Project Gutenberg is in the cross hairs of J. Bradford DeLong, a Berkeley professor and Wired Magazine contributor, who accuses PG of failing to "achieve any form of critical mass." I'll get to Gutenberg in time. But first a few words on the DeLong column and then plenty more on his former employer, the Clinton Administration, which in so many ways tried to privatize knowledge--the antithesis of the spirit of Gutenberg and TeleRead.
In the February issue of Wired, DeLong isn't calling for the end of Project Gutenberg, but he might as well be. He thinks that its scalability is pathetic compared to linux or for that matter a closed-source project known as Microsoft. The headline nicely conveys his 'tude. "Any Text. Anytime. Anywhere. (Any Volunteers?)." He also says Gutenberg isn't "a high priority for governments," and, because the work is "boring" and without a strong "positive feedback loop," it can't attract enough volunteers. Meanwhile, sob, DeLong's own e-book needs go unmet from the library system. He begins the column with his mind-numbing search at a university library for a copy of Appendix D of Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence.
"So," he asks by the fourth paragraph, "why can't I just call up the text on my computer screen? Where is my universal online library?"
Good question, Professor. The Clinton Administration, where you worked as deputy assistant secretary for economic policy, got off to a wonderful start when Al Glore was talking about digitizing the library of Congress, so that a little girl in Carthage, Tennessee, could dial up book after book even if Daddy worked at a backwoods gas station. Alas, however, succumbing to a massive inflow of campaign cash, the Clinton people sold out to Hollywood and the rest of the copyright establishment. A copyright lobbyist named Bruce Lehman continued to ply his trade as the White House's czar of "intellectual property" matters in cyberspace. Lehman at one point was even foreseeing a time when the average American might be able to read e-books only at the local library on computers made safe for the copyright interests. Just the opposite of TeleRead's slogan: "Bring the E-Books Home."
Lehman's infamous White Paper helped pave the way for such treats as the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. I suppose that a well-to-do Berkeley economist would happily pay for copyrighted materials, including Appendix D, or at least his institution would. But tell that to the schoolchild whose image Gore conjured up, albeit without the reference to the gas pumper, my own little touch.
She might fare better under TeleRead. It was and is a business model to allow many thousands of books and other copyrighted items to go online with proper compensation for copyright holders while giving the entire country--not just the elite--access to them.
The most powerful Clintonians, in character, turned out in the end to be aggressively indifferent to the plan despite the polite noises I heard at the beginning. I remember the condescending comments from a Clinton appointee when I was about to testify at a copyright hearing. "This is like Hollywood," the man said. "Not everyone can be a star. We can't use everyone's idea." William F. Buckley, Jr., however, my political opposite in many ways, could. He showed his courage with two friendly columns on TeleRead. On the positive side in the Clinton era, the Department of Education commissioned me to write a paper later called Copyright and K-12: Who Pays in the Network Era?, payment for which I donated to my local library. But TeleRead never happened. Perhaps George Bush can rise beyond the stereotypes on this issue just as Bill Buckley did.
Meanwhile, if TeleRead isn't reality yet, what can we do right now for the little girl in Tennessee? That is the glory of Project Gutenberg. While many Washington politicians and bureaucrats were evincing less concern for the commonweal on the the e-book issue than for big wheels--like Jack Valenti and Michael Eisner, both major campaign contributors--Michael Hart was keeping his promise to work toward a universal library. He is the son of a two academics who served as codebreaks during War II, and reviewing an old Wired article, I see that his father specialized in Shakespeare. Back in the 1970s, however, when Hart first started creating e-texts on a mainframe at the University of Illinois, he sensibly began with something very different but profound in its own way. The U.S. Declaration of Independence was a prescient choice, given the Stamp Tax mentality of the copyright establishment as exemplified later by Lehman.
Imagine how wacky the Gutenberg project must have seemed even to Hart's friends at the time. His donated storage space, as reported in Wired, was all of 10K. That was how advanced computers were. Even by 1988 Hart's network connection was still poking along at just 1,200 baud, but he did managed to put online 10 entire novels, starting with Alice in Wonderland. Hart at first supported himself as stereo sales rep and then becoming an adjunct professor of electronic text at a Benedictine University, a Roman Catholic school in Lisle, Illinois. The Wired article nicely noted the parallels here. Like the old monks, Hart wanted to preserve books, and the people of the seminary obviously were pleased to oblige even if they could pay him just $12,000 a year and living expenses. Along the way Hart hewed to his beliefs in free knowledge.
"If he made some concessions," Denise Hamilton wrote in 1997 in Wired, "it's possible that Gutenberg might have 100,000 books online today--a respectable library--instead of 1,000. Indeed, Hart says, various academic institutions and even some Texas oil interests have offered to bankroll Gutenberg over the yeas, in exchange for control. One university offered him a six-figure salary, he says,to bring the project to their campus. He turned them all down flat. 'Almost everybody out there wants to charge for books, and they want real control over which books we do and which edition comes out,' Hart grouses. 'They want a bit in my mouth. I don't trust them.'" But the money could have been there. If you want to speak about Michael Hart's value in free-market terms, Professor DeLong, it looks as if The Invisible Hand could have treated him very well if he'd been as pliable as the Clintonians.
At the time of the interview, Hart had uploaded 1,000 books to the Internet, as noted, and was aiming for 10,000 by Dec. 31, 2001. The number seemed high enough for Hamilton to ask in print: "Is Hart a deluded crackpot, a high tech saint, or just another Net eccentric?" Isn't he the crazy guy who puts sugar on his pizza? Well, it turns out that as Don Quixote, not that infrequent a comparison for Hart, he actually has come close to knocking down a few windmills. Just 12 months or so after his deadline, Hart has almost 7,000 books on the Internet for Gore's mythical little girl in Tennessee. Close enough.
