Design Perspectives on Multimodal Documents: System, Medium, and Genre Relations 9781138096844, 9781315105178

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Design Perspectives on Multimodal Documents

This volume integrates multimodal frameworks with those from graphic/ document design to examine the changes and relationships that occur when documents are distributed across different channels of consumption. Drawing on examples from popular newspapers and store catalogs, the book’s specific focus is on documents as sets, defined here as the collection of all the forms a document may take when published across multiple systems and mediums. This approach affords a multilayered analysis of multimodal documents in addition to questioning the very definition of ‘document’ and relating terminology, including genres, mediums, and modes. As both a critical examination of the theoretical frameworks employed in the literature and a way forward for new approaches to analysing multimodal texts, this volume is key reading for students and scholars in multimodality, graphic communication, design, media studies, and information science. Matthew David Lickiss is Lecturer in Typography and Communication Design at the Department of Typography & Graphic Communication at the University of Reading, UK.

Routledge Studies in Multimodality Edited by Kay L. O’Halloran Curtin University

Designing and Implementing Multimodal Curricula and Programs Edited by J. C. Lee and Santosh Khadka The Hermeneutic Spiral and Interpretation in Literature and the Visual Arts Michael O’Toole Multimodality Across Classrooms Learning About and Through Different Modalities Edited by Helen de Silva Joyce and Susan Feez Multimodality and Aesthetics Edited by Elise Seip Tønnessen and Frida Forsgren Multimodal Stylistics of the Novel More Than Words Nina Nørgaard A Multimodal Approach to Video Games and the Player Experience Weimin Toh Multimodal Semiotics and Rhetoric in Videogames Jason Hawreliak Pictorial Framing in Moral Politics A Corpus-Based Experimental Study Ahmed Abdel-Raheem Design Perspectives on Multimodal Documents System, Medium, and Genre Relations Matthew David Lickiss For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/ Routledge-Studies-in-Multimodality/book-series/RSMM

Design Perspectives on Multimodal Documents System, Medium, and Genre Relations

Matthew David Lickiss

First published 2020 by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 and by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 Taylor & Francis The right of Matthew David Lickiss to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-1-138-09684-4 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-10517-8 (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Contents

Preface Acknowledgements

ix x

1 Introduction 1.1 Context 1 1.2 Scope and Limitations 3 1.3 Structure of the Book 4 1.4 A Note on Referencing 5

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2 The Language of Graphic Language 2.1 Overview 7 2.2 Genre 8 2.2.1 Background and Definition 8 2.2.2 Waller’s Model 9 2.2.3 Practice and Social Action 12 2.2.4 Genre and Twyman’s Schema 15 2.2.5 Concerns 16 2.3 Mode 18 2.3.1 Levels of Mode and Sub-Modes 19 2.3.2 Modality, Truth, and Verisimilitude 22 2.3.3 Subjectivity and Mode 23 2.3.4 Relevance and Multimodality 26 2.3.5 Combining Medium and Mode/Multimodality 28 2.4 Multi-/Cross-/Transmedia/Mode 31 2.4.1 Terms and Media 31 2.4.2 Applicability to Mode 32 2.5 Medium and Multimedia 36 2.5.1 Medium—Mode and Technology 37 2.5.2 Medium—Genre and Materiality 40 2.5.3 McLuhan and Medium Succession 41

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Contents 2.6 Recursive Analysis 44 2.6.1 Engelhardt—Graphic Objects 44 2.6.2 Genre 46 2.6.3 Mode 46 2.6.4 Medium 48

3 Change: Systems and Subjects 3.1 Overview 55 3.2 Translation, Transformation, and Systems 56 3.2.1 Background and Definition 56 3.2.2 Systems and Classes of Translation 57 3.2.3 Combining and Questioning Translation and Transformation 60 3.3 Conceptual Views of Design 62 3.3.1 Form and Content 62 3.3.2 Form, Content, Structures, and Systems 63 3.3.3 Impact of Form/Content Division 66 3.3.4 Further Form/Content Distinctions in Typography 69 3.4 Documents 72 3.4.1 Defining ‘Document’ 73 3.4.2 OHCO and SGML, Texts and Documents 75 3.4.3 Platonism 78

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4 Framework 4.1 Introduction and Context 87 4.2 Questioning ‘Medium’ 89 4.2.1 Distinctions 89 4.2.2 Materiality: Digital and Physical 90 4.2.3 Hypothetical Example 92 4.3 Framework: Changes Across Medium and System 94 4.3.1 Overview, Instantiations, and Sets 94 4.3.2 Relationship 1—One-Offs and Copies 96 4.3.3 Relationship 2—Systematisation 98 4.3.4 Systematisation and Digital Materiality 99 4.3.5 Relationship 3—(Re)Configurations 100 4.3.6 Relationship 4—Embodiment 102 4.4 Designer/Producer Intentions 103 4.4.1 Intent 103 4.4.2 Intention: Designers and Systems 103 4.4.3 Intent, Process, and Practice 105

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Contents

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4.5 Medium and Document 106 4.5.1 Internal and External Boundaries 106 4.5.2 Collections and Concatenations 107 4.5.3 Conceptual and Technical 108 4.5.4 Fixity 109 4.6 Context for Mode and Genre 112 4.6.1 Within and Between Mode(s) 112 4.6.2 Relevance of Change 115 4.6.3 Approaching Genre 116 4.6.4 Genre and the Role of Style 117 5 Application and Case Studies 5.1 Scope and Context 124 5.1.1 The Use and Meaning of Images 125 5.1.2 A Note on Manuscripts 128 5.2 IKEA Catalogue 129 5.2.1 Overview 129 5.2.2 Instantiations and Core Document Set 130 5.2.3 Set Inclusion and Boundaries 138 5.2.4 Relationships Between Instantiations 143 5.2.5 Summary Points 152 5.3 The Guardian 154 5.3.1 Overview 155 5.3.2 Instantiations and Core Document Set 156 5.3.3 Wider Document Set and Genre 168 5.3.4 Relationships Between Instantiations 173 5.3.5 Summary Points 181 5.4 Consolidation 184

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6 Design Perspectives on Multimodal Documents 6.1 The Use of Definitions and Terminology 190 6.1.1 Ambiguity and Gaps 190 6.1.2 Ambiguity and Level of Application 191 6.2 Digital and Physical 193 6.2.1 Print, Physical, and Digital 193 6.2.2 Labels and Conventions 194 6.3 Genre 195 6.3.1 Multimodal/Dimensional Genre 196 6.3.2 Multi-Genre 197 6.3.3 Practicality and Use Within Design 199

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Contents 6.4 Documents 201 6.4.1 Distinction and Identity 202 6.4.2 Key Considerations 203 6.5 Conclusion 205 Index

208

Preface

It is increasingly common for a specific document—be it a gas bill, a popular novel, or a furniture catalogue—to be realised in a range of different ways: it might be printed professionally or at home, read as a web page, or downloaded in assorted file formats. For each of these ways of presenting and interacting with a document, changes in layout, styling, and formatting, and possibly variation in content, are likely to take place as system, medium, and genre interact. This book examines the types of changes and relationships that occur within sets of such documents when they are distributed across different means of creation and consumption. These complicated documents, at once ‘the same’ but also with clear differences in form and content when published, are defined in terms of ‘document sets’ comprised of specific ‘document instantiations’. This distinction between document sets and document instantiations provides a way to analyse the general vs. the specific. There has been increasing interest from linguists and semioticians in the field of multimodality in document features beyond the purely ‘textual’, but these features often result from the practicalities of document design and production. Combining this interest with a contemporary context in which documents are published across a range of mediums and systems challenges ideas of document identity and genre. My own background is in graphic design, from both a practical and academic standpoint, and the discussion presented here therefore engages with multimodal document research from a design perspective. To support the exploration of theory and concepts, two detailed case studies form a major part of the book. The documents in these case studies are represented not as abstracted data points but by direct illustration of representative pages and sections. It is my view that the detailed discussion of documents and document theory must not become divorced from the documents themselves (although the inclusion of documents within documents is an interesting phenomenon in itself!). It is hoped that for readers already familiar with multimodality, this design perspective will expand the context for the continued discussions needed in this area. Readers from a graphic design background will, hopefully, find this discussion of multimodality relatable, despite some alien terminology, as it is rooted in the specifics of tangible documents and their production.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Alison Black and Gerry Leonidas as the supervisors of my Ph.D. (2012–2016), from which this research stems, and my research advisor Ole Lund. Additionally, my thanks to Sue Walker and John Bateman for suggesting the work would be suitable for publication. Without the context and engagement of the staff and students of the Department of Typography & Graphic Communication, University of Reading, it is certain this research would never have come into being. I thank my parents for their continued support over the years. I am grateful to the following for permissions to use images, tables, documents, etc.: Inter IKEA Systems B.V, The Guardian News and Media Group, The British Library Board, Springer Nature (SNCSC), Prof. John Bateman, Prof. Michael Twyman, Prof. Paul Lickiss, and Dr. Rob Waller. All images are attributed where used (though see the notes in Sections 5.2 and 5.3 for case study attributions), and a full list of image references can be found at the end of each chapter.

1

Introduction

1.1 Context This book is concerned with documents, specifically documents that are published and consumed in various ways across different mediums and systems. A specific document—be it a gas bill, a popular novel, a furniture catalogue, an advertising flyer for pizza, etc.—might be realised in a range of different ways: it might be printed professionally or, at home, read as a web page, or downloaded as an editable file. See Figure 1.1 for an example of such a document. For each of these ways of presenting the document, changes are likely to take place, for example, changes in design such as layout, styling, and formatting, and possibly some variation in content. Some changes may be necessitated by differences in the technologies of distribution, whereas other variations may be the result of considered design decisions as to how best to utilise a specific format and its situation of use. The transfer and translation of documents among mediums and systems of (re)production is not new. However, the frequency and extent to which this takes place has increased greatly with the advancement of contemporary digital media and telecommunications. This book focuses on such sets of documents, documents which aim to convey the same content while appearing across different mediums. This is an area in which little specific research has been conducted, especially from within the field of graphic communication itself. To consider these document sets properly, a detailed and critical discussion of a range of fundamental terminology pertinent to the study of documents is undertaken and sustained throughout the research. Terms such as ‘medium’, ‘mode’, ‘genre’, ‘form’, ‘content’, and even ‘document’ itself will come under examination, questioning, from a design perspective, the theories developed around such terms by other fields involved in the study of documents (fields such as linguistics, media/communication theory, and computer science). The intent of this terminological and conceptual focus is not purely academic. It is hoped that by engaging with the more theoretical work undertaken in fields such as linguistics, and testing it against the

2

Introduction

Figure 1.1 An example of a document, the IKEA catalogue 2015, shown in different mediums and systems: in print, on a desktop computer, and on a tablet. The ‘traditional’ print catalogue is not the only way to browse the IKEA product range; it can, among other methods, be viewed as a website (on desktop and laptop computers, smartphones, tablets, etc.) as a PDF file, and as a smartphone or tablet app. The examples shown here present relatively little variation in terms of general page layout, but this is not the case for all documents. The IKEA catalogue is explored in more detail as a full case study in Chapter 5. IKEA (print), 2014, p. 2–3, 207 × 222 mm; IKEA (online), 2014, p. 2–3, on 22" LCD monitor, photograph by the author; IKEA (app 1), 2014, p. 2–3, on 8" tablet, (photograph by the author).

perspective of design, concerned with the production and analysis of graphic communication, these theories can be made more practically useful and directly applicable to designers’ tasks. Designers often work with an implicit understanding of their skills, which might be termed ‘tacit skills and knowledge’ (Graham and Whalen, 2008, p. 66). Research into theory and terminology is intended to aid direct explication and communication of ideas relevant to the discussion, production, and use of designed documents, in particular when dealing with the complexities of documents realised in many variations. The very subject of this book is awkward to describe using current terminology without using technical terms or direct examples. Graphic design and its related disciplines produce multimodal documents, but few of those involved in the process would recognise the term multimodality. Conversely, although designers often work with an implicit, practicebased, understanding of document production and use, linguists and those more widely interested in the study of documents may have a more theoretical background. That is not to say that those from disciplines other than design are not familiar with document creation or use. Rather, it is to stress that the daily focus of graphic communication as practice produces different areas of emphasis, points in need of discussion, and features of interest. It is hoped that the arguments presented here will inform those outside the study of design about a perspective on

Introduction

3

multimodal document analysis driven by the discipline responsible for the shaping of those same documents in the first place. To further this work, a framework is developed in this book to begin to map the kinds of relationships internal to sets of documents. Two case studies, examining the IKEA catalogue and The Guardian newspaper are used, both to test and exemplify the framework and also to give a more comprehensive illustration and contextualisation to an area of research that can otherwise be highly conceptual. In addition to the two main case studies, the text and draft documents of this book are themselves used as examples in a number of cases. Readers are encouraged to be aware of the format in which they are reading this text. Consider your context of use and interaction with the document—how does it differ from mine as the author typing this sentence or from that of the production staff at Routledge? How have systems, mediums, and genres changed in this document’s production, distribution, and consumption?

1.2 Scope and Limitations ‘Document’ is a term with potentially vast applicability (see section 3.4). This book examines documents within the context of graphic design and graphic communication. These are documents which communicate primarily through word, image, and the many variations possible in the presentation and combination of these modes. Some digital documents might also employ animation, video, and audio content embedded within documents primarily comprised of word and image, but video and audio content are not the focus of study here. Still, this leaves a wide range of possible examples, from highly complicated product catalogues to fire safety signage. In addition to the two detailed case studies, a range of smaller examples will be employed, as discussion progresses, to keep the theoretical work grounded in relation to actual documents. Some of these examples are given in the manner of thought experiments with others illustrated directly. Within this book the terms ‘graphic design’ and ‘graphic communication’ are used in an interchangeable manner and should be understood to contain and/or link to related areas and sub-fields such as information design, typography, book design, document design, etc. If ‘design’ is referred to without any other qualifiers it should, again, be thought of with a graphic communication emphasis rather than, for example, industrial design. Likewise, no technical differentiation is intended by the general use of the terms ‘user’, ‘reader’, ‘consumer’, or ‘customer’; these are used interchangeably. Graphic communication is (generally) intended to be used, understood, and engaged with by people. These acts of use and reading are a form of consumption. In certain circumstances and in the discussion of specific examples the use of ‘reader’ might appear more natural than

4

Introduction

‘user’, even though almost all of the examples in this book are for both reading and using. The focus here is on the contemporary and theoretical aspects of the transfer of documents across mediums and systems of production, but it must be recognised that this is by no means a new phenomenon. For example, in a more historical or archival context, the use of a printing press to produce documents that had previously been written by hand (see Mak, 2011) is a similar process. Further, although there is an aim to relate the study of these documents to practical graphic design, this book does not undertake experimental or interview-based engagement with design practitioners. Such work would be undeniably valuable but is outside the scope of this study. This book is written from the perspective of the design discipline with an academic standpoint informed by practice; it is not, however, a practice-based piece of research. This book makes use of pictures and scans of documents (or parts of documents), whereas the key research area of the book is, itself, to examine the proliferation of documents across mediums. Some conceptual entanglements therefore result between the subject area of the research and the specific examples needed to illustrate it. Such confusions are covered in detail in Chapter 5, Section 5.1.1. Where relevant, measurements for images and objects in images are given in millimetres, except for screen size, where the convention of using inches in describing the screen size of electronic devices is generally retained for familiarity. Additionally, please see the notes on referencing, especially for images, at the end of this chapter.

1.3 Structure of the Book Having presented the general context and aims of the book in this introductory chapter, Chapters 2 and 3 present a critical review of terminology and relevant literature. This review is centred on the features and terminology necessary to discuss the problems of graphic communication published across a variety of systems and mediums. Chapter 2 questions high-level terms, concentrating on genre, mode, and medium. The implications and applicability of these terms, as used in various fields, are considered and discussed against the requirements of research into both graphic communication and this book, identifying shortfalls and confusion in some areas. There is a focus on combining genre, mode, and medium, looking at how they interact with each other and with themselves—for example, multimodal and multimedia. Chapter 3 advances the discussion of Chapter 2 to link the high-level terminology to concepts more directly connected to design practice. It considers systems (of production, display, interaction, etc.), change within those systems, and conceptual ways of thinking about the communication

Introduction

5

realised by those systems in terms of form and content and, finally, questions the meaning and use of ‘document’ as a concept. Documents (broadly conceived) are found to be a key term for considering instances of graphic communication at both a general and specific level, but the term is also fraught with unresolved details. Chapter 4 builds from the context and terminology of Chapters 2 and 3 (especially ‘medium’ and ‘system’), exploring the relationships between and within sets of connected documents (documents sets comprised of document instantiations) as they appear across different mediums, systems, and formats. Section 4.3 formalises this into a framework, comprising a series of four relationships, which forms a basis for the case studies presented in Chapter 5. Types and degrees of change and notions of ‘sameness’ are considered in connection with the understanding of ‘document’. Chapter 5 presents two case studies, looking at the document sets of the IKEA catalogue and The Guardian newspaper as they appear in diverse forms across different mediums and systems. With the IKEA catalogue a core layout native to the print catalogue is retained across various digital instantiations, whereas The Guardian organises content in a more varied manner across assorted systems. The specific instantiations of these documents are identified, considered as a set, and then examined with regard to their relationships to one another in terms of the framework from Chapter 4. Key points are identified from these case studies for use in discussion in Chapter 6. Chapter 6 furthers discussion of the points drawn from the case studies of Chapter 5, combining them with the discussion from the rest of the book. The main areas covered are: terminology (including levels of applicability); the distinction between digital and physical and how this is conceptualised; genre and the need for applicability; and continued discussion of documents. This discussion is followed by a conclusion, drawing together the points from Chapter 6 and the book as a whole.

1.4 A Note on Referencing Due to the nature of this research, the view taken here as to what constitutes a document or specific source has a different focus than is conventionally found in some referencing systems. In many cases, especially for image references in the case studies, different instantiations of documents from the same year and publisher are referenced. Instead of using a numbering system (e.g., IKEA [1], IKEA [2], etc.), the medium, system, or instantiation type has been used as the primary distinguisher (e.g., IKEA [print], IKEA [mobile website]) as such a system is more relevant within the context of this book than numbering. In some instances, numbering is then also employed, where this is required for further clarity.

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Introduction

References Graham, S. S., and Whalen, B. (2008), ‘Mode, Medium, and Genre: A Case Study of Decisions in New-Media Design’, Journal of Business and Technical Communication, 22:65, pp. 65–90. Mak, B. (2011), How the Page Matters, University of Toronto Press.

Image References IKEA (app 1). (2014), IKEA 2015, (IKEA catalogue app) Inter IKEA Systems B.V. Android app version obtained from URL=play.google.com/store/apps/details? id=com.ikea.catalogue.android&hl=en_GB (accessed 13/11/14). IKEA (online).(2014),IKEA 2015,(IKEA catalogue online),Inter IKEA Systems B.V., URL=onlinecatalogue.ikea.com/GB/en/IKEA_Catalogue/ (accessed 30/03/15) IKEA (print). (2014), IKEA 2015, (IKEA print catalogue) Inter IKEA Systems B.V.

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The Language of Graphic Language

2.1 Overview To consider the delivery of graphically coded meaning across multiple formats and platforms, the relationships between, and meaning of, a range of seemingly common and fundamental terms must be understood. This chapter focuses on genre, mode, and medium. These terms are used across disciplines with an implication of broadly similar meaning. However, the meanings of these terms can be subtly different in each area of use (and sometimes even within one discipline), leading to conflict when attempting an overview of the topics relevant to this book. Even basic terms such as ‘media’ can be poorly defined and open to contradiction, whereas a rigorous use of ‘mode’ is especially lacking. The use of such terms is often linked to methods of categorisation, grammars, taxonomies, and the like with the intent of bounding the vast array of communication (or some specific sub-section of this) in a more readily addressable manner. Although such systems provide frameworks for discussion, they also provide further areas for confusion and difference of use among terms. No single system appears to have gained dominance in the field (for an overview see Engelhardt, 2007, also 2002). The desire to categorise and label is seductive and should not be done arbitrarily, as warned against by Richards (1984, p. 3/1) who quotes de Bono (1976, p. 109): It is easy enough to sneer at the classification method on the grounds that putting labels on something creates no knowledge about it. As Richards (1984, p. 3/1), following de Bono, justifies, labels are needed for discussion and to mark out what is of interest. Some form of grouping or classification is also necessary for (and generated from) comparison (Bateman, 2008, p. 9). The investigation of the taxonomies, models, and methods of classification of others in this chapter is motivated by the intention to examine where others (often experienced designers and/or theoreticians) have placed boundaries and groupings and how these systems match more mutable and dynamic types of documents compared to the printed

8 The Language of Graphic Language material that was the focus of earlier studies. Although putting a label on something creates no knowledge, it can, as Twyman states, act as ‘a device for directing our thinking’ (1979, p. 119). An examination of the labels and their placement is thus assumed to have value in terms of examining how models have been conceived of and varied, what gaps may be present, and why: a discussion of tools used to enable further discussion. Due to the high degree of interrelation among the terms examined in this chapter, a satisfactory working definition of one term may have the definition of others as its pre-requisite and vice versa. Not everything can be defined and understood simultaneously but instead needs addressing in series due to the depth of each term. Additionally, a number of strands of enquiry raised in early chapters are not resolved immediately but will continue to be developed and questioned throughout the book.

