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Checksums

06-Feb-11

In computing, a checksum is like a canary in a mine. It’s a number used to confirm that a much larger group of numbers is consistent and has not been been changed in some way. A tiny little indicator which does nothing by itself, and only serves to confirm the whole.

My favourite example of a checksum in the real world is the Van Halen Brown M&M story. It seems that Van Halen’s tour contract was long and detailed. When you are going from city to city with a big rock band, complete with light show and complicated electrical requirements, you need everything done right the first time. After all, people have died from microphones which were incorrectly earthed. The band and their crew got sick and tired of finding that their requirements were not met, and having to double check everything. So, hidden deep in their contract, they inserted a demand that the band have a bowl of M&Ms backstage, from which all the brown ones had been removed.

This story ended up being misunderstood and conveying the impression that the band were difficult and demanding. In fact, it saved a lot of time for everyone. No M&Ms? Assume nothing has been done. Flip out. M&Ms there, but brown ones still present? Assume sloppy mistakes have been made. Check everything. M&Ms present, brown ones removed? Relax. I have no idea whether they ever ate the M&Ms. They didn’t matter. They were a symbol of the competence of the whole organisation.

I used to work at a magazine publishers, and when I had the authority, I used to come down hard on small formatting errors in magazine articles. People used to put this down to pettiness on my part, but I knew that the authority of an article was often fatally damaged by the tiny details. It seems silly, but if you put a space between the last letter of a sentence and the full stop, you are sending the readers a set of messages:

1. It says you don’t care very much about getting things right. You don’t check stuff and you don’t expect your readers to care or notice.

2. It puts a seed of doubt into the mind of the reader that you might have been equally sloppy about the main thrust of the article as you are with the punctuation. Since the article might be instructions on how to build an expensive engine, for example, that seed might be enough to put you off attempting making it. Be honest: if you had to choose a medication to save your life, wouldn’t you prefer it if the bottle did not show a glaring spelling mistake?

I am no grammar nazi. I tolerate all kinds of syntactic nonconformity in the interests of clarity, humour, originality, or tiredness. Sloppy spelling in emails from friends is actually kind of friendly, as it demonstrates that the sender had let his or her guard down, and is not standing on ceremony.

The checksum I find most troubling however, is when I catch a technology story in the mainstream media. When a journalist tries to tackle an area that I know something about, they get it wrong. Not just in subtle ways, ways that can be excused as part of an attempt to simplify a complex subject, but in big, scary ways. I remember when I heard a BBC journalist in the Nineties, trying to explain the browser wars, whilst earnestly confusing the function of an operating system and a browser. Repeatedly and insistently.

Every technology report that I know something about seems to contain at least one howler. I sometimes wonder if the BBC apply the same standards to all of the news – even the important stuff. What if all the reports coming out of Iraq were as inaccurate as this nonsense? Maybe they are, because I started noticing it whenever I had a tiny bit of inside information, or personal experience. They always got vital facts wrong.

Which, if my checksum theory is correct, ought to suggest that we can’t trust very much of what we read or hear.

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NaNoWriMo and Amateur Writers

05-Feb-11

Every year in November I feel I really should be trying to write a novel like all the contestants of – or are they contributors to? –  NaNoWriMo. I am not sure why. I have not tried to write anything fictional since I left High School, and have no clear idea of a story I would like to tell. I do admire the people who try though, and look forward to a time when, perhaps, I do.

However, this year – no doubt they appear every year – I read an article which was critical of the project, arguing that the world needed less lousy, amateur writing, not more, and that novels should be left to the professionals. The article also suggests that the project would be better served trying to make us into better readers rather than better writers.

This was all, no doubt, deliberately controversial, the high-class equivalent of flame-bait, purely for the purpose of generating attention. And I couldn’t disagree with it more if I tried.

It didn’t seem far from suggesting that it was pointless to learn to play the piano, if you had no intention of becoming a concert pianist. When, surely, even if you only ever have one piano lesson in your life, you have a greater insight into what it takes to play professionally, and a deeper appreciation of piano music.

So with writing. I can imagine many NaNoWriMo-ers having the sudden insight that handling a plot is hard and that good dialogue is harder. And when they next read a novel, they might appreciate what the novelist has achieved more, and have become better readers.

