A scant few audiophiles sifted through overflowing racks of secondhand records and CDs. Signs advertised albums for 10p. I politely flicked through bent cardboard and cracked plastic, feigning interest while my friend searched for any loot he might strip from the wreckage. It took me only a few minutes to abandon any interest.

I was struck by how relatively quickly the concept of ‘browsing’ had moved from shelf to screen. Through no fault of its own, this record store had become a room full of junk.  While I waited for my friend I asked the assistant for his predictions on the future., and he replied: ‘It won’t be long before all these places around here will be replaced by a string of coffee shops.’

This struck a particular chord with me because only a few days earlier, the research partner I have been working with here in the UK, if:Book, announced its plans to transform a project we’d been working on together, an experimental community-based bookshop, into – you guessed it – a coffee shop.

Well, not just a coffee shop, but an experiment in finding new ways to attract people to visit spaces where, for a modest expenditure they can enjoy a variety of reading experiences. In this case it happens to be a rather unpretentious café above the local library, with lots of light, some large tables to work or read and wi-fi. There’s also a wall of books for sale (a mix of big-name and local self-published products), and community noticeboards that advertise, amongst other things, courses in digital literacy, book making and creative writing. So, it’s not just a coffee shop but a literary social space.

If Berwick St left me wondering whether bookshops – spaces easily as beloved by their public as record stores once were – will eventually suffer a similar fate, the if:Book experimental ‘café/bookshop in the library’ made me speculate on whether this might be a possible solution.

In his book Last Shop Standing: Whatever Happened to Record Shops?, Graham Jones attributes the closure of independent stores to the new market landscape in which record companies put online retailers and supermarkets ahead of independent outfits. But corporate greed and agglomeration are only one side of the story: customers have turned away from traditional shopping experiences in favour of online services. Even the local video rental store has now vanished from our streets because of these changes in consumer behaviour.

When we talk about the current challenges facing bookshops, there is implicit in this a concern that they mean books are becoming less relevant in our everyday lives. But is this necessarily the reality?

Research I’ve been working on rather gamely claims to consider what might happen in ‘the bookshop of the future’ and many of these blog musings draw upon the qualitative research I’ve conducted over the past six months with seven small, independent London-based book retailers and their customers. Based on what I’ve learnt through these conversations and observations I want to propose that, contrary to logic, a bookshop, even without (many) books on the shelves, really can be more than ‘just a room’ to its customers.

The idea that bookshops have important symbolic value as well as a commercial role is evident in any analysis of popular media. In books and films the bookshop also regularly features as site for charming and whimsical personal encounters (think of 84 Charing Cross Rd, or films such as You’ve Got Mail or Notting Hill). Bookshops are rather like holidays, not only because they are associated with relaxation and escape but because, as with taking a holiday, what we value most of all about them are the affective associations they engender. Bookshops are spaces for their patrons’ fantasies about their preferred engagements with their preferred kinds of literature. They evoke feelings. This being the case, the idea of the bookshop is arguably more valued than the actual store on any particular street corner.

This popular discourse contributes to consumer opinion on the value of bricks-and-mortar bookshops. And so, even as sales of iPads and Kindles grow every year, and more customers turn to online shopping, bookshops are as beloved (if less patronised) as ever. In Laura Miller’s study of American independent bookshops she reflects on the cultural value that attends the work of the bookseller, suggesting that ‘in the valorization of the work of the bookseller there is a clear sense that books are exceptionally moral objects deserving of protection from [destructive] forces’.

This is why the loss of our bookshops is greeted with even more concern and scandalised outrage than the disappearance of retailers such as record stores or other high-street retailers: because access to books is understood to contribute so much to a healthy society.

Miller observes that independent stores have worked hard to harness the sense of community and being ‘in touch’ that customers anticipate, using this to set them apart from their conglomerate competition. These activities allow small, local stores to account for their undiscounted prices, and also give customers that much desired sense of being ‘in touch’.

