within a global environment.

In this presentation, I first briefly examine two common audience analysis heuristics: technical expertise and dimensions of culture. Both approaches can provide valuable guidelines for practitioners of technical communication to assemble effective audience analyses for their writing projects.

Next, I articulate how technical communicators can benefit from incorporating these heuristics into the classroom. Specifically, technical communication students can function as symbolic-analytic workers and information architects as they synthesize technical expertise with cultural dimensions in order to analyze a specific audience for a deliverable such as technical instructions.

Finally, I offer a pedagogical approach to introducing heuristics of technical expertise and cultural dimensions into the service-level technical communication classroom. Specifically, I introduce my heuristic approach to audience analysis in the classroom: The Technical Frame.

Presentation Slides





















If you are so inclined, or if you suffer from insomnia, you can read more about my conference presentations at Academia.edu.

-Safari Bob

Dreadnought by Cherie Priest

Dreadnought is the second book by Cherie Priest in the steampunk Clockwork Century series. The first book in the series, Boneshaker, was quite well received and features a strong female protagonist with memorable characters. She continues that tradition in this book.

As the story begins, we find the heroine of the story, Vinita "Mercy" Lynch, working in Virginia as a nurse in a war hospital that serves the South during this alternate history of America. She soon receives news that her husband, who was fighting for the Union, has died in a POW camp. Soon after, she learns that her estranged father, who she has not seen since she was very young, is deathly ill and he requests that she come to see him--in Seattle, WA. Having no reason to stay in Richmond, she decides to travel alone through the war, across a dangerous and unincorporated western prairie and over the Rocky Mountains to a strange city on the other side of the continent.

Along the way, she travels by dirigible, steam boat, and the infamous Union-operated steam engine Dreadnought, a terrifying weapon of war that often transports the dreadful steam-powered "walkers" of mass martial destruction. She also becomes involved in a political struggle between the Union, the Confederacy, the Texan Republic and Mexico--all seeking the answer to this question: What happened to a lost legion of Mexican soldiers and why are they eating people in Utah?

I quite enjoyed this book. I love the steampunk genre but Priest does a good job of writing her protagonist as an ordinary human being just doing her best to survive the strange circumstances in which she finds herself. Her narrative is tight, descriptive and introspective. For instance:

She felt alone, in the middle of everybody--even the other civilians who hunkered in the ceter passenger car and read books or played cards or sipped out of flasks to pass the time. She was the only medical professional of any sort on board, which meant that every stubbed toe, every rheumy eye, and every cough gravitated her way for analysis and treatment. It was the nature of the beast, she supposed, but even these small ailments did little to punctuate the wary boredom [1, p. 296].

This humanizing, descriptive prose also extends to action passages:

The hum started slow, and low; it began distant, and thundering, and rough. A cloud clearing its throat, or a mountain shrugging off a small avalanche. A windmill caught in a gale, shuddering and flapping. The conductor called for it, saying, "More hydrogen! Divert it from the secondary boiler! Just power the plow first--we won't move without it!" With more fuel, the hum came louder, and steadier. It went from the crooked fan blade, unbalanced and wobbling, to a smooth and vocal growl that rose up so loud that it almost (not quite, but almost) dampened the sound of Theodora Clay and the men in the passenger car firing; the Mexican inspector, still upright, still shooting, and now openly crying; and the undead hoards oncoming [1, p. 356].

Overall, this is a good, solid read that delivers action, adventure and dirigibles. What is not to love about that? It also touches on race relations, class distinctions and gender roles but all in the modern understanding of each. Still, if you enjoyed Boneshaker, this novel does provide a less pessimistic view of the world (even though its troubles deepen for the entire continent) while continuing the overall tale. I recommend it.

-Safari Bob

[1] Priest, C. (2010). Dreadnought. New York: Tom Doherty Associates. ISBN: 978-0-7653-2578-5

Postmodern Ethnography in Standing Ground by Thomas Buckley

In his book, Standing Ground, Thomas Buckley uses postmodernist methods to understand and explain the culture of the Yurok Indians of Northern California. Central to his methodology is “the most ancient of intellectual strategies, storytelling” (Buckley 2002: 23). By privileging the stories told by native authors involved in the Yurok culture he was describing, Buckley allows the reader of this ethnography to wade through a larger pool of voices through which the reader may emerge with a changed understanding of the culture being investigated and explained. For Buckley, this approach “is, if nothing else, a more modest undertaking than constructing a line of data and argument...along which the reader is marched toward a foreordained, explanatory conclusion: ‘I have shown that….’” (Buckley 2002: 23).

