Fitzpatrickâ€s book is a clear and well-thought out response to what is widely accepted as a deeply dysfunctional form of scholarly dissemination: the monograph. In the introduction, Fitzpatrick suggests that modern academic publishing in many ways operates via zombie logic, reanimating dead forms, feeding off of the living. As a result, it is tempting to conclude that the easiest way to deal with academic publishing is similar to the best cure for zombies: a quick death.

Planned Obsolescence does not take this easy path, and instead seeks to understand what animates the undead book. For Fitzpatrick, this begins with questioning the place and process of peer review, and this in turn forces us to peel back the skin of what lays beneath: authorship, texts, preservation, and the university. The essential question here is whether the cure to the zombification of scholarly communication may be found in a new set of digital tools for dissemination, and explores what the side effects of that cure may be.

In what constitutes the linchpin of her argument, the first chapter takes a bite out of one of the sacred cows of modern academia: the flawed nature of peer review as it is currently practiced. Unlike those who have argued–perhaps tactically–that open access and online journals will keep sacrosanct peer review in its current form, Fitzpatrick suggests that new bottles need new wine, and draws on a wide-reaching review of the history and problems of the present system of peer review, a system driven more by credentialing authors than promoting good ideas.

Fitzpatrick does not offer an alternative as much as suggests some existing patterns that may work, including successful community-filtered websites. She acknowledges that these sites tend to promote an idiosyncratic view of “quality,” and that problems like that of the male-dominated discourse on Slashdot would need to be addressed if we do not want to replace one calcified system of groupthink with another. The argument would be strengthened here, I think, with a clearer set of requirements for a proposed alternative system. She presents MediaCommons, an effort she has been involved in that provides a prototype for “peer-to-peer review,” as itself a work in progress. It is not clear that the dysfunctional ranking and rating function of the current peer review system is avoided in many of the alternative popular models she suggests, in which “karma whoring” is often endemic. As such, the discussion of what is needed, and how it might be effectively achieved could have been expanded; meta-moderation of texts is important, but it is not clear whether this is a solution or a temporary salve.

If we move from peer review to “peer-to-peer review,” it will have a significant effect on what we think of as “the author.” In her discussion of the changing nature of authorship, Fitzpatrick risks either ignoring a rich theoretic discussion of the “death of the author” or becoming so embroiled in that discussion that she misses the practical relationship to authors working in new environments of scholarly discourse. She does neither, masterfully weaving together a history of print culture, questions of authorship, and ways in which digital technologies enable and encourage the cutting up and remixing of work, and complicate the question of authorship.

The following two chapters discuss texts and their preservation. As the process of authorship changes, we should expect this to be revealed in the texts produced. Naturally, this includes the potential for hypermedia, but Fitzpatrick suggests a range of potential changes, not least those that make the process of scholarly review and conversation more transparent. This discussion of the potential edges of digital scholarship provides some helpful examples of the variety of scholarly discourse that is afforded by new media forms–a set of potentialities that is richer than the future that is sometimes presented by academic publishers whose visions are clouded by models and technologies that require profitability. The following chapter on the processes of disseminating and preserving this work I found to be particularly enlightening. As in earlier chapters, Fitzpatrick manages to draw together a surprisingly broad set of experiments and analyses into an intriguing and concise synthesis.

The penultimate chapter of the book discusses the question of how to support and sustain the creation of these new texts. The chapter argues that university presses should not try to beat commercial presses at their own game, but should instead invent a new game. It presents a number of models and strategies through which this might be achieved, and suggests those that show the most promise: notably, providing for open access and drawing the university press more directly into the work of the university and its library.

Planned Obsolescence itself was born of the realization that Fitzpatrickâ€s previous book was rejected due not to the quality of its thought but by the potential for press profit. That her next book is of now in a bound physical volume, published by New York University Press, and that this review will itself appear in a bound journal, published by Sage, seems to suggest that in some ways this born-digital scholarly conversation has itself succomed to the slow-moving process of traditional scholarly publication, and as such, might appear as something of a rebuttal to the argument that the only good zombie is a dead one. On the other hand, any criticism I provide above represents a form of slow, printed conversation that is largely outmoded by digital scholarly communication.

In fact, this neatly reflects the complexity of the new structures of scholarly publishing, and the promise for its future; a future in which we stop hiding from zombie books and invite them to a more convivial scholarly conversation. Anyone who is serious about understanding the future of scholarly publishing–and anyone who cares about knowledge and society should share this concern–will find Fitzpatrickâ€s book an essential, thought-provoking, and highly approachable introduction to the conversation.

Kathleen Fitzpatrick, Planned Obsolescence: Publishing, Technology, and the Future of the Academy. New York: NYU Press, 2011, vii+245 pp. ISBN 0-8147-2788-1, $23 (pbk)

A version of this review is to appear in New Media & Society, which provided me with a review copy.

There are always vacancies out on Broadway, and particularly up this far. There have been a couple of shops that have remained un-leased for at least three years across the street from us:

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But the number of shops closing is pretty shocking. And the type of shops.

Now, don’t get me wrong: I am not a New York native and I don’t get all crunchy about grimy mom & pop diners. I like clean, and I like new. I am actually a fan of the new Columbus Square development near our apartment, that some have described as “suburban architecture.” But when I see what is failing it is depressing.

Both the nearby wine bars are dead. Cool little bookshops like Murder Ink died years ago. The fair trade furniture shop at the corner is dead after only about six months. (OK, saw that one coming.) And it seems like a number more stores are on their way out.

What is frustrating is what happens to these places. The vast majority are left vacant–which really makes me wonder. I mean, why kick out a shop that is hitting hard times, but still able to pay something just to end up with a non-income storefront?

The case of Rack & Soul might be a good indication of why. Reviewers and eaters tend to agree that it’s a really good neighborhood BBQ place; better than Dinosaur BBQ down the street. But they also note that the decor has a bit to be desired:

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So, I was excited when they boarded up their main Broadway entrance, with signs directing people around back to the entrance. Even more excited when I saw some of the boards come off, and it looked like a modern, slick build-out. Cool. Great restaurant, now with a more stylish atmosphere.

Then the Verizon sign went up. R&S has been relegated to a back corner, with a slick Verizon retail shop taking up most of the frontage. (To add insult to injury, I overheard someone walking by say “Cool, a new Verizon store.” Really, who gets excited by that?)

I have nothing against Verizon. But there are mobile phone stores on every block. It is not an exaggeration to suggest that we are moving to the point that there will be at least two banks, a mobile phone shop, a Starbucks, and a Duane Reade or other chain drug store on every block.

I was at my bank the other day, and they had closed half the 8 or so ATMs. Four tellers waited around, with no line. Four other people worked in customer service. Meanwhile there was a line out the door to get to the ATMs. People don’t need retail banks any more, though they may need ATMs. Or, at the very least, they don’t need them on every corner. Really, these are expensive billboards, and should be regulated as such.

The economics disagree with this, of course. The rent for a space on Broadway is worth it for the marginal access to some of the wealthiest residents of the US. But while that decision might make sense for each bank or Metro PCS or Starbucks that makes it, the sum is a neighborhood that begins to look like a very expensive strip mall. I’ll have to go and see the new high line, in the hope that it can restore my faith in urbanity.