Early, on a recent November morning, 400 Military Police with tear gas and helicopters arrested 72 people, almost all students of the University of Sao Paulo. Those people were occupying the Rectory in response to an other arrest – of 3 fellow students – which was itself a consequence of the contract that the university administration signed with the MP, an agreement inviting the police back onto campus after decades in which this presence was essentially prohibited. University “autonomy” had been established by Article 207 of the 1988 Brazilian Constitution to close a chapter on Brazil’s military rule, during which time the Military Police enforced a series of decrees aimed at eliminating opposition to the dictatorship, including the local articulation of the 1960’s student movement. The 1964 Suplicy de Lacerda law forbade student organizations from engaging in politics; in 1968, Institutional Act No. 5 did away with the writ of habeus corpus; and Decree 477 a year later gave university and education authorities the right to expel students and professors involved in protests. A similar provision of “university asylum” restricted the access of policemen onto Greece’s campuses for 35 years. Like Brazil, this measure was adopted after the fall of a military regime that had violently crushed student uprisings and, like Brazil, this prohibition on police incursions into campuses collapsed in 2011. Greek politicians abolished the law in order to more effectively implement austerity measures imposed by European financial interests. Ten days after the raid at the University of Sao Paulo, the chancellor of the University of California, Davis ordered police to clear a handful of tents from a campus quadrangle. Because the peaceful demonstration was planned in solidarity with other actions on UC campuses drawing inspiration from the “occupy movement,” police force swiftly and forcefully dismantled the encampment. Students were pepper-‐sprayed at close range by a well-‐armored policeman wearing little concern. Such examples of the militarization of university campuses have become more common, especially in the context of growing social unrest. In California, they demonstrate the continued influence of Ronald Reagan, not simply for implementing neoliberal policies that have slashed public programs, produced a trillion dollars in US student loan debt and contracted the middle class; but also for campaigning in 1966 for governor of California on a promise to crack down on campus activists, making partnerships with conservative school officials and the FBI in order to “clean out left-‐wing elements” from the University of California. Linda Katehi – that UC Davis chancellor – was also an author of a 2011 report that recommended terminating university asylum to the Greek government. The report noted that “the politicization of students… represents a beyond-‐reasonable involvement in the political process,” continuing on to state that “Greek University campuses are not secure” because of “elements that seek political instability.”
Mobilization of books
After the Military Police operation in Sao Paulo, the rector appeared on television to accuse the students of preparing Molotov cocktails; independent media, on the other hand, described the students carrying left-‐wing books. Even more recently at UC Riverside, a contingent faculty member holding a cardboard shield that was painted to look like the cover of Figures of the Thinkable, by Cornelius Castoriadis, was dragged across the pavement by police and charged with a felony, “assault with a deadly weapon.” In Berkeley, students covered a plaza in books, open and facedown, after their tent occupation was broken up. Many of the crests and seals of universities feature a book, no doubt drawing on the book as both a symbol of knowledge and an actual repository for it. And by extension, books have been mobilized at various moments in recent occupations and protests to make material reference to education and the metastasizing knowledge economy. No doubt the use of radical theory literalizes an attempt to bridge theory and practice, while evoking a utopian imaginary, or simply taking Deleuze’s words at face value: “There is no need to fear or hope, but only to look for new weapons.” Against a background of library closures and cutbacks, as well as the concomitant demands for the humanities and social sciences to justify themselves in economic terms, it is as if books have come into view, desperately, like a rat in daylight. There is almost nowhere for them to go – the space in the remaining libraries is being given over to audio-‐visual material, computer terminals, public programming, and cafes, while publishers are shifting to digital distribution models that are designed to circumvent libraries entirely. So books have come out onto the street. Militarization of Books When knowledge does escape the jurisdiction of both the state and the market, it’s often at the hands of students (both the officially enrolled and the autodidacts). For example, returning to Brazil, the average cost of required reading material for a freshman is more than six months of minimum wage pay, with up to half of the texts not available in Brazil or simply out of print. Unsurprisingly, a system of copy shops provides on-‐demand chapters, course readers, and other texts; but the Brazilian Association of Reprographic Rights has been particularly hostile to the practice. One year before Sao Paulo, at the Federal University in Rio de Janeiro, seven armed police officers in three cars (accompanied by the Chief of the Delegation for the Repression of Immaterial Property Crimes) raided the Xerox room of the School of Social Work, arresting the operator of the machines and confiscating all illegitimate copies. Similar shows of force have proliferated ever since Brazilian copyright law was amended in 1998 to eliminate the exceptions that had previously afforded the right