By privileging storytelling as ethnographic strategy, Buckley embodies three postmodernist concepts of ethnography: (1) Ethnography as ‘Thick Description,’ (2) Ethnography as Discourse, and (3) Ethnography as a Process of Knowledge. This paper will examine how Buckley uses these three approaches in his ethnographic work.

Ethnography as ‘Thick Description’

Clifford Geertz, in his essay “Thick Description: Toward an Interpretive Theory of Culture,” argues that the concept of culture is essentially semiotic or shaded by nuances of multiple possible meanings (1973: 5). For Geetrz, an ethnographer is faced with a “multiplicity of complex conceptual structures, many of them superimposed upon or knotted into one another, which are at once strange, irregular, and inexplicit” (1973: 10). The ethnographer must first understand and then render these conceptual structures through a ‘thick description’ or narrative that allows for the multiple meanings that are present during observation. Geertz argues that the whole point of his semiotic approach to culture is “to aid us in gaining access to the conceptual world in which our subjects live so that we can, in some extended sense of the term, converse with them” (1973: 24).

Buckley acknowledges that his work is influenced by Geertz (2002: 21) and that he feels the best way to achieve a ‘thick description’ is to “let everyone tell stories” (2002: 23). Buckley uses this strategy throughout his ethnography but his treatment of the stories of “men doctors” may best exemplify his understanding of thick description.

According to Buckley, A. L. Kroeber insisted that the Yuroks always took for granted that a sucking doctor (kegey) was a woman (2002: 162). Kroeber seems to have disregarded the information provided to him by Native Authors such as Fanny Flounder and Robert Spott and in his quest to reconstruct Yurok culture, he negated the significance of men as kegey for five possible reasons ranging from a limited understanding of the word kegey to a predisposition to creating a hypothetical ethnographic present and a disregard for an emergent regional culture (2002: 162-163). In fact Buckley asserts: “I believe that Kroeber was wrong on several accounts and that his errors resulted precisely from his conception of cultures in northwestern California as having segregated ‘compartments’ of traits and his consequent failure to appreciate the complex integration of various domains and associational spheres in those cultures” (2002: 164).

In contrast, Buckley weaves the narratives of Lucy Thompson, Robert Spott, Fanny Flounder, and others to demonstrate that the kegey also included anyone, male or female, that “drew spiritual power from the upper world and applied it to the well-being of individuals and communities” (2002: 163). Kroeber expressed dismay at the term kegey being applied to men that contributed to the deerskin dance because he viewed the world renewal and doctoring activities as occupying separate compartments of culture. For Kroeber, culture was segmented and compartmental while Buckley understands that culture is a multiplicity of complex structures that are knotted and messy.

Ethnography as Discourse

James Clifford, in his essay “Partial Truths,” asserts “[e]thnography is actively situated between powerful systems of meaning. It poses its questions at the boundaries of civilizations, cultures, classes, races, and genders” (1986: 2). Because ethnography is inscribed as text, it is constructed, objectified, and subject to “the powerful lies of exclusion and rhetoric” (1986: 7). In order to accommodate native speakers, culture needs to be seen as “an interplay of voices, of positioned utterances” (1986: 12) and ethnographers should move towards a specification of discourses that addresses who is speaking and writing, who they are speaking with, and under what institutional and historical constraints (1986: 13). For Clifford, ethnographers no longer hold “unquestioned rights of salvage” (1986: 16) but must include native informants as co-authors while recognizing their own role as interpreting observer (1986: 17). In other words, cultures are not scientific objects but “contested, temporal, and emergent” (1986: 19).