2.2 Genre 2.2.1 Background and Definition ‘Genre’ is a term entangled in shifting definitions used across multiple disciplines and with both popular and professional uses. Lee (2001),1 in his attempt to better define a range of terms used in linguistic classification, refers to the distinguishing of ‘genre’ from similar terms as ‘a wellknown quagmire’ (p. 41). Within process and practice it can be used as a heuristic to shape and target development and to match a project onto an intended genre: The genre may be considered as a practical device for helping any mass medium to produce consistently and efficiently and to relate its production to the expectations of its customers. Since it is also a practical device for enabling individual media users to plan their choices, it can be considered as a mechanism for ordering the relations between the two main parties to mass communication. (McQuail, 1987, p. 200) This practical approach to genre requires the ability to identify and differentiate among genres, that is, some element of categorisation. Much of what might be called ‘genre theory’ comes from disciplines outside typography and graphic communication—for example, literature, discourse and film studies, linguistics, semiotics—with an origin in literary theory and criticism, starting with Aristotle. This Aristotelian root is still of direct relevance to the conception of genre because, as will be seen, models used for examining genre still have clear (sometimes direct) links to, and overlap with, the three features used by Aristotle to distinguish among genres: media, object, and manner (Aristotle, 1965).2 The main authors discussed in this section will be Waller (1988), due to his direct

The Language of Graphic Language

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and detailed focus on genre with specific relation to typography, and Bateman (2008), for a more recent account with direct application to the analysis of multimodal documents ‘in a “post-Kress & van Leeuwen” world of pervasive modality.’ (Bateman, 2008, p. xix). Not only is the exact definition and boundary demarcation of, and among, genres somewhat nebulous (as is how this interacts with notions of sub-genres), there is also the question of the level at which genre operates. For example, Bordwell (1989, p. 147) questions: ‘Are animation and documentary films genres or modes?’ (See Chandler, 2000, for an overview of the vagaries of genre definition within genre theory and Waller, 1988, pp. 281–297, with tighter relevance to the application of such to typographic genre.) Bateman takes a direct approach in criticism of concerns of the level at which genre should operate and the risk of endless proliferations of genre classification that might result from too low a level of classification: ‘the framework employed should be able to support the analytical resolution of any granularity that is appropriate for the kinds of research question raised’ (Bateman, 2008, p. 195). Difficulties of genre classification and definition can relate to questions of form and content and how these are perceived in different fields. One genre might be defined by content, whereas another may present similar content but in such a different form that it is seen as belonging to a different genre (Stam, 2000, p. 14). 2.2.2 Waller’s Model Waller (1988, p. 281) takes a broad view of genre in his wider background overview, moving outside the immediate area of typographic genre to include references from genre studies within literary studies, noting the ‘substantial connections between typographic and literary forms’. Waller refers to Hawkes’s poetry and prose genre distinction (Waller, 1988, p. 282) as it matches up to oddities such as Joyce’s Ulysses (which swaps style and genre frequently within one text; that is, its genre can change according to conventional classification); Waller shows that a simple poetry and prose binary is not a sufficient genre classification. Waller presents a ‘genre model of typographic communication’ (Figure 2.1) ‘intended to shed light on the functional constraints that govern the typographer’s role in textual communication’ (1988, p. 176). This is developed over a three-stage communication model: writing, publishing, and reading. Waller proposes a typographic genre derived from the interaction of topic: ‘typographic effects whose purpose is to display information about the author’s argument—the topic of the discourse’ (Waller, 1988, p. 178); artefact: ‘features of a typographic display that result from the physical nature of the document or display and its production technology’ (1988, p. 179); and access structure: ‘those features that serve to make the document usable by readers and the status of its components clear’. These

10 The Language of Graphic Language

Figure 2.1 Waller’s three-level genre model of typographic communication. This combines aspects of a communication model (following the dashed line) organised into three stages of writing (topic), production (artefact), and reading (access). These combined factors generate the genre convention for an instance of typographic communication. (Waller, 1988, p. 180)

may include aids to interacting with the ‘text as artefact’ (Waller, 1988, p. 179) grouped ‘most readily’ by the surface features of four typical categories comprising context of use, format and configuration, treatment of verbal language, and treatment of visual elements (Waller, 1988, p. 290). As well as linking back to genre analysis in the Aristotelian sense, this model also matches the later, often cited, definition by Swales: A genre comprises of a class of communicative events, the members of which share some set of communicative purposes. These purposes are recognized by the expert members of the parent discourse community, and thereby constitute the rationale for the genre. This rationale shapes the schematic structure of the discourse and influences and constrains choice of content and style. (Swales, 1990, p. 58) The artefact structure is emphasised by Bateman in his more recent study of Multimodality and Genre (2008, pp. 10–11) as especially vital to document study. However, it must be remembered that ‘in most genres, all three kinds of structure appear to be inextricably bound together in conventional ways’ (Waller, 1988 p. 180). The more essential certain features are within a genre (for the definition of that genre) the more strictly rule bound that genre will be (Waller, 1988, p. 293). Following from this, Waller suggests that error detection can be used to attempt to hint at underlying genre structure, seeing what changes are needed to ‘break’ a genre classification for an artefact

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(Waller, 1988, p. 297). Looking at such boundaries and limits in another way, Bateman sees one of the key uses of genre as a ‘foundational notion’ (2008, p. 9) to use in the identification of differing sets of documents. Crucially, as will be explored here in greater detail in Chapter 3: Conventional ways of expressing and accessing topic structures develop within the artefactual constraints of contemporary technologies. When those technologies change, it may be necessary to separate out the three categories of functional imperatives in order to reassemble them to suit the constraints of the new technology. (Waller, 1988, pp. 180–181) Using recent examples, Bateman (2008) illustrates how changing technology can affect the classification of what might have initially appeared to be co-generic documents. He compares The Guardian (print) and The Guardian (digital online) (p. 179–181), noting that the method of interaction is ‘essentially unrelated’ between the two (‘interaction’ in an artefact structure sense rather than screen vs. mouse, although the first is of course a direct result of the second.) The Genre and Multimodality (GeM) project, on which Bateman’s book is based (2008, p. 15), presents a revision of the genre model, inspired by Waller’s (Bateman, 2008, p. 17), see Figure 2.2.

Figure 2.2 Overview of the GeM model, inspired by Waller’s model. ‘Canvas’ refers to the medium of the substrate, imposing physical limitations. These limitations are followed by conventions of production and consumption: established use. Both of these restrictions then work within conventions of use and expression suited to the use task of the document. ‘This results in two broad areas: (i) features describing aspects of the conditions of production/consumption of the document including its physical manifestation, and (ii) features concerned with the properties inherent in the document analysed’. (Bateman, 2008, p. 17, figure, p. 16, reproduced with permission of SNCSC)

12 The Language of Graphic Language As a means of classification, having first echoed de Beaugrande (1980, p. 196) as to the necessary vagueness of genre differentiation, to avoid fruitless debate, Waller (1988, p. 281) expands on the role of genre in practice vs. theory: Genres are therefore easier to instantiate than classify—easier to recognize in retrospect than to specify in advance. [. . .] New genres are probably recognized, and therefore named, by specialists before they percolate through to ordinary language use. (Waller, 1988, p. 288) 2.2.3 Practice and Social Action Waller presents diagrams (Figure 2.3) for the function of genre in the design process, with genre used as a key driver of typographic convention due to its intuitive nature (Waller, 1988, p. 289). Genre could thus be reconfigured into a cycle, especially with reference to Waller (1988, p. 288 and p. 301): see Figure 2.4.

Figure 2.3 The use of genre within design includes two different configurations from Waller (1988), the first showing ‘the reaching of a solution intuitively by identifying the appropriate genre’, the second ‘a solution achieved through an analysis of functional constraints is then checked against genre-related expectations’. (Waller, 1988, pp. 300, 301)

Figure 2.4 Author’s re-configuration of the options shown from Figure 2.3 to illustrate the cyclical possibilities suggested: ‘the critical cycle may often be informal and evolutionary—small modifications being introduced in subsequent editions of a particular text, and minor functional improvements becoming incorporated into other instance of the genre.’ (Waller, 1988, p. 301)

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If genre is read and used by the designer to situate a solution alongside functional constraints, then the creation of the solution also feeds into the genre (assuming it is ‘correctly’ interpreted by the end user as being part of that genre; if not then it contributes to whichever genre it is interpreted as instead). The next time a task is attempted in that genre area, the genre has subtly changed and now contains the previous contribution. Reading a genre and creating a solution to sit within the genre simultaneously writes to the same genre, contributing to readings of that same genre subsequently. Bateman (2008, p. 178) suggests that the genre class intended for a document directly generates design constraints—if that document is to sit in, and be read correctly as, a member of the intended genre. Specifically, further research in the change and development of genres of documents across time and technology, employing differing levels of analysis and even observing documents across organisations, is apposite to the aims of this book—starting from a genre as social action: Recurring social situations give rise to recurring problems that can be approached though recurrent communicative solutions. These recurrent communicative solutions can then themselves be recognized as such by virtue of their recurrent form—but it is the social action that drives the account. (Bateman, 2008, p. 189, after Miller, 1984) In the research of Yates and Orlikowski (1992), Bazerman (1994), and Swales (2004), genre is linked and expanded across document creation and change over time and organisations. One genre may be dependent on another for its own development (Bazerman, 1994) and/or sit within a chain of genres (Swales, 2004, pp. 18–23, and example, p. 100). Not all of the genres in a chain need be in the same medium or mode; for example, a request letter can be in the same chain as a telephone call. In many cases these genres may be ‘occluded’—hidden from public view in relation to the ‘final’ genre they experience (Swales, 2004, p. 18). There are similarities here between these genre chains and the proposed medial succession suggested by McLuhan (more detail to follow in Section 2.5.3): ‘the “content” of any medium is always another medium’ (McLuhan, 1964, p. 10). Yates and Orlikowski (1992) extend genre to an organisation/ management level, where genres are produced and adapted over time, sprouting new genres as needed within organisations to match organisational needs and technological affordances. In this sense genres evolve (Yates and Orlikowski, 1992, p. 311). Yates and Orlikowski show this by tracking the ‘Emergence of the Memo genre’ (1992, p. 311), which has been graphically summarised by Bateman as shown in Figure 2.5. Such methods

14 The Language of Graphic Language are seen as being directly relevant here in terms of the study of design across multiple modes and mediums with relation to new technology. As an extension of the social consideration of genre, different people might see one document as belonging to multiple, different genres. Although this is somewhat self-evident given the socially generated nature of genre organisation (different people think differently) and, therefore, the relative nature of genre, it represents a form of multiple genres. Santini (2007) highlights this experimentally using web pages of different genres,3 arguing that multiple genres are needed to classify a web page due to differing categorisation by different readers (e.g., half of the readers of a page might think it is genre x, the other half genre y). This view of multiple genres combines the single-genre classifications of multiple readers to generate multiple genres (rather than exploring how single readers might apply multiple genres). That users could only select one genre label in her study is acknowledged as an area of further research by Santini: Once the inappropriateness of the single genre classification is fully acknowledged, then we can start thinking of finding solutions

Figure 2.5 Development of the business memo genre over time. This graphical representation shows the emergence of the genre from the business letter, the maintenance of that new genre into standardisation, and a further split with the arrival of email. The wording used by Bateman in this image is altered (clarified) from Yates and Orlikowski’s original, which used ‘Substance’ and ‘Form’ for what is referred to as ‘purpose’ and ‘form’ in this figure. (Bateman, 2008, p. 193, reproduced with permission of SNCSC, drawn from tabulated information from Yates and Orlikowski, 1992, p. 315)

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to assign multiple genre labels [.  .  .] Undoubtedly, the multi-genre assignment seems to be the unavoidable future direction’ (Santini, 2007, p. 709) It is also significant that within the study the web page, examples used could, in many cases, have been part of the same site. For example, the ‘frontpage’, ‘sitemap’, and ‘about page’ were shown as separate genre examples taken from different websites, but it is probable that a single website would contain all of these types of pages. In part this is a weakness of the study,4 but it also points to the need for a clear understanding of documents and their boundaries, or, if ‘document’ is not the convenient term in all cases, the level of content division at which the genre is to be applied (this idea is explored in greater detail in Sections 3.4, 4.5, and 6.4). 2.2.4 Genre and Twyman’s Schema Twyman (1979, 2004) presents a schema, a matrix (shown here as Table 1.1), to stimulate thinking as to the ‘theoretical possibilities’ (Twyman,

Table 2.1 Twyman’s schema. The schema can be seen to present a range of potentials within graphic communication mapped spatially within a matrix. The numbers in the cells were a means of addressing and reference only, along the dimensions of Mode of symbolisation and Method of configuration. For example, cell 2, the intersection of the Verbal/ numerical mode with the Linear interrupted configuration could represent a ‘normal’ page of continuous prose text, breaking to a new line as the edge of the page is reached each time. At another extreme, for cell 27—Schematic, Non-linear directed viewing, the London Underground tube map is given as an example. (Table drawn based on Twyman’s teaching and presentations in the Department of Typography and Graphic Communication, University of Reading; see also Twyman, 1979; Twyman, 2004.) Method of configuration

Mode of symbolisation

Pure Linear linear interrupted

List

Linear branching

Matrix

Nonlinear directed viewing

Nonlinear most options open

Verbal/numerical

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

Pictorial & verbal/numerical

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

Pictorial

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

Schematic

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

16 The Language of Graphic Language 1979) of graphic language by intersecting the mode and configuration of design. Bateman suggests that the cells of Twyman’s schema could be ‘a set of candidates for “visual genres” ’ (Bateman, 2008, p. 202). Although this is not suggested by Twyman (neither 1979, nor 2004), the schema presents a set of communication document possibilities described by the interaction of two features of that communication—configuration and symbolisation. These might be linked to similar terms used to construct genre models, such as Waller’s topic and access structures or the layout layer of the GeM model. Notably, Twyman does not specify, as a set term, what the contents of a cell in the schema refer to more specifically than phrases such as ‘approaches to graphic language’ (Twyman, 1979, p. 117). The range of options (‘approaches’) that this can present links to Bateman, who sees one of the uses of genre to be that it allows for the ‘range of possibilities’ afforded to be theorised (Bateman, 2008, p. 10). In this Bateman is building on earlier genre topology theory, such as Lemke (1999). Lemke (1999) gives an example of genre topology as a space governed by ‘dimensions of rhetorical formation’. Lemke shows not only that each genre has variance along the dimensions of rhetorical formation space (referred to as generic structure potential, covering the range of potential within one genre) but that the area covered by two genres along a dimension may overlap. This topological view can then link to the possibility of tracking ‘the evolution of genres in terms of changing distributions of actual texts over time’ (Lemke, 1999), linking into the ideas of genre evolution from Yates and Orlikowski (1992). Bateman gives a more generalised example of genre space as seen in Figure 2.6 by showing ‘some recognisable regions lying along its boundary’ (as indicated by the examples within the blob of space). Terms familiar from Twyman are used by Bateman here to label these regions, such as ‘linear interrupted text’. It is interesting here to see the applicability to the schema and its spatial arrangement ‘written from the standpoint of a practising graphic designer’ (Twyman, 1979, p. 117) to the development of genre theory in other disciplines. Twyman’s use of ‘mode’ as an axis of the matrix is discussed shortly in Section 2.3. 2.2.5 Concerns Having outlined relevant research into genre and genre theory, the direct approach to a practical use of genre is still questionable due to its seemingly all-encompassing nature in some contexts, as Bateman notes, there are approaches where genre and style, register, etc. are not distinguished and we will argue that this reduces descriptive adequacy, making the genre classification of documents, particularly multimodal documents, unworkable. (Bateman, 2008, p. 184)

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Figure 2.6 A more generalised example of genre space given by Bateman, showing ‘some recognisable regions lying along its boundary’ (as indicated by the examples within the blob of space). Considerable overlap with this fuzzy representation can be seen with Twyman’s tabulated schema. Here the axes are undefined (and indeed deliberately not present in such a general example), but it would be easy to add more definition and even extend it n-dimensionally with further attributes. (Bateman, 2008, p. 226, reproduced with permission of SNCSC)

Kress (1993) also voices concern that too much, too many different variables, are being packed into ‘genre’ as an overly broad term for loose use: ‘a great complex of factors is condensed and compressed into the term’ (p. 32). At the same time, the previous discussion (see the end of Section 2.2.1) suggests that genre should not be tied down to a specific level of use and should be applied as necessary to the corpus of documents under examination. Too strict a definition of genre cannot encompass all of the variables used across a range of modes and mediums to group sets of somehow ‘similar’ document together—why is attribute x a marker of genre whereas attribute y is discounted? Too broad a definition subsumes lower level, but important attributes, as mentioned by Bateman in the previous quote. Style seems to become lost, used to justify genre alone, signifying little in its own right (this is discussed in more detail later in Section 4.5). Waller (1988, p. 291) gives examples to illustrate the four surface feature categories of genre characteristics (context of use, format and configuration, treatment of verbal language, and treatment of visual elements) using: ‘instructions for domestic appliance’ (from here on IfDA), ‘holiday brochure’, and ‘traffic sign’. These all seem heavily bound by their context of use and are defined by topic. What might be termed overall graphic style itself is not mentioned directly as such in Waller’s thesis—‘style’ is used for ‘house style’ (‘institutional rules or authoritative

18 The Language of Graphic Language recommendation’, 1988, p. 293) or to refer to a style of writing or style of calligraphic script. Style might be seen as articulated through the variations of the surface features—this is not stated directly, but the elements needed for style are articulated under other names. Other features may vary a lot, but it is still hard to reconcile the idea that they would not belong to the same category unless you changed context of use or topic. IfDAs are IfDAs. The mode, medium, layout, verbal language, visual language, etc. could be changed, and it would still be IfDA as long as it was both about a domestic appliance and also provided some form of instruction. Labelling this as a ‘genre’ seems unhelpful. There may be a wide range of documents that share all of the ‘typical’ features of the IfDA, far more than the outlying examples of IfDA, but are not of the same genre due to their topic—they cannot be IfDA because they are not about appliances to start with. In other areas definitions of genre seem medium/mode centric—film, literature, theatre, etc. Within the medium selected there is then a struggle to tease out boundaries for different genres, many of which seem to separate themselves on different criteria, for example, some by content (war films), some by budget (blockbuster; examples paraphrased from Stam, 2000, p. 14; Kress, 1993, pp. 31–32 has similar sentiments). Much of this (with the exception of Bateman’s The Guardian example [in Section 2.2.2]) is monomedial and, whilst multimodal, the modes do not change across medium. In The Guardian example the modes are still text, image, colour space, etc., but these same modes are used in both mediums. It is multimodal but not using new or different modes within the multimedial multimodalism. Consider an attempt to classify the crime genre in film: classification could be attempted within the native medium (and mode) by comparing individual films against what appear to be ‘other’ types of films and looking for common characteristics with ‘similar’ films. However, this genre is also present in literature, television, radio drama, etc. Is the cinematic (film) crime genre to be seen as formally separate from the literary genre? If so, this seems a little artificial as many people would read material from different mediums (+modes) as belonging to a shared-name genre. Therefore, the essence of genre could be sought out within modal/medial interplay—what is it that remains that allows identification within a common genre once the medium/mode(s) is/are changed and the content (probably) adapted to fit the new medium/mode(s)? If the genre cannot change medium/mode, then this suggests that the native medium/mode is core to the definition of that genre. If the change is made with relative freedom, then the core of that genre is not medially/modally bound.

2.3 Mode ‘Mode’ has both a common usage (style, type, variation, etc.—the usage that allows the lexical questioning as to the ‘mode’ of mode which is being

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used in any instance) and more technical uses within fields such as philosophy, semiotics, and visual communication. There is also the murky area between the two, where it is not entirely clear whether ‘mode’ is being used in a technical sense or not and/or which technical use is intended. The area of meaning intended to be denoted by the term ‘mode’ in this book is broadly that of a semiotic resource, a means of encoding and communicating, for example, written language, picture, music, etc. The following explores some of the problems and incompatibilities of this very vague definition within theories of mode in the literature at present to clarify the relevance of the concept of mode to the field of graphic communication. 2.3.1 Levels of Mode and Sub-Modes At the highest level, mode can be used to refer to broad generalisations. Here graphic design could be said to operate within the ‘visual’ mode as opposed to the ‘aural’ mode (Purchase, 1998, p. 8). In such generalised uses mode equates to sensory channel. The subsequent levels and examples of mode explored here fall within the visual for relevance to document design and graphic communication. To start with a well-known example from graphic communication, in Twyman’s schema for the study of graphic language (1979, and updated 2004, full schema shown in Table 2.1 in the previous section), ‘mode of symbolization’ titles in row headings present a ‘crude breakdown of modes’ (p. 121) as follows: Verbal/numerical, Pictorial and verbal/numerical, Pictorial, and Schematic (p. 120). Mode is not defined here, but its use as a title is intuitive—we can see that whereas each of the row headers is different, they relate to broad ways of graphically conveying information. Engelhardt (2002, pp. 119–128) provides a useful overview of this use of mode within design literature, discussed under what he terms ‘Mode of expression’. The exact distinctions within the literature, in terms of sub-categories and how these are arrived at, differ among classifications, but as shown by Engelhardt, they can be broadly mapped among authors for comparison. The terminology varies: what Twyman calls ‘Mode of symbolization’, Engelhardt terms ‘Mode of expression’, whereas Richards uses ‘Mode of description’ (Richards, 1984, p. 1/10). Richards also employs ‘mode’ in other ways, for example, ‘mode of organisation’ (1984, p. 1/10) and ‘interpretive modes’ (p. 10/6). In these instances the word ‘mode’ could presumably be swapped for style or manner. Engelhardt himself employs a distinction of pictorial (realistic to schematic) vs. non-pictorial (abstract shape, word, or number) for mode at the level of his elementary graphic objects (Engelhardt, 2002, p. 119). These elementary graphic objects are ‘at the most detailed level of syntactic decomposition [. . .] a “basic level” meaningful object’ (Engelhardt, 2002, p. 23) and determined relative to the intention of the graphics under examination. This shows the variation not only in the level at

20 The Language of Graphic Language which mode is applied as a term but also at what degree of ‘decomposition’ within a composite graphic object the mode should be considered. This breakdown is at a high level within the ‘mode as semiotic resource’ definition of mode. The semiotic resource definition is used extensively by authors such as Kress and van Leeuwen, whose work is used in many of the following examples, both due to their wide influence and their frequent use of mode/modality in different ways within single texts. But, Kress and van Leeuwen also employ mode at a much finer level of detail.5 In this more detailed application, the definition of mode is as follows: If the resource is sufficiently developed for sign-making we will call it a mode; [. . .] What makes a mode mode-like is its availability as a resource for making signs in a social—cultural group. (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2002, p. 346) This detailed use greatly widens the scope of mode. This widening of scope also creates a dynamic between sub-modes as they occur within different supra-modes and at different levels. (Such interactions are vital but require additional discussion; See section 2.3.5.) Within Twyman’s mode we now find sets of semiotic resources which are themselves modes, being used to build the higher/cruder level of mode. The Kress and van Leeuwen paper quoted previously seeks to establish colour as a mode of its own. Within this level of mode differentiation, Twyman’s ‘Verbal/numerical’ mode would not have typography as its final sub-mode. Typography itself is seen as ‘thoroughly multimodal’: It communicates not just through the letterforms themselves, but also through colour, through texture, through perspective, through framing, and through motion. (van Leeuwen, 2004, p. 42) Now, seemingly, everything can be a mode, and yet the distinction is made between a mode and the resources within it that can be varied to articulate its grammar. For the colour example, Kress and van Leuween delve into variables of value, saturation, modulation, hue, etc. as resources in colour as a mode. But in such an approach, why not view these resources as the sub-modes of the colour mode semiotic resource? At such a low level application of mode, an inevitable statement results: ‘All texts are multimodal’ (Kress and van Leeuwen, 1995, p. 25). If diverse attributes such as colour and perspective are modes, the statement seems true. Indeed accepting it makes the title of the discipline of ‘multimodal analysis’ somewhat tautological; it would only need to be ‘analysis’. However, this broad use of multimodality and mode jars with their definition of a

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mode: ‘if the resource is sufficiently developed for sign-making we will call it a mode;’ (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2002, p. 346). No mode is capable of sign making in isolation at such a low-level definition of mode. Such modes can only make signs through their juxtaposition with other signs/modes: colour must be interrupted by space or sequencing or texture, etc. to form meaning, as shown in Figure 2.7. A mode on its own would be a continuous single signal until it is broken up or allowed to swap within its own sub-resources (e.g. hue or tone) by another mode(s). Although this detailed use of mode supports the assertion that everything is multimodal, it also means that nothing can be a mode on its own. Here a mode can exhibit its mode-like properties only when combined with another mode—neither of them have the property of mode before this combination, making the existence of a mode the prerequisite of its own existence. A less convoluted problem with this approach, where so much can be defined as a mode at so many levels, is that the label of mode is devalued by its own ubiquity. Where anything from ‘the visual’ as a whole sense to

Figure 2.7 Sign making and modes. Imagine that each square on its own (a, b, x, or y) is everything—for example, in a there is nothing but grey (a projector screen with a single colour/tone projected onto it). In a and x, everything is just grey until the change to states b and y, respectively. These changes in state might be associated with some meaning— maybe grey is the sign for ‘on’ and black for ‘off’. The change from a to b is most noticeable in terms of colour/tone—the colour mode is used to introduce a new colour: black instead of just grey. But this colour is shown only by a use of space and shape—there is nothing else except the square. Without a change in the use of space (space as mode, layout, or shape?), the colour could not be introduced. In x and y the space use does not change; it is the same-area square in both cases, just in a different state—seemingly only the colour changes. But, the colour has meaning only in opposition to its former state (x vs. y); here time and sequence separating a sequence of states have meaning as a mode/resource.