Which is why I am blogging every day for a month (February – it is the shortest, after all). Not because the world is begging for the benefit of my trenchant insights. To help me to improve my writing skills, certainly, but also to get a sense of the discipline required in trying to put across a complicated point.To force me to think through ideas – no matter how trivial – to see whether they stand up to the scrutiny of the written word. The only reason I am blogging it, instead of simply writing it down in a private notebook, is that making something public changes the way we approach it. Even if only 5 people ever read it, it makes a difference. Rather like checking your fly is done up before you pop to the postbox. You might not see anyone during this brief errand, but if your fly was open, it alters the perceived success of the journey a great deal.

My findings so far, having blogged continuously for all of 5 days, suggests the following:

1. My writing style is far more formal and stilted than my spoken language. When speaking, I tend to pun, invent nonsense words and make childish jokes all the time. Here, I sound like Severus Snape. This is surprising. Five points from Gryffindor.

2. When I reread something I have written a few days previously, I easily spot grammatical errors and, more seriously, realise that I have often failed to make the very point I was trying to make. It seems that what I write down is everything surrounding the central idea, without any clear statement of what I am concluding. Some might call this style elliptical. I find it baffling. Perhaps it is because the idea is so much to the forefront of my mind, that I feel stating it would be overly obvious, forgetting that the reader does not share my mind.

We will see how – and if – I improve as time goes by.

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A look in the mirror.

04-Feb-11

A while ago, while on my way to work, I saw a woman pulling out of her enormous, palatial home in a large SUV. She was stationary in the driveway, repeatedly clicking a remote control which was meant to automatically close her wrought-iron gates. But she couldn’t seem to get the angle right, because she was half leaning out of the window of the car, angrily jamming her thumb on the button, her face contorted with rage.

I realised that from the vantage point of the majority of the world, I would look just like that woman. I own a car, live in a house, have surplus food, and good health. I have a happy family, living in a safe country, with a great education and health system. But there are days when the slightest inconvenience contorts my face with rage too.

I am trying to make it an expression in my family, that if any one of us is frustrated by any trivial thing, that we all have to ask if their gates are stuck.

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Facial Expressions

03-Feb-11

English people use signifiers in strange ways. They feel a strong need to send out signals to the world as to their place in it. I know this is not unique to English people; but my experience suggests that the English do it in more ways, and more subtlety.

Clothes, for example. Where I grew up, clothes were primarily for protection from the weather, and were rarely used as essays in contemporary culture. Not so England. Here, every garment has a significance and symbolic meaning. Wearers are indicating their membership of a tribe by the wearing of – for example – a certain type of raincoat or shoe. An understanding of what things means and why is too complex for me to understand, let alone write about.

But there is another area which I have never seen discussed; the realm of facial expressions. It seems to me that different tribes adopt different facial expressions, at least while in public, for the purposes of communicating their tribal allegiances.

Imagine a busy Saturday morning, and people are milling around the main streets of our small town. What can we learn about the people we see? These people are busy doing something, they are not primarily on display in the way they would be if they were going to, for example, a restaurant in the evening. So they are dressed casually, and stride purposefully about doing the chores they have to do.

What is striking to me is the way that the message sent by the clothes is never contradicted by the message of the face, even though they are usually what a novelist would describe as ‘blank’. People sending out ‘high-status’ messages often have this sort of facial expression:

Brideshead revisited

Eyebrows slightly  raised, lips compressed into a straight line, but all of the emphasis is upwards.

People sending out ‘working-man’ messages have this sort of expression:

Ray Winstone

Eyes slightly narrowed, mouth loose, jaw relaxed but slightly jutting. All the emphasis is downwards.

The first group seem to be saying ‘I am alert’ while the second group seem to be saying ‘I am completely relaxed’.

I have no idea why these expressions mean what they seem to mean, or how they came to mean it. I am also surprised that I have never read anything that discusses this anywhere, although ‘body language’ is often discussed online. The real experts on this will be actors, who often seem to be able to transform at will – perhaps because they are able to adopt an expression that superficially appears blank and neutral, but actually subtly changes for different characters.

I even have a theory that facial expressions change over time, in the same way that clothes have changed, and for the same reason: fashion.

Take the above video of Richard Feynman. When I first saw this video I was struck by how much his body language matched that of my grandfather. The way he flutters his hands to indicate confusion or busyness. When, at 5:04, he leans forward and juts his jaw to make his point, it could be my grandfather. He also raises his eyebrows when smiling as he speaks. Now, George Clooney would never do that. I rarely see people raise their eyebrows when smiling, but my grandfather and grandmother both did it. And so does Richard Feynman, who was roughly the same age.

