How can librarians, and in particular academic librarians, engage students as whole people? By charting out roughly what we might expect a student/researcher/patron/human to be experiencing at different parts of their research process, Kulthau's "Initial Model of the Information process" helps us to construct better mental models of student behavior and hopefully provide something they will find actually helpful and supportive.
I find it fascinating that, while researchers have appeared to been working on these deeper models of the student experience with research for decades, the actual research process is so rarely taught in terms of an emotional process or even a process with distinct stages. As an undergrad at a small liberal arts school, I feel like the research process behind papers was often only discussed on the level of the output - the essay, the works cited section - and not framed in the sense of an investigation with stages. It wasn't until I started working as a research assistant in 2013 that I realized there was a specific process I could use for carrying out a lit review for example, and not just freewheeling between a list of references I had taken out from my library (and probably had overdue fines on...) I never felt like I could come to the library for that problem, as I felt like I should have been able to figure it out and that the angst of battling a lack of structure was just part of the process.. but in retrospect, it would have been nice to have the consistent support of a librarian in my field who I could consult or check in with as I worked on projects. That also evokes to me a feeling I associate with my favorite library as a kid: the tiny East Branch library in Lexington, MA, where a librarian with bright hair would kind of check in now and then about my books and ask me about my hobby progress (I was really into video games and model rockets), but otherwise let me just browse and read alone. That sense of continuity and community meant a lot to me at that time, and while the needs of an undergrad are likely different, I feel like there's a way academic reference could offer that, too.
This definitely makes me think of our discussion in class about reference librarians now working primarily in instruction units -- but I also wonder, in general, how much communication happens between the different entities responsible for undergrad student learning? Given that the role of reference will likely continue to shift with technology and other changes, as outlined in Janes' essay, how might librarians end up playing a larger or smaller role in the lives of students, and what does that mean in the context of longer-term shifts in higher ed? I have vague guesses, but I'd love to learn more about some of those questions of whole student learning/undergrad-level research education -- after hearing about student experiences in public libraries last class, I'm curious to learn more from folks who work in academic libraries and what they think about these shifts!
Wednesday, September 28, 2016
Tuesday, September 27, 2016
Blog 4A: Reflections on Class 3
The URL "data.gov" does not give the impression that it might lead somewhere playful and clever. But I was pleasantly surprised just how relatable and downright fun the "home of the U.S. Government’s open data" ended up being! Alyssa and I explored the platform and discovered a wide diversity of data presentation styles, from web apps for climate change to curated geographical information specific to native territories.
At the heart of data.gov's work appears to be a genuine desire to reach people with data, to engage and even delight them, and have that connection help support whatever research questions or social issues are most relevant to the user.
I found it personally super helpful to see data.gov in ation. In my previous posts, I have been kind of thinking through the relationship between libraries and communities, and also wondering how research, data, and technology figure into the equation. Even though my background is largely in research, I continue to struggle with feeling that the incremental, empiricism-or-bust model of research isn't the best way to engage people or communities - and also might not be engaging for me in the coming years or decades. I love so much about libraries, but I'm still trying to figure out how to connect the dots-- like, how would a librarian who mostly supports researchers experience a different part of the process? Would I risk just amplifying the aspects of research I find least relatable?
Data.gov is actually a really wonderful example of the kind of empowering, revelatory work that can be done with digital libraries, special collections, virtual reference, or some combination of the above. As the amount of data out there increases and increases, it becomes even more vital to have these translational tools that seek to create strong, relatable connections between individuals, communities, issues, and data. It's just a little spark for me right now, but I'm definitely eager to seek out more -- and strangely compelled to focus on map/geographic resources in particular. I could definitely see myself working with maps all day ^_^
At the heart of data.gov's work appears to be a genuine desire to reach people with data, to engage and even delight them, and have that connection help support whatever research questions or social issues are most relevant to the user.