So what's the the problem for Gutenberg's critics. Well, considering the tens of thousands of books published annually, 7,000 isn't that big a deal even if PG has played up the classics. At least going by the information in Wired, the Internet Bookmobile Project, another worthy endeavor, offers 20,000 books and plans a million by 2005. Just how many of the 20,000 came from Gutenberg, though? Keep in mind that the questions arise about Wired-supplied stats, not the laudable Bookmobile Project, whose main page just alludes to "almost 20,000 public domain books currently available online" without mentioning the original sources. Meanwhile The Million Book Project would like to live up to its name, with the same year, 2005, as the deadline for the million books. Present number of titles? 1,091, according to the graphic accompanying the DeLong column. The International Children's Library offers 200 books and envisions 10,000 by 2007. Simply put, right now, all the collections are tiny in the grand scheme of things.
Who's to blame? Not Hart, who has dedicated his life to his cause and deserves better than a kick in the teeth from DeLong. The real villains are Al Gore, Bill Clinton, Congress and the other politicians who never followed through on the former's promise to digitize the Library of Congress.
Significantly James Billington, Librarian of Congress, has said that he worries more about the digital preservation of "rare pamphlets" than real books. But why not both? As quoted in a story in Tech Law Journal, dated April 15, 2000, Billington believes that "there is a difference between turning pages and scrolling down. There is something about a book that should inspire a certain presumption of reverence." Interesting. Should a paper edition of Mein Kampf enjoy more presumption than e-book editions of Homer, Dante or Shakespeare? Adding to the insult, Billington has said, "You don't want to be one of those lonely mindless futurists who sit in front of a lonely screen." A remark delivered with Hart in mind?
What's really incredible is that Billington has said that e-books are "isolating" but libraries are "a community thing"; he is totally oblivious to possibilities of e-books as vehicles for shared knowledge, especially among schoolchildren passing books on to their peers. That is what can happen now, to a limited extent, under Gutenberg and could happen in other ways under the TeleRead plan. TeleRead provides for legal file-sharing of copyrighted materials, tracking, and a national digital library fund--along with the infrastructure for private philanthropists to participate.
Well, there you have it, Professor. Now imagine if the Clinton White House, Congress and Billington, a Reagan appointee, had offered government money, without strings, for Michael Hart or a TeleRead-style national digital library? We might be much farther along.
That said, I'll also note Project Gutenberg's flaws. I totally agree with critics of Gutenberg's publishing system, which needs drastic updating. You can't search across the site for the same text in many books, for example, and, of course, the books are in ASCII alone. Even some of Gutenberg's most ardent boosters are aware of these weaknesses, and with or without the Project's actual support, they are working on potential improvements such as RaptorBook, which is the baby of James Linden, a gifted programmer in his 20s who shares Hart's penchant for the classics. For years Hart avoided graphic user interfaces. But as shown by a response to James--who happens to be a business associate of mine, as well as TeleRead's chief technical advisor--Hart is more flexible these days. My hunch is that the Gutenberg site in the near future will indeed undergo a massive makeover.
But what about Gutenberg's scalability? Brewster Kahle, the founder of the Internet Archive and also the Bookmobile project, ran an item on a mailing list about "robotic page turner" the size of four refrigerators. It can turn almost 2,000 pages an hour and undoubtedly will be still faster, smaller and more affordable in the future, or some else will invent a better version. Resources like that aren't cheap. In sheer numbers alone, then, other projects may well beat Gutenberg--well, at least until the sophisticated page-turners are as inexpensive as scanners.
Still, keep in mind why Gutenberg is special. Readers can share their personal passions--say, a favorite neglected books in the public domain--with the world at large. What a contrast to Bill Gates, who bought several copies of The Great Gatsby for the private library of his $50 million mansion but refuses to pay for it to be on the Net. That is why visionary grassroots projects such as Gutenberg deserve support from public and private sources alike, including a TeleRead system if one becomes a reality.
I myself would like the system to be run by professional librarians, who, as a group, are far more clueful about the Net than when I wrote on TeleRead in Computerworld in the early 1992s. But I would hate for other choices to vanish. Until I posted The Brass Check on the Net--well, the first chapters, with more to come--no one else apparently had. Gutenberg will spread around the file I've prepared with other volunteers. PG doesn't and shouldn't replace librarians, but it addresses needs that even the best pros may not always be able to fulfill in their usual professional roles (yes, librarians are welcome participants).
If nothing else, Gutenberg is a powerful defender of the concept of public domain, which, if not used, will deteriorate. Governments can roll back copyright terms and threaten to end grants or other funding. But the more Gutenberg thrives, the harder it is for Bruce Lehman and friends to steal away the rights to the classics already online, and that resistance will benefit librarians and nonlibrarians alike.
No, Professor, I won't blame you for the copyright-related sins of the Clinton administration and the gutless retreat from Gore's hopes for the Library of Congress, but, along with the failure of Gates to be Carnegie II in a major way through e-books, they are a stark illustration of the need for Gutenberg. Perhaps you need to reconsider what you wrote. I notice toward the end of the column you even brought up the possibility of "limiting copyright." That would be a big help, thank you, but hardly a substitute for Gutenberg and TeleRead.
Update, Feb. 1: Brad DeLong is now saying that his point was that with some goverment help, Project Gutenberg could have digitized many more books by now. That is certainly contrary to the impression he left countless readers, including me. At any rate it would be great if, when he revisited the topic, he wrote about the reasons for the lack of government help.