to copy books for educational purposes. This act of reproduction, felt by students and faculty to be inextricably linked to university autonomy and the right to education, coalesced into a movement by 2006, Copiar Livro é Direito! (Copying Books is a Right!) Illicit copies, when confiscated, usually are destroyed. In this sense, it is worthwhile to understand such an event as a contemporary form of censorship, certainly not out of any ideological disapproval of the publication’s actual content, but rather an objection to the manner of its circulation. Many books banned (and burned) during the dictatorship were obviously a matter of content – those that could “destroy society’s moral base” might “put into practice a subversive plan that places national security in danger.” Even if explicit sexuality, crime, and drug use within literature are generally tolerated today (not everywhere, of course) the rhetoric contained within the 1970 decree that instituted censorship is still alive in matters of circulation. During negotiations for the multi-‐national Anti-‐Counterfeiting Trade Agreement (ACTA), the Bush and Obama administrations denied the public information, stating that it was “properly classified in the interest of national security.” Certain parts of the negotiations became known through Wikileaks and ACTA was revealed as a vehicle for exporting American intellectual property enforcement. Protecting intellectual property is essential, politicians claim, to maintaining the American “way of life,” although today this has less to do with the moral base of the country than the economic base – workers and corporations. America, Obama said in reference to ACTA, would use the “full arsenal of tools available to crack down on practices that blatantly harm our businesses.” Universities, those institutions for the production of knowledge, are deeply embedded in struggles over intellectual property, and moreover deployed as instruments of national security. The National Security Higher Education Advisory Board, which includes (surprise) Linda Katehi, brings together select university presidents and chancellors with the FBI, CIA, and other agencies several times per year. Developed to address intellectual property at the level of cyber-‐theft (preventing sensitive research from falling into the hands of terrorists) the congenial relationship between university administrations and the FBI raises the spectre of US government spying on student activists in the 1960’s and early 1970’s. Financialization of publishing To the side of such partnerships with the state, the forces of financialization have been absorbed into universities, again with the welcome of administrations. Towering US student loan debt is one very clear index; another, less apparent, but growing, is the highly controlled circulation of academic publishing, especially journals and textbooks. Although apparently marginal (or niche) in topic, the vertical structure of the corporations behind most journals is surprisingly large. The Dutch company Elsevier, for example, publishes 250,000 articles per year, and earned $1.6 billion (a profit margin of 36%) in 2010. Texts are written, peer reviewed, and edited on a voluntary basis (usually labor costs are externalized, for example to the state or university). They are sold back to university libraries at extraordinarily high prices, and the libraries are obliged to pay because their constituency relies on access to research as a material for further research. When the website library.nu was taken-‐down recently for providing access to over 400,000 digital texts, it was not the major “commercial” publishers that were behind the action, but a coalition of 17 educational publishers, including Elsevier, Springer, Taylor and Francis, the Cambridge University Press, and Macmillan. On the heels of FBI raids on prominent torrent sites, and with a similar level of coordination, this publishers’ alliance hired private investigators to deploy software “specifically developed by IT experts” to secure evidence. In order to expand their profitability, corporate academic publishers exploit and reinforce entrenched hierarchies within the academia. Compensation comes in the forms of CV lines and disciplinary visibility; and it is that very validation that individuals need to find and secure employment at research institutions. “Publish or die” is not anything new, but as employment grows increasingly temporary and managerial systems for assessment and quantifying productivity proliferate, it has grown more ominous. Beyond intensifying internal hierarchies, this publishing situation has widened the gap between the university and the rest of the world (even as it subjects the exchange of knowledge to the logic of the stock market); publications are meant for current students and faculty only, and their legitimacy is regularly checked against ID cards, passwords, and other credentials. One without such legitimacy finds themselves on the wrong side of a paywall. Here, we discover the quotidian dimension to the militarization of the university, in the inconveniences of proximity cards, accounts, and login screens. If our contemporary forms of censorship are focused on the manner of a thing’s circulation, then systems of control would be oriented towards policing access. Reprographic machines and file-‐sharing software are obvious targets but, with the advent of tablet computers (such as Apple’s iPad, marketed heavily towards students), so are actual textbooks. The practice of reselling textbooks, a yearly student money-‐saving ritual that is perfectly legal under the first-‐sale doctrine, has long represented lost revenue to publishers. So many, including MacMillan and McGraw-‐Hill, have moved strongly into the e-‐textbook market, which allows them to shut the door on the secondary market because students are no longer buying the things themselves, but only temporary access to the things.