Accents change over time, as any old movie will prove. Clothing certainly changes. But it seems odd at first to imagine facial expressions changing in the same way. Perhaps the movies have a lot to do with it: I see a lot of young men walking around pretending to be rap stars or action heroes.

Perhaps it would be possible to isolate a movie star who popularised the practice of raising the eyebrows while smiling. It seems such a trivial thing, that it is almost not worth writing about, even in a blog – which is saying something. But facial expressions are such an influential part of human communication that it amazes me that they are not discussed more often.

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Geek Culture

02-Feb-11

I feel uncomfortable with the idea of geek culture, on principle. The reason I self-identify as a geek is because I have interests and enthusiasms which other people do not share. I persist with them anyway, because I don’t often care as much about the conventional wisdom as I do about satisfying my personal wishes. For me, that is what a geek is. Someone who is sometimes willing to look ridiculous to other people.

At the moment, as the internet is transforming our culture, geeks are fashionable. Which, by my definition, is a contradiction in terms.

Tribes have been around for a long time, but I have never consciously wanted to be a part of one. And the new media-friendly style of geekdom on offer seems to me to be a form of tribalism, with its expectation that all geeks like collecting Star Wars mini-figures, and have played many hours of Dungeons and Dragons.

Don’t get me wrong: I played Dungeons and Dragons, and I loved it. I do lots of things in accordance with geek tribal culture. Heck, I blog, right? Where I grew up I was expected to like rugby and to drink beer. I loathed both. Instead, I found my own things to like. Yes, Tolkien was one of them.

But, to me, a geek is the one person in a group who does not laugh along with a racist joke, because he or she doesn’t care that they don’t fit in. A geek would rather be lonely than compromise him or herself to make friends. So the very concept of geek culture, with its expectation of tribal hivemindedness and conformity, is wrong.

Stop telling geeks what they do and don’t like. Geeks are the sorts of people who can work it out for themselves.

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Conch retention

01-Feb-11

Anyone who talks to me discovers I have a frustrating tendency to go from rapid speech to complete silence in the middle of a sentence. This is because I am trying to find just the right word to complete my thought, but my irritated conversational partner often gets there ahead of me. They supply the word I am trying to remember, complete my sentence for me, and proceed to reply to it.

It seems to me that many conversations involve an invisible conch. In ‘Lord of the Flies’, the marooned schoolboys can only maintain order in debate by having a conch shell that must be held before anyone can speak. Since most people do without a real conch, polite people rely on body language, to indicate they want the virtual conch, while rude people charge in and grab it whenever they want. Which is why real conches are needed in the first place.

Most people are better at this game of conch-retention than me. A simple ‘um’ or ‘ah’ would do the job, but I seem too slow to use them.

If you listen to people being interviewed, you can easily spot how different people and professions use different methods to keep control of a dialogue. I have noticed many radio journalists recently using ‘sort of’ or ‘kind of’ as fillers for when inspiration fails. They sound better than ‘um’ or ‘er’ but perform the same function, as you can throw them liberally into monologues without changing the meaning. For example:

‘Ministers sort of believe that giving family doctors more sort of decision-making powers will kind of speed up the process of, sort of, transferring treatments from kind of expensive hospitals to sort of cheaper alternatives…’

British politicians are very lucky with the sort of language used in the House of Commons, which is so archaic and formal that once you have learned all of its stock phrases, whole paragraphs can be reeled off without apparent mental effort.

I thank my right honourable friend for that reply. I encourage him in his continuing efforts to secure the binding agreements that will implement the Copenhagen accord. Does he agree that it would be an important show of good faith from the developed world if it was to indicate that it would be willing to extend its commitments under the Kyoto treaty beyond the initial 2012 deadline?

Bishops and barristers both use an artificially slow, measured, delivery to allow time to think through what they are saying, and also have stock phrases they can throw in to buy time.

The point is that people in power have often developed very effective techniques to keep the conch at all costs. They are only in power because they control the conversation. I have seen meetings where someone has been desperate to interject with an objection, only to have the conch-holder turn to them and start to answer their objection before they have even had a chance to speak. It’s much easier to deal with complaints when you can frame them in your own words.

My father, who is a master of this game, has two tips. One is to pretend to be deaf and ask speakers to repeat themselves. This handing back of the conch sounds risky, but he observes that people who are saying something for the second time start to feel self conscious and lose confidence. And all the while, you can be thinking about what to say in reply. The second is to ask a very surprising, irrelevant or impossible question, and knock the other person off balance. Then, when they start to flounder and speak nonsense, talk over them emphatically and never hand the conch over again. Game, set and match.