22 The Language of Graphic Language ‘motion’ is a mode, the attribute loses significance. This is not so much a problem with the word ‘mode’ itself as with the substitution of the token ‘mode’ when what was meant was, for example, ‘mode of representation’. ‘Mode’ has been allowed to take on the meaning of phrases such as shorthand, with the danger that the fuller meaning to which it refers may be different with each use but is often not specified. 2.3.2 Modality, Truth, and Verisimilitude Parallel to the previous use of mode within semiotics and graphic communication is the initially more philosophical notion of modality as it relates to truth values, the possible and the necessary, within the study of logic. Kress and van Leeuwen devote a chapter in Reading Images to this sense of modality (2006, pp. 154–174), and it maps closely onto Twyman’s use of verisimilitude (1985, p. 286). Within semiotics and linguistics, modality becomes the ‘truth’ of the signs used, how true to life they are, how real.6 Kress and van Leeuwen (2006) map modal markers on to scales indicative of truth. For example, ‘Colour modulation’ and ‘Tonality’ are scales on which a image might be ranked as having a higher or lower degree of ‘naturalism’ (following Kress and van Leeuwen’s example, 2006, p. 172).The same image may rank differently on each of the scales, but overall the combination would produce a ‘modality print’ (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2006, p. 171). In general a high modality is more realistic/naturalistic, although in some instances scoring too highly results in uncanny ‘hyper-reality’ (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2006, p. 158). Although there would be a degree of subjectivity to this concept of modal truth, ‘reality is in the eye of the beholder’ (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2006, p. 158), the more significant problems occur when the concept of modality is applied across ‘specific genres’ (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2006, p. 189). For example, a full-colour photograph has a high modality, that is, a high degree of ‘realism’ to the world as we perceive it; conversely a scientific diagram may be monochrome with abstracted detail and a line-art style, indicating a low modality. However, within the genre of scientific diagrams, it is of higher modality than the colour photograph (this example broadly follows the discussion on pp. 156–158 of Kress and van Leeuwen, 2006). Modality is genre relative, but this can be resolved by moving the point of optimum modality on the modality marker scales to be genre sympathetic. Conceptual representations and modern art question ‘truth’ and ‘realism’ more strongly. On p. 170 Kress and van Leeuwen (2006) address the boundaries of their analyses by considering the work of Robert Ryman. It is initially seen as having a low, even the lowest, modality as his works show ‘the zero degree of representation’ (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2006, p. 168). In contrast, they also present the view that the concentration on process and material, without

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trying to represent anything more, mean such works hold the highest modality (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2006, p. 170). Goodman’s remarks on ‘realism’ (1976, p. 37) are pertinent here: ‘realism is relative, determined by the system of representation standard for a given culture or person at a given time.’ Twyman (1985, p. 286) uses the term ‘verisimilitude’ (also used within semiotics) in a manner similar to the use of modality found in Kress and van Leeuwen, denoting the relationship between pictorial language and realism. After outlining a history of this concept within Western art, Twyman moves the emphasis onto what could be thought of as copying accuracy rather than realism/truth: Today, because verisimilitude has been mastered in painting, and photography is available to all, the real problem often arises when we want to transmit images through printing. (Twyman, 1985, p. 291) This still relates to truth: the fidelity of the reproduction is a relationship of its truth to the original (whatever an original, a master, might be). This use seems less subjective than the wider semiotic notion of truth modality discussed by Kress and van Leeuwen. Different semiotic modes can also be seen as having different truth modalities; consider, for example, the debates in the twentieth century as to whether text was subservient to speech. 2.3.3 Subjectivity and Mode In the further thoughts update to his schema, Twyman (2004, pp. 346– 347) mentions the subjective nature of mode(s) with reference to two sets of examples. The first shows photographs of people in various poses and groupings such that their arrangements can be read to spell out words. The second shows pictorial elements whose shapes are used to represent the shapes of letters within words (e.g., an illustrated initial capital in an illuminated manuscript). Both examples play with the verbal vs. pictorial distinction: Modes and configurations are open to different interpretations, or come into play in different ways during the reading process. [. . .] Are we looking at a picture or reading a message? (Twyman, 2004, p. 347) Although not articulated in much depth, the meaning is nonetheless clear in its brevity. Such issues of subjectivity and interpretation are directly aligned with the social semiotic approach used in much multimodal

24 The Language of Graphic Language research: ‘modes are conventionalisations produced through cultural action over time’ (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2001, p. 28). The reading of a sign as text or image is one of convention, subjective and not objective within a culture. There may be cases, such as the photographs shown by Twyman, where this is open for question even within a context of seemingly well-defined ideas of what ‘text’ is. The text vs. picture/images split is of particular interest as it allows for the conflation of two significant modes. Stöckl examines this in terms of what he calls the ‘textural interface between language and image’ (2004, p. 19): The nature of the pictorial sign can, however, not be gauged from its visual quality alone because this also pertains to written language as we have seen. (Stöckl, 2004, p. 13) Here Stöckl is not so much looking at image as text (as might be seen to be the case in Twyman’s examples) but text as image; it is ‘a partial transfer from one core mode (language) to another (image)’ (2004, p. 19). Stöckl also looks at the linking of text and image through proximity (2004, p. 22) by close placement of text to an image and also by the direct inclusion of what might be explicitly viewed as text within the area of an image. The distinction between pictorial as a mode, and other forms of nontextual 2D visual representation, appears to some extent to be a question of degree. The dotted line separating pictorial and schematic in Twyman’s schema (1979, p. 120) shows the tentative nature of this divide in classification. This vagueness of boundary is not helped by the omission of any definition by Twyman of what ‘schematic’ is. It appears to be assumed. However, larger variables affect interpretation, as opposed to what might be termed ‘familiar ambiguity’. For example, viewers may be familiar with an object in question, and know how they are expected to use and interpret it, but might struggle to apply classification and distinction. This difficulty might arise from the degree of similarity to one class or another, that is, the difficulty of applying a binary distinction. Conversely, the viewer might be presented with what appears to be a new class of object and then be asked to classify it. Figure 2.8 illustrates this vagueness of mode boundary, comparing art works to other examples of visual language that would be commonly interpreted in the Western world as schematic. In Figure 2.8, the top left chart is a computed proportional visualisation of word counts; the second is art. Both share similar visual characteristics (although the chart has labels). The network appears highly schematic but could be compared to the distinctive abstract style of Jackson Pollock’s artwork. The network map is apparently schematic—data has been abstracted and plotted as a graphical interpretation of a set of numbers that represents a (presumably) real-world phenomena. We

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Figure 2.8 Data viz or art? Top left: A ‘tree map’ chart generated from word counts of chapters from the draft documents of this book; top right: Composition II in Red, Blue, and Yellow, 1930, by Piet Mondrian (public domain), lower left: a network map visualisation of a social network by Martin Grandjean, 2014 (CC BY-SA 3.0).

recognise from the mode, genre, and form that this is the way in which to ‘read’ the representation. A Jackson Pollock piece is art, and it would not be considered as ‘schematic’ in most cases. But arguably, each line, curve, and splatter is a Cartesian record of numerically expressible data about a real-world event. From a few known variables, such as the viscosity of the paint or the laws of physics, we might see the artwork as giving graphical expression to information such as the height of the artist, the velocity of the movement, or the nature of the mark-making implement. All of this information is there, but we have tacitly agreed not to extract it, to interpret it artistically not schematically, despite what might seem to be visual similarities to viewers who do not know how

26 The Language of Graphic Language to categorise their perceptions in this way. This is not just a question of subjective interpretation of meaning but of broadly accepted agreements on where to draw the boundaries of meaning regarding communicated information—the information, meaning, and content are there; we have just accepted not to parse it. Similarly, Goodman (1976, p. 229) asks: ‘compare a momentary electrodiagram with a Hokusai drawing of Mt. Fujiyama. The black wiggly lines on white backgrounds may be exactly the same in the two cases. Yet the one is a diagram and the other a picture. What makes the difference?’ The difference for Goodman is the type of scheme in which the two identical marks feature as symbols. 2.3.4 Relevance and Multimodality With the exception of Twyman, the majority of the sources referenced in the previous discussion and review of mode are from books and papers concerned with multimodality.7 As might be inferred, multimodality is the use of multiple modes. Before proceeding, the potential scope of multimodal research should be emphasised, being in some cases an attempt to come up with theories and methods that might eventually be applied to consideration of all modes of communication and expression (see preface of Kress and van Leeuwen, 2001). Given this wide scope, only some facets of multimodality research are relevant here, and so multimodality is discussed in this book with relevance to graphic communication and design (as was the case with mode in the singular). A general definition of multimodality is given by Kress and van Leeuwen as follows: We have defined multimodality as the use of several semiotic modes in the design of a semiotic product or event, together with the particular way in which these modes are combined—they may for instance reinforce each other [.  .  .], fulfil complementary roles, [.  .  .] or be hierarchically ordered. (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2001, p. 20) From the perspective of practice-based graphic communication and design, one of Stöckl’s section headings seems apposite: ‘Multimodality— the late discovery of the obvious’ (2004, p. 10). Indeed, the term multimodality might be seen as redundant under some uses of mode. Following the arguments outlined in Section 2.3.1, a mode must be combined with or interrupted by a second mode to produce meaning. Put simply, the term ‘multimodality’ is necessary only if monomodality is possible. The idea of monomodality should be considered in two ways: firstly, in terms of the modes evident in the documents under consideration and, secondly, in the manner in which research is conducted. In the first case, the perspective taken by this book is that monomodality is impossible to use

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in a meaningful sense as any variation in a first mode requires the interruption of the second (see Section 2.3.1). In the second case, multimodal research has been vital in areas of study that previously emphasised the primacy of text and/or linguistic modes above other modes of communication. Kress and van Leeuwen state: For some time now, there has been, in Western culture, a distinct preference for monomodality. The most highly regarded genres of writing (literary novels, academic treatises, official documents and reports, etc.) came entirely without illustration, and had graphically uniform, dense pages of print. Kress and van Leeuwen (2002, p. 1) Typographers would baulk at the suggestion that unillustrated written documents are monomodal; for example, many of the examples given might use italics or bold for emphasis outside the given through words alone. Further, from the theories of multimodality put forward in the rest of Kress and van Leeuwen’s work, none of these ‘genres of writing’ are monomodal at all.8 Writing is a mode but must use colour (even if it is only black, or no mark is made); it may use narrative, some form of layout, or composition. Narrative is itself stated as being a mode by Kress and van Leeuwen (2002, p. 22). Does narrative use words, or do words use narrative? We might seek to place narrative as a sub-mode of written language, but it could be considered that written language is a sub-mode, a medium variant, or narrative. It may be countered that narrative, colour, or layout are only token modes, not really used to communicate in their own right, but articulated to the barest extent to allow another mode (writing) to be employed. However, these ‘literary novels, academic treatises, official documents and reports, etc.’ are called genres by Kress and van Leeuwen (2002, p. 1). These genres are in some ways (although not wholly) different and difficult to define. It seems unlikely that anyone would claim that the only difference between a literary novel and an official report is the content, that there was no variation in layout and typography. Layout and typography can be seen as lower-level sub-modes or resources of writing, but modes on a similar level are directly referred to as modes by Kress and van Leeuwen. From this discussion it seems not so much that multimodal research is wrong in any fundamental sense—indeed, to consider more than just the words in the text of a document should be seen as foundational and essential9—but that it is somewhat ‘excessive’ from the perspective of graphic communication. Practicing designers are well aware that ‘colour’ can be used to communicate and use it in their design. To have the resources of colour (‘hue’, ‘tone’, ‘saturation’, etc.; Kress and van Leeuwen, 2002) ‘identified’ by a linguist or social semiotician is an over-complication of elementary principles.

28 The Language of Graphic Language 2.3.5 Combining Medium and Mode/Multimodality In considering multimodality Stöckl sets out three generalisations, of which two will be used here to consider the intersection of mode and multimodality with medium; the third is discussed in Section 2.6.3 on recursive models of analysis. Firstly, modes cut across sensory channels, so the nature of a sign is not sufficiently characterised by looking at its path of perception. Secondly, one mode can be realised in different media thus creating medial variants of one mode (e.g. speech and writing as variants of the linguistic mode). As any one variant has distinct materiality, it in turn commands individual sets of concomitant sub-modes facilitating or accompanying the variant. This is, among others, a reason why media and modes ought not be confused but neatly kept apart and regarded in their interdependencies. (Stöckl, 2004, pp. 11–12) That a mode can operate in multiple channels appears evident enough on the surface, and it would seem to be the case in some instances, although perhaps more rarely than such a generalisation suggests. For an obvious example supporting the claim, a user might experience written language via the visual sensory channel by reading raised metal letters on a plaque visually (the modes of writing, typography, layout, colour, etc.) or (with practice) through the haptic sensory channel by running their fingers over the letter forms (the modes of writing, typography, layout, texture, hardness, etc.). Such an example only works if using Stöckl’s model of core mode, medial variant, peripheral mode and sub-mode; a multilayered and well-articulated understanding of mode is required (see Table 2.2, for an example of Stöckl’s mode network). However, where Stöckl says that ‘modes cut across sensory channels’ (Stöckl, 2004, p. 11), it should perhaps be obvious and even implied, although it is not mentioned, that not all modes can cut across sensory channels. Colour (if colour is considered a mode/sub-mode, and it is by Stöckl) is limited to the visual channel. Other modes such as texture or temperature might be used to communicate a difference in value among areas via other channels, but colour itself is perceptually locked. There may be cases in which the use of colour leads to changes in other features that vary consistently with colour change. For example, a change in colour might be consistent with a change in localised temperature, or the different pigments used to give colour might have different textures. It is not, however, the colour itself that is communicated across the different channels of visual and haptic. However, the texture that can be haptically experienced may affect the colour that is visually experienced—here

Table 2.2 ‘Network of modes, sub-modes and features in printed media’ from Stöckl (2004, extract adapted from p. 12), showing a well-articulated mapping of elements at defined levels. Elements are not locked to a specific level, and can be re-configured and re-ordered depending on the media and genre under analysis. It is also worth noting, following the discussion of mode subjectivity in Section 2.3.3, and with references to Twyman’s schema in Table 1.1, that although this network shows specific routes and connections, it is essentially tabular in composition and construction. Stöckl appears to have ingeniously used table cell borders to create edge connections. Channels, modes and sub-modes in printed media Sensory channels

Core modes

Medial variants

Image

Static

Peripheral modes

Sub-modes Elements Vectors Colour

Features

Value, saturation, purity, modulation, differentiation, hue

Size Distance/ Angle Perspective Composition

Visual Non-verbal means

Gesture Posture Body language

Language

Writing

Typography/ layout

Eyes, arms head…

Type size Font

Colours/ shadings Ornaments Spacing Paragraphs Margins

Skeleton form, style (weight, contrast, tension, ending) modus (rules, striped, dotted)

30 The Language of Graphic Language texture contributes to the visual but only by inference. It is examples such as this that mean a more detailed and articulated understanding of mode is needed for analysis. A second point requires more detailed consideration. As is mentioned in the section on medium (2.5.1), it is vital to avoid confusion between medium and mode, and much of what is commonly referred to as multimedia is instead multimodal. However, mode and medium cannot always be ‘neatly kept apart and regarded in their interdependencies’ (Stöckl, 2004, p. 12). Compare Stöckl’s second point (from the quote given two pages ago) to the following: Modes can be realised in more than one production medium. [An example using narrative is then given.] [. . .] It follows that media become modes once their principles of semiosis begin to be conceived of in more abstract ways (as ‘grammars’ of some kind). This in turn will make it possible to realise them in a range of media. They lose their tie to a specific form of material realisation. (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2001, p. 22) The first sentence of this quotation directly supports the first part of Stöckl’s second point; the following sentences are of interest when applied to what Stöckl expands from that point. Media themselves communicate meaning, that a specific medium has been used can be informative. The medium is communicating (and, as Kress and van Leeuwen would see it, could therefore have grammar), acting as a semiotic resource, a mode. This can be related to McLuhan’s (1964) linking series of media (see further details in Section 2.5.3). If a medium is embedded inside another medium, although it has lost its own mediality, the original medium might still be identified by the viewer and meaningfully considered. For example, a photograph of a woodcut print might be viewed on a digital screen; the medium of the woodcut print is now within the medium of digital screen but might still be identified as being from the medium of woodcut print, which has meaning and has modality. There is some considerable ambiguity at this point; just having an object in a photograph does not make that object a mode. Picture can be a mode, but a pot plant in a photograph is not a mode itself, although it may be depicted through modes. In the same way the picture of a medium, such as the woodcut in the example, is simply an illustration read from the modes of communication at work within the pictorial mode. The embedding of one medium within another seems somehow to be a special case (again, following the chains of media from McLuhan 1964, mentioned in Section 2.2.3 and explored further in 2.5.3). If the ‘medium is the message’ (McLuhan, 1964, p. 7), it has meaning. The medium affords modes that communicate meaning, but the combination of these modes in a medium has meaning. Medium could be the supra-mode.

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Going further, if ‘media become modes once their principles of semiosis begin to be conceived of in more abstract ways’ (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2001, p. 22), the same could be said of genre. Once media have been abstracted sufficiently to become modes, they also start to appear to have characteristics of genre. If they ‘lose their tie to a specific form of material realisation’ (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2001, p. 22), what we recognise them by are signals of convention of use (many of which may have been initially due to the physicality of the medium) or methods of reading access—genre. As will be mentioned in Section 2.5, medium has a physical, material aspect and a socially constructed aspect.

2.4 Multi-/Cross-/Transmedia/Mode 2.4.1 Terms and Media When considering medium and mode, prefixes are useful for discussing the types of change and variations that may occur when transferring or translating content to different or multiple embodiments. One mode might be realisable in a range of different media, and one medium might be able to support a range of modes: The resources on which design draws, the semiotic modes, are still abstract, capable of being realised in different materialities. (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2001, p. 6) Multi- is the most common prefix, plainly being understood to refer to more than one. Trans- and cross- are of increasing relevance as modifiers and are needed to describe the increasing changes in content communication afforded by digital technology and changing methods of consumption. Trans- and cross- are currently primarily used to discuss media. ‘Transmedia’ is a term in increasing use, both academically and professionally, within advertising, media studies, and film/TV production and is now recognised as a credit title by the Producers Guild of America, who, describe transmedia as follows: A Transmedia Narrative project or franchise must consist of three (or more) narrative storylines existing within the same fictional universe. [.  .  .] These narrative extensions are NOT the same as repurposing material from one platform to be cut or repurposed to different platforms. (PGA, [no date]) With the recognition that much of what had been casually referred to in the past as multimedia was multimodal, cross- and trans- also need to be applied to mode. If something is communicated cross- or trans-medially, it may, due to the different affordances of the mediums being employed,

32 The Language of Graphic Language also vary in mode. A print book and a film are different mediums; they are therefore likely to either use different modes to communicate or use the same modes but at different levels. For example, the film and the print document might both make use of typography, but typography is likely to be a relatively minor mode in a film in many cases. A concept of crossmodality and/or transmodality seems self-evident if crossmedia or transmedia is being considered. Scolari (2009, p. 586) describes transmedia as ‘multimodal narrative structures’; the multimodality is explicit, but this can be further articulated with the use of trans- or cross-applied to mode to recognise that the modes (often) change with the media. This concept is not new (see Norrish, 1987, for an analysis of what could now be termed crossmedial text) just given a different name. Despite a current emphasis on multimodality in some fields (see Section 2.3), much of the focus in discourse and media studies, and advertising, currently appears to be on narrative and medium, not mode. When attempting a new application of cross-10 and trans- to mode the distinction is subtle, and even when looking to media for a pattern to follow, there appears to be what Scolari terms ‘semantic chaos’ (2009, p. 587). He poetically warns of the risk of confusion with similar terms which ‘may be found orbiting in the same semantic galaxy’ (2009, p. 588). Scolari’s definition of transmedia is as follows: Briefly then, TS [Transmedia Storytelling] is a particular narrative structure that expands through both different languages11 (verbal, iconic, etc.) and media (cinema, comics, television, video games, etc.). TS is not just an adaptation from one media to another. (Scolari, 2009, p. 587) This leaves crossmedia as the same story or narrative adapted to a different medium without the element of expansion. For transmedia there is a divergence of linked communication, whereas crossmedia is more of a direct transfer from one medium to another. The sloppy phrasing ‘more of a’ is used because, in most of the cases where this is meant, it is a change of mode that is key. For example, from book to film, the medium has changed and with it the mode(s), which require the adaptation of content—expansion, contraction, and license—to make it work in the new medium and mode(s). This adaptation prevents us from saying the transfer of ‘content’ from one medium (and associated modes) to another is the same, is identical, as this transfer, mutatis mutandis, must change the content. See Table 2.3 and Figure 2.9, parts a and b. 2.4.2 Applicability to Mode The use of cross- and trans- with reference to mode is required as previously outlined. When the medium changes significantly enough to have

Table 2.3 The possible combinations of cross- and trans-medium and mode. If all combinations in one instance are cross- or unchanged (null), then the same information is being communicated. If any variable becomes trans- then a different set of information is intended (but on a related subject). As the prefix relates to the relationship between the information intended in two (or more) instances, as soon as one transprefix appears, then the other must be null or trans-: a comparison cannot be transmodal and crossmedial; it would be transmodal and trans-medial or have no medium change. See Figure 2.9 parts a and b for examples, and further discussion in 2.4.2. combinations of cross-/trans- and medium/mode -medium —

—

-mode

No change. E.g. the same book (text) printed by two different publishers.