Opening of Access
Open Access publishing articulates an alternative, in order to circumvent the entire parasitical apparatus and ultimately deliver texts to readers and researchers for free. In large part, its success depends on whether or not researchers choose to publish their work with OA journals or with pay-‐for-‐access ones. If many have chosen the latter, it is because of factors like reputation and the interrelation between publishing and departmental structures of advancement and power. Interestingly, it is institutions with the strongest reputations that are also pushing for more ‘openness.’ Princeton University formally adopted an open-‐access policy in 2011 (the sixth Ivy League school to do so) in order to discourage the “fruits of [their] scholarship” from languishing “artificially behind a pay wall.” MIT has long promoted openness of its materials, from OpenCourseWare (2002) to its own Open Access policy (2009), to a new online learning infrastructure, MITx. Why is it that elite, private schools are so motivated to open themselves to the world? Would this not dilute their status? The answer is obvious: opening up their research gives their faculty more exposure; it produces a positive image of an institution that is generous and genuinely interested in generating knowledge; and ultimately it builds the university’s brand. They are not giving away degrees and certainly not research positions – rather they are mobilizing their intellectual capital to attract publicity, students, donations, and contracts. We can guess what ‘opening up the university’ means for the institution and the faculty, but what about for the students, including those who may not have the proper title, those learners not enrolled? MITx is an adaptation of the common practice of distance learning, which has a century-‐and-‐a-‐half long history, beginning with the University of London’s External Programme. There are populist overtones (Charles Dickens called the External Programme the “People’s University”) to distance learning that coincide with the promises of public education more generally, namely making higher education available to those traditionally without means for it. History has provided us with less than desirable motivations for distance education – the Free University of Iran was said to have been desirable to the Shah’s regime because the students would never gather – but current western programs are influenced by other concerns. Beyond publicity and social conscience, many of these online learning programs are driven by economics. At the University of California, the Board of Regents launched a pilot program as part of a plan to close a 4.7 billion dollar budget gap, with the projection that such a program could add 25,000 students at 1.1% of the normal cost. Aside from MITx’s free component (it brings in revenue as well if people want to actually get “credit”) most of these distance-‐learning offerings are immaterial commodities. UCLA Extension is developing curricula and courses for Encore Career Institute, a for-‐profit venture bringing together Hollywood, Silicon Valley, and a chairwoman of the UC Regents, whose goal is to “deliver some of the fantastic intellectual property that UC has.” And even MITx is not without its restricted-‐access bedfellows; its pilot online course requires a textbook, which is owned by Elsevier. Students are here conceived of truly as consumers of product, and education has become a subgenre of publication. The classroom and library are seen as inefficient mechanisms for delivering education to the masses or, for that matter, for the delivering the masses to creditors, advertisers, and content providers. Clearly, classrooms will continue to exist, especially in the centers for the reproduction of the elite, such as those proponents of Open Access previously mentioned. But everywhere else, post-‐ classroom (and post-‐library) education is exploding. Students do not gather here and they certainly don’t sit-‐in or take over buildings; they don’t argue outside during a break, over a cigarette, nor do they pass books between themselves. I am not, however, a fatalist on this point – these may be networks of access managed by capital and policed by the state, but new collective forms and subjectivities are already emerging, exploiting or evading the logic of accounts, passwords, and access. They find each other across borders and across disciplines.