I found it personally super helpful to see data.gov in ation. In my previous posts, I have been kind of thinking through the relationship between libraries and communities, and also wondering how research, data, and technology figure into the equation. Even though my background is largely in research, I continue to struggle with feeling that the incremental, empiricism-or-bust model of research isn't the best way to engage people or communities - and also might not be engaging for me in the coming years or decades. I love so much about libraries, but I'm still trying to figure out how to connect the dots-- like, how would a librarian who mostly supports researchers experience a different part of the process? Would I risk just amplifying the aspects of research I find least relatable?
Data.gov is actually a really wonderful example of the kind of empowering, revelatory work that can be done with digital libraries, special collections, virtual reference, or some combination of the above. As the amount of data out there increases and increases, it becomes even more vital to have these translational tools that seek to create strong, relatable connections between individuals, communities, issues, and data. It's just a little spark for me right now, but I'm definitely eager to seek out more -- and strangely compelled to focus on map/geographic resources in particular. I could definitely see myself working with maps all day ^_^
Tuesday, September 20, 2016
3B: Reflections on Readings for Week #3
Samuel Green spends the majority of "Personal Relations Between Librarians and Readers", which was published 140 years ago (!), describing a wide variety of ways librarians might help patrons investigate topics and answer questions. His suggestions range from ready reference to research consulting, and from an air of civic duty to flat-out paternalism and elitist moralizing (""The collections of books which make up the contents of the circulating departments of our libraries have been provided for the use of persons of differing degrees of refinement and moral susceptibility, and for those who occupy mental planes of various altitudes.")
At one point, he throws out the following example:
"A reservoir dam gives way. Citizens become suspicious that too little care is taking in making the repairs. You drop a line to the chairman of the proper committee of the city government to say that you have just received Humber's " Water Supply of Towns" from London. He calls for the work, and takes it home to study."I love the suggestion that a librarian would be so on top of local committee actions that they would preemptively reach out to a city government member to help them get better information. But this kind of civic-minded librarianship is exactly how libraries in Flint played a vital role in helping citizens advocate for themselves and challenge the inadequate information coming from government officials over the last few years.
The Flint Public Library is at the center of a variety of citizen research and information efforts -- they help citizens learn where donated bottled water is to be distributed; provide a reputable source of information after local and state government bodies have been discredited by their inaction or coverup efforts throughout the water crisis; and FPL's director Kay Schwartz has been vocal and visible as exactly the kind of active citizen-librarian imagined in Green's essay (though much, much less paternalistic). And at the current stage of the crisis, the FPL is even collecting community stories and experiences of the water crisis.
I find this model of librarianship so exciting and admirable! What are other ways that libraries can provide an alternative to information sources that are revealed to be misleading or unreliable? How can libraries step in to help support the needs of the community when appropriate - and what are those limits? Thinking about the FPL's role in the community during the water crisis really powerfully illustrates how the library's choice of informations sources have vital consequences - if they had simply accepted governmental data without any additional context or space for citizens to contest it with their own research, they would not have been able to provide this kind of support within the community. It's really good stuff, I think!
Monday, September 19, 2016
3A - Reflections on Class #2
When I came across the Dictionary of Terrorism at one of the tables our group visited near the end of the night, I definitely paused a moment. What would a dictionary about terrorism be hoping to accomplish? How would it differ from an encyclopedia on terrorism, or a literature review of terrorism studies, or any number of other framings for this kind of work?
Over the last couple of decades, terrorism and the war against terrorist organizations has shaped so much of our society, from media coverage of government decisions to airport security to our expectations of safety and measures to protect our safety. As the cliché goes, we're living in a post-9/11 world. But I think the "knowing" of terrorism has influenced us hugely as well: the ways in which we know, or frequently don't know, about the behavior of our government; the shadow precision (and imprecision) of drone strikes; the broad interpretation of the Authorization for Use of Military Force to include "associated forces," a notoriously ambiguous category that has been used as a catch-all for all kinds of U.S. military action abroad. At the core of each of these is a tenuous balance of ambiguity and secrecy, selective enforcement, and organizations that often feel entitled to make decisions on our behalf without our knowledge.