Same information and medium, but cross- using a different mode. E.g. statistics printed as a barchart and table in a newspaper. Same medium, but different modes expressing distinct trans- information E.g. printed architects plans for a house and a printed text leaflet advertising the house.

cross-

trans-

Same information using the same mode, but different media. E.g. a print book and an e-book sharing the same text.

Same mode, but expressed via different media showing distinct information. E.g. a printed text autobiography and a critical wikipedia biography of the same person.

Same information using different mode and medium. E.g. a printed table of statistics compared to those same statistics shown as a barchart on a screen. Any combination of trans- and cross-/transbecomes trans-/ trans- , as the nature of the prefix is based on whether the same information is intended.

Figure 2.9 (a) Crossmedia and mode using a narrative example. In first three instances, the change of a written text between written print, written digital (e-book) and spoken audio are simple enough. However, when it comes to the adaptation of that text to film and opera, the question of how close to the text these variations are would arise. If deemed to be ‘the same’ only represented differently, then all are crossmedial and crossmodal. Instead, they might be deemed to communicate something different: if the adaptation was very liberal or engaged in extended and new exploration of themes from the book, the trans- prefix would be required. (b) Different representations of benzene, showing the interplay for mode and medium. Compared to example b, this is a non-narrative example. Two of the examples are the same medium (the model shown on screen and the spectrum shown on screen). Two of the examples are the same mode (the two space-filling models); the physical model can be rotated and interacted with, but this is a feature often found in computer-generated models on screen as well. The trans- prefix applies to relationships with the spectrum as it does not show the same information as the other two examples, but it is still information unique to benzene.

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been of interest relevant to whatever manner of inquiry is being undertaken, the mode is also very likely to change. Such change in mode, however, is not wholly dependent on a change of medium. Different modes may be used to convey connected information within the same medium— a graph, a table, some text, etc.—all within the same print document. The term ‘transmodal’ has already been used to examine such variation as found in the communication of chemical structures (Lickiss, 2012), although the choice of trans- was made without knowledge of these uses within media studies and production. However, when considering mode, are two different prefixes needed? As has been suggested with medium, it is difficult to change the medium and communicate the same content across such a change. There is a broad idea of intent, of ‘difference’ in narrative, but no boundary—a film adaptation and the book on which it is based rarely share a directly parallel plot but would be considered crossmedia, not transmedia, as it is the ‘same’ story repurposed to another medium. With mode, is the communication of a picture ever the same as the ‘equivalent’ in words? It conveys a different, but related, set of information—transmodality. At the same time, one could draw a ball-and-stick perspective diagram of a molecule and make a physical 3D model of the same (as in Figure 2.9b)12—a user will have a different experience and can engage with the 3D model in a more rich haptic manner. Likewise, representing a data set as a table compared to a bar chart seems to be crossmodal. Conversely, if an illustrator attempts to convey pictorially a specific text scene from a book, they change mode, but unless the author has been especially exhaustive in their description, the illustrator must add details not found in the text to complete the transfer of mode. In such an example there is experience and information to gain about one ‘narrative’ that may be completed only by reference to both the text and the image—transmodality. Following this, multimodality within a single artefact may in some cases be synonymous with either transmodality or crossmodality. Crossmodality and transmodality already imply the existence of a multiplicity that is being mixed; the two terms merely specify the exact manner more precisely (see Figure 2.10). In most cases transmodal would seem of more use—a newspaper article with supporting photographic illustration is transmodal; the text and image support each other but are not an attempt to copy the information of one another. Showing a chemical structure as a schematic as an illustration and as a physical 3D model might be said to be crossmodal—it is as close as possible to transferring the same information across a mode, although information may (essentially) be added or lost in the change. A news article that appears in print and digitally would be crossmedia but broadly retain the same modes (multimodal but no change in the modes within the multi-). If the article, when appearing digitally, expands by the use of video (assuming it is not a video of the text of the

36 The Language of Graphic Language

Figure 2.10 Crossmodality in a single artefact. This fire exit sign is multimodal, using both text and image as the main modes (which could then be broken down into colour, layout, etc.). Within the modes of text and image, the messages are redundant: the image alone could be expected to be understood by most of the intended audience to mean ‘fire exit’ without the text, and the text could be understood without the image—an example of crossmodality within a single artefact, rather than between them, as in Figure 2.9a and b.

news article being read aloud nor a video report from which the text was broadly transcribed to start with), it may become transmedia and transmodal (see Table 2.1 and caption). In both cases of this example, the medium change is the same: print to digital. Where one might be crossmedia and the other transmedia, it was not difference in medium between the two cases that changed the trans- vs. cross- distinction but a variance of information conveyed in it (in this case, but not necessarily) by the addition of a mode that led to a change in cross- vs. trans-medium categorisation. An objection to the previous paragraph might be that this discussion uses the wrong level of application of the terms—to use them within a single page or small ‘simple’ object (such as a fire exit sign). However, it seems this should no more be the case than it would be with any other term, and as has been seen in other instances (mode, medium, and genre), there are problems as to the level of applicability of terms and analysis. A possible solution for this is suggested in the recursive analysis section (2.6) at the end of this chapter.

2.5 Medium and Multimedia Compared to the two main terms reviewed already—genre and mode— medium might be seen as initially separate, the more concrete of these three variables. With medium there is a seemingly more direct physicality: a printed book may be picked up and pointed to directly, although

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this is harder with other media, such as speech. As will be seen, medium as a concept extends beyond this basic physicality. Medium will not be discussed here in such length as genre and mode. This is not because medium is any less important than genre or mode, but because a portion of the relevant theory is explored in parallel with the discussion of systems of technology and production, as well as form and content, in Chapter 3 (raising questions which will then continue throughout the rest of the book, notably Sections 4.2 and 4.5). The following considers the boundaries of medium and multimedia, its relationship to genre and mode, and McLuhan’s chains of media (1964, see Section 2.5.3) to lead into the final section of this chapter. 2.5.1 Medium—Mode and Technology There are two main areas to consider when attempting to define what is covered by media and multimedia, each of these areas having two further sub-sections. Firstly, the interplay and potential confusion between 1) medium, and 2) mode and, secondly, the extent to which medium is seen 1) as physically or technologically defined or 2) in a broader social communication context. These binaries are not absolute. As mentioned at the end of the mode section (2.3.5), medium may act as a mode, and in any technology-based view of medium, technology is still situated within and helps form social, human, and user methods of use. Purchase’s Defining Multimedia (1998) can be used to highlight these two points of confusion. Initially two broad ways of defining multimedia are identified: the first based on the experience of the user and the second grounded in technology (Purchase, 1998, p. 8). In addition, much of the introductory discussion of these two conflates medium with mode. Purchase includes modality as one of the dimensions in her three-dimensional model for defining multimedia with an aural/visual split—what might be considered as sensory channels. Modes within a visual sensory channel (as it would be phrased in this book) such as text and image are then seen as indicators of multimediality, not multimodality (Purchase, 1998, p. 8). This is further highlighted in the multiple definitions given for multimedia, in which ‘at least two of the component-texts use different representational systems’ (Purchase, 1998, p. 13). Examples include a poster combining text and photograph as multimedia and even ‘a sentence that uses more than one font’ (Purchase, 1998, p. 13). The representational systems used here to define multimedia are what should be classed as modes to define multimodality. The sentence used by Purchase to dismiss the technology interpretation of multimedia prompts questions about mode vs. medium and technology: ‘I doubt that anyone would use the term multimedia for a computer application that merely plays a piece of music’ (Purchase, 1998, p. 8). Aside from the initial objection that the quoted statement

38 The Language of Graphic Language is unlikely in current common parlance,13 when taken from a physical technological perspective, how should the boundaries of different digital media be seen? A smartphone might show text, image, and video on the screen simultaneously; we can consider the screen to be one medium (probably)—the display is multimodal (text, image, video, and any further sub-mode) but mono-medial (one screen). If music is then added via the phone’s speakers, does it become multimedia? Excluding any transmodal translation of notation, or crossmodal translation into sound wave depictions, the ‘music’ or ‘sound’ mode is not supported by the screen medium, something else must be added: speakers. But the phone is a discrete device; the screen and speakers appear to the user as part of the same object. Is it the phone which is one medium or the speaker and screen that are separate mediums in themselves? Extended, the boundary might be considered if headphones were being used instead of the phone’s speaker, or if the phone was plugged into part of a larger sound system playing over multiple speakers throughout a building, if an external display were connected, etc. Purchase’s model eschews ‘the nature of production, transmission, or interpretation’ although at the same time sees medium as the ‘physical realization of the rules and conventions that comprise a semiotic system’ (Purchase, 1998, p. 8). For example, it would not differentiate between a cartoon strip drawn by hand compared to one created on a computer (Purchase, 1998, p. 14). For this book a heavily technology and productionbased view of media and multimedia will be taken. This is partly because much of Purchase’s model can be explained by a more articulated concept of modality (Section 2.3.5) but mainly because the specific focus here is to examine how content changes and adapts when communicated by different technologies and through different means of expression on the same or different technologies (see Chapters 3 and 4). The changes that might result from the transfer of medium are seen as linked to technology and production. This change in medium has further effects on mode and genre. With regard to digital genres and multimodality, Askehave and Nielsen state: ‘the medium adds unique properties to the web genre in terms of production, function and reception’ (2005, p. 3).14 As the properties of the medium resulting from technology and production must be considered, the two different forms of producing a comic strip, one by hand and the other on a computer, suggested by Purchase to be the same medium (1998, p. 14), are likely to have different properties. However, in some cases these differences may not be noticed by the consumer. The consumer may see no difference between the hand-drawn and digitally drawn, especially as both could appear in print side by side or both on screen side by side—there is a relativistic and perceptual element to what is seen as a medium. O’Keefe observes that ‘it is not easy to untangle just which attribute (or set of attributes) is responsible for any observed differences between media’ (O’Keefe, 2002, p. 254) and extends this

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beyond the more objective physical differences among media/mediums to include different user groups’ receptiveness to those attributes. Certain genres might be partly defined by a mode of navigation and interaction (e.g., Askehave and Nielsen’s, 2005, two-dimensional genre model and Waller’s access structure; see Section 2.2.2); this would to some degree be a result of technological and production factors. Having disparaged Purchase’s use of mode, the interrelation of mode, medium, and genre must be repeated (and of ‘design and production, mode and medium’, Kress and van Leeuwen, 2001, p. 7). Although this interrelation is the case with most documents and forms of communication, it is highlighted by digitisation, where different modes have technically become the same at some level of representation, and they can be operated by one multi-skilled person using one interface, one mode of physical manipulation. (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2001, p. 2) Medium is not explicitly stated in this quote, but the mode of physical manipulation would be partly as a result of the media; the level of representation at which they merge is a medium (or multimedium). It has been suggested (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2001; Graham and Whalen, 2008) that a study of practice (e.g., design practice) provides a means of elucidating these tangled features. Graham and Whalen’s (2008, especially p. 88) Mode, Medium, Genre Interaction Heuristic (MMGI) was created with direct practice-centric specificity, from the working process of one web designer considered in their paper. In the MMGI, medium is separate from genre—interrelated with it but not subsumed by it. Despite having been made from a small sample, the model appears to be a robust way of considering the relation among mode, medium, and genre as clarified by questions shown in Figure 2.11.

Figure 2.11 The key questions posed by Graham and Whalen’s Mode, Medium, Genre Interaction Heuristic (MMGI), drawn from a practice informed perspective. (Simplified adaptation from Graham and Whalen, 2008, p. 88.)

40 The Language of Graphic Language 2.5.2 Medium—Genre and Materiality Genre must also be included in conserving the physicality of medium and, depending on the level of meaning at which medium and genre are used, there can be considerable overlap between the two terms. The third part of Bateman’s three-point justification for the use of genre in Genre and Multimodality (Bateman, 2008) is: And third, we consider the materiality of multimodal artefacts, documents included, to constitute a crucial component of any complete account of multimodal genre. [. . .] Considering more carefully the physical (or electronic) manifestations of documents relates directly to the current discussion concerning the particular ‘styles of interaction’ that distinct artefacts support or fail to support. (Bateman, 2008, pp. 10–11) This quotation is followed by brief examples and mention of Gibson’s (1977) theory of affordances. Within a design context, links can be seen to Waller’s genre model: this third point of Bateman’s including aspects of artefact structure (the materiality and physicality) and access structure (those methods of interaction afforded by the physicality).15 These might be aspects associated with medium, but here are subsumed into genre. Bateman’s Multimodality and Genre (Bateman, 2008) does not use the term ‘media/medium’ in the subject index and mentions ‘multimedia’ only in passing. Features that could be seen as central to a technology/ physicality based view of media, listed as key to genre, are instead considered as ‘materiality’ (Bateman, 2008, p. 10, as in the previous quote). Likewise, in Reading Images Kress and van Leeuwen emphasise the importance of such materiality, without use of media/medium: In our approach the material expression of signs, and therefore of the text, is always significant; it is what constitutes ‘signifier material’ at one level, and it is therefore a crucial semiotic feature. (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2006, p. 216) The use of media/medium in Reading Images is primarily that of ‘the media’—the press, the news, media theory, or media studies. The chapter containing the previous quote, ‘Materiality and meaning’ (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2006, Chapter 7, pp. 215–238) makes use of media in a more physical sense: Our classification of production media was based on the way representations are produced, whether by hand, by more or less automated recording or by electronic synthesis. (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2006, p. 219)

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Again, this is in line with Waller’s model of genre, and the section goes on to describe the interaction methods supported by the medium. But there seems to be no explicit distinction between this use of ‘media’ as opposed to ‘materiality’, although the use of ‘media’ is tied to ‘production media’ and ‘distribution media’ (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2006, p. 220). This gives media a more social context, compared to materiality,16 although materiality is being considered within a social communication context as a signifier. An inseparable relationship among social, technological, and material is arrived at. Each is interrelated and has no meaning in isolation. Definitions of the application of each vary with perspective, for example: ‘The computer is not a tool but a material’ (Hara, 2007, p. 125). ‘Materiality’ as a term in this context has less semantic baggage and appears easier to approach in physical terms compared to the broader term of ‘media.’ But it also risks being lost in some sense in a move towards a view based on genre and mode in which medium provides affordance for these two terms but becomes a sub-factor. That genre is a combination of other factors should not be seen as being detracting from those factors themselves, as it is essential: ‘Genre [. . .] is a fusion of lower-level forms and characteristic substance’ (Miller, 1984, p. 163). The overlap between media and genre depends on the extent to which each is articulated and the level at which it is employed. ‘Magazine’ might be stated as a genre, a conventional genre of the print medium perhaps (although the other use of ‘magazine’ as a store has no such link). But magazine might also be viewed as a medium, a distinct sub-section of print media—at which point it must be noted that magazines can exist digitally, and indeed some TV shows are referred to as being in magazine format. If magazine is not media specific, it might be seen as a genre, with the media use of the term ‘(print) magazine’ being shorthand for the materiality of a general idea of print magazine. Print is a process but is often used to refer to a medium of ink on paper. A fully reduced view of media as material appears conceptually anaemic, atomised to a list of component parts. Looked at as conventional combinations of these components and their affordances within a social context, media is of more use, but the interplay at this level with genre and mode causes some ambiguity. 2.5.3 McLuhan and Medium Succession Stepping back from authors who have advanced from a concentration on medium towards one of genre and (multi)mode, McLuhan emphasised the primacy of medium. ‘The medium is the message’ (McLuhan, 1964, p. 9) may appear to have more in connection with concepts of form and content (as pursued by Baudrillard, 1995, pp. 55–60; see form and content in Sections 3.3.1–3), but a linked idea, mentioned in the first chapter of Understanding Media (McLuhan, 1964) is relevant to the concept of recursive models of analysis which ends this chapter: ‘the “content” of any

42 The Language of Graphic Language medium is always another medium’ (McLuhan, 1964, p. 10). This quotation is preceded by the claim that an electric light is pure information and a ‘medium without a message’ (p. 10, McLuhan, 1964). The veracity of this might be contested on semantic grounds and will be explored in Chapter 3. Although the processes leading up to the quote to which this footnote refers could be doubted, the conclusion reached is of use. In McLuhan’s context, mediums are related in a form of succession or procession, one leading on to the next with some translation of content, meaning, and information along the way, the result of which then becomes the subject of the next channel of communication (medium); see: The content of writing is speech, just as the written word is the content of print, and print is the content of the telegraph. If it is asked, ‘What is the content of speech?,’ it is necessary to say, ‘It is an actual process of thought, which is in itself nonverbal.’ (McLuhan, 1964, p. 10) Such successions of media, chains, or processions could easily be nonlinear and have cyclic elements. The thought might be prompted by seeing a picture or reading some text, which was itself linked to words, the content of a thought, the content of some text, etc. One node in the succession could have multiple child or parent nodes. Additionally, multiple mediums and modes can be encapsulated in one medium: a print newspaper (one medium) might contain a print of a photograph (another medium) and material from the transcript of a spoken interview (yet another medium).17 The print newspaper is one medium but contains content mediums in plurality, multimedia encapsulated in one medium (see Figure 2.12). These direct ‘content’ mediums in the chain of succession could also be linked to, for example, the original layout sketches for how text and image should be handled by the newspaper layout. It is not suggested that this should go one way but that it should be re-configured for each instance. The idea of having a ‘thought’ in another medium or a medium in another thought has relevance to the work of Derrida, which is followed in a design context by Lupton and Miller (1999). If the medium is the message and the content of a medium is another medium, then this regression means that the message of the medium is the medium that preceded it in the regression. The medium is the medium because the message of the second medium is its medium. The message is stuck in an infinite regression of mediums and, seen in such a sense, can never be reached. Such a stretched take of a theoretical view of media (tautologically unhelpful) could be seen as reducing its importance, rather than promoting it, because, despite seeming to be the most materially relatable area, the medium is always carrying a different medium. Baudrillard carries McLuhan’s theory to the point of implosion:

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Figure 2.12 Demonstration of media within media. Looking at this page of this book, the reader sees, among other things, the top picture in this sequence (a)—a printed (or on-screen) illustration in the book. This content of the book page is a photograph, a photograph taken of another media—a perfect bound thesis. (And, in between, it has been stored on a memory card, reflected onto the mirror of a camera, cropped in Photoshop on a laptop, etc.). This thesis draft, a spread of which is seen here as content in this book, itself contains content, such as the photograph indicated (b). Photograph (b) is itself an image of a medium, showing a smartphone displaying a page from the IKEA catalogue (c). (c) then further contains image and text elements, such as the wooden furniture isolated by selection (d). (d) itself might then contain further content, and the analysis could be continued further and further, possibly even into the medium of thoughts (which could have been the interlocutor medium between some of these changes already). As well as the possibility of further analysis of (d), at each stage a different course could have been taken—for example concentrating upon the text or a different photograph. Goodman (1976, p. 28) also articulates ideas of embedding, of compound pictures containing pictures, within his theory of denoting. He is less concerned with medium, however.

Finally, the medium is the message not only signifies the end of the message, but also the end of the medium. There are no more media in the literal sense of the word (I’m speaking particularly of electronic mass media)—that is, of a mediating power between one reality and another, between one state of the real and another. Neither in content, nor in form. Strictly, this is what implosion signifies. (Baudrillard, 1995, p. 57)

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2.6 Recursive Analysis This last section presents genre, mode, and medium within a recursive context. With media in the preceding section, this took on a potentially infinite scope, although this need not be the case for all examples. The purpose of models that are recursive in nature, as opposed to more rigidly defined hierarchies and taxonomies, is to highlight the contextual, or even arbitrary, nature of set levels of meaning and analysis (some degree of hierarchy can be seen in recursion, but not pre-defined). This contextual approach allows for the consideration of multiple points of view when analysing one object, document, or artefact instance of graphic communication. This is vital when considering design and the process of design, where designer(s), client(s), and users are likely to have different foci and levels of engagement with a single piece. 2.6.1 Engelhardt—Graphic Objects Engelhardt (2002) proposes a recursive model for analysing the syntax of ‘graphical representation’ (p. 14), based on methods used in formal linguistics (p. 13), employing the concept of nesting or embedding (p. 81).18 Any graphic representation—and any meaningful visible component of a graphic representation—may be referred to as a graphic object. This means that graphic objects can be distinguished at various levels of a graphic representation. For example, a map or a chart in its entirety is a graphic object. In addition, the various symbols or components that are positioned within that map or chart are graphic objects as well. (Engelhardt, 2007, pp. 24–25) This is a finite recursion—graphic objects are comprised of graphic objects until eventually ‘elementary graphic objects’ could be arrived at ‘at the lowest level of decomposition’ (Engelhardt, 2007, p. 16). A composite graphic object would eventually break down to elementary objects, at which point the recursion ends. At each level there is an object, the space it occupies, and the relations among any sub-objects (object–object relations and object–space relations) (Engelhardt, 2002, p. 15). Goodman (1976), in broader terms, expresses similar ideas: ‘An inscription is atomic if it contains no other inscription; otherwise it is compound’ p. 141, although the framework that then develops from this start takes a different focus (of less relevance here). Purchase also presents a similar system for dealing with text: The definition of a composite-text is recursive. A composite-text contains more than one component-text, where the component-texts may be either single-texts or composite-texts. Thus a composite-text may embody

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more than one representational system and may use more than one modality. (Purchase, 1998, p. 12) The use of ‘meaningful’ in describing this system (‘and any meaningful visible component’ Engelhardt, 2007, p. 24) can introduce ambiguity. Determining what is meaningful will always be highly subjective, depending on the viewer. The instance of meaning would also determine the termination of analysis—one viewer may reach what they view as the level of ‘elementary’ objects before another. Engelhardt, in places, develops and builds on the work of Richards (1984), who in turn references Goldsmith (1978). Agreeing upon the ‘level’ of graphic objects is vital to allow for ‘meaningful’ analysis. Engelhardt follows Richards’s approach in defining graphic objects: If any analysis is going to be possible at all it seems that it must start at a ‘noun phrase’ level, otherwise we are forced down to the meaningless level of dots and lines or else up to the level where all we can say is ‘here is a diagram’. (Richards, 1984, p. 3/16 quoted in Engelhardt, 2007, p. 30) The problem here is meaning. Who is imposing the level from which meaning is to be measured and with what justification? Phrases such as those used in justifying the ‘correct’ way to draw object separations from a diagram such as ‘the level of discussion appropriate to the intention of the picture’ (Goldsmith, 1978, quoted in Richards, 1984, p. 3/16)19 place the primacy of meaning on the intention of the picture (presumably with this as an extension of the creator’s intention), not the myriad different interpretations that could be the resultant meaning for the viewer. Goldsmith addresses the relativistic nature of the existence of ‘meaningful’ graphic objects with the concept of pragmatics. Forming one of the three levels within Goldsmith’s analytical model, pragmatics is defined as ‘the relevant previous experience and present judgement of the viewer’ (Goldsmith, 1984, p. 124). Everyone will have unique combinations of previous experience and the judgment used by an individual may be highly affected by their ‘role’ in relation to a piece of graphic communication. This is not just in terms of sender vs. recipient. There may be a client who is communicating (sending) via the interpretation and work of a designer, who is in turn working with print, production, or coding and expects to transmit a message to a user or viewer, who may exercise varying levels of judgment based on engagement and prior levels of information in a specific area. By presenting a range of levels at which analysis could take place, with each level linked in context to those connected to it in the recursion, a suitable level for each point of view may be chosen without excluding others.