Buckley recognizes Clifford’s call for a dialogical ethnography but struggles with the fact that an ethnographer acts as a final editor (2002: 22). Still, in his analysis of the Jump Dance, he opposes the scientific objectivism of the ‘world renewal cult’ by Kroeber and his student Gifford and casts world renewal as cultural discourse. He criticizes the ‘totalizing approaches’ of Kreober as excluding both individuals and history from ethnographic analysis by creating systems that are closed to individuals and change (2002: 266-267). Buckley argues that world renewal cannot be reduced to elements or structures but that fixing the world “is also the goal of a discourse into which these elements enter as central motifs or themes and is thus a process, something emergent, rather than a reduced ‘system,’ ‘pattern,’ or ‘organization.’” (2002: 267). For Buckley, although discourse theory may provide an interpretive mode for understanding what people do, “what they do is a mode of discourse, of oppositions simultaneously yearning toward wholeness” (2002: 268).

By listening to the dialogue of story telling, Buckley illustrates his point by using Kroeber’s own recorded narratives of two myths surrounding the deerskin dance (2002: 272-273). In both myth narratives, the parties involved negotiate on how and where to perform the dance and “[t]hus these myths suggest that the constant effort to get it right is of equal importance and interest to getting it right” (2002: 273). Kroeber, in order to classify a timeless closed system, missed the important evidence of an emergent, living process of negotiation into a native understanding of world renewal.

Ethnography as a Process of Knowledge

George E. Marcus and Michael M. J. Fischer, in their book Anthropology as Cultural Critique, summarize interpretive anthropology as operating on “two levels simultaneously: it provides accounts of other worlds from the inside, and reflects about the epistemological groundings of such accounts” (1986: 16). In other words, “the effort to conceive of culture primarily as systems of meaning has come to focus on the process of interpretation itself, that is, on ethnography as a process of knowledge” (Ibid.).

Buckley casts himself as a witness with political, moral, and ethnographic commitments to his academic readers (2002: 20). Throughout his book, Buckley steps back to allow native authors to tell their own stories before stepping back into the narrative to explain the significance of those stories.

An excellent example of this strategy is in Chapter 4 (“Seeing With Their Own Eyes”) when Buckley explores the physical aspect of Yurok spirituality (2002: 90-101). Throughout this section Buckley weaves the words and perspectives on ‘training’ supplied by native peoples like Frank Douglas, Philip Drucker, Dewey George and others into a process of understanding how Yurok men trained both as an individual and as an actor community life (2002: 91). This training enabled those who practiced to achieve the social ideal of male (2002: 91), commune with past traditions of daily life (2002: 92), compete in the stick game in lieu of warfare (2002: 95), and compile spiritual power that may result in supernatural feats of strength, endurance, or mien (2002: 96-101). By weaving the narratives as seen through the eyes of multiple native informants, Buckley demonstrates that the distinctions of mind, body, and spirit within Yurok spirituality is a process that is messier and more interwoven than any closed classification can reflect in reality.

-Safari Bob


References Cited

Buckley, Thomas
2002 Standing Ground: Yurok Indian Spirituality, 1850-1990. Berkley: University of California Press.

Clifford, James
1986 Introduction: Partial Truths. In Writing Culture: The Poetics and Politics of Ethnography. James Clifford and George E. Marcus, Eds. Berkley: University of California Press, pp. 1-26.

Geertz, Clifford
1973 The Interpretation of Cultures. New York: Basic Books, Inc.

Marcus, George E. and Fischer, Michael M.
1986 Anthropology as Cultural Critique: An Experimental Moment in the Human Sciences. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.

Daughters of the Dreaming: A Précis

In the book Daughters of the Dreaming, Diane Bell examines the lives of Aboriginal women in Central Australia by focusing on the nature and structure of women’s ritual in the region. Her observations challenge the popular anthropological characterizations of women’s lives as male-dominated and centered in the life of the camp with small religious ceremonies of little community importance (229). Bell explores “women’s rights and responsibilities in land, the nurturance themes celebrated in ritual, and women’s power to exclude men” (230) and finds that they are not fantasies or lost positions of autonomy and independence. Rather, women operate as their own agents within the structure of all Aboriginal society. Central to her analysis is the Law of Dreamtime (or jukurrpa), the rituals used by women to maintain social structure through jukurrpa, and the complexity of social relations within the structure of Central Australian Aboriginal society.