In light of this all, I was curious whether a dictionary of terrorism would attempt to make definitive statements (as dictionaries tend to!) without regard to the politics of knowing and secrecy, or instead describe those processes and help the readers decipher and actively consider those processes, or something else entirely. Any approach such a book takes will inevitably express a political project, and I wondered whether this particular book would see its project as allied to academia, or the American public, or defense institutions, or some complicated balance of them all. I tried to scan the book quickly in the time allotted, but all I could really determine is that (1) according to the Acknowledgments, the editor was relying on a pretty wide net of information sources, from lawyers to professors to librarians to archivists, (2) the structure of the book did seem to imply that each entry included a definitive "definition" that seemed to often literally refer to the entity listed rather than the discourse surrounding that entity, and (3) at least according to the table of contents there didn't seem to be a real transparent discussion of the decisions of what to include and why. But really these are just very quick impressions and don't tell the whole story.
I think I was drawn to this strange dictionary and the questions it raises because it seems to point to this vision of librarianship as a way to deal with those murky conflicting goals and create a space for people to come up with their own answers, and also formulate their own questions without an agenda. Maybe this dictionary would spark conversations with regular patrons who are veterans with disabilities, or kids from immigrant families, or somebody working on a project for school. I've been trying to figure out what kind of role I want to play in communities and research and social justice, and this process involves a lot of flailing and false starts, but I found there to be something comforting in geeking out about a really specific reference book in this way. I'm continuing to think on it, but I'm happy I found this book.
Over the last couple of decades, terrorism and the war against terrorist organizations has shaped so much of our society, from media coverage of government decisions to airport security to our expectations of safety and measures to protect our safety. As the cliché goes, we're living in a post-9/11 world. But I think the "knowing" of terrorism has influenced us hugely as well: the ways in which we know, or frequently don't know, about the behavior of our government; the shadow precision (and imprecision) of drone strikes; the broad interpretation of the Authorization for Use of Military Force to include "associated forces," a notoriously ambiguous category that has been used as a catch-all for all kinds of U.S. military action abroad. At the core of each of these is a tenuous balance of ambiguity and secrecy, selective enforcement, and organizations that often feel entitled to make decisions on our behalf without our knowledge.
In light of this all, I was curious whether a dictionary of terrorism would attempt to make definitive statements (as dictionaries tend to!) without regard to the politics of knowing and secrecy, or instead describe those processes and help the readers decipher and actively consider those processes, or something else entirely. Any approach such a book takes will inevitably express a political project, and I wondered whether this particular book would see its project as allied to academia, or the American public, or defense institutions, or some complicated balance of them all. I tried to scan the book quickly in the time allotted, but all I could really determine is that (1) according to the Acknowledgments, the editor was relying on a pretty wide net of information sources, from lawyers to professors to librarians to archivists, (2) the structure of the book did seem to imply that each entry included a definitive "definition" that seemed to often literally refer to the entity listed rather than the discourse surrounding that entity, and (3) at least according to the table of contents there didn't seem to be a real transparent discussion of the decisions of what to include and why. But really these are just very quick impressions and don't tell the whole story.
I think I was drawn to this strange dictionary and the questions it raises because it seems to point to this vision of librarianship as a way to deal with those murky conflicting goals and create a space for people to come up with their own answers, and also formulate their own questions without an agenda. Maybe this dictionary would spark conversations with regular patrons who are veterans with disabilities, or kids from immigrant families, or somebody working on a project for school. I've been trying to figure out what kind of role I want to play in communities and research and social justice, and this process involves a lot of flailing and false starts, but I found there to be something comforting in geeking out about a really specific reference book in this way. I'm continuing to think on it, but I'm happy I found this book.
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
Blog Post 2B: Reflection on Readings for Week #2
"Whether they are physically present or not, people who ask reference librarians for assistance are often at a psychological disadvantage. In today's information environment where information is available everywhere all the time, people feel that if they cannot find what they want, then they have failed. In the user's mind, there is a feeling that they are inadequate because they could not retrieve what they wanted. Having to approach another person for help implies that they have to admit that they are a failure, while some users are not willing to do so. Of course, the librarian does not see the user as a failure - but the user does not know that. Because users are not certain how to proceed, they rarely state exactly what they want." (Smith and Wong, 2016:19-20)
I found the above passage to be genuinely surprising, and also intuitively to ring true.