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The Media and Storytelling

30-Jan-11

I read an article yesterday (here) which purports to be a professional footballer (soccer player, for US readers) moaning about the poor standards of commentary produced by former professional footballers. Now, I am not a football fan, so bear with me. His main point seems to be that even though these former players know the enormous amount of strategic thought and regimentation that goes into the preparation for a game, they prefer to report it as if little of this goes on, as if each player is far more responsible for his choices than he really is.

What are the reasons for this? Have these former players forgotten their training? Are they too lazy to try and convey it? I doubt it. I thought the reason might be more complicated, but more interesting.

I think British sports fans like to see their players as individual geniuses, not chess pieces on a giant green chess board. In the same way, we seem to prefer to think of scientists having individual blinding moments of inspiration, rather than making gradual discoveries, eked out after years of intense study, collaboratively building on the work of others.

And, of course, the media being what it is, we are served up exactly what we want to see or read. The news industry shapes events to suit our prejudices.

As humans, we seem to have an instinct to make a story out of everything. We need a villain, a hero, a victim, and a crisis. We have little patterns – shortcuts – which help us understand our complicated world. These patterns go from tiny – have you ever heard anyone described as a ‘devout protestant’? – to vast. For example, I very often hear Africa described as if every one of the residents of that enormous and varied continent are permanently on the brink of starvation.

Good causes can compound the problem by using these patterns ‘for the right reasons’, to help them raise money. It helps for victims to be passive, grateful and virtuous – the embodiment of the Victorian ‘deserving poor’ – untouched by the frailties we see in all other human beings.

It is easy to blame the media for all this, of course, but perhaps the world is too complicated to understand any other way. Ultimately, we get the press we want and the government we deserve.

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Homer: Storytelling when written down

30-Jan-11

A few years ago, I completed a course through the Open University called ‘Homer: Poetry and Society’. The final assignment was an essay which I had to set myself. I got to choose a question, and answer it. I always liked the essay, and so I thought I would share it here.

Find representative examples, in the Iliad and the Odyssey, of simultaneous events which are reported as being successive. Examine this technique, and consider the reasons the poet may have had for using it.

It widely believed that Homer’s poems owe a great deal to oral methods of composition, but we owe our knowledge of them to the fact that they were, at some point, written down. It is tempting to consider the ways in which a story aimed at a listening audience would differ from one which had been written down, for a literate, reading audience, and to see if we can detect any trace of an interface between the two forms in the structure of the poems. It is my belief that the works of Homer do straddle this interface, owing the vast bulk of their matter and style to the oral tradition, but betraying, in some details, an intention to bend and break the rules of the oral technique for artistic effect. Because of the stylistic norms which the poet was working in, the reporting of simultaneous events was impossible, and he/she was forced to innovate to allow the complex temporal structure of the poems.

It will first be necessary to describe the strict linear nature of oral composition, and then to demonstrate, through examples, how the poet got around the limitations imposed.

The Linear Nature of Oral Composition

One of the ‘signature’ features of Oral compositions is the use of ‘ring-composition’ (Learning Guide 1, page 29). This is a technique which leads the listener away from the central narrative, and then leads them back again. Willcock conjectures that ring-composition ‘probably originated as a mnemonic method for the oral bard.’ (Companion the The Iliad, page 10). I would argue that it is more likely that its use aids the listener. The bard is essentially performing a play, with many characters, but without (we presume) the use of quick costume changes or other scenery to give his story texture. He therefore has to be especially careful, when leaving the ‘scene’ that the departure is signaled to the audience, and the return is made equally obvious. A classic example, the Story of Niobe (Iliad 24:599-620), might be rendered thus:

599-601 A1 Take your son back later
601    B1 Let us eat
602-3       C1 Niobe ate
603-6          D1 Niobe’s children
607-8             E1 Niobe’s offence
609-12          D2 Niobe’s children
613       C2 Niobe ate
618-19    B2 Let us eat
599-601 A2 Take your son back later

There is no logical reason for A2, B2, C2 or D2 to be present in a written text, but there are strong reasons for them to be present to a live audience.