But, however nice it is to have a ‘sense of community’, this doesn’t address the realities of our daily habits. I have no doubt that people who read independent publications support the notion of community – we all value the democracy engendered by literacy, we want local small businesses and local artists to succeed. We may also buy books online. I myself admit that I do almost all of my book purchasing online – many of these are ebooks, mostly for ease of travel and research, but also because printed books cost a lot of money. Bookshop customers I spoke to expressed similar sentiments: they enjoyed browsing but often returned home to buy a book online at a discount, or download it.

There is unquestionable convenience to the online system, but also some new pleasures. Customers I spoke with told me of the value of the internet as a research tool for reading, of the pleasure and positive feeling of finding out about books via online networks. Here’s a typical comment: ‘I confess I get most of my recommendations for reading these days via things my friends post online; on Facebook, or Twitter, whatever. Maybe it’s a link to a book review of something new and I think, oh yeah, that looks interesting … Before I know it, it’s on its way to my house.’

It’s not that interesting things aren’t happening inside small bookshops, but these days much of it isn’t traditional book buying and selling.

In the sites where I’ve been conducting fieldwork I’ve noticed some small but significant changes. The internet and digital social networks are being used not just to link people with common allegiances who are geographically distant, but also those who are proximate. Several of the stores I work with understand that the majority of their online network is locally based and tailor their digital identity to reflect this. So for instance, one store I visited maintained a popular Twitter identity that kept followers up to date with day-to-day activities in store, from the boredom of the daily commute to frustrations about ordering stock or indecision about lunchtime sandwich selections. Even if you’re not in-store it’s easy to keep up to date with the daily life of the bookshop. This store recognised that it wasn’t reading books or critiquing books that suited social networks, but being around them in a very quotidian way that was the key. This same store also manages a slate of after-hours events that have almost nothing to do with books (quiz nights, sewing classes, music, comedy and most recently even an Avon evening). These cases illustrate how the old idea of community support and being ‘in touch’ can match with the immediacy and novelty of digital networks.

As definitions of ‘reading’ and ‘readers’ have expanded with digital communications, its very likely that the bookstore’s ideal customer might not even be someone who would describe themselves as having that traditional ‘passion for books’. Yet they find their social and cultural tastes and allegiances well catered to by the store and its wider network. These are the book store’s new potential customers.

Bookshops need to take greater account of this change, emphasising their role as social spaces for people, rather than storehouses for stock. The bookshop’s continued ability to generate affection, even among those of us whose actions end up undermining it, perhaps speaks less to our love of books and reading and more to our desire to feel ‘in touch’ with our local environment, via the symbolic value books and bookshops represent. Bookshops need to give people ways to connect online and reasons to leave the house that don’t rely solely on the sale of their primary product. To survive, bookshops need to do something many record stores did not – that is, reinvent themselves as physical destinations within a broader network for reading, rather than being only in the business of book selling.

Cross-posted from Book Futures.

Dr Caroline Hamilton has been visiting the UK for six months as part of an Endeavour Fellowship investigating how digital culture is affecting the work of bricks-and-mortar bookshops. You can read more about her work at: http://www.printedmattersproject.blogspot.com.

I learned about 4chan the hard way. Many moons ago, a friend of mine emailed me while on vacation in Tripoli, saying that he’d attached a photo that I might enjoy. And lo and behold: the photo, innocuously titled maindrag.jpg, was not of a bustling street, but of an elderly man coming to grips with his distended anus. I had just been Goatse’d. In a follow-up email, my friend explained that he’d been spending time on an internet imageboard called 4chan that had fanned the flames of his desire for casual trolling, as the reactions from unwitting suspects tended to be hilarious. On 4chan’s /b/ forum, he said, the ‘bait and switch’ routine is a common trolling mechanism. ‘Rickrolling’ (sending people links of Rick Astley singing ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’) is probably the best known (and most benign) example.

Self-proclaimed moral compass of the magazine world, Time, called 4chan – particularly the ‘random’ (/b/) forum – a ‘wretched hive of scum and villainy’. Personally, I prefer Encyclopedia Dramatica’s description of ‘asshole of the internet’, for reasons that may already be obvious. Other media outlets have tended to steer towards hysterical proclamations, unsure what to make of a site that encourages one’s social filter to be switched off and social mores transgressed to the point of absurdity. But if you strip away any predictable moral conceit, 4chan seems like a constantly unfurling guide to the young white male hive-mind mentality, updated in real-time.