The idea of jukurrpa is vast, subtle and complex as well as way beyond the scope of this précis to articulate. In short, it is The Law that all the social factions revere as authoritative and through the dreaming, each generation interacts with the past—and each other (91). Through the jukurrpa, women keep the land alive and nurture the relationships of the living within their society (94). In fact, for Bell, the land is truly the power base of women and through the maintenance of responsibilities and the exercise of the rights to maintain the land (via jukurrpa), women have long enjoyed autonomy within their society (59, 95). Important locations, such as ‘ring places’ (110), are sites located at intersecting ‘dreaming tracks’ (138) at which rituals can be preformed that reflect the authority of women to try social offenders and resolve disputes, to offer healing and refuge, and to discuss matters of importance or give and receive counsel (124).

If the land provides the power base of autonomy for women within the Aboriginal social structure, it is through ritual that this autonomy is expressed and reified—all within the context of jukurrpa. For instance, when the yawulyu, a ceremony comprised of ‘women’s business’ (11), is preformed no men are allowed to observe; in fact they fear it. This ritual affords a time for “distant people [to] come together to exchange and assert their common bonds of responsibility to country” (126). Women lead the ritual, through the positions of kirda (who is responsible for certain knowledge encoded in the various aspects of the ritual) and kurdungurlu (who is responsible for the safety of the ritual objects; 139), informing the participants of the country and enacting the dreaming story through dance and visual markers displayed on the sacred painted boards. These visual cues may instruct observers about the country but only if the observer in schooled in the dreaming (127). This ceremony embodies three major themes: land, love and health—all within the context of jukurrpa (128). Here, fat is the central symbol that links these three themes as the past heroes rubbed the fat on their bodies to inspire beauty and demonstrate ‘glowing health’ (130). Through ritual and women’s interaction with the land, the jukurrpa is reaffirmed and reactivated.

Through the social links established by women, knowledge of the jukurrpa is transmitted and ritual reciprocity is established. Yilpinji, or ‘love rituals’ (162), are means in which women may influence marriage arrangements and find a husband. Missionaries have maligned these complex rituals (such as Phillip Creek) as ‘love magic’ and some Aboriginal men have continued this hegemony in order to defuse the influence of yilpinji (162). Bell explores two inter-related myths that embody the yilpinji: the kurinpi (or old women dreaming) and the ngapa (or rain) dreamings (164). Both dreamings consist of the exploration of the fears of women as they marry: (1) the loss of autonomy and (2) the desire for social intercourse (174). In both dreamings, women are either seduced or compelled into leaving their land and becoming isolated from family. Yilpinji is preformed to establish correct unions between men and women “and this is why it is feared by men: it impinges upon the set relationships which men claim to control through marriage alliances” (176). Through this ritual, women can overturn the plans of men and establish male-female relationships deemed legitimate by their society (177). Bell argues that this ritual should be understood within the context of land and as achieving socially approved ends (178). “In acting out the responsibilities the Law confers upon them as women, women engage in work which is distinctly theirs” which also allows them “to control this world and exclude men from this domain” (179).

Although men and women do compete in displays of knowledge of the jukurrpa, Bell argues that both men and women are united in the maintenance of their society in accordance with the Dreamtime Law and each maintains both a symbolic and a physical presence in each other’s rituals (183). Ceremonies known as yungkurru enable men and women to “make public statements about their own rituals and to allow the other to approach and to handle ritual objects” (184). This forum allows women to demonstrate their knowledge of the jukurrpa without providing men the opportunity to gain control of women’s autonomous world. Each group is allowed to demonstrate their unique contribution to the jukurrpa while also being able to monitor the content of the other’s ritual world (191). Each prepared songs, boards, and designs but only brought a fraction of the knowledge they had prepared to the yungkurru. However, each knew something of what the other had practiced in their respective work areas. Bell observed that during this ritual, women were not only able to direct men but were often the initiators of ritual action (193). Each was afforded opportunities to observe the ritual activities of the other.