Most of my library career has been spent helping patrons solve problems with technology, especially patrons who have more limited experience with the tools they are using (e.g. helping an elderly patron scan important documents and send them as .pdfs, or helping an unemployed patron who had been at the same company for decades navigate the labyrinth of job searching online.) In many of these situations, there is a pretty widely understood social script of not understanding technology - we all regularly encounter situations where we are taken aback by tools, no matter our level of experience (as we go deeper into technology the problems become more obscure, to be sure, but they continue to leave us all feeling at a loss pretty often!) And so I've relied on that kind of collective recognition that, yes, we all have to ask for help for technology to make the process relatable. I've tried to empathize by also expressing confusion and frustration at different tools, saying "oh yeah PDFs are totally weird and hard to format, I've found myself frustrated by them as well!"
But that all being said, I guess I hadn't fully considered how it might feel, in general, to be in a position of "psychological disadvantage." In retrospect, I've seen this more in my work in a college library with younger students who might ask for help using graphic design software, for example, but also clearly be frustrated that they're in a position of not knowing at all. These interactions have always felt different, and I find it helpful to think about how those feelings of "admit[ting] that they they are a failure" might create a specific set of emotional needs and tensions to keep in mind in the interaction. I wonder how this will change is digital literacy increases broadly and also the barriers to use of digital tools continues to decrease -- what will be the point where people "admit failure" or reach a point where they can no longer proceed, and how can reference adapt to that particular situation? What will tech help in a library look like?
I found the above passage to be genuinely surprising, and also intuitively to ring true.
Most of my library career has been spent helping patrons solve problems with technology, especially patrons who have more limited experience with the tools they are using (e.g. helping an elderly patron scan important documents and send them as .pdfs, or helping an unemployed patron who had been at the same company for decades navigate the labyrinth of job searching online.) In many of these situations, there is a pretty widely understood social script of not understanding technology - we all regularly encounter situations where we are taken aback by tools, no matter our level of experience (as we go deeper into technology the problems become more obscure, to be sure, but they continue to leave us all feeling at a loss pretty often!) And so I've relied on that kind of collective recognition that, yes, we all have to ask for help for technology to make the process relatable. I've tried to empathize by also expressing confusion and frustration at different tools, saying "oh yeah PDFs are totally weird and hard to format, I've found myself frustrated by them as well!"
But that all being said, I guess I hadn't fully considered how it might feel, in general, to be in a position of "psychological disadvantage." In retrospect, I've seen this more in my work in a college library with younger students who might ask for help using graphic design software, for example, but also clearly be frustrated that they're in a position of not knowing at all. These interactions have always felt different, and I find it helpful to think about how those feelings of "admit[ting] that they they are a failure" might create a specific set of emotional needs and tensions to keep in mind in the interaction. I wonder how this will change is digital literacy increases broadly and also the barriers to use of digital tools continues to decrease -- what will be the point where people "admit failure" or reach a point where they can no longer proceed, and how can reference adapt to that particular situation? What will tech help in a library look like?
2A: Reflection on Class #1
"If libraries didn't exist, it would be necessary to invent them"
At some point when I worked at the Saint Paul Public Library, I found this blog post with its strangely catchy rephrasing of Voltaire. The sentence became a kind of mantra that appeared in my head whenever I read about the changing role of libraries, the decline of paper books, the crisis of funding combined with all of the inventiveness happening in public libraries.
In our first class, I really appreciated how we didn't start with prescriptive ideas of what libraries are or should be. Instead we started with the things that made us excited, and also what this concept of service might mean outside of the specific context of libraries (but with obvious deep connections). I like that for some people, "libraries" meant helping teens learn and engage with their communities, and for others "libraries" meant collecting resources that would help students answer legal question or grow as scholars. Sometimes it's daunting to look out at our community institutions like libraries and imagine how much they are going to change in the coming years and decades.