46 The Language of Graphic Language 2.6.2 Genre Recursion can be seen within genre in two ways. Firstly, as with mode and medium, a genre will include the use of sub-factors which qualify its categorisation in that genre based on the genre of those sub-factors themselves. Secondly, it is through the feedback of use, change, and development of genres in action (e.g., Miller, 1984, p. 163). The first mirrors closely the models proposed for mode and medium that follow, and in many methods of categorisation, concepts of mode and medium will play a role in defining genre. A genre may be categorised by looking at distinct parts or conventions (as in Waller or Bateman) and exists in a context of use and action. The details of this context may themselves be categorised by genre or genres. Magazine might be a genre at one level when compared to a novel or a telephone directory. Within magazine there would be sub-genres, such as lifestyle. Articles from the lifestyle genre of the magazine genre will themselves have different features (differences in rhetoric, in method of access, in style, etc.), allowing them to be further classified in terms of genre. Within one article further genres might be found, although they would not normally be classified as such. Individual features of one article might be analysed in terms of Waller’s model: a short, introductory strapline compared to a pull-out box of bullet points in the same article have different methods of access, structure, and styling. Genre classification makes use of further internal and external genres to classify itself. This tends to be seen horizontally, comparing one magazine to another, but this is done by comparing vertical changes (rhetorically, stylistically, etc.) in factors within one magazine, one document, which can themselves be the subjects of genre categorisation. Indeed, the magazine in this example might have been ordered from a website. The website itself could be classified in terms of genre apart from other websites or methods of ordering (e.g., a mail in form). In Section 2.2.3 (practice and social action) the idea of chains of genre was addressed, with genres developing in relation to one another and themselves. The social action driving the genre (Bateman, 2008, p. 189, after Miller, 1984) leads to a recursive system in which genres ‘change, evolve, and decay’ (Miller, 1984, p. 163) through use. As outlined in Section 2.2.3 (and Figure 2.4) genre has cyclic elements. Correctly identifying a genre and its key attributes, and creating a product to sit within the genre, contributes back to the same genre, contributing to readings of that same genre subsequently.

2.6.3 Mode As raised in Section 2.3.1 problems with mode are encountered in terms of the level at which mode is defined. Additionally, certain ways of

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defining mode in relation to semiotic resource mean that modes must be prerequisites (Section 2.3.1) of one another. From Stöckl we saw charts of modes, medial variants of modes, peripheral modes, sub-modes, and features (Stöckl, 2004, p. 13). Kress and van Leeuwen have modes and resources making up those modes. In such models it is not always clear why one factor should be a mode, another a resource, and another a feature. Different professions and practices may draw the boundary differently. The typographer, for instance, might agree with Kress and van Leeuwen that ‘typography is thoroughly multimodal’ (2005, p. 42), but the number and extent of these modes and any sub-modes within them would be debatable. In one example, Stöckl (2004, p. 12) gives ‘font’ as a sub-mode of writing, with stylistic variations given as features. Stöckl is not a typographer and so does not use the terminology which might be expected, but presumably Stöckl’s ‘endings’ refer to terminals. But terminals present such a variety (styles of serif or lack thereof) that the typographer could break down the ‘feature’ of terminals in great detail— they are not the dead end of the analysis. They can be seen as a mode, with sub-modes and features, such as bracketing,20 within which more sub-mode features and resources could be described. This continuation supports Stöckl’s third point on multimodality (see Section 2.3.5 for the first two): Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, the range of existing modes represents a hierarchically structured and networked system, in which any one mode can be seen to fall into sub-modes which in their turn consist of distinct features that make up the sub-mode. (Stöckl, 2004, pp. 11–12) As one mode may fall into different positions of hierarchy in a network, the extent of this network in any instance will vary based on perspective. A system of mode, sub-mode, and resource or feature is not a static hierarchy, extra levels may need to be added in between, and a mode may appear at different levels in different communication instances and depending on the point of view. Grammars of social conventions for using these modes may be drawn up, as in Kress and van Leeuwen, but should be looked at in terms of Goldsmith’s pragmatics. Any instance of graphic communication will articulate its message(s) through variations and differences (or lack of such). Those elements altered may be called modes; these variations may be seen between two (or more) different instances and within just one. Each mode may be found to contain further modes, further elements which can be varied and altered to communicative effect. The alteration of any one mode can only be brought about by variation of its own sub-modes or by alteration in opposition to another mode. At the most basic level this variation of internal sub-modes will often still be variation against external

48 The Language of Graphic Language modes. Space is in opposition against space, but this space must be defined by the use of other modes to portion up the space. ‘Every shape exists only in relation to the space around it’ (Tschichold, 1967, p. 58). Monomodality is therefore impossible (Section 2.3.1). Multimodality is the only functioning way to communicate, and the prefix therefore is redundant in a literal sense. However, when dealing with levels of mode higher up a system of recursive modes, it is useful to be able to call each strand at one level a ‘mode’, of which multiple are in use. For example, text and image are modes, each containing multiple sub-modes; the use of both at once is multimodal, and each of these modes in isolation is multimodal. As analysis continues from one mode to the modes within it (recursively), an end point may be reached at which no further meaningful modes can be found, but this terminal point may be subjective. These final modes might be referred to as ‘resources’ (Kress and van Leeuwen), as ‘features’ (Stöckl), or maybe even as elementary modes (after Englehardt’s objects). However, ‘elementary’ may be a term to avoid as it suggests an absolute end, an ultimate simplicity that cannot be reduced further. In saying that something is elementally meaningful, we do so in relation to a specific view or line of enquiry. In doing so it is acknowledged that there might be further levels but that they are not the focus of study. If we acknowledge that further subdivision is possible, it is disingenuous to say that such sub-divisions have no meaning as we have just acknowledged them. We can admit to a self-imposed filtering, but elemental is not a term to use in such a context; it is the lowest-level breakdown under consideration for one instance of analysis or investigation. What is seen as a primary mode (the most important mode for communicating) in a piece of communication will vary among viewers in line with ‘previous experience and present judgement’ (Goldsmith, 1984). As such, modes are not locked in position—one higher level mode may be the sub-mode of a parent mode in a different instance of communication or even an elementary mode. 2.6.4 Medium The recursive nature of medium has already been covered in some detail in in the section on medium (2.5.3) and in the section on mode (2.3.5). The ‘catastrophe’ of Baudrillard’s double bind (1995, p. 57), arrived at by following McLuhan’s reasoning, might be avoided in practice by imposing an arbitrary limit upon the chains of mediums containing message media. This is further aided by the concept of a split between analysis of materiality and medium, the former attempting to look more objectively at the physical artefact and the latter taking on more of the burden of the social context. The two cannot truly be separated, but some

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imposition is needed unless we are to end up beyond Baudrillard’s horizon of meaning. The separation also means that although the chain of materiality might lead to the ‘implosion of meaning’, we might, in terms of theory, sidestep the ‘implosion of the social’ (Baudrillard, 1995, p. 58), which results from mass media. The simulation is still plain; for example, this book contains photographs of objects and scans from book pages. As I type I see these physical and print-manifested objects on a digital screen; the reader may see the same on screen or in print. The photograph of an object then contains the object itself, which may in turn shows further mediums or the imposition of such. Here the medium, although containing a message medium, acts as an interface. The chain could be stopped before the thought and so be limited, for graphic communication, to the visible in the chain, with an awareness of any states in which it is held by technology in-between. Genre, mode, and medium have been described under separate headings in this section, but all three are heavily interrelated (and will be combined in future chapters along with the content of Chapter 3). For example, medium and mode can be defining features of genre; media can function as a mode; and certain media can support only certain modes. The use of a recursive model of analysis should be seen as active: generated by perspective and reviewed in each case to arrive at the level relevant to a specific enquiry, situated within a larger context. Further recursive elements will be seen in the following chapter with form and content and with relevance to the directly technological side of medium.

Notes 1. Lee’s work is a heavily linguistics and corpus based but of use here in the rigour with which definitions are pursued against other terms, even though the relevance is not directly graphical. 2. These three terms vary with translation, these are as given in the T. S. Dorsch translation (Aristotle, 1965), which is itself perhaps a little dated in terms of phrasing. Media has the clearest links to media as used today, although perhaps is more finely grained in definition—it is the method used to embody the communication (e.g., poetry). Object might be likened to subject or topic in more recent models of genre. Manner to some extent links to Waller’s ‘access structure’ (Waller, 1988, p. 179) but also has a sense of ‘style’: ‘for it is possible, using the same medium, to represent the same subject in a variety of ways’ (Aristotle, 1965, p. 34). As with access structure, typographic features might vary to show a level or type of text content, the manner of delivery, narration, or character assumed in ‘poetry’ might vary to mark dramatic content. 3. This study is problematic in a number of ways from the perspective of graphic design and not wholly in line with the view of genre taken in this book. Genre is viewed as text centric—layout and graphical elements are given little consideration; additionally, what the study terms genre might be better understood

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4. 5. 6. 7.

8.

9.

10.

11. 12. 13.

14.

15. 16.

as document type. However, it does still provide an experimental basis for multiple genres at a general level. Santin (2007) does recognise that ‘web pages are a complex type of document— encompassing several texts not necessarily related to one another’ (p. 720). Also referred to variously as ‘semiotic modes’, ‘modes of communication’, and ‘modes of representation’ within Kress and van Leeuwen (2006). Note that in this instance of modality, something would not have to actually be real to have a high modality; the representation of a unicorn might be assessed to have a high modality, even though unicorns are not real. Twyman deals with multimodal concepts, but this is not explicitly stated as such. In the2004 update to the schema, he states, ‘I think it is important to recognize that many examples of graphic language make use of several modes and configurations’ (2004, p. 345). However, as has been mentioned, he is also using mode at a different level from later authors such as Kress and van Leeuwen. Additionally, ‘all texts are multimodal’, from Kress and van Leeuwen (1995, p. 25). Compare this to the statement that the given texts are monomodal— surely it cannot be meant that ‘literary novels’ are/were monomodal but that within the fields of literature or linguistics, they were studied as such. That it is essential is not limited to the study of documents. For example, Artaud’s Production and Metaphysics (1995 trans., pp. 23–35) argues passionately for an integrated, multimodal approach to theatre (although without using the word multimodal) against the primacy of meaning placed on dialogue in the West. His essay can be read with much relevance to design and the use of multimodal communication, not just theatre. The term ‘crossmodal’ already has established use within perceptual psychology, where it refers to the use of multiple channels of perception and sense. See, for example, the work of the Crossmodal Research Laboratory at the University of Oxford. Mode is not being used in that sense within this book (see, mode in Section 2.3), and indeed, crossmodal in this sense would be less ambiguously described as cross-sensory to allow for other uses of mode. What Scolari refers to as ‘languages’ would be modes within the context of this book. With, for the sake of argument, the same colours, no extra use of signification through texture or articulation. Unless a very rigorous restriction to the limits of Purchase’s example are given, most people might assume some method of interacting with the application, via some form of screen or digital display, buttons, etc. The example would hold true only of an application of absolute simplicity to an extent that would render it uncommon for any practical use. See also Graham and Whalen (2008) for an analysis of ‘new media’ and the relationship of mode, medium, and genre. Although some of the conclusions, such as new hybrid genres, ‘gestalt-shift genre’ (p. 89) existing due to new media can be undermined by pre-digital examples. For example, a cereal packet that can have the back cut out to be a child’s mask of a cartoon character presents a ‘gestalt-shift’ just as well as the digital e-card example given by Graham and Whalen. Access structure is not defined wholly by the material aspects of the genre, but some parts of the methods of access and interaction might be afforded or supported by the materiality; see genre in Section 2.2.2. Materiality, being the material properties and media having wider connotations of production, process, distribution, etc., is a workable division, although the properties of the former may be inseparable from the later:

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17.

18. 19. 20.

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‘design is conditioned by the kind of printing being used; a designer designs specifically for an intended process and materials’ (McLean, 1975, p. 15). Although none of these examples are single mediums, the printed text in the newspaper might be from a handwritten transcript, which was generated from the medium of speech, which was prompted by thoughts, which were prompted by speech, etc. See Engelhardt (2002, Section 2.1) for an example of the application of the recursive model and also Engelhardt (2007, Section 3) for a summary. See pp. 3/14–15 for Richards’s discussion of why this is the case with reference to Goldsmith and Köhler—essentially, the acceptance of meaning and existence as being interdependent. A bracket is an additional connection between the ends of the strokes of a letterform and any serifs.

References Aristotle. (1965), ‘On the Art of Poetry’, trans. T. S. Dorsch, in Aristotle Horace Longinus, Classical Literary Criticism, Penguin Books. Artaud, A. (1995), ‘Production and Metaphysics’, trans. C. Cori, in The Theatre and Its Double, Calder, pp. 23–23. Askehave, I., and Nielsen, A. E. (2005), ‘What Are the Characteristics of DigitalGenres?—Genre Theory From a Multi-Modal Perspective’, Proceedings of the 38th Hawaii International Conference on System Sciences, IEEE. Bateman, J. A. (2008), Multimodality and Genre, A Foundation for the Systematic Analysis of Multimodal Documents, Palgrave Macmillan. Baudrillard, J. (1995), Simulacra and Simulation, trans. S. F. Glaser, University of Michigan Press. Bazerman, C. (1994), ‘Systems of Genres and the Enactment of Social Interactions’, in Freedman, A., and Medway, P. (eds.), Genre and the New Rhetoric, Taylor and Francis, Chapter 5. Bordwell, D. (1989), Making Meaning: Inference and Rhetoric in the Interpretation of Cinema, Harvard University Press. de Beaugrande, R. (1980), Text, Discourse and Process, Ablex. de Bono, E. (1976), Greatest Thinkers: The Thirty Minds That Shaped Our Civilisation, Weidenfeld and Nicolson. Chandler, D. (2000), ‘The Problem of Definition’, An Introduction to Genre Theory, URL=www.aber.ac.uk/media/Documents/intgenre/intgenre1.html (accessed 10/01/13). Engelhardt, Y. (2002), The Language of Graphics—A Framework for the Analysis of Syntax and Meaning in Maps, Charts and Diagrams, Institute for Logic, Language and Computation, University of Amsterdam, Ashenhurst. Engelhardt, Y. (2007), ‘Syntactic Structures in Graphics’, Computational Visulistics and Picture Morphology, 1:4, pp. 23–35. Gibson, J. (1977), ‘The Theory of Affordances’, in Shaw, R., and Brandsford, J. (eds.), Perceiving, Acting, and Knowing: Towards an Ecological Psychology, Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, pp. 67–82. Goldsmith, E. (1978), An Analysis of the Elements Affecting Comprehensibility of Illustrations Intended as Supportive to Text, Thesis, Brighton Polytechnic, Department of Visual Communications, UK.

52 The Language of Graphic Language Goldsmith, E. (1984), Research Into Illustration, an Approach and a Review, Cambridge University Press. Goodman, N. (1976), The Languages of Art, Hackett Publishing Company Inc. Graham, S. S., and Whalen, B. (2008), ‘Mode, Medium, and Genre: A Case Study of Decisions in New-Media Design’, Journal of Business and Technical communication, 22:65, pp. 65–90. Hara, K. (2007), ‘Designing Design’, in Armstrong, H. (ed.), (2009), Graphic Design Theory, Princeton Architectural Press, pp. 124–126. Kress, G. (1993), ‘Genre as Social Process’, in Cope, B., and Kalantzis, M. (eds.), The Powers of Literacy: A Genre Approach to Teaching Writing, Falmer Press, pp. 22–37. Kress, G., and van Leeuwen, T. (1995), Reading Images: The Grammar of Visual Design, Routledge. Kress, G., and van Leeuwen, T. (2001), Multimodal Discourse, The Modes and Media of Contemporary Communication, Arnold. Kress, G., and van Leeuwen, T. (2002), ‘Colour as a Semiotic Mode: Notes for a Grammar of Colour’, Visual Communication, 1:3, pp. 343–368. Kress, G., and van Leeuwen, T. (2005), Introducing Social Semiotics, Routledge. Kress, G., and van Leeuwen, T. (2006), Reading Images: The Grammar of Visual Design (revised 2nd edition), Routledge. Lee, D. Y. W. (2001), ‘Genres, Registers, Text Types, Domains and Styles: Clarifying the Concepts and Navigating a Path Through the BNC Jungle’, Language Learning & Technology, 5:3, pp. 37–72. Lemke, J. L. (1999), Typology, Topology, Topography: Genre Semantics, URL= academic.brooklyn.cuny.edu/education/jlemke/papers/Genre-topologyrevised.htm (accessed 13/07/13). Lickiss, M. (2012), Representations of Molecular Structures: How Have Mode, Medium and Dimension Developed in Languages for Communicating Chemical Information?, M.A. dissertation, University of Reading, UK. Lupton, E., and Miller, A. (1999), Design Writing Research, Phaidon. McLean, R. (1975), Jan Tschichold: Typographer, Lund Humphries. McLuhan, M. (1964), Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man, MIT Press, re-set digital copy from URL=obynbacken.com/text/nw_research.pdf (accessed 23/11/12). McQuail, D. (1987), Mass Communication Theory: An Introduction, Sage. Miller, C. R. (1984), ‘Genre as Social Action’, Quarterly Journal of Speech, 70, pp. 151–167. Norrish, P. (1987), The Graphic Translatability of Text, British Library R&D Report 5854, Department of Typography & Graphic Communication, University of Reading. O’Keefe, D. J. (2002), Persuasion: Theory and Research (2nd edition), SAGE Publications. PGA. (Producers Guild of America). (no date), Code of Credits—New Media, Producers Guild of America, URL=www.producersguild.org/?page=coc_nm#trans media (accessed 12/08/13). Purchase, H. (1998), ‘Defining Multimedia’, MultiMedia, IEEE, 5:1, pp. 8–15. Richards, C. (1984), Diagrammatics, Ph.D. Thesis, Royal College of Art, UK. Santini, M. (2007), ‘Zero, Single, or Multi? Genre of Web Pages Through the Users’ Perspective’, Information Processing and Management, 44:2008, pp. 702–737.

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Scolari, C. A. (2009), ‘Transmedia Storytelling: Implicit Consumers, Narrative Worlds, and Branding in Contemporary Media Production’, International Journal of Communication, 3, pp. 586–606, URL=ijoc.org/index.php/ijoc/ article/viewFile/477/336 (accessed 12/08/13). Stam, R. (2000), Film Theory an Introduction, Blackwell. Stöckl, H. (2004), ‘In Between Modes, Language and Image in Printed Media’, in Ventola, E., Cassily, C., and Kaltenbacher, M. (eds.), Perspectives on Multimodality, John Benjamins Publishing. Swales, J. M. (1990), Genre Analysis, English in Academic and Research Settings, Cambridge University Press. Swales, J. M. (2004), Research Genres, Explorations and Applications, Cambridge University Press. Tschichold, J., and McLean, R. (trans.). (1967), Asymmetric Typography, Faber and Faber. Twyman, M. (1979), ‘A Schema for the Study of Graphic Language’, in Kolers, P. M., Wrolstad M., and Bouma, H. (eds.), Processing of Visible Language, Plenum Press, pp. 117–150. Twyman, M. (1985), ‘Using Pictorial Language: A Discussion of the Dimensions of the Problem’, in Duffy T. M., and Waller, R. (eds.), Designing Usable Texts, Academic Press. Twyman, M. (2004), ‘Further Thoughts on a Schema for Describing Graphic Language’, in 1st International Conference on Typography and Visual Communication, 26th–30th June 2002, University of Macedonia, Thessaloniki, Greece, pp. 329–350. van Leeuwen, T. (2004), Introducing Social Semiotics: An Introductory Textbook, Routledge. Waller, R. (1988), The Typographic Contribution to Language, Towards a Model of Typographic Genres and their Underlying Structures, Ph.D. Thesis, University of Reading, UK. Yates, J., and Orlikowski, W. J. (1992), ‘Genres of Organizational Communication: A Structurational Approach to Studying Communications and Media’, Academy of Management Review, 17, pp. 299–32.

Image References Bateman, J. A. (2008), Multimodality and Genre: A Foundation for the Systematic Analysis of Multimodal Documents, Palgrave Macmillan. Images reproduced with permission of SNCSC. Graham, S, S., and Whalen, B. (2008), ‘Mode, Medium, and Genre: A Case Study of Decisions in New-Media Design’, Journal of Business and Technical Communication, 22:65, pp. 65–90. Grandjean, M. (2014), ‘La connaissance est un réseau’, Les Cahiers du Numérique, 10:3, pp. 37–54, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license, URL=commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Social_Network_Analysis_Visu alization.png (accessed 10/11/2018). Mondrian, P. (1930), Composition II in Red, Blue, and Yellow, public domain photographic reproduction from URL=en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piet_Mondrian#/ media/File:Piet_Mondriaan,_1930_-_Mondrian_Composition_II_in_Red,_ Blue,_and_Yellow.jpg

54 The Language of Graphic Language Waller, R. (1987), The Typographic Contribution to Language, Towards a Model of Typographic Genres and their Underlying Structures, Ph.D. Thesis, University of Reading, UK. Yates, J., and Orlikowski, W. J. (1992), ‘Genres of Organizational Communication: A Structurational Approach to Studying Communications and Media’, Academy of Management Review, 17, pp. 299–326.