In addition to coeducational ceremonies within a given community, Bell observed a yungkurru in which “the dreaming was extended to the east” (195) and another community was invited to participate. The women navigated the complex structure of Aboriginal society in order to ensure that men from both communities were included in the yawulyu (or women’s business) component of the Neutral Junction gathering. This joint ritual allowed people to exercise their responsibilities in the jukurrpa and this make public their rights in country (198). Although women took a decisive roll in choosing how much knowledge was displayed, women celebrated the interdependence of the roles of kirda and kurdungurlu as well as the inter-relations of the dreamings of ngapa, wardingi and yawakiyi while sharing knowledge with another group—and receiving instruction in a different understanding of the jukurrpa (201).

By extending their dreaming range and organizing ritual relationships with one another, women attempt to consolidate their position within the structure of Central Australian Aboriginal society at large (231). For Bell, settlement life is the greatest impediment to this consolation of women’s power of autonomy within their society. In the past, women “enjoyed a complex set of rights which were validated by their direct access to the Dreamtime and the use to which they put the land” (95). As white settlers and Aboriginal peoples began competing for resources (such as water for cattle), conflict between whites and Aborigines escalated into massacre (Coniston; 67), fewer foodstuff and water resources (69), and active conversion attempts to Christianity (64). The Australian government began distributing food (65) and soon Aboriginal people found fewer opportunities to work and were forced into vocations that reflect white ideals of the roles of men and women (86). Once, women could depend on the resources provided by the land for subsistence but governmental institutions began to narrow the opportunities of women (70) and although aspects of settlement life is incorporated into the ritual lives of women (example: Warrabri dreaming; 147), the autonomy women once enjoyed is severely limited by life in the settlement.

In order to create some autonomy, Kaytei women created a jilimi (single women camps; 11) where women could escape bad marriages and socialize with other women (84). This separation of the sexes and women’s independence are no longer mutually reinforcing values (84) as women are denied the freedom of unlimited access to resources provided by the land. Shifts in marriage systems of kinship, ritual transformation and the strengthening of male links between generations result in disequilibrium whereby men’s domain intrudes into the autonomy of women. As Bell observes, “it is the shattering of the ritually maintained nexus of land as resource and spiritual essence that I have located a shift from female autonomy to male control, from independence to dependence” (247). Men and women once negotiated roles but now women’s autonomy is lessened due to the loss of land over which to forage. By looking at the historical record of the past century, Bell argues that the material conditions have changed dramatically and this change is “reflected in ritual, both in terms of the way in which ideas are incorporated within the Law of the dreaming and in terms of the opportunity to stage rituals” (249).

-Safari Bob

Bell, D. (1993). Daughters of the Dreaming. 2nd ed. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. ISBN: 0-8166-2398-8

Pareidolia, Prototype Theory and Jesus on Toast

The other day I overheard a snippet of a conversation in the checkout lane of the local grocery. A group of young women were looking at a picture on their mobile phone of a slice of toast that supposedly depicted the image of Jesus. One young lady said, "That ain't Jesus! Jesus don't look nuthin' like that!"

Jesus on Toast

Of course finding an image of Jesus (or Buddha or Donovan McNabb or whoever) on a piece of toast is simple pareidolia which is a common phenomenon of perceiving random patterns as having significant meaning. So I asked the young lady, "What does Jesus look like?" Understandably, she looked away and the conversation ended (I am not pretty and she didn't know me from Adam). Still, I wonder what she sees when she thinks of Jesus.

Many people in the US, when they think of Jesus, instantly see this picture in their mind:

White Protestant Jesus

Catholic Americans are more likely to see a picture similar to this:

Catholic Jesus

Of course everyone has a slightly different image in their mind when they hear any word. Consider the word "dog." Most everyone knows what a dog is and most everyone can see a mental image of a dog when the word is understood. Of course, these images are always different (I always see my first dog, Rex, who was a black German shepherd). This phenomenon is anticipated by Prototype Theory and is just part of normal congnitive development.

Still, I wish that young lady would have described what she saw when she thought of Jesus. If she watches a lot of TV, I wonder if she saw this:

South Park Jesus

Does she like movies? If so, maybe she saw this:

Buddy Christ

Maybe she secretly likes Steampunk and saw this:

Steampunkin' Jesus

I wonder how anyone can see this:

Extreme Jesus?

The moment is past to hear from the young lady, but what do you see?