There is modern evidence which bears out the necessity of careful flagging when changing the ‘scene’ in a linear narrative. Television and radio news today (another purely oral medium) follow exactly the same ‘nesting’ patterns outlined above, a typical example of which I have outlined below:

A1 Presenter: ‘Disaster at X. Reporter on the ground has this report…’
B1 Reporter on Ground: ‘This is the nature of the disaster…’
C1 Edited footage of interviews and scenes on the ground
B2 Reporter on Ground: ‘This is Reporter Y, at X for Z News…’
A2 Presenter: ‘That report was by Reporter Y’

Again, A2 and B2 serve no purpose other than to return us to the starting point and ensure we know when one item ends and another begins. The fact that such recent innovations as television news borrow this technique (without, we presume any reference to classical oral tradition) bears out its use to the listener.

This ‘nesting’ occurs in many other parts of Homer’s narrative. For example, when direct speech is used it is vital that the audience are aware that someone other than the narrator is ‘speaking’. So, the poet is careful to devote a whole line to introducing the speaking character, and another line to complete the speech. For instance, Odyssey 4, 59-65:

59 A1 ‘Then in greeting fair-haired Menelaos said to them…’
60-64    B1 Direct Speech
65 A2 ‘So he spoke…’

The Reporting of Simultaneous Events
One of the side effects of the linear nature of the oral narrative is that it is always moving forward. To the listener, and events occurs as the narrator describes them, and the action moves forward one line at a time. If he/she describes an explosion, for example, from the vantage point of one character, and then goes back and describes it from the viewpoint of another character, that listener would count two explosions, and be in danger of believing that one explosion happened twice. It is exactly this sort of confusion that the ‘nested’ nature of the oral narrative is designed to prevent.

As Bowra writes ‘Time presents [a] difficulty to the oral poet. He has no easy was to depict contemporaneous actions. In a book this presents no difficulty, but the oral poet, with his concentration on one thing at a time has no ready means to suggest that something else happens somewhere else at a given time. His method is to neglect the difficulty and present as happening in sequence events which really happen simultaneously’ (Heroic Poetry page 313-4)

There are several points in the poems where this problem could occur, and the poet resolves it by leaving the exact sequence of events in an ambiguous state. I will describe two famous examples below.

1: Iliad Book 12
Here, the poet departs from his usual method of describing battle scenes i.e. through the eyes of one warrior who is given an Aristeia. The Aristeia method is ideal for oral composition; as the events are focused on one individual they can easily be described in a linear way. In The Iliad Book 12, however something more complex is attempted. Willcock says ‘It is pretty clear that this is not traditional material but is invented for the present scene by the poet of the Iliad’ (Companion, page 139). Here the Trojans divide themselves into five groups, who all attack the Achaen walls.

Groups Lines Description
1-33 Narrator: The wall will fall, but not yet.
34-59 Battle: Trojans stop at the ditch
60-79 Poulydamas: Let us dismount
80-87 All dismount, form into groups
88-107 Division of men, charge
1 108-174 Asios’ attack
175-180 Narrator: Too much happening at once!
1 181-194 Asios’ action defeated
2 195-209 Hektor: portent of the bird
2 210-229 Poulydamas: Let’s not attack the ships
2 230-250 Hektor: Coward – onwards!
251-264 Zeus backs Hektor
X 265-289 Aiantes inside the walls
3 290-328 Sarpedon: Attack!
3-X 329-396 Menestheus sees Sarpedon – Calls for Aiantes, who attack
3-X 397-399 Sarpedon breaks down the wall
3-X 400-412 Aias attacks Sarpedon
413-441 General Meleé
2 442-472 Hektor’s Deeds, ending with smashing the wall.

This passage is a brilliant compromise between the linear nature of the oral technique, and the thrilling innovation of a multi-layered narrative. It is clear that all division are attacking more or less simultaneously – as the poet expressly states in line 175. But it is perfectly possible to read this account in a linear way, because of the insertion of lines 195-209, which have Hektor waiting for a portent before joining battle. This is, to say the least, illogical – the other divisions seem to feel no need for this. It is tempting to see the insertion of these lines being there to allow the poem to conform to the conservative conventions of the oral tradition, even though the rest of the book is clearly breaking with the traditional description of a battle.