3

Change Systems and Subjects

3.1 Overview Advancing from the more abstract level of analysis found with medium, mode, and genre (and related terms, Chapter 2), the focus here shifts to bring in additional practical considerations and conceptualisations of those practical considerations. Moving more directly towards the issues surrounding the change (or lack thereof) and adaptation needed to present graphic content across multiple platforms and formats, key questions include: What is it that is being changed and adapted? How do the units and boundaries resulting from change begin to relate to documents? How can different types of change be discussed? The types of content adaptation taking place across platforms at present are not without precedent in many cases, although they are now happening on a scale and to an extent not seen before due to the capabilities of new technologies for production and consumption. Therefore, a more direct approach to the application of medium will be sought in considering systems of (re)production to inform discussion within a wider context of design as a practice and a process. Key to the question of change is the identification of what it is that has changed. To aid in this identification, a range of the models and conceptual views of graphic content that have been developed by theoreticians and practitioners will be drawn upon. The intent of this analysis is to examine what have been seen as the important dividing lines and distinctions in identifying the ‘substance’ subject to change. These distinctions can then be used to identify points of significance to be addressed in the framework presented in Chapter 4. In addition to the examination of change in, and between, platforms for document production and consumption, documents themselves will be considered, along with their various definitions and related terminology. A critical understanding of documents represents a key point and context for much of the preceding review and a vital part of the theoretical model to follow in terms of articulating the unit of analysis between which cross mode or medium change may occur. Ideas surrounding

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documents, content, and the systems through which documents and content are communicated and adapted will now be examined.

3.2 Translation, Transformation, and Systems 3.2.1 Background and Definition Questions surrounding the translation and transformation of graphical content between mediums and modes are not new, having been present before the digital age. Translation and transformation are a necessary part of design process and production but may be conceptualised differently at various levels and within diverse contexts of technology and use. An understanding and account is needed of what translation and transformation are, and what they apply to, in relation to the ‘tacit knowledge’ (Levy, 1990, p. 42) of designers. The terms translation and transformation are initially used together; a distinction in use may be sought between translation and transformation, but in many cases translation cannot take place without transformation at some point and vice versa. ‘Transformation’ is a term more common in general talk of design process,1 especially with its use associated to isotype, although much of the transformation work might fall under the category of translation in terms of the following discussion. (See Macdonald-Ross and Waller, 2000, for a wider application of the isotype model of the transformer.) Translation has linguistic connotations but is used here after Norrish: The research sets out to identify some of the problems that arise when converting a text designed with one system of composition in mind to another, particularly one with less capability and flexibility. The term ‘translatability’, borrowed from the field of natural language, was used as a shorthand way of referring to the ease with which such conversions can be undertaken. (Twyman, in foreword to Norrish, 1987) Even here translation is still linked to words, which imparts some conventional linguistic relevance, but translation might also occur between different modes: between text and image or between image and schematic. Translation and transformation may occur as part of a cross-, trans-, or multi-mode or media distinction (see Section 2.4) or take place without any change in medium or mode. As used by Norrish this is translation between systems (specifically for text composition). Systems encompass more than the physical medium of the end product and refer to the wider production and reproduction method(s) (see the end of Section 3.2.2 following for more details). In this context, offset litho and photocopying are different systems of reproduction but, broadly speaking, use the same type of substrate or display medium (paper).

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To enable a more detailed discussion of the process, it may be useful to draw an initial distinction: • •

translation being a change in system (after Norrish); transformation being change within the same system.

For example, using a computer to draw up a digitised page layout based on a pen-and-paper drawing of the layout is translation—a change from the pen-and-paper system to the computerised system. Making changes to that digital layout on the computer is transformation—a change within the computerised system. Both terms are used in broader ways in general talk, but these distinctions will be retained here. Transformation under this definition has extremely wide applicability (as well as being a part of translation). A more articulated model for considering factors relevant to transformation can be found in Chapter 4. 3.2.2 Systems and Classes of Translation Norrish (1987) presents a distinction between systems of two different levels: ‘low’ and ‘high’, where high systems have a greater ‘capability’ (p. 2) to differentiate and present content in terms of variation of appearance and use of space. From this Norrish presents four combinations of possible translation relationships (paraphrased and quoted from p. 5 with examples from p. 5 and p. 61, Norrish, 1987) (see Figure 3.1): • • • •

low system to high system (e.g., typewriter to phototypesetting); high systems to low systems (e.g., phototypesetting to typewriter); between ‘systems which are roughly equivalent’ (e.g., from a golf ball typewriter to a microcomputer with a dot-matrix printer attachment); ‘from one system to more than one-other system (which may be higher- or lower-level systems)’ (e.g., ‘material is produced for internal distribution in an organization; the same material also needs to be distributed via a public information system like Prestel, and to be printed as a report or leaflet’)

This last class of translation is especially relevant today (and the least covered by Norrish’s case studies),2 when documents or designs will sometimes be conceived of as needing to be produced on multiple systems from the start of a project. In addition to the four classes given, the one-to-many translation suggests the possibility of a converse many-toone relationship. For this fifth class we might consider the imposition of a new standard system for communication within an organisation which had previously employed multiple systems in parallel, for example, all messages to be sent out as email, instead of flyers, posters, written notes, and verbal announcements. Alternatively, for this fifth class, some form of combination could be considered, producing a compilation of material

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Figure 3.1 A diagrammatic representation of the four classes of translation suggested by Norrish (1987), with the addition of possible fifth and sixth classes (more than one system to one, and many systems to many systems) suggested by the present author. ‘Real’ examples of systems have not been specified here; the thumbnails are intended to be indicative of a range of capabilities of possible systems to emphasise the relationship of the translation between the systems rather than the systems themselves. The subtle greyscale lettering used for some systems is intended to represent colour, limited here by the practicalities of academic book printing—as this diagram has itself been translated from a high to a low system of production!

produced on different systems; however, such a compilation would likely overstep the bounds of simple translation in many cases. A combinational many-to-one relationship within a design process could also take the form of combining clients’ texts with a sketched layout design to produce a final document. From this point a sixth class of many-to-many translation may also be postulated. Here there would likely either be considerable transformation required and/or considerable overlap with other classes of translation (the many to many may be a cluster of connected simpler translations). The one-to-many and many-to-one classes of translation are not symmetrical, and it seems that the many-to-one relationship is less directly suited to talk of translation as undertaken here. Systems represent more than physical and technological process. Walker (2001) adds a vital clarification when considering the capabilities of systems regarding newer technologies: ‘Many are potentially highly flexible, but in reality depend on the skill of the operator to achieve their full potential in terms of typographic capability’ (Walker, 2001, p. 13). User skill should be considered before abstracting idealised notions of systems capability. Microsoft Word, for example, is capable of adjusting a wide range of micro-typographic features, but many users, even those who use the software on a daily basis in a professional capacity, may have little idea of how to use it to alter tracking or make use of different numeral sets within a font. Conversely, seemingly very limited system such as the typewriter can,

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in the hands of a skilled and creative user, produce wide degrees of variation. This is demonstrated by the field of typewriter art (e.g., Riddell, 1973), which produces patterns and illustrations by the careful layering and positioning of characters as a mark-making method. Although the practicalities required to arrive at typewriter art would not suit the constraints of general document creation, it shows a greater range of capability in an example of a ‘low’ system than might be initially assumed. See Figure 3.2 for an expanded model, based on Norrish (1987), showing the wider factors affecting systems, including human skill.

Figure 3.2 Diagram of ‘Factors that affect the presentation of text’ re-drawn from Norrish (1987, p. 3), followed by a modification and extension of the same diagram by the present author. The first diagram shows the extension of the more removed factors affecting the system, such as costs and user skill. In the second diagram (author’s additions in dotted lines), the relationships and feedback between factors have been extended in a genrelike manner, along the lines of Waller’s (1988) genre model, as discussed in Section 2.2.3 of the previous chapter. Human skill might further be seen as applicable to most of the factors shown. For example, it would be user identification of text structure and convention that is significant rather than an isolated objective idea of text structure. (re-drawn and modified by the author from Norrish, 1987, p. 3. © British Library Board and Department of Typography & Graphic Communication, University of Reading.)

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As predicted (Norrish, 1987, p. 90) the use of computers and displays to present text has not diminished and is now in a state of proliferation. The systems examined by Norrish are now outdated as will be the systems in common use at the time of writing this book given another twenty years. The interactive3 nature of screen-based displays is not covered in great detail by Norrish, and the capacity for interaction offered by such systems was limited at the time in any case. The Prestel view data system used in many of the examples (see Norrish, 1987, pp. 79, 80) is shown as using interaction and linking among options on screen to allow the navigation of more data than could be shown on a single screen (very low resolution by present standards) to be navigated. With more modern systems it is rather that extra information is displayed over what is possible in print. For example, mouse-over tool tips allow definitions of terms embedded in the text to be given, or animation can be added to diagrams to show processes. It could be suggested that these present a new ‘view’ of a document. See Sections 3.4 and 4.5 for more on the boundaries of documents. The specific systems themselves are of less permanent interest, but at the same time effective translation requires detailed knowledge of the systems between which translation is taking place (Norrish, 1987, p. 90). Regardless of the advance in capability of systems, what will always be needed is an ‘understanding of a system, combined with knowledge of a text and the ability to marry the two to produce usable solutions’ (Norrish, 1987, p. 90). 3.2.3 Combining and Questioning Translation and Transformation In many cases of translation some form of transformation would be required. If two different systems are being considered in an instance of translation, it is unlikely they will have identical capabilities and resources. Even if they are of similar levels in broad terms, one system may excel in font variation and another in use of colour, so translation must involve some modification (sometimes extensive) or some transformation to account for this.4 This does not mean that direct substitution of resources without thought and understanding of the design context is advisable: ‘graphic translation is not simply a matter of substituting a resource in one kind of system with one in another’ (Norrish, 1987, p. 5). In this way the question of accuracy of reproduction and translation is raised (along with a host of associated philosophical questions on representation and truth), and within a graphic communication context it will be simplest to refer this back to Twyman’s concept of verisimilitude (1985, p. 286). The use of translation so far has perhaps carried with it an air of active purpose,5 but what of the most basic, most simple, or even mechanical cases (e.g., tracing over a printed letter form using a pen and paper)?

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Here there is a change between systems, but no intentional alteration is made: the trace is as direct a change from one system to another as the tracer is capable of. Is this a translation? The term ‘transfer’ might be suggested here, but it is still a translation—some change will still take place; the edge of the printed letter (the interaction of ink and substrate) will differ from that of the pencil on paper. If the traced letter is inked in to give a solid shape, the colour will likely still vary. Transfer here is translation of an especially precise kind but still translation. In some sense this means that almost all means of reproduction, when considered in terms of mechanical process and system of use, involve an element of translation—but such an analysis oversteps the way in which ‘system’ was intended to be used. A system has some output as part of its identity—an offset litho plate and a paper print are different objects but can function as part of the same system. Otherwise it could be argued that reproduction via letterpress is translation: the print is not the same as the type form from which it is printed—the press has not produced a reproduction of the type when it prints; all of the prints might be said to be the same as one another (barring small differences in inking, alignment, etc.), but they are not equal to the metal or wood in the chase. However, the press and the print should be viewed as the same system here. To some extent the system exists as an edge between two (or more) nodes, and several different systems may share common nodes. A system that used only its own resources, mitotic in nature, or some planographic method that prints to the same material as that from which it is made itself would produce an output without translation as the system would not change. Because the system has not changed, this example does not break or test the definitions of translation or transformation but is excluded by definition from consideration in these terms. (In the planographic case the output would be in reverse but within the same system: a case of transformation not of translation.) Transformation also appears lacking: the scope of what might be considered as transformation, as the term has been used in this section, is a broad continuum. At one extreme a transformation might be a minor correction (e.g., shifting a textbox 1mm to the left on a page); at the other it might be as complete a change as is possible within the system (e.g., re-ordering and re-positioning page elements, adding borders, changing colouring, etc.). A range of alternative names might be suggested to represent the same concept, but these also rapidly run into problems of general or common uses (and in some cases technical uses) of many of the candidates. This difficulty in the application of suitable terminology at a relevant level to design and the outputs of design is an underlying theme of this book. Transformation appears very general. Alternatives might include: adaption, variation, re-styling, re-ordering, re–arranging, etc. However, most of these are either even more general or have implications outside of the intended use. The series of relationships presented

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in the framework of Section 4.3 in the next chapter map onto some areas of the continuum of transformation, using expanded terminology to describe specific combinations of change within and between systems and content. For translation or transformation to take place, there must be ‘something’ to which the process is applied (see footnote 53), and effective application of any process of translation or transformation requires the designer to understand the subject being translated or transformed. There are two areas of ambiguity here. Firstly, how to address the ‘something’, the subject? The most fitting word here would seem to be ‘content’, but this can suggest a distinction apart from form, and what of structure? Secondly, the way the analysis and understanding of the designer relates to the task of correctly articulating the ‘content/form/ structure’. Designed texts can be analysed after the fact to show ‘text structures’ (Norrish, 1987, p. 6), ‘logical structure’ (Lee et al., 2003), and ‘visual structure’ (Southall, 1988). However, this understanding is something inherent in design and a process that takes place without retrospective markup. The next section surveys conceptual views of design (e.g., form and content dualities) as a first step to considering where the analysis of graphic communication is situated as an abstraction between the initial content, form, or structure; the process of design; and the outcome.

3.3 Conceptual Views of Design 3.3.1 Form and Content As with the terms considered in Chapter 2, form and content have a long history and varied interpretations. These range from ancient Greek thought6 to the modern day in the fields of philosophy, rhetoric, art, design, and the overlaps and interactions among those fields. The intent in this section is to use the concepts of form and content, from a design context, to move the more theoretical, abstract terms and ideas of the previous sections (mode, genre, and medium) in a more practical direction. In addition, the discussion will move towards the consideration of documents themselves (however these might be defined; see Section 3.4). The discussion examines, within the context of this book, what it is that changes, or remains the same, after some process of translation of transformation and what the relationships among any changed documents are (this theme is continued into Chapter 4, especially Section 4.3). Although this section is headed ‘Form and Content’ a range of terminology from design sources will be referenced, tackling related issues under different names and contextualised within specific design environments. Some topics presented initially in this section will be used in more critical depth both in the last part of this chapter and in following chapters, where their

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application has direct relevance to informing or challenging the model presented in Chapter 4. Form and content separation seems both artificial and enchanting: it appears the more form is teased away from content, the more powerful such a means of thinking becomes. Concomitantly, the increase in distance between the two damages the sensible implementation of such conceptions overall. Richards notes that the separation ‘can be done only up to a point’ (Richards, 1984, p. 8/5), following Stewart’s warning that it is ‘dangerous’ (Stewart, 1976, p. 13, in Richards, 1984) but necessary in certain cases.7 3.3.2 Form, Content, Structures, and Systems In discussing document production ‘from first principles’, Southall (1984, p. 79) states the following: Documents have a conceptual structure. Graphic structures can be made that reflect conceptual structures. [. . .] The graphic structure of a document should reflect its conceptual structure. (Southall, 1984, p. 80) This precedes a discussion that ‘in the past’ documents were designed starting with the conceptual structure (an author’s work) and given a graphical structure (‘embodiment’ [p. 80]). When designing on computerbased systems, the problem is reversed; the graphical structure of embodiment exists in the system in advance of any conceptual structure bearing content (summarised from Southall, 1984, p. 80).8 The importance of the final axiom in this quotation is highlighted by the dangers of unintended obfuscation by (poor) design rendering documents ‘virtually impossible to read’ with ‘the conceptual structures of documents being concealed, rather than revealed, by their graphic embodiment’ (Southall, 1984, p. 87).9 Southall (1989) also draws a distinction between graphic structure and visual structure. ‘Graphic structures’ are the ‘attributes of marks and groups of marks and the metric relationships between them’ (Southall, 1989, p. 2). What the reader then sees, however, is the ‘visual structure’—‘what the reader perceives when confronted with the document itself’(Southall, 1989, p. 3). The term ‘logical structure’ is also used by Southall (1984, p. 82), initially without strict definition, but later defined as ‘the structure of relationships between the semantic objects in a text’ (Southall, 1989, p. 2). This appears to take much of the role of conceptual structure in use, and the axiom stated here appears rephrased in 1985 as ‘the visual structure of an actual document should reflect the logical structure of the text that the document realizes’ (Southall, 1985, p. 3). Having defined and conceived of these different types of structure clearly, the need to ensure they complement each other when overlaid is

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reinforced. Highlighting the differences shows the need for complementary structuring to avoid dissonance between the structured views. At this point it is worth recalling Waller’s three-part ‘genre model of typographic communication’ (Waller, 1988, p. 180; see full discussion in Section 2.2.2) and the way in which this relates to the structures described here. An example given by Waller (1988, pp. 181–2) extends the initial statements concerning topic, artefact, and access structures (Waller, 1988, pp. 178–9) describing a computerised timetable system. In this system the topic structure (conceptual or logical as Southall might have it) of the rail network and trains is stored in ‘virtual form’ which ‘given an appropriate access structure can be actualized in numerous different ways’ (Waller, 1988, p. 179). This actualisation of the topic structure via an access structure10 links to Southall’s ideas (1989, 1985), giving embodiment to conceptual or logical structures via graphical structures, seen by the users as visual structures. ‘Logical structure’, as a term, is used within computational and informatics areas of document study (with which Southall was involved throughout his career) and within document generation and production systems. Text encoding is an area in which the term has seen significant use (see Section 3.4), linked not just to practicalities but also to broader questions of what text is. This is a significant area not just in terms of ‘logical structure’, but with regard to this book as a whole, and is dealt with in more detail in Section 3.4, when exploring the nature of documents. Lamport (1987) draws a visual and logical distinction between systems of document production: A system in which the user specifies the visual description of the output will be called a visual system, and one in which he specifies the logical structure of his document will be called a logical system. (Lamport, 1987, p. 1) In the quoted paper Lamport is, with the exceptions necessitated by the need to produce a visual document, generally in favour of more logical systems of document production (at least within the context of large documents).11 This leads into statements about systems similar to Southall’s comments on documents (referred to in the previous discussion) and also draws in form and content: The worst aspect of visual systems is that they subvert the process of communicating ideas by encouraging the writer to concentrate on form rather than content. Ideas are conveyed by the logical structure of the text; the function of the visual format is to display this structure. The author should be concerned with the structure, not any particular representation. (Lamport, 1987, p. 3)

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In this quotation there is a direct link made between form and the visual and content and the logical. Although visual/graphical and logical/ conceptual are not entirely the same as form/content, there is a strong affinity. In exploring the dis/similarities of conceptual/graphical compared to form/content, the fundamental inseparability of form and content makes such discussion problematic and contradictory. Additionally, the two distinctions are not on quite the same level. ‘Graphical’ links most closely to ‘form’, the embodiment of the outcome; conceptual structure would appear to be within content but may be distorted by graphical structure. Twyman (1981) states: More attention to the visual configurations of language and the effects they have on reading strategies would surely lead to that closer relation between content and form that is the quest of all good typographers. (Twyman, 1981, p. 12) Comparing this to Southall’s concept/graphic structures, and the need to keep these two closely related to each other, the sentiments seem similar but couched here in terms of content and form. ‘Structure’, as a term, when applied to form and content, highlights more differences. In what sense is structure content? ‘Structure’, as a word, has more connection to form. The ‘concept structure’ of content is not the content itself but a level of relationships within it. If the graphical structure of a document so conflicts with the conceptual structure that the user is led astray, then it would seem that the graphical structure can change the conceptual structure (similarly for genre, see Waller, 1988, p. 297, covered in Section 2.2.2). What is the nature of conceptual/logical structure? Is there a single correct configuration of these aspects of documents? Graphical and conceptual/logical structure are highly dependent on each other at a system level. Lamport notes that no primarily logical or visual system works without elements of the other type of system. That ‘the graphic structure of a document should reflect its conceptual structure’ (Southall, 1984, p. 80) has some similarities with the concept of ‘form follows function’ as it is used in its more recent incarnation.12 The basic rule for any design is “Form follows function.” If an object has to perform a certain function, its design must support that function to the fullest extent possible. (Koch, 2003) The sentiment in this quotation is from an article primarily related to web design (this article is also discussed by Michl, 2010). It is an example of a less metaphysical use of ‘form follows function’ (see footnote 62) and has direct links to Southall in terms of impact. If we take function, within

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the context of graphic communication, to be the graphic communication of content, or a message, the graphic form, or structure, should marry up to the function—the message to be communicated, the concept. If the graphical structure of a document reflects its conceptual structure, then the form might match the function, depending on how broad a consideration of conceptual structure is used. Not only the conceptual structure of text and image should match but also the overall communicative intent of the document. 3.3.3 Impact of Form/Content Division The idea that the content is the same in all cases, that it is merely the form (print book, screen PDF, e-reader file, and the fonts, spacing, layout available on each) that changes, is especially appealing when considering the translation of a text or document across multiple formats or mediums. There is a seeming separation and suspension of one part, whilst the other is modified mutatis mutandis. However, a ‘form’ will always have some content, some meaning—a blank page without formal ‘content’ imposed upon it has meaning. Likewise, content cannot exist without a form (if it can, show it—if it has no form, how will you illustrate your example?). And the combination of form and content affect one another; each instance of the form will vary with the content, and the message of content is seen from the perspective of the form. If a form/content duality was accepted, then the content contained within a form would itself contain more forms, which themselves have content, etc. Such a view would moderate any artificially harsh separation of form and content within a recursive and relativistic context, as described in Section 2.6. This nesting of form and content is similar to medium successions (see Section 2.5.3), and the idea of mediums containing mediums can be linked to ideas of forms, especially as both terms, at a certain level, can present an idea of physicality, of materiality. The form of an object might be a book, which has content; this content itself might be sub-defined as containing forms embodying its content, with the typefaces used within the presentation of this content itself having a form. Nesting views of form and content, in the broadly physical way mentioned, can also be pursued within the conceptual explanations of graphic content outlined here. Waller’s (1988) typographic genres have some content making up the genre as a whole, whereas each item contributing to a genre has its own properties analysable as specifics at a variety of levels. Genres, loosely termed, may then be found at different levels, with common grouping features identifiable at a paragraph and line level or at the physical document level. Technology (and artefact structure, in Waller’s terms) plays a crucial role with regard to production, transmission, and consumption. Differing systems (see systems in Section 3.2.2) of production may support high levels of variation in one variable (e.g., use of