-Safari Bob

Book Review: "The Sociology of Religion" by Max Weber

Central to Weber’s idea of religious and social change is “the integrations and discrepancies between expectation systems which are institutionalized in normative orders and the actual experiences people undergo" [1, pg. lvi] or, in other words, the sociological study of what people interpret to be consequences for themselves and the aspects of the human condition which they are apart in relation to conformity or nonconformity with an established normative order. This basic tension is how Weber defines and analyzes the progression of social and religious changes within a given society and the ensuing emergence of ‘breakthrough.’

At the beginning of his work, Weber is careful to state, “The essence of religion is not even our concern, as we make it our task to study the conditions and effects of a particular type of social behavior" [1, pg. 1]. He simply wishes to approach the study of religion from a ‘subjective’ standpoint or from the viewpoint of the religious behavior’s “meaning.” He posits that religion is rationally motivated by ‘the rules of experience’ and therefore should not be apart from the range of everyday conduct, “particularly since even the ends of the religious and magical actions are predominantly economic" [1, pg. 1]. Here, via perceived extraordinary powers which he describes as charisma, begins a process of abstraction based on experience in which they are rationalized, symbolized, and stereotyped into sacred law and, upon further reflection, into objective specialization of gods and numina which results in priests. These spirits reflect certain principles of order, which develop into an ethical attachment of individuals to a cosmos of obligations. Magic and adulation develop into obedience to religious law. Taboo is transformed into a systematization of ethics and the irrational immergence of hope for salvation. Prophecy and priesthood work to produce a centralization of ethics under the aegis of religious salvation.

This dynamic is played differently in divergent political, social, and economic classes. Certain religions developed in urban environments while others were mostly agrarian. Proletarian interests tend to be more irrational and display resentment while the concepts of sin and salvation tend to not be found in the political elite but are used for political control and legitimacy. The middle class tends toward a congregational rational ethical religion. Some Theodicy of disprivilege is a component of every salvation religion, which draws its adherents primarily from the disprivileged classes. Revolution may arise through the reinterpretation of stereotyped magical or ritual norms. Political and ethical communities intermingle to loose gods from political connection to become universal powers and ethical and economic rationalization clash resulting in a rejection of ‘the world’ and especially economic activities. Sex and art are also defined through ethical rationalization resulting in hostility indicative of every authentic religion of salvation.

Weber’s approach is basically evolutionary which reflects the times in which he lived and wrote. I find it notable that he, like Durkheim, both missed the influence that science would play in both society and religion even though they both used to some degree the evolutionary model provided by science. I did however find his three bases of authority or legitimization (charisma, traditionalism, and routinization) to be insightful. Although it could be seen as an oversimplification, this process does seem to be prevalent in the forms of most aspects of religion and politics. I am not so sure that “bureaucratic rule was not and is not the only variety of legal authority, but it is the purest [1, pg. 299]” but in his historical world this seemed to be the model for western society.

- Safari Bob

References

[1] Weber, M. (1991). The Sociology of Religion, E. Fischoff (Trans.). Boston: Beacon Press. ISBN: 0-8070-4205-6

Technical Communication: What is it Anyway?

Behind any written document there exists a synthesis of three components: the author, the subject, and the audience (or reader). All three elements work together to create meaning and each has responsibilities in this relationship.

Different genres of writing emphasize different relationships between the three components of a document. A novel emphasizes the relationship between the author and the audience while an informative essay (like this one) concentrates on the exploration of a subject by an author. Technical writing emphasizes the relationship between the subject and the audience; the author or authors are secondary in this dynamic. In many ways, a technical document can be confusing to the reader if the author is too prominent in the text.

To illustrate how this relationship between the reader and the subject works in a technical document consider the user’s manual for you car. You may glance at it when you first buy your vehicle but most often you only refer to the manual when you want information—and usually in response to some question or problem. As the reader (or user), you require information. Perhaps your brake lights are burnt out and you need to replace the bulbs so you consult the user’s manual. Even the title of this document privileges the relationship between the subject and the audience in that no byline is found on your user’s manual for your vehicle! You don’t care who wrote it, you just need information—now!

Defining Technical Writing

This genre of writing has many nuances that are reflected in the multiplicity of terms used to label it including technical communication, professional writing, technical rhetoric, and professional communication to name a few. There are two major dichotomies at work when anyone tries to define this discipline: professional/technical and communication/writing.