Negating Access
After the capitalist restructuring of the 1970s and 1980s, how do we understand the scenes of people clashing with police formations; the revival of campus occupations as a tactic; the disappearance of university autonomy; the withdrawal of learning into the disciplined walls of the academy; in short, how do we understand a situation that appears quite like before? One way – the theme of this essay – would be through the notion of “access.” If access has moved from a question of rights (who has access?) to a matter of legality and economics (what are the terms and price for access, for a particular person?) then over the past few decades we have witnessed access being turned inside-‐out, in a manner reminiscent of Marx’s “double freedom” of the proletariat: having access to academic resources while not being able to access each other. Library cards, passwords, and keys are assigned to individuals; and so are contracts, degrees, loans, and grades. Students (and faculty) are individuated at every turn, perhaps no more clearly than in online learning where each body collapses into their own profile. Access is not so much a passage into a space as it is an apparatus enclosing the individual. (In this sense, Open Access is one configuration of this apparatus). Two projects that I have worked within over the past 7 years – a file-‐sharing website for texts, AAAARG.ORG, and a proposal-‐based learning platform, The Public School – are ongoing efforts in escaping this regime of access in order to create some room to actually understand all of these conditions, their connection to larger processes, and the possibilities for future action. The Public School has no curriculum, no degrees, and nothing to do with the public school system. It is simply a framework within which people propose ideas for things they want to learn about with others; a rotating committee might organize this proposal into an actual class, bringing together a group of strangers and friends who find a way to teach each other. AAAARG.ORG is a collective library comprised of scans, excerpts, and exports that members of its public have found important enough to share with each other. They are premised, in part, on the proposition that making these kinds of spaces is an active, contingent process requiring the coordination, invention, and self-‐ reflection of many people over time. The creation of these kinds of spaces involves a negation of access, often bringing conflict to the surface. What this means is that the spaces are not territories on which pedagogy happens, but rather that the collective activity of making and defending these spaces is pedagogical.
In the militarized raids of campus occupations and knowledge-‐sharing assemblages, the state is acting to both produce and defend a structure that generates wealth from the process of education. While there are occasional clashes over content, usually any content is acceptable that circulates through this structure, and the very failure to circulate (to attract grant funding, attention, or feedback) becomes the operative, soft form of suppression. A resistant pedagogy should look for openings – and if they don’t exist, break them open – where space grows from a refusal of access and circulation, borders and disciplines; from an improvised diffusion that generates its own laws and dynamics. But a cautionary note – any time new social relations are born out of such an opening in space and time, a confrontation with power is not far behind.
Barok
Communing Texts
2014
Communing Texts
_A talk given on the second day of the conference_ [Off the
Press](http://digitalpublishingtoolkit.org/22-23-may-2014/program/) _held at
WORM, Rotterdam, on May 23, 2014. Also available
in[PDF](/images/2/28/Barok_2014_Communing_Texts.pdf "Barok 2014 Communing
Texts.pdf")._
I am going to talk about publishing in the humanities, including scanning
culture, and its unrealised potentials online. For this I will treat the
internet not only as a platform for storage and distribution but also as a
medium with its own specific means for reading and writing, and consider the
relevance of plain text and its various rendering formats, such as HTML, XML,
markdown, wikitext and TeX.
One of the main reasons why books today are downloaded and bookmarked but
hardly read is the fact that they may contain something relevant but they
begin at the beginning and end at the end; or at least we are used to treat
them in this way. E-book readers and browsers are equipped with fulltext
search functionality but the search for "how does the internet change the way
we read" doesn't yield anything interesting but the diversion of attention.
Whilst there are dozens of books written on this issue. When being insistent,
one easily ends up with a folder with dozens of other books, stucked with how
to read them. There is a plethora of books online, yet there are indeed mostly
machines reading them.
It is surely tempting to celebrate or to despise the age of artificial
intelligence, flat ontology and narrowing down the differences between humans
and machines, and to write books as if only for machines or return to the
analogue, but we may as well look back and reconsider the beauty of simple
linear reading of the age of print, not for nostalgia but for what we can
learn from it.
This perspective implies treating texts in their context, and particularly in
the way they commute, how they are brought in relations with one another, into
a community, by the mere act of writing, through a technique that have
developed over time into what we have came to call _referencing_. While in the
early days referring to texts was practised simply as verbal description of a
referred writing, over millenia it evolved into a technique with standardised
practices and styles, and accordingly: it gained _precision_. This precision
is however nothing machinic, since referring to particular passages in other
texts instead of texts as wholes is an act of comradeship because it spares
the reader time when locating the passage. It also makes apparent that it is
through contexts that the web of printed books has been woven. But even though
referencing in its precision has been meant to be very concrete, particularly
the advent of the web made apparent that it is instead _virtual_. And for the
reader, laborous to follow. The web has shown and taught us that a reference
from one document to another can be plastic. To follow a reference from a
printed book the reader has to stand up, walk down the street to a library,
pick up the referred volume, flip through its pages until the referred one is
found and then follow the text until the passage most probably implied in the
text is identified, while on the web the reader, _ideally_ , merely moves her
finger a few milimeters. To click or tap; the difference between the long way
and the short way is obviously the hyperlink. Of course, in the absence of the
short way, even scholars are used to follow the reference the long way only as
an exception: there was established an unwritten rule to write for readers who
are familiar with literature in the respective field (what in turn reproduces
disciplinarity of the reader and writer), while in the case of unfamiliarity
with referred passage the reader inducts its content by interpreting its
interpretation of the writer. The beauty of reading across references was
never fully realised. But now our question is, can we be so certain that this
practice is still necessary today?