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space) and next to none in another (e.g., use of colour), whereas certain conventions persist across a range of changes in system and capability. Hayles (1997, pp. 183–206) explores the emergence and significance of a material/information duality in the middle of the twentieth century. The concept of virtuality is used, defined as ‘the cultural perception that material objects are interpenetrated by information patterns’ (p. 183). A wideranging discussion then draws from varied fields, from molecular biology to links with conceptions of the ‘more traditional dichotomy of spirit/ matter’ (p 186). In tracking the development of the idea within information theory and Claude Shannnon’s work, Hayles notes, ‘Only when the message is encoded in a signal for transmission through a medium [. . .] does it assume material form’ (Hayles, 1997, p. 187). This leads to a point where ‘abstracting information from a material base meant that information could become free-floating, unaffected by changes in context’ (Hayles, 1997, p. 187). Hayles’s development of ideas on the material/information divide is articulated using deconstructionist oppositions: As I have shown, the concept of information is generated from the interplay between pattern and randomness. Similarly, materiality can be understood as being generated by a dialect of presence and absence. (Hayles, 1997, p. 190) This is used to explain the view that the ‘condition of virtuality implies, then, a widespread perception that presence/absence [pertaining to materiality] is being displaced and pre-empted by pattern/randomness [pertaining to information]’ (Hayles, 1997, p. 190). However, within this condition of virtuality ‘materiality, far from being left behind, interacts at every point with the new forms that literature is becoming as it moves into virtuality’ (p. 190). Hayles’s interest is in literature, but the discussion of material and information here is of direct relevance to wider classes of documents taking on multiple embodiments. The interplay between stating that information is gaining dominance over materiality whilst at the same time the materiality being inescapable as it ‘interacts at every point’ (Hayles, 1997 pp. 187, 190) is central to this book. As ‘documents’ are increasingly able to be manifest in multiple materialities,13 there may be an inclination to focus on what remains the same, the abstracted information, to define the varied group of material outcomes it unites. Conversely and concomitantly the differences (or lack thereof) in the information across the different material outcomes are what is of interest as the more abstract information is actualised within the strengths or limitations of a specific medium; in this aspect the materiality is vital. The move to digital publishing has changed the role of form in terms of considering the structure of documents without print. With physical

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media the physical form of the document influenced the structure, for example, the page break of a book as a physical element that must be accounted for in the design. This means that any conceptual/logical structure must work within a physical structure and the entry points common to that form. Although digital displays have their own set of limiting factors, each device can display a range of different documents and enable a wider range of non-linear structures to be articulated. Additionally, in some instances, there may be little control over the physical form of the end user device on the part of the publisher. Limitations that were once physical necessities may continue as convention. However, additional constraints may exist within the software or be imposed artificially. An example of this is page/section division in documents presented as websites. A web article may be split into a number of pages, but the decision on where to place the split can be taken in logical/conceptual terms dependent on the content (or other, non-physically limited motivations, such as increasing page views by spreading content over more pages). Alternatively it could be presented as a continuous galley of scrollable content—the choice to use breaks becomes one of convention, not necessity, for many uses (although there may be hardware limits on how much data can be cached at once). With print media (such as books) the physical page break is not seen as a semantic unit in many cases; the content overrides the physical form, but at the same time page breaks can be used to signify section changes. A soft parallel to the struggle over form and content—the search for the information, what is actually being dealt with—can be found in theories of logic and language. In the twentieth century logicians and mathematicians sought to find the true contents of language: what propositions, references, and sense were behind words. As different natural language phrases might denote the same object (the Morning Star and Evening Star both referring to Venus but having a different sense as they do so; Frege, 1892), so might different instances of graphic communication, but their ‘sense’ would be different. It would be noticed that the layout or colour or other detail was varied between the two, even if both were understood to signify, for example, ‘fire exit’. ‘Fire exit’ can be communicated across multiple mediums and modes with varying degrees of change and adaptation. Such a discussion risks veering off to the further complications of semiotics; however, the point to be made is that the exact formulation of the sign, as it differs from another sign referencing the same signifier, has additional meaning in that difference. The different typographical presentation of two conventionally identical linguistic sentences may impart a different sense of the same referent. Content is given form, visual propositions expressed through graphic communication, but on a larger scale (the document scale, at which point the use of ‘proposition’ as a term become too small), the ‘fire exit’ example becomes too limited to apply to more complicated situations.

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3.3.4 Further Form/Content Distinctions in Typography Within graphic communication and typography, there are ways of considering documents at different levels, especially within teaching. A wide range of theories, articles, and methods from widely differing types of sources might be applicable here: from popular magazine articles to in-depth theoretical frameworks. A small selection relevant to the discussion at hand is covered here (see Moys, 2012, for analysis of a wider range of such theories). In many cases these methods of conceptualising typography and design work between or generate (either implicitly or explicitly) distinctions and splits between content and its presentation. A discussion of such split views and methods of analysing typography not only is relevant to the practicing designer but also helps locate those areas already identified by practitioners as requiring distinction and demonstration. A general example of such a split is the distinction between micro- and macrotypographic variables. Here the ‘macro’ refers to the body or block of text and its positioning relative to other elements and the page overall, whereas ‘micro’ relates to finer details at the word or character level, such as spacing and glyph selection. This distinction is prevalent in nonacademic and popular design publishing, especially online in the context of web design. Articles such as Smashing Magazine’s ‘Applying Macrotypography for a More Readable Web Page’ (Ford, 2012) are typical; for other examples, see Bram (2009) and Logan (2009). A related distinction is that of Haley’s typographic landscapes, with ‘hardscape’ and ‘landscape’, defined as follows: Think of hardscape as the black stuff on white paper: letters, punctuation, figures, and symbols. Typographic landscape is the background and spacing around the hardscape. (Haley, 2006) This broadly maps onto the macro/micro distinction, with ‘micro’ relating to hardscape and ‘macro’ relating to landscape. Likewise, Twyman’s (1982) concept of intrinsic and extrinsic typographic features covers similar areas, although the distinction is placed somewhat differently. Here Twyman presents ‘verbal graphical language’ as being comprised of intrinsic features (the character set, italic, bold, style of letter forms, size of letter forms, etc.) and extrinsic features (configuration, micro spacing, macro spacing, colour, etc.) (quoted and paraphrased from 1982, p. 11). Intrinsic features relate to ‘the characters themselves’ and ‘the systems that produce those characters’ (p. 11). Extrinsic features cover the use of those intrinsic features: ‘what can be done with those characters’ (p. 11) with relevance to both micro- and macro-typographic variation. Both micro spacing (tracking) and macro spacing (heading vertical space) are classified as extrinsic compared to the intrinsic choice of capital vs. lower case.

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Twyman’s Typography Without Words (1981, pp. 5–12, see samples drawn up in Figure 3.3) is a clear example of both conceptualising and visualising ‘typographic problems’ without the details of content. In this system of notation lines of ‘x’s represent ‘the typographic norm in any particular instance’ (p. 6)—this norm being the basic letters in the main styling. Variation from this, such as the use of italic, is signified by ‘o’s. The ‘o’ could be any relevant variation from the typographic norm; if the main body text was in italic, it would be signified by ‘x’s, and ‘o’s might then be bold italic or colour. Use of horizontal and vertical space can also be used to vary connections and hierarchy within the ‘text’. As Twyman (1981) notes, such a system of notation ‘encourages serious thinking about typographic problems in conceptual terms, independently of problems associated with particular copy or composition system’ (p. 11). Although the system of notation itself can be used across almost any system of composition, the ‘x’ and ‘o’ characters being available from handwriting to metal type to e-books, the specific detail of the variation between the ‘x’ and ‘o’ may not be available in all systems; the difference is only one of relative variation without giving specifics. That something is specifically in small capitals compared to regular lower case, in instances, s not as significant as that it is not in regular lower case. It might be in bold, instead of small capitals; ‘typographic niceties [. . .] can be considered by other means’ (Twyman, 1981, p. 11). The use of such a system of notation, removed from both content and specific styling detail, should ‘increase the likelihood of messages being “translated” from one system of communication to others with quite different typographic capacities’ (Twyman, 1981, p. 11). Assuming translation between two systems with broadly comparable macro-typographic

Figure 3.3 Three sample formulations of ‘typography without words’ composed to show variations in hierarchy, space, and relative layout without using words. See the main text of this section for further explanation of the notation system and Twyman (1981) for a wider range of examples. Source: Compositions by the author, based on teaching at the Department of Typography & Graphic Communication, University of Reading—the method is still used today—and as exemplified in Twyman, (1981)

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capabilities but differing intrinsic features, then the same text (so far as possible) formatted in these two different systems would appear broadly similar in this notation. Twyman’s (1981) system of notation sits between a logical/conceptual structure and a graphical structure (see Section 3.1) with hybrid properties. It is a graphical/visual means of notation rather than a verbal/linguistic markup label for graphical styles and features. Horizontal and vertical positioning are used to show meaning, and the visual difference between ‘x’ and ‘o’ is used to indicate a visually stylistic difference (be it italics, colour, or weight variation). (In terms of current X/HTML markup, the ‘o’ is effectively an emphasis tag without any defined values but takes the place of emphasised content rather than wrapping around it.) The way in which positioning is shown promotes consideration of conceptual structures, within visual documents, without concentrating on specific ‘local’ features, instead looking at the relative features. That the system does not account for content also puts it at odds with logical/ conceptual structures, which for Richards come from the content. For Twyman’s method of notation, it is not that there is no content consideration but that it is abstracted to allow concentration on a different area.14 Although Twyman warns against using the system to create a ‘recipe book’ of layouts (p. 11), this abstracted system could be mapped onto genres of content in terms of common patterns of layout structure. The specific wording would not come through in this system; one timetable’s content might be replaced by another with little apparent change. However, to change from timetable to home reference manual genre would yield a change, as the variation within the genre as a whole would show. Extensions of the somewhat crude macro/micro split include the macro/ midi/micro spread/paragraph/line model used by Leonidas as a teaching tool at the University of Reading (unpublished, following overview from notes and discussion with Leonidas, 2014). Here documents are considered on three levels: macro—the spread (or relevant high-level section in nonprint cases), mini—the paragraph (or other block of narrative meaning or sequence that is not exclusively textural), and micro—the line. The macro spread level covers page layout and design in addition to navigation between sections; midi/paragraph concentrates on main text treatment overall (line length and similar); and the micro/line level of analysis deals with micro-typographic details and relationships among words and letters (as with micro in its use at the start of this section). This multilevel view allows a focus on a specific area for design or analysis and for comparison among different documents while keeping the focus of analysis at a comparable level. Such a system might also be extended further to meet different needs. For example, within the spread, paragraph, or line, a preceding level could be added for artefact (consideration of a book as a whole or the device or software an electronic document is viewed through), and a further level

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of detail could be typeface or glyph (the elements making up the micro typography level).

3.4 Documents In seeking to analyse change across medium and mode, and the impact this may have on genre, it is necessary to have an understanding of the unit in and across which this change occurs. Within the context of this book, that is what might be most often thought of as a ‘document’. The document contains the text, image, and layout presented via a relevant medium: it is the specific leaflet, book, newspaper, web page, etc. It is, however, necessary to question how broad the definition of document is and, indeed, whether ‘document’ is the correct term. Calling a printed, textural, narrative a document seems uncontentious. Likewise, the term might be extended to the same content shown on screen in word processing software. A static html web page might be acceptable—but what about a more dynamic page assembled by scripts pulling contents from databases based on a user’s query, constructed for one specific view from a set of possible content? Can smartphone apps (or at least some level of display brought about by the app) be considered to be documents? Where does the user interface of an app sit in such considerations? These questions will continue to be significant in this chapter and the next two, including the case studies. Within the definitions of information science, all of this may be considered documents (see Section 3.4.1). However, with a focus on design as a process, the practicality of ‘document’ as perceived within design practice can be at odds with more theoretical conceptions. Following this, documents are not of interest simply as set artefacts but as they relate to the process of design. In addition to looking at where distinctions may be drawn among documents, it is necessary to consider linking factors which unite multiple documents that at some level present the same content but in a different medium, mode, or configuration. Again, there will be a focus here on definition and categorisation, not so much for the sake of it (although terms are needed for reference) but so that the discussion of how to arrive at these particulars forces consideration of what is meant. This section explores areas of wider theory and literature not covered already in this chapter, which are pertinent to the consideration of ‘documents’. However, questions related to this area will continue to be raised throughout the rest of this book. From Chapter 4 onwards (especially Section 4.3.1), a tighter use of ‘document’ is adopted with the modifiers ‘set’ and ‘instantiation’. This is to address the differing degrees of specificity needed for the construction of the framework and for the analysis of case studies in Chapters 4 and 5. It is important to first examine the ideas covered in this section to appreciate the different aspects of the problems relating to

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documents from angles both more technical and more philosophical than might normally be appreciated within the more practical field of graphic design. 3.4.1 Defining ‘Document’ Briet’s key paper within the field of documentation science,15 titled ‘What Is Documentation?’ offers the following definition of ‘document’: any concrete or symbolic indexical sign [indice], preserved or recorded toward the ends of representing, of reconstituting, or of providing a physical or intellectual phenomenon. Is a star a document? Is a pebble rolled by a torrent a document? Is a loving animal a document? No. But the photographs and the catalogues of stars, the stones in a museum of mineralogy, and the animals that are catalogued and shown in a zoo, are documents. (Briet, 1951, p. 10, brackets from 2006 trans.) It is essential to note that whereas Briet offered this definition as an improvement over limited dictionary definitions and as an extension of the work of linguists and philosophers, it was ‘the most accurate’ but ‘also the most abstract, and thus, the least accessible’ (Briet, 1951, p. 10) definition.16 As Buckland has summarised (bringing in the work from the University of Tromsø), document here is ‘understood to include any signifying thing’ (Buckland, 2007, p. 316). Buckland’s (1997) accessible overview of the development of the definition of ‘document’ covers the thought process leading to this broad view, in which documentation encompassed non-printed texts and even ‘documents that are not texts at all’ (Buckland, 1997, p. 805). Schriver (1997) directly pursues the ‘problems in defining document design’ (p. 4) beginning with the following, unsettlingly simple, summation: ‘the confusion arises from the meanings we typically associate with “document” and “design”.’ Despite this questioning, and specifically stating, that ambiguity arises at a fundamental level, no attempt is then made to define either of the two terms in isolation. They are only looked at in the combination of ‘document’ and ‘design’ and in comparison to alternative combined formulations. The following definition is arrived at: Document design is the field concerned with creating texts (broadly defined) that integrate words and pictures in ways that help people to achieve the specific goals for using texts at home, school, or work. (Schriver, 1997, p. 10) The use of the term ‘text’ here is unhelpful when considering the conceptual aspects of defining documents (and design) as ‘texts’ can be used in

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an equally all-encompassing manner (within literary theory) to that of the definition of document given by Briet. To say that document design creates texts, seen in this way, would be the same as saying that document design creates documents, which is redundant. In a practical context, text can be thought of far more directly, as specific typographic embodiment of written or printed language. Schriver offers further arguments for alternative terms to document design, such as ‘information design’ (p. 6), ‘communication design’ (p. 8), and within a writing-based context (Schriver’s own background) ‘technical communication’ and ‘professional communication’ (p. 9). Information design is rejected due to the link to information theory, which carries with it ‘the wrong set of metaphors’ (p. 8).17 Buckland, drawing on the work of the Dokvit programme (2007, p. 316), outlines three dimensions for the systematic examination of documents: meaning, technology, and socio-economics. Meaning encompasses the expression of the document creator, the meaning inferred by the reader, and document search and navigation strategies as they relate to ‘finding an effective way to express meaning’ (p. 316). Technology represents ‘physical manifestation’ (p. 317) using a broad definition of media and media types (media types in this source being more analogues to mode as used in this book). The socio-economic aspects recognise the socially situated nature of documents and the social practices around their creation and use. (This overview is summarised from pp. 316–317 of Buckland, 2007.) These three areas could provide a focus for thinking about documents, but it is worth noting the links and overlap between this consideration of documents and that of genre (genres of documents; see section Sections 2.2 and 5.4 and Chapter 6.). This is especially the case regarding the effect of social practice shown in the GeM model diagram from Bateman (see Figure 2.2 of Section 2.2.2), in which social practice influences the use of technology and manners of expression. ‘Document’ may be the wrong term to start with. With relevance to this book, what is under examination is graphic communication and design, as expressed through various mediums and modes. A unit of graphic communication at the appropriate level is what is needed: the artefact that embodies the communicative act of graphic communication. Design can be used not only to refer to a process (as a verb) but also to refer to the result (as a noun). These embodiments of acts of graphic communication may be considered as designs. Are these acts documents? If some, but not all, acts of graphic communication are documents (however fleeting or however changing), what are the rest to be called? Document is a term in very wide use casually, technically, and academically. As such the word comes with a set of pre-existing associations and connotations in various ways, especially in the context of digital systems—is a document a file? Is it a file of a document? A more clinical term might be used—artefacts, objects, texts, etc.—but something more directly relatable to real-world practice and interaction

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with these [. . .] entities [. . .] seems desirable. As a word must be used, ‘document’ seems as good as any. 3.4.2 OHCO and SGML, Texts and Documents Although ‘document’ is a term suited to the practicalities of graphic communication,18 questions raised as to the precise nature of ‘text’ and what separates one text from another in the area of text encoding is of direct relevance to this discussion. Whereas the technicalities of the Ordered Hierarchy of Content Objects (OHCO) model of text structure19 are of less use, the wider theoretical discussions around its development are pertinent. When asking ‘What I Text, Really?’ DeRose et al. (1990) move with no distinction to the question ‘What is a document’ (p 3), with the following sub-questions: “What is it which, if changed, makes a document essentially different, and what is which, can change, yet a document remains “the same”?” (DeRose et al., 1990, p. 3) Or, indeed: What is it which, if changed, makes a document essentially different, and what is which, can change, yet a document remains “the same”? (DeRose et al., 1990, p. 3) This quotation presents an encapsulation of a core theme of questioning running through the last two chapters of this book, so much so, in fact, that it has been quoted here twice—not just for emphasis but to exemplify a key point from that paper. The repetition here, with different typographic treatments, is used to suggest (as DeRose et al. originally illustrated with a Brian Kernighan quotation) that the ‘essential parts of any document form what we call “content objects” ’ and that ‘appearance is superficial and transient rather than essential’ (DeRose et al, 1990, p. 3). The authors continue: In a reasonable sense, the two fragments quoted above are ‘the same.’ For typical purposes, the meaningful units, from words on up, are the same. If these change, however, the document becomes different in a deeper way than the superficial adjustments of typography we have illustrated. The distinction is largely one of form versus content. (DeRose et al., 1990, p. 3—although note the ‘two fragments’ originally referred to a different quotation) It is the content objects that ‘form the essence of a document’ (DeRose et al., 1990, p. 3), not their appearance or formatting. The three other

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authors of the DeRose paper (Renear, Mylonas, and Durand) also stated this precise distinction of what differentiates between ‘the same’ text: ‘x and y are the same text if and only if they are the same ordered hierarchy of content objects’ (Renear et al., 1992, p. 268). The following example and explanation is given (although it is noted in a footnote that further discussion is needed): [I]f a layout feature ‘of a text’ (such as leading or typeface) changes, the text ‘itself’ still remains essentially the same, but if the number or structure of the text’s content objects changes—say the number of chapters varies or one paragraph is replaced by another—then we no longer, strictly speaking, have ‘the same text’. You and I can both be reading the ‘same text’, say Moby-Dick, even though mine is in Times and yours in Palatino, or even though mine is in 10 point type and yours in 12 point type—so that mine has more typographical lines, pages, and line end hyphens. On the other hand if my copy has fewer or different paragraphs than yours, or has its sentences in an entirely different order, then that seems to decisively argue that we are not reading ‘the same’ text. (Renear et al., 1992, p. 268) This places the identity of text solely in the text, removed from its appearance except where it is marked up, that some variation is required for emphasis or the like. Layout and appearance are of reduced significance: ‘the distinction is largely one of form versus content’ (DeRose et al., 1990, p. 3). Form and content splits have already been covered in Sections 3.3.2 and 3.3.3 in addition to ways of thinking about documents in terms of structures: conceptual, logical, visual, etc. The conception of such structures is initially attractive but problematic in terms of more rigorous and objective implementation. Both of these areas— form, content, and structures within texts and documents were questioned by Huitfeldt: First of all, we have to ask: Which parts of the information conveyed by a document are to be retained? How do we distinguish between form and content, between the (“relevant”) information contained in the manuscript and the more accidental traits of its actual appearance on paper? Any text may be said to have many kinds of structure (physical, compositional, narrative, grammatical). It is not clear which of these is to be counted as the “logical” structure. (Huitfeldt, 1995, pp. 236, 237) Different aspects, different structures, will be of varying relevance to (or be wholly unnoticed by) different groups (users, designers, analysts, etc.)