2: Odyssey Books 1 to 5
Book 1, line 26 of the Odyssey, describes a council of the gods. Athene (48-62) begs leave, in the absence of Poseidon, to help Odysseus return home. Hermes is dispatched to Odysseus by Zeus (84-7) and Athene goes to Telemachos (85-95). We follow Athene to Telemachos, and follow him further to Pylos and Sparta, and stay with him until the eve of his departure from there (Book 4:624). We then return to Ithaka and find the suitors planning to ambush Telemachos on his return, at the end of Book 4. At the start of Book 5 Athene returns to Olympus and repeats her plea to Zeus, who, rather indignantly (Book 5, lines 23-24), commands her to do the things she was supposed to do in Book 1. Jones writes ‘Possibly Homer felt the sea-change in the story at this point was so violent that he needed to adopt special tactics to keep his listeners up to date…’ (Homer’s Odyssey, page 48).

Again, the poet is keeping to the letter of the law with regard to the oral technique, but he/she is flouting the spirit of it. Artistically it is very desirable to have Books 1 to 4 and Books 5 to 14 working simultaneously, with the two narrative strands combining in book 15. This way, it is possible to hold back the introduction of Odysseus until his absence has been truly emphasised, and to leave a cliff-hanger ambush at the end of book 4. (The use of direct speech from Books 9 – 12 to fill in the ‘back-story’ is another example of adding temporal complexity within the linear rules.)

However, the insertion of lines 23-24 in Book 5 make it perfectly possible to read the whole narrative as linear, even though it does stretch credulity. The poet obviously felt that the artistic gains outweighed the risk of confusing his audience.

Conclusion
Homer was clearly steeped in the traditions of oral story telling. Stories had been told in a particular way for a very long time, and his/her audience would have expected the rules to be obeyed. If he had strayed too far from their expectations, he would have risked confusing them. It is possible however, the Iliad and the Odyssey were composed at a time when story telling was presented with new possibilities as a result of written composition. The mechanics of reading a text, instead of merely hearing it, would have presented many new opportunities, such as increasing the complexity of plots, making narratives last much longer than a poet could recite, and giving the reader time to read and re-read at his/her own pace, and to reflect. Change in technique would have come very slowly, however, and it may be that the ‘explanation’ lines outlined above allowed an innovative poet to push the old methods to the breaking point, while exploring the possibilities of the written medium

Bibliography
The Iliad of Homer, trans (R. Lattimore) 1951, The University of Chicago Press
The Odyssey of Homer, trans (R. Lattimore) 1967, HarperPerennial
Homer’s Odyssey, Peter Jones, 1999, Bristol Classical Press
A Companion to the Iliad, M. M. Willcock, 1976, The University of Chicago Press
Heroic Poetry, C. M. Bowra, 1966, Macmillan

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The Death of the Serif

13-Jan-11

I heard an interview with Prof Daniel Oppenheimer on the radio this morning, where he was discussing his discovery that people remember a text more accurately if  it has been printed using a less legible font. He speculates that the effect may be the result of the brain having to work harder to read an ugly typeface, and thus retains more. He did not speculate on the possibility that pupils might stop reading an ugly typeface. Anyway, I  don’t find his discovery very surprising.

However, when he was introducing his idea, he said – I cannot quote verbatim – that the history of typography is a progression towards greater legibility. That as time has passed, we have got better and better at making legible fonts. Here, I disagree with him.

To me, that makes about as much sense as saying that the history of English is a progression towards greater ease of understanding – that as time has passed we have got better and better at making ourselves understood. I suggest that Chaucer, for one, might disagree.

English has changed out of all recognition, of course, but it served its purpose perfectly well for the people who spoke it at the time they were speaking. So too, typography. Every typeface that was popular in its day was perfectly legible to the people who were reading it. Legibility is not objective. Hieroglyphics were once far more legible than they are now.

We just learn to read with a certain typeface, and that is the one that seems to influence our future ideas on what is legible and what isn’t.

I grew up with Century Schoolbook, but my children both learned to read with Sassoon. Sassoon has the advantage of being a typeface that resembles handwriting, so it acts as a guide for children learning to write as well. But I wonder what today’s children will make of serif fonts in a few decades time. They might find them slightly harder to read, and very gradually, the serif may well die out. Which seems surprising, until you consider that no-one has yet absolutely proven where serifs came from in the first place.

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Pro HDR

06-Jan-11

Pro HDR is a great photo app for lowly iPhone 3GS users (such as I), who lack the iPhone 4′s built in HDR feature.

You can use it instead of the camera app, especially where lighting conditions might result in a too dark or too light photo.

You have to hold the phone steady for a second – the one drawback – but it takes a ‘too dark’ photo, a ‘too light’ photo, and then combines the two into an image that much more closely resembles what your eyes are showing you.

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