The web silently brought about a way to _implement_ the plasticity of this
pointing although it has not been realised as the legacy of referencing as we
know it from print. Today, when linking a text and having a particular passage
in mind, and even describing it in detail, the majority of links physically
point merely to the beginning of the text. Hyperlinks are linking documents as
wholes by default and the use of anchors in texts has been hardly thought of
as a _requirement_ to enable precise linking.
If we look at popular online journalism and its use of hyperlinks within the
text body we may claim that rarely someone can afford to read all those linked
articles, not even talking about hundreds of pages long reports and the like
and if something is wrong, it would get corrected via comments anyway. On the
internet, the writer is meant to be in more immediate feedback with the
reader. But not always readers are keen to comment and not always they are
allowed to. We may be easily driven to forget that quoting half of the
sentence is never quoting a full sentence, and if there ought to be the entire
quote, its source text in its whole length would need to be quoted. Think of
the quote _information wants to be free_ , which is rarely quoted with its
wider context taken into account. Even factoids, numbers, can be carbon-quoted
but if taken out of the context their meaning can be shaped significantly. The
reason for aversion to follow a reference may well be that we are usually
pointed to begin reading another text from its beginning.
While this is exactly where the practices of linking as on the web and
referencing as in scholarly work may benefit from one another. The question is
_how_ to bring them closer together.
An approach I am going to propose requires a conceptual leap to something we
have not been taught.
For centuries, the primary format of the text has been the page, a vessel, a
medium, a frame containing text embedded between straight, less or more
explicit, horizontal and vertical borders. Even before the material of the
page such as papyrus and paper appeared, the text was already contained in
lines and columns, a structure which we have learnt to perceive as a grid. The
idea of the grid allows us to view text as being structured in lines and
pages, that are in turn in hand if something is to be referred to. Pages are
counted as the distance from the beginning of the book, and lines as the
distance from the beginning of the page. It is not surprising because it is in
accord with inherent quality of its material medium -- a sheet of paper has a
shape which in turn shapes a body of a text. This tradition goes as far as to
the Ancient times and the bookroll in which we indeed find textual grids.
[](/File:Papyrus_of_Plato_Phaedrus.jpg)
A crucial difference between print and digital is that text files such as HTML
documents nor markdown documents nor database-driven texts did inherit this
quality. Their containers are simply not structured into pages, precisely
because of the nature of their materiality as media. Files are written on
memory drives in scattered chunks, beginning at point A and ending at point B
of a drive, continuing from C until D, and so on. Where does each of these
chunks start is ultimately independent from what it contains.
Forensic archaeologists would confirm that when a portion of a text survives,
in the case of ASCII documents it is not a page here and page there, or the
first half of the book, but textual blocks from completely arbitrary places of
the document.
This may sound unrelated to how we, humans, structure our writing in HTML
documents, emails, Office documents, even computer code, but it is a reminder
that we structure them for habitual (interfaces are rectangular) and cultural
(human-readability) reasons rather then for a technical necessity that would
stem from material properties of the medium. This distinction is apparent for
example in HTML, XML, wikitext and TeX documents with their content being both
stored on the physical drive and treated when rendered for reading interfaces
as single flow of text, and the same goes for other texts when treated with
automatic line-break setting turned off. Because line-breaks and spaces and
everything else is merely a number corresponding to a symbol in character set.
So how to address a section in this kind of document? An option offers itself
-- how computers do, or rather how we made them do it -- as a position of the
beginning of the section in the array, in one long line. It would mean to
treat the text document not in its grid-like format but as line, which merely
adapts to properties of its display when rendered. As it is nicely implied in
the animated logo of this event and as we know it from EPUBs for example.
In the case of 'reference-linking' we can refer to a passage by including the
information about its beginning and length determined by the character
position within the text (in analogy to _pp._ operator used for printed
publications) as well as the text version information (in printed texts served
by edition and date of publication). So what is common in printed text as the
page information is here replaced by the character position range and version.
Such a reference-link is more precise while addressing particular section of a
particular version of a document regardless of how it is rendered on an
interface.