I like the idea of really understanding and fostering passion for service in its own right, and how, combined with caring about information and civic spaces, this might lead us to the idea of a library or our role within libraries. Even if the libraries we want to nourish and grow and contribute to look markedly different in the future, I feel like service is really at the core of how we're operating within communities. Even if technology shifts the outlines of "librarianship", our passions and values and commitments will still coalesce around spaces of learning, growth, community, and information in the service of answering important questions -- one way or another we'll invent the library.
At some point when I worked at the Saint Paul Public Library, I found this blog post with its strangely catchy rephrasing of Voltaire. The sentence became a kind of mantra that appeared in my head whenever I read about the changing role of libraries, the decline of paper books, the crisis of funding combined with all of the inventiveness happening in public libraries.
In our first class, I really appreciated how we didn't start with prescriptive ideas of what libraries are or should be. Instead we started with the things that made us excited, and also what this concept of service might mean outside of the specific context of libraries (but with obvious deep connections). I like that for some people, "libraries" meant helping teens learn and engage with their communities, and for others "libraries" meant collecting resources that would help students answer legal question or grow as scholars. Sometimes it's daunting to look out at our community institutions like libraries and imagine how much they are going to change in the coming years and decades.
I like the idea of really understanding and fostering passion for service in its own right, and how, combined with caring about information and civic spaces, this might lead us to the idea of a library or our role within libraries. Even if the libraries we want to nourish and grow and contribute to look markedly different in the future, I feel like service is really at the core of how we're operating within communities. Even if technology shifts the outlines of "librarianship", our passions and values and commitments will still coalesce around spaces of learning, growth, community, and information in the service of answering important questions -- one way or another we'll invent the library.
Tuesday, September 6, 2016
Hello!
Hi! My name is Zoë and I'm starting at UMSI this fall in the MSI program (LIS + SC concentrations, although this may soon change!) I love cats and dogs and board games and pinball and various shades of geeking out. In terms of my professional goals, I'm excited about helping diverse community members make progress towards their goals through technology, whether that means supporting queer & trans online peer communities (I'm working on a research project on this topic!), improving assistive technology, or answering technology reference questions for adult learners. I find it really important to work and enact change in the context of community, and I'm looking forward to exploring how I can do so within a college/university library or student services setting. These interests are all kind of rough sketches however -- I'm still figuring things out.
More about me: I was born in the Chicago area but mostly grew up in Lexington, Massachusetts (just outside of Boston/Cambridge). I lived in the Twin Cities in Minnesota for six years -- I first studied anthropology at Macalester College and then worked at a bustling, loud, lovely public library in Saint Paul. I ended up there via the Community Technology Empowerment Project, and I owe a lot of my focus as an adult to that wonderful AmeriCorps program. I moved back to Boston to work in Internet research and then again to Seattle to work in an academic library as a technology assistant before finally getting here to Ann Arbor in 2016. I hope to make it back to New England (ideally Western Mass/Pioneer Valley) and work for a liberal arts or community college.
I love spicy food, mountains and woods, feminist sci-fi, tasty coffee, and in general a lot of introvert pursuits. Oh, and I adopted a kitty recently from the Humane Society of Huron Valley's cat cafe. Jane is the absolute cutest -- she plays fetch! She makes weird adorable chirping noises!
I think that's it ^_^
More about me: I was born in the Chicago area but mostly grew up in Lexington, Massachusetts (just outside of Boston/Cambridge). I lived in the Twin Cities in Minnesota for six years -- I first studied anthropology at Macalester College and then worked at a bustling, loud, lovely public library in Saint Paul. I ended up there via the Community Technology Empowerment Project, and I owe a lot of my focus as an adult to that wonderful AmeriCorps program. I moved back to Boston to work in Internet research and then again to Seattle to work in an academic library as a technology assistant before finally getting here to Ann Arbor in 2016. I hope to make it back to New England (ideally Western Mass/Pioneer Valley) and work for a liberal arts or community college.
I love spicy food, mountains and woods, feminist sci-fi, tasty coffee, and in general a lot of introvert pursuits. Oh, and I adopted a kitty recently from the Humane Society of Huron Valley's cat cafe. Jane is the absolute cutest -- she plays fetch! She makes weird adorable chirping noises!
Jane being a sweetheart
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)