Initially, technical writing evolved out of a need to transmit specific technical information to users who did not understand the jargon of engineers. Every academic discipline and industry arena possess certain terminology or uses of words that are either unique to that community or used in a unique manner that the general public does not explicitly understand. Soon after WWII, Americans were able to buy the first televisions, transistor radios, kitchen appliances, and other products of technology that were new to the thinking of the general populace. Engineers were more concerned with creating new products than to communicate to non-engineers how to use them. Someone needed to translate and thus technical writing became a recognized profession.

Soon other professions and industries began to notice that they could also benefit from this kind of specialized skill. Writers were hired to transmit information from not only scientific and electronic industries but also those of medicine, pharmaceuticals, computers, software, and education began to use specialized writers to convey instructions, write internal reports, and craft grant proposals. Technical writing soon transcended technology and pervaded other professions; in essence technical writing is now just one genre within a multiplicity of professional writing contexts.

In addition to multiple professions using specialized writing to convey specific information through print, another need was soon realized: a need to reach specific audiences through other means than the written page. More and more specific information is being disseminated orally and visually to audiences of different cultures and in different settings. Managers had to present findings to higher levels of management, new medicines had to be explained to global communities, and instructions for products and services had to be understood by customers with different expectations and learning contexts. Professional writers are moving beyond solely written media (whether printed or computer screen) to the arena of holistic communication.

In order to illustrate this point, consider our earlier example: your car’s user manual. If you were to consult the manual for directions to change a burnt-out bulb in your taillight, chances are that you will encounter other symbols than just written text. Most manuals have illustrations designed to convey information to a specific audience—you. You see pictures with step-by-step instruction including visual representations of parts and arrows that portray movement. In addition, you may encounter colors such as red or yellow, which may have other meanings in other cultures. Writing specialists now have to understand how icons or figures can transmit specific directions outside of written text.

We are now in the position to define technical (or professional) communication: to provide specific information to a specific audience for a specific purpose or use. Undoubtedly you noticed throughout this article my repeated use of the term “specific.” This qualifier is vital to our understanding of this discipline and merits a closer examination.

Specificity

If you remember, technical (and professional) writing emphasizes the dynamic between the subject of the document and the reader of that document. More than any other pairing (author/subject or author/audience), this presupposes a sense of urgency. A novel or an essay can wait; a burnt-out taillight cannot. This urgency is seldom experienced in a general way and results from a specific problem to be solved on the part of the reader. You are the one with the burnt-out taillight and you need to know how to change it. You are a specific person with a specific problem that needs a specific solution.

To solve this specific problem, you need specific information that is clear, concise, and presented in such a way that you can access and use it. If the information is crafted with technical jargon or obscure language, it is at best time consuming to translate and at worst useless to you in your situation. You are the specific user; you bought the car and they gave you that manual. Technical communicators specialize in analyzing what specific kinds of people would buy that car and in what specific contexts you would need to use the manual. Taillights burn out and clear information should be constructed in anticipation of that specific need.

Another, often unspoken, aspect of a technical document is that of a specific shelf life. Novels and essays are often written for broader audiences and with a sense of timelessness. Most genres that emphasize the author in the dynamic aim for longevity. Technical documents are tied to a specific audience with a specific purpose. When the audience is informed and the purpose fulfilled, technical documents lose urgency; they lose relevance. Cars rust and are junked, computer software quickly becomes dated, and instructions are learned and no longer needed. Technical documents form from urgency and that urgency creates contexts of specificity by which all technical documents are judged useful, confusing, or irrelevant.

Conclusion

I have defined technical communication as providing specific information to a specific audience for a specific purpose or use. Technical documents are used with urgency that creates contexts of specificity that encompass usability, clarity, audience, intent, and shelf life. In a world where the boundaries of countries, language, culture, and industry (even workscapes) continue to overlap and even, perhaps, disappear, technical communicators will become more valuable and pervasive within other contexts of specificity and utility in other professions and industry. I leave you with these questions to consider: How can technical communicators influence future conventions of technology? Paper is portable; computers are accessible through ubiquitous networks. How are future contexts of specificity going to be addressed by technical communicators in the light of future urgency?

-Safari Bob