For that reason, it is unsurprising to note that much of the /b/ forum is dominated by crude sexual innuendo, free porn, homophobic and misogynistic sentiment, posts promising photos of personal degradation in exchange for porn and posters sarcastically asking for advice on romance. Offensiveness is encouraged; leave your inhibitions for Twitter. On 4chan – particularly /b/ – there’s no shame or accountability for the unabashed dick-fussing or offensive remarks because each poster is anonymous. The site certainly has an undesirable element to it, yet this also functions as its primary appeal.

Like all online narratives, 4chan can be mentally exhausting. As with Facebook’s aggregated news feed, one is constantly and arbitrarily bombarded with visual stimuli. If you’re looking for a linear, expository narrative among 4chan’s assortment of jewels and junk, it can be difficult. Some of the posts seem utterly nonsensical, even anachronistic – I suppose that’s to be expected on the ‘random’ imageboard – but the most rewarding aspect is seeing memes generated and regenerated, with numerous forum members adding to the dialogue with images and text, trying to garner the most laughs and appreciation from their peers. As such, the results can often be brilliant, shocking, intelligent, absurd and/or chronically inappropriate – much like the male youth which make up the majority of its audience.

Indeed, the instantaneous pace of any social networking site means that the hardest part is keeping up. And to keep on top of memes in 4chan – which has no archives of past posts – can be tiring. The endeavour requires constant visits, in the same way that any social networking site trades off and depends upon repeated stimulation for its success.

But 4chan sits well outside of this social networking war, despite that fact that its influence on culture is as broad as the mainstream players’. 4chan and Canvas (as well as new imageboard sites like dump.fm) are unique in that they thrive on the anonymity of their members. Anonymity ensures that it is the content, not the creators, that reigns supreme. The act of collaboration between members trumps the efforts of the individual every time.

One may be reluctant to declare 4chan an arbiter of taste, but there’s no denying its indelible imprint on internet and popular culture. It has a mythology, a culture and an argot that is distinctly and uniquely its own. Of course, some of the most memorable and vibrant cultural produce is spawned from the ghettos, which are often antagonised by or actively antagonise the mainstream. 4chan has been untouched by the gentrification process – the imageboards are as wildly inappropriate as they ever were – but markers of its cultural legacy can be found everywhere. Liberated from the meticulous posturing that bedevils other social networking sites, 4chan is able to achieve cultural resonance by titillating those impulses that are often left unspoken. Sometimes, the illicit thrill of the forbidden is just too tempting.

- Gillian Terzis’s essay, ‘For Everything Else There’s Mastercard: Anonymous and 21st-Century Hacktivism’ appears in Kill Your Darlings Issue Six.

Reminiscent of Australian high school dramas such as Blackrock and 2:37, Wasted on the Young is the feature debut of writer/director Ben C. Lucas.

Filmed in Western Australia, the story takes place at an exclusive private school, which we are informed is the best because ‘it’s the most expensive’. Darren (Oliver Ackland) is an introspective ‘computer nerd’ who enters this world of privilege and excess after his mother marries the father of alpha male Zack (Alex Russell). Despite being on the swim team with Zack and the rest of his thugs, Darren remains an outsider in this world of elitism, choosing to spend his time playing online games rather than socialising at the wild parties held at his house. Conflict arises when Zack and his friends are accused of gang-raping Darren’s love interest and school ‘good girl’ Xandrie (Adelaide Clemens) while she is unconscious at one of Zack’s parties. On discovering the truth of the crime and obtaining solid proof (the act is caught on camera) Darren must decide whether he will follow his familial or moral obligations; as Xandrie poignantly states, ‘if you see something and do nothing you’re not a witness, you’re an accomplice’.