It is a relatively simple idea and its implementation does not be seem to be
very hard, although I wonder why it has not been implemented already. I
discussed it with several people yesterday to find out there were indeed
already attempts in this direction. Adam Hyde pointed me to a proposal for
_fuzzy anchors_ presented on the blog of the Hypothes.is initiative last year,
which in order to overcome the need for versioning employs diff algorithms to
locate the referred section, although it is too complicated to be explained in
this setting.[1] Aaaarg has recently implemented in its PDF reader an option
to generate URLs for a particular point in the scanned document which itself
is a great improvement although it treats texts as images, thus being specific
to a particular scan of a book, and generated links are not public URLs.
Using the character position in references requires an agreement on how to
count. There are at least two options. One is to include all source code in
positioning, which means measuring the distance from the anchor such as the
beginning of the text, the beginning of the chapter, or the beginning of the
paragraph. The second option is to make a distinction between operators and
operands, and count only in operands. Here there are further options where to
make the line between them. We can consider as operands only characters with
phonetic properties -- letters, numbers and symbols, stripping the text from
operators that are there to shape sonic and visual rendering of the text such
as whitespaces, commas, periods, HTML and markdown and other tags so that we
are left with the body of the text to count in. This would mean to render
operators unreferrable and count as in _scriptio continua_.
_Scriptio continua_ is a very old example of the linear onedimensional
treatment of the text. Let's look again at the bookroll with Plato's writing.
Even though it is 'designed' into grids on a closer look it reveals the lack
of any other structural elements -- there are no spaces, commas, periods or
line-breaks, the text is merely one flow, one long line.
_Phaedrus_ was written in the fourth century BC (this copy comes from the
second century AD). Word and paragraph separators were reintroduced much
later, between the second and sixth century AD when rolls were gradually
transcribed into codices that were bound as pages and numbered (a dramatic
change in publishing comparable to digital changes today).[2]
'Reference-linking' has not been prominent in discussions about sharing books
online and I only came to realise its significance during my preparations for
this event. There is a tremendous amount of very old, recent and new texts
online but we haven't done much in opening them up to contextual reading. In
this there are publishers of all 'grounds' together.
We are equipped to treat the internet not only as repository and library but
to take into account its potentials of reading that have been hiding in front
of our very eyes. To expand the notion of hyperlink by taking into account
techniques of referencing and to expand the notion of referencing by realising
its plasticity which has always been imagined as if it is there. To mesh texts
with public URLs to enable entaglement of referencing and hyperlinks. Here,
open access gains its further relevance and importance.
Dušan Barok
_Written May 21-23, 2014, in Vienna and Rotterdam. Revised May 28, 2014._
Notes
1. ↑ Proposals for paragraph-based hyperlinking can be traced back to the work of Douglas Engelbart, and today there is a number of related ideas, some of which were implemented on a small scale: fuzzy anchoring, 1(http://hypothes.is/blog/fuzzy-anchoring/); purple numbers, 2(http://project.cim3.net/wiki/PMWX_White_Paper_2008); robust anchors, 3(http://github.com/hypothesis/h/wiki/robust-anchors); _Emphasis_ , 4(http://open.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/01/11/emphasis-update-and-source); and others 5(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fragment_identifier#Proposals). The dependence on structural elements such as paragraphs is one of their shortcoming making them not suitable for texts with longer paragraphs (e.g. Adorno's _Aesthetic Theory_ ), visual poetry or computer code; another is the requirement to store anchors along the text.
2. ↑ Works which happened not to be of interest at the time ceased to be copied and mostly disappeared. On the book roll and its gradual replacement by the codex see William A. Johnson, "The Ancient Book", in _The Oxford Handbook of Papyrology_ , ed. Roger S. Bagnall, Oxford, 2009, pp 256-281, 6(http://google.com/books?id=6GRcLuc124oC&pg=PA256).
Addendum (June 9)
Arie Altena wrote a [report from the
panel](http://digitalpublishingtoolkit.org/2014/05/off-the-press-report-day-
ii/) published on the website of Digital Publishing Toolkit initiative,
followed by another [summary of the
talk](http://digitalpublishingtoolkit.org/2014/05/dusan-barok-digital-imprint-
the-motion-of-publishing/) by Irina Enache.
The online repository Aaaaarg [has
introduced](http://twitter.com/aaaarg/status/474717492808413184) the
reference-link function in its document viewer, see [an
example](http://aaaaarg.fail/ref/60090008362c07ed5a312cda7d26ecb8#0.102).