The story and the characters are clichés at best; sensitive nerds, bullying jocks and beautiful mean girls burden the film. This prohibits a more nuanced reading of the characters and their motivations because they are predominantly one-dimensional, especially the ‘bullies’, who are vicious and cruel simply because they can be. While the film is undoubtedly visually appealing (the swimming sequences, in particular, are breathtaking), it is weakened by a plot that is sloppy and often confusing, jerking awkwardly between flashbacks and fantasy/dream sequences. The acting is lacklustre and the age of the cast unbelievable for a high school film; Oliver Ackland, for instance, is in his thirties. Ethereal beauty Adelaide Clemens, however, is the film’s saving grace; there is an affecting sincerity to her acting that hardly any of the other main characters possess.

Despite the significance of the film’s central problems (date rape and cyber-bullying) they are executed poorly. There is an exorbitant focus on elitism within the film, particularly in the degree of the boys’ invulnerability. Their dominance and authority at the school pushes the level of believability; even though there is solid evidence that would convict the boys, we are led to believe that Xandrie is powerless in the face of high school popularity. Stars of the swim team, these boys will not be convicted because they are more popular, and popularity is akin to royalty at this school. Zack crudely reminds Xandrie of this, telling her he was called into the principal’s office to check if he was ‘okay’ after the rape allegations surfaced. Xandrie’s disempowerment and subsequent fate is highly problematic and one of the film’s lowest points. Stripped of subjectivity and agency, she becomes simply a vehicle for Darren’s revenge on high school bullies.

What initially sets this film apart – being a morality tale for the ‘Facebook generation’ – is ultimately its downfall. Clearly Lucas is attempting to make a point about current forms of communication, social media and CCTV (everything is filmed and private information is instantly accessible) and to some degree he does succeed. The dangerous and claustrophobic world of cyber-bullying and social networking is explored, albeit superficially. While group texts, Facebook threads, and tweets punctuate the film, most of the violence and confrontation still happens in person, which makes the film’s objective confusing. The intentional exclusion of adults (primarily parents and teachers) from the film does work to Lucas’s advantage, exposing the secret side of teenager life that takes place in the hyperreal universe of the internet, where anonymity is guaranteed and consequences non-existent.

Lucas is correct when he categorises this film as a melodrama; it’s as theatrical as a Greek tragedy. Themes of martyrdom, hubris and revenge suggest that Wasted on the Young has more in common with an Athenian drama than a realistic portrayal of high school life.

January Jones is completing a Masters in literature at The University of Melbourne.

As I go through my morning ritual of scanning several online newspapers, the sheer number of references to Facebook or its founder Mark Zuckerberg leaves me nonplussed. There is Richard Harper’s Guardian piece on Facebook’s revamping of age-old email technology, and another in the Age that compares Kevin Rudd to Zuckerberg, proclaiming that his eccentric genius has been prematurely discarded by the Labor Party.

We are all familiar with powerful politicians and political coups being described in mythical, almost Biblical ways, but what do we make of this kind of reference to Zuckerberg? Then there is the growing sense that Facebook, an unprecedented online social ‘phenomenon’ which has amassed 500 million users since its launch in 2004, is a new worldwide cult, whether you see it as it the mobile-friendly religion of Generation Y, the bane of real-time interaction, or even the free publicity device of conservatives and liberals alike.

I go on to read David Stratton and Margaret Pomeranz’s review of The Social Network (directed by David Fincher, of Fight Club fame) after watching it on an overpowering ExiMax screen. They rate it highly, with Stratton giving it five stars despite claiming little interest in the Facebook phenomenon itself. Hence, there is the cinematic feat that is the film itself, loosely based on a non-fiction book called The Accidental Billionaires. However, I would refrain from labelling the film a ‘documentary’. It is more like a docu-drama, an increasingly popular hybrid genre that can best be described as facts sculpted to look like a good yarn.

Then there is the character of Zuckerberg (played in the film by a very convincing Jesse Eisenberg) who epitomises the flawed-yet-sympathetic postmodern protagonist. Don’t you dare call him a ‘hero’ – that is so not cool! His almost-undecipherable geek speak, irreverence in the classroom, and detached disposition towards one and all make him not just antisocial, but difficult for audiences to relate (or aspire) to.

According to Stratton and Pomeranz, it is Zuckerberg’s once best friend and Facebook co-founder Eduardo Saverin (Andrew Garfield) who emerges as the victimised-yet-triumphant hero. Aren’t Brazilians in fashion these days? I am sure Elizabeth Gilbert helped the trend, but not so sure that the younger Facebook community would choose Saverin over Zuckerberg. It’s like the difference between a Mac and a PC. While Saverin’s suits, financial resources, and better sociability make him more apparently likeable, it is Zuckerberg’s casual genius that reminds me of denim-clad Steve Jobs (and by inference, the sense of chic associated with the Apple brand). With or without lawsuits, plus or minus real friends, risk-takers might just be the ones having the last laugh in the film, as in this era of social media.

The film’s narrative is marked by the distinct absence of strong, well-rounded female characters. It begins with Zuckerberg being dumped by his girlfriend (Rooney Mara) and channeling his frustration into a misogynistic initiative called facemash.com, subsequently getting a lot of female attention as Facebook founder, and finally adding the very same ex as a Facebook friend. Other female characters include a needy girlfriend, a Victoria’s Secret model, a blonde intern and a somewhat interesting lawyer. Agreed that Information Technology tends to be a male-dominated industry, but there are women who can code, and invest, and be entrepreneurial. I wonder why director David Fincher chose to represent clichés, rather than interpret them and offer us alternatives. Was there any need to waste a cinema screen on yet another episode of Beauty and the Geek? Perhaps the state of affairs, when it comes to women in science and technology, is too deeply embedded in social structures to try and undo with a single feature film. Nonetheless, given the contemporary impact of social networking, especially on youth culture, the film could have at least tried to begin to undo gender stereotypes.

There is a lot of food for thought when considering some of the social themes presented in the film, such as the ongoing intellectual property litigation involving Zuckerberg and Facebook. I won’t go into the technical details of these cases here, but it is fascinating that so many parties are claiming ownership of a successful idea rather than a product or service. An idea now worth billions, but also an experiment in ‘openness and connection’. Monetising human emotions is certainly not news in a capitalist culture, but the irony with Facebook is that a man portrayed as having few friends invented a social networking platform. Zuckerberg’s media omnipresence prevents me from analysing the film or the Facebook phenomenon without regard to its origins and development. Shakespeare, Dickens and even ‘God’ may be dead, but Zuckerberg is literally alive and figuratively hovering over our online/offline interactions, as well as our self-perceptions.

There has been endless analysis of Facebook’s privacy and addiction issues, and some attention paid to its merits for education, entertainment and social well-being. Some new media scholars and social networking strategists are also beginning to research its impact in specific societies and cross-cultural contexts. However, I worry if the idea of seeking attention (not merely the altruistic belief in ‘openness’) continues to colour its present. Perhaps Zuckerberg is tasting his own medicine with his young life being put under greater scrutiny and much earlier than he might have bargained for. But does anyone need/want all our personal blemishes magnified under such a useful-yet-superfluous microscope?

The potential of social networking possibly lies elsewhere. Social activism and political lobbying anyone? Given that social media played a crucial role in garnering grassroots and youth support for US President Barack Obama’s electoral campaign and Twitter continues to be the medium of choice for dissenters in Iran and Burma, there is hope yet. Let’s not ‘like’ Zuckerberg or the film, but consider adding them as friends. This way, we will know what the genius and his representations are up to.

Sukhmani Khorana holds a PhD in Media from the University of Adelaide. She teaches and conducts research in film, cultural studies and digital storytelling.

There’s nothing like the hospitality of a food blogger on an autumn eve. Cradling a little glass bottle of chinotto in my gloved hands, I spoke to Rachael Kendrick of Thus Bakes Zarathustra, Motor Coconut, The Vine (click on that last one for sure – I ate of that cake, people) about blogging and social media. We leapfrogged from how blogging and her PhD research on obesity interact to the ethical concerns of Twitter, how to manage attention with all the stimulation that social media offers us, Masterchef (of course) and the wild and woolly issue of how to monetise a blog.

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Music is by Pompey.