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or by the same groups in different sets of scenarios and perspectives (see O’Keefe, 2002, pp. 254–5). The consideration of differing perspectives in the perception of texts and documents is of importance both in terms of the practical design, later analysis of that design, and the manner in which this analysis then feeds back into the systems created for the creation, display, and dispersal of documents and communication (i.e., a specific belief in what the nature of text is will lead to the creation of a system that supports that belief). The consideration of perspective was also discussed with the development of Standard Generalised Markup Language (SGML),20 in which one of the objections to the logical structure of OHCO was the extent to which non-hierarchical and overlapping features occurred under different perspectives of analysis: The SGML world seemed to assume that text encoders would always represent a text as a single logical structure, there in fact turned out to be many hierarchical structures that also had reasonable claims to being ‘logical’. Renear et al. (1992, p. 270) Examples of different perspectives on text that offer alternative structures include: rhetorical, syntactic, and narrative. Notably none of the examples listed in the paper are graphical, typographical, or visual. Sperberg-McQueen in Biggs and Huitfeldt (1997, p. 360) notes some more visual methods of analysis but sets up the opposition that typographic features are not content objects. Huitfeldt echoes the view of other supporters for logical structure: Any text may be said to have many kinds of structure (physical, compositional, narrative, grammatical). It is not clear which of these is to be counted as the “logical” structure. (Huitfeldt, 1995, p. 237) To a certain extent this view is supported within a system that allows for the parallel markup and encoding of multiple perspectives on the same text (see Renear, Mylonas, and Durand, 1992, p. 274, onwards on OHCO-3 using sub-perspectives). Such a view, however, is still heavily text dominated—‘text’ in the narrowest sense of the word, without consideration of its visual or graphical embodiment. It also requires a preemptive imposition of markup based on what the assumed use of the text will be. Contextualising texts and documents within a wider model of communication gives some distinct perspectives with different perceptions (although members of some groups within a communication model may hold multiple roles or indeed all roles). Considering key users and their requirements when interacting with documents is (ideally) already part of the design process, with methods such as the use of user profiles

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(see Cooper, 2008, for an overview of the development of the use of user profiles or personas in design). Latour’s Actor Network Theory (ANT) takes a more holistic view of texts: It’s only because semioticians studied texts—and literary ones at that—instead of things that they felt obliged to limit themselves to ‘meaning’. (Latour, 1996, p. 375) Although this book does not follow an ANT approach, the focus away from more abstract ideas of texts has direct relevance to discussion of documents as they exist in relationship to practices of production and methods of use. As part of this effort not to ‘specify if it is language or objects one is analysing.’ Latour makes the need for a rebalancing of traditional academic views of ‘text’ clear: This move can be said either to elevate things to the dignity of texts or to elevate texts to the ontological status of things. What really matters is that it is an elevation and not a reduction, and that the new hybrid status gives to all entities both the action, variety and circulating existence recognized in the study of textual characters and the reality, solidity, externality that was recognized in things “out of” our representations. (Latour, 1996, p. 375) 3.4.3 Platonism Biggs and Huitfeldt (1997) highlight a central problem with the temptations at the heart of the form and content divide (see Section 3.3), vital to the questioning of the nature and boundaries of documents: the lure of a Platonistic view of text, that is, the idea that there exists some ideal, removed, text and that ‘if a layout feature of a text changes, the “text itself” still remains essentially the same’ (Biggs and Huitfeldt, 1997, p. 351). Biggs and Huitfeldt’s discussion is an analysis of the philosophy and logic of text encoding and the nature of text, although references to practical examples are given (e.g., p. 359 questions the effect of changes in margin size on the identity of the text of Moby Dick). The logical possibilities of analytic antirealist views of text encoding are of less application here than the comparatively superficial consideration of text and document Platonism as a tool for exploring document identity. Moving away from the OHCO considerations of Biggs and Huitfeldt, it may be easy to view the central identity and existence of a text, or document, as removed from any specific appearance of that document. If Moby Dick as a document is considered, it exists as printed, digital, and

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spoken text in many different variations. There are changes in typeface, layout, emphasis, etc., but each of these different presentations of Moby Dick is somehow a reflection of a central ideal form of Moby Dick, the form around which we can group and identify the documents.21 Philosophical rigour may be found lacking in this approach; leaving OHCO and conceptual ideas of text identity aside, it might be argued that there exists a physical real (real within the ‘real world’) master text without the need for a metaphysical form (although there may then be the problem of multiple drafts, revisions, etc.). Nonetheless, it is difficult to think of multiple variations of a ‘document’ communicated across different mediums and systems, with changes in mode dominance and use, without some thought of a central, possibly removed, original form. The idea of a central master text, never itself directly experienced, can be applied to responsive websites: there exists a block of code describing how the visual embodiment of a document (web page) should be generated, including all the different appearances that document might have under certain conditions. As the browser window or screen changes size, the layout of the document adapts, and it appears that we are seeing multiple views of the same document; the code is the Platonic document of which we see the shadow on our screen. Referring back to Biggs and Huitfeldt’s discussion (1997, p. 361 onwards), this inclusion of the instructions for how to render the text would be an example of a text as ‘Jotting’s Plus Procedures’, a jotting of the core text along with the procedures needed to reproduce it in the required manner. A further variation to consider in this scenario is a digital document viewed in a series of different ways: full page fitted to screen vs. zoomed in, print view vs. draft view, and a preview with toolbars removed. This is the same digital file, viewed on the same screen, but visual differences will be very clear and may influence understanding. Even a ‘direct’ view of the page code, however, is just another shadow, as an application is providing a certain visual embodiment of the markup code on the screen read from a file stored in a non-human interpretable code. The metaphysical validity of Platonic forms is outside the scope of this book, but the use of digital examples presents a certain trap in thinking. It is a useful analogy at certain levels, but the parallels to physical print are easily obfuscated. In the digital example of one source file allowing multiple views, the link is clear; there is one source file that we can point to; the pattern matches the metaphysical interpretation, but there is no mystery. With print there is a divorce; the printed object may at some point have been created based on command from a digital system, but it is now physically separate from it and no longer reliant upon it. Much of this section (3.4), although titled ‘Documents’ has had a bias towards disembodied text. The words ‘document’ and ‘text’ have both been used and queried, and although examples have been given (such as Moby Dick), there is nonetheless a lack of contextualisation. In part

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this is due to the nature of the sources—many of the previous quotations are from authors writing in relation to text encoding in digital systems. Text encoding concerns are still directly, centrally related to document creation, but the preceding discussion covers little in terms of physicality and interaction with documents themselves. As a result there is a focus on text as the core (possibly only when discussed in isolation) meaning of a document, without regard for context, however widely context might be considered. In this situation the Platonic interpretation becomes potentially more appealing as it is easier to conceive of the text as being more disembodied than is the case to start with. Instead, the concrete specifics of the text’s context within a document, within the context of its use, can be seen as impacting heavily on its meaning and use as a factor outside of the text itself. The following chapters continue discussion of document but move to a more medium- and system-centric approach.

Notes 1. Transformation in design process is used here as distinct from the discipline of ‘transformation design’ (for overview see Burns et al., 2006), although the design processes within transformation design would still involve transformation. 2. Although, as it relates to the case studies provided by Norrish later, one system to more than one system does not match exactly to the questions of this book as ‘material was being produced on systems not originally intended for that use’ (Norrish, 1987, p. 90). 3. It is easy to get carried away by the ‘interactive’ nature of digital technology, as Frascara (2004, p. 173) states: The computer world does not own the function [. . .] the term “interaction” is used wrongly today to assign to computer-based design the exclusive use of interactivity. A newspaper is interactive, and in so many ways. We jump from page to page, focus on what we please, tear apart [. . ]. cut out [. . .] circle with a pen [. . .] photocopy [. . .] bin. With a newspaper, interaction is not only cognitive or visual, but also physical. Within that context interaction has been liberated from the exclusive domain of the digital and returned to print, reinforcing the physical, but in recent years computer technology has itself become an increasingly physical, haptic experience for the user with touchscreen displays and gestural input and motion detection. Computer technology has, for some uses, caught up with print in terms of visual display capability since Norrish was writing and is affording a greater depth of physical interaction (although tapping a keyboard key has always been a physical interaction, albeit removed by a step). 4. ‘Original and translation will of course differ in some properties; but so do any two inscriptions of the same word or even any two red inscriptions of “red”. The goal is the maximal preservation of what the original exemplifies as well as what it says’ (Goodman, 1976, p. 60). 5. Although it is not pursued in detail here, it is also worth bearing in mind the extent to which a process of translation or transformation within design can or cannot be considered in the abstract, in isolation. Can pure, fully abstracted, transformation be thought of in isolation or only considered as

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an instance of practical application (hypothetical or historical)? If it could be thought of in isolation, surely it would lose those qualities essential to itself, as it would not be transforming anything. 6. For example, Aristotle’s concept of hylomorphism conceives of everything as a combination of both matter and form (Aristotle, 1994–2000; see Book 2 especially). 7. Frascara uses form and content differently in describing how design must ‘compete with other visual stimuli’ to ‘attract and retain the attention of the viewer’ (2004, p. 58). This is done through elements of form and content, the image must be visually strong, that is, it should have a high internal cohesion and should at the same time differ from the context surrounding it. In addition, the content has to be relevant to the interests of the viewer. (Frascara, 2004, p. 58) 8. Schriver (1997) warns against trends in the exclusion of designers from the early stages of document creation, leading to ‘graphically packaging messages already structured, content already meaningful. Visual design from this perspective demands no planning, no orchestration of competing visions. It simply involves polishing the look of the document’ (p. 5). Competing visions in the sense of artistic differences might be avoided, but aims may become confused if the vision the message creator had for that message’s structure differs from the designer’s vision for its structure (and subsequent graphical embodiment). 9. Schriver (1997) sees graphic design as being influenced by three traditions: craft, romantic, and rhetorical (reviewed by Schriver, pp.80–87, in the context of American design education). In this context the risk of obfuscation in a mismatch between graphical structure and conceptual structure might result (although not exclusively) from an overemphasis on the romantic tradition ‘where design serves no functional purpose, only the fulfilment of an inner vision’, meaning ‘individual creativity is valorized above all else’ (p. 82). In contrast, the rhetorical tradition (in line with the recommendations of Southall) ‘emphasized the importance of considering the needs, capabilities, and values of the audience throughout the design process’ (p. 82), the needs of the audience at a basic level having the ability to navigate and use the document as a pre-requisite. 10. Artefact structure might be invoked here as well. The interplay between artefact and access structure within a computerised system of possibly very limited display capability (which might be assumed given the date of Waller’s thesis) blurs somewhat when presenting a set of different topic structures within the same system. 11 Due to this context, some of the points may not hold true in the same vein of hard-line logicism proposed by Lamport when applied to smaller, less textcentric documents. Although logical structure should not be subverted, it may be less convoluted in a small promotional flyer with less text than in a lengthy technical report. Lamport was writing as an innovator at a time when document production was increasingly moving to digital systems. These ideas are a reaction at a time of change between dominant systems. 12. A summary of the difference between the original use of form follows function by modernist architects compared to current design theory can be found in the summary of Michl (2010): ‘the dictum can be seen as sensible and unobjectionable only because the way it is understood here [within current design use] has, apart from using the same three words, virtually nothing in

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16.

Change common with its original meaning’. See also Michl (2009, pp. 274–288) for an overview of the history of the phrase ‘form follows function’ within its original, more metaphysical, context and intent against the more ‘commonsense methodological approach’ (Michl, 2009, p. 274) within which the art historian E. H. Gombrich employed it (see Michl, 2009). This is not new, but the degree of possible divergence between the nature of the materialities and the extent to which this is increasingly commonplace can be seen as a more contemporary issue. That is, assuming content in a linguistic sense. In a recursive sense the content is the difference in variation and layout, the form is the content here. A large part of Briet’s discussion concerns the proliferation and studying of documents specifically in terms of document science—the nature of institutions and collections set up to archive and catalogue documents (e.g., Chapter II ‘A Distinct Profession’) and falls outside of the scope of the research being undertaken here. However, the initial definitions presented by Briet are used throughout the related literature. Briet also introduces the term ‘documentographie’, an extension of bibliography, explained in the end notes as ‘the enumeration and description of diverse documents’ (p. 44, see also p. 12 and p. 28). Although this term is itself of no specific interest here, it is introduced within the context of the transfer of content across multiple mediums: One is no longer content with the book, with the printed fragment, the review article, the newspaper clipping, the archival copy. One transfers an entire work with its illustrations onto microfilms, microfiches, and onto ‘microcards’. (Briet, 1951, p. 12)

Briet’s focus here is on the economy of scale such archival methods can present rather than cross-medium proliferation. It is, however, another example of awareness of crossmedia transfer of documents before the digital age. 17. Furner (2004) suggests that the entire field of information studies may be ‘misnamed’ (p. 2), proposing that the area can be described without the need for the term ‘information’ as a label: ‘its subject matter should more appropriately be treated as a branch of communication studies, semiotics, or library studies’ (p. 10). This gives an interesting counter-play to the otherwise gradual subsuming of document studies into information studies (an example of comment on this shift from document and related terms to the inclusion of, or replacement by, information can be found in Hjørland, 2000). 18. The broad use of ‘text’ can encompass and include composite and multimodal texts (using picture and diagram alongside typography text), but ‘document’ is more natural from the perspective of design practice, at least in certain areas. 19. OHCO was DeRose et al.’s answer to the question ‘What Is Text, Really?’ (1990). Different permutations exist (see Renear et al., 1992), but the initial form can be summarised this way: The claim here is that in some relevant sense of ‘book’, ‘text’, or ‘document’ (perhaps qua intellectual objects) such things are ‘ordered hierarchies of content objects’. A book for instance is a sequence of chapters, each of which is a sequence of major sections, each of which in turn is a sequence of subsections. Within the lowest level subsections are objects

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like paragraphs, sentences, prose quotations, verse quotations, equations, proofs, theorems, and so on. Many of these objects can be decomposed further. (Renear et al., 1992, p. 265) 20. The technicalities and details of SGML and its application in the Text Encoding Initiative (TEI) (to which many of the references in this section relate) are outside the scope of this book. Huitfeldt introduces SGML as follows: SGML, is, strictly speaking, not itself a markup language, but a formal grammar for the design and specification of markup languages. In SGML, a text is associated with a Document Type Definition (DTD). The DTD defines a document type, declaring which basic constituents a document may have, how they should be marked up, and how these marked-up elements may be combined. An SGML-encoded text is a hierarchy of serially ordered text elements, the structure of which adheres to the declarations given in the associated DTD. (Huitfeldt, 1995, p. 237) For an overview of the history of TEI, see the opening pages of Huitfeldt (1995), quoted previously, and Burnard (2013): The Evolution of the Text Encoding Initiative: From Research Project to Research Infrastructure. 21. Links can be drawn here to the discussion of the philosophy of language at the start of the twentieth century; see the end of Section 3.3.3.

References Aristotle. (1994–2000), Physics, trans. R. P. Hardie, and R. K. Gaye, The Internet Classics Archive, URL=classics.mit.edu/Aristotle/physics.mb.txt (accessed 07/10/15). Biggs, M., and Huitfeldt, C. (1997), ‘Philosophy and Electronic Publishing: The Theory and Metatheory in the Development of Text Encoding’, Monist, 80:3, pp. 348–367. Bram, T. (2009), ‘10 Web Typography Rules Every Designer Should Know’, Web Designer Depot, URL=www.webdesignerdepot.com/2009/02/10-webtypography-rules-every-designer-should-know-2/ (accessed 23/02/14). Briet, S. (1951), ‘What Is Documentation?’, trans. R. E. Day, L. Martinet, and G. B. Anghelescu, in What Is Documentation? English Translation of the Classic French Text, The Scarecrow Press, 2006. Buckland, M. K. (1997), ‘What Is a “Document”’, Journal of the American Society for Information Science, 48:9, pp. 804–809, ABI/INFORM Global, September 1997. Buckland, M. K. (2007), ‘Northern Light: Fresh Insights Into Enduring Concerns’, in Skare, R., Lund, N. W., and Vårheim, A. (eds.), A Document ‘(Re)turn’, Peter Lang. Burnard, L. (2013), ‘The Evolution of the Text Encoding Initiative: From Research Project to Research Infrastructure’, Journal of the Text Encoding Initiative [Online], TEI Infrastructures, Issue 5 (June 2013), URL=jtei.revues.org/811 (accessed 13/07/15).

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Burns, C., Cottam, H., Vanstone, C., and Winhall, J. (2006), Transformation Design, RED Paper 02, Design Council, URL=www.designcouncil. info/mt/ RED/transformationdesign/ (accessed 19/10/13). Cooper, A. (2008), ‘The Origin of Design Personas’, Cooper, URL=www.cooper. com/journal/2008/05/the_origin_of_personas (accessed 12/11/15). DeRose, S., Durand, D. G., Mylonas, E., and Renear, A. H. (1990), ‘What Is Text, Really?’, Journal of Computing in Higher Education, 1:2, pp. 3–26 reprint. Ford, N. (2012), ‘Applying Macrotypography for a More Readable Web Page’, Smashing Magazine, URL=www.smashingmagazine.com/2012/05/02/applyingmacrotypography-for-readable-web-page/ (accessed 23/02/14). Frascara, J. (2004), Communication Design, Principles, Methods, and Practice, Allworth Press. Frege, G. (1892), On Sense and Reference, URL=philo.ruc.edu.cn/logic/reading/ On%20sense%20and%20reference.pdf. Furner, J. (2004), ‘Information Studies Without Information’, From the Selected Works of Jonathan Furner, University of California, Los Angeles, URL=works. bepress.com/furner/12/ (accessed 23/02/14). Goodman, N. (1976), The Languages of Art, Hackett Publishing Company Inc. Haley, A. (2006), ‘Typographic Details, Getting the Small Stuff Right Yields Big Improvements in Your Type Treatment’, Dynamic Graphics Magazine, originally at URL=www.dynamicgraphics.com/dgm/article/28654 retrieved via archive.is/ o6cNU (accessed 14/02/14). Hayles, N. K. (1997), ‘The Condition of Virtuality’, in Masten, J., Stallybrass, P., and Vickers, N. (eds.), Language Machines, Technologies of Literacy and Cultural Production, Routledge, pp. 183–206. Hjørland, B. (2000), ‘Documents, Memory Institutions and Information Science’, Journal of Documentation, 56:1, pp. 27–41. Huitfeldt, C. (1995), ‘Multi-Dimensional Texts in a One-Dimensional Medium’, Computers and the Humanities, 28, pp. 235–241. Koch, P. (2003), ‘Form Follows Function’, Digital Web Magazine, URL=www. digital-web.com/articles/form_follows_function/ (accessed 25/06/14) (N.B. site is now only accessible via web archive services). Lamport, L. (1987), ‘Document Production: Visual or Logical’, Notices of the American Mathematical Society, June 1987, pp. 621–624, text citation page numbers taken from digital version at: URL=research.microsoft.com/en-us/um/ people/lamport/pubs/document-production.pdf (accessed 07/02/14). Latour, B. (1996), ‘On Actor-Network Theory: A Few Clarifications’, Soziale Welt, 47, pp. 369–381. Lee, K., Choy, Y., and Cho, S. (2003), ‘Logical Structure Analysis and Generation for Structured Documents: A Syntactic Approach’, IEEE Transactions on Knowledge and Data Engineering, 15:4, pp. 1277–1294. Leonidas, G. (2014), Unpublished Notes on Mini/Midi/Macro Typographic Splits for Teaching, University of Reading, UK. Levy, R. (1990), ‘Design Education: Time to Reflect’, Design Issues: History, Theory, Criticism, 7:1, pp. 42–52. Logan, S. (2009), ‘Macro and Micro Typography’, SJL Web Design, URL=www. sjlwebdesign.co.uk/sjl-blog/index.php/typography/macro-and-micro/ (accessed 23/02/14).

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Macdonald-Ross, M., and Waller, R. (2000, reprint of 1974/6 with added postscript), ‘The Transformer Revisited’, Information Design Journal, 9:2&3, pp. 177–193. Michl, J. (2009), ‘E. H. Gombrich’s Adoption of the Formula Form Follows Function: A Case of Mistaken Identity?’, Human Affairs, 19, pp. 274–288, URL=janmichl. com/eng.gombrich-fff.pdf (accessed 25/06/14). Michl, J. (2010), Form Follows WHAT? The Modernist Notion of Function as a Carte Blanche, rephrased and updates online version, URL=janmichl.com/eng. fff-hai.html#anchorHERE (accessed 25/06/14). Moys, J. (2012), Typographic Meaning: Reader’s Impressions of Patterns of Typographic Differentiation, Ph.D. Thesis, University of Reading, UK. Norrish, P. (1987), The Graphic Translatability of Text, British Library R&D Report 5854, Department of Typography & Graphic Communication, University of Reading. O’Keefe, D. J. (2002), Persuasion: Theory and Research (2nd edition), SAGE Publications. Renear, A., Mylonas, E., and Durand, D. (1992), ‘Refining Our Notion of What Text Really Is: The Problem of Overlapping Hierarchies’, Research in Humanities Computing, 4, 1996 reprint of 1992 paper, pp. 263–280. Renear, A., Mylonas, E., and Durand, D. (1993), ‘Refining Our Notion of What Text Really Is: The Problem of Overlapping Hierarchies’, hypertext version of Research in Humanities Computing, URL= cds.library.brown.edu/resources/ stg/monographs/ohco.html (accessed 24/06/14). Richards, C. (1984), Diagrammatics, Ph.D. Thesis, Royal College of Art, UK. Riddell, A. (1973), Typewriter Art, Half a Century of Experimentation, exhibition catalogue from Concourse Gallery, Polytechnic of Central London. Schriver, K. A. (1997), Dynamics in Document Design, Wiley Technical Communication Library, Wiley. Southall, R. (1984), ‘First Principles of Typographic Design for Document Production’, TUGboat, 5:2, pp. 79–90. Southall, R. (1985), ‘Interfaces Between the Designer and the Document’, in André, J., Furuta, R., and Quint, V. (eds.), Structured Documents, Cambridge University Press, pp. 119–132 (references given in this thesis refer to page number within the chapter, starting from p. 1). Southall, R. (1988), ‘Visual Structure and the Transmission of Meaning’, in van Vliet, J. C. (ed.), EP Conference, Cambridge University Press, pp. 35–45. Southall, R. (1989), ‘Interfaces Between the Designer and the Document’, in André, J., and Hersch, R. D. (eds.), Structured Documents, Cambridge University Press, pp. 213–222. Stewart, A. H. (1976), Graphic Representation of Models in Linguistic Theory, Indiana University Press. Twyman, M. (1981), ‘Typography Without Words’, Visible Language, XV:1, pp. 5–12. Twyman, M. (1982), ‘The Graphic Presentation of Language’, Information Design Journal, 3:1, pp. 2–22. Twyman, M. (1985), ‘Using Pictorial Language: A Discussion of the Dimensions of the Problem’, in Duffy, T. M., and Waller, R. (eds.), Designing Usable Texts, Academic Press.

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Walker, S. (2001), Typography and Language in Everyday Life, Pearson Education Limited. Waller, R. (1988), The Typographic Contribution to Language, Towards a Model of Typographic Genres and their Underlying Structures, Ph.D. Thesis, University of Reading, UK.

Image References Norrish, P. (1987), The Graphic Translatability of Text, British Library R&D Report 5854, Department of Typography & Graphic Communication, University of Reading.

4

Framework

4.1 Introduction and Context Building on the literature discussed in the previous two chapters, this chapter will, amid further discussion, outline a framework for studying changes within sets of documents communicated across many systems. It may be that the significant question is not: how do we define ‘document’? Huitfeldt recognises this in relation to text: ‘What is a text? [. . .] I have come to think that these questions do not represent a fruitful first approach to our theme’ (1995, p. 235). Questioning the definition of document in general has been undertaken before (see Section 3.4), and aside from the minimum necessary restatement needed to give context within this book, further theorising is unlikely to yield useful results. Instead, the nature of the division between one document and another (or variations of ‘the same’ document) should be questioned. What is it that is the separator between different documents or variations thereof? What is it that links documents? In the first instance there is an immediate potential for category mistakes, and this needs to be addressed. There are documents in the broad sense as opposed to the definite individual sense—the exact document you, the reader, are in the process of reading at this very moment, as opposed to all the other copies of this same ‘document’ existing elsewhere, that is, the general vs. the specific. This line of thought relates directly to the end of the previous chapter and is further highlighted in this one. Figure 4.1 presents an example using this book as an example of a document, with a range of variations presenting a high degree of homogeneity relative to many other examples that could be chosen—but this is precisely the point. In the OHCO context of Section 3.4, the majority of the variants in Figure 4.1 are all the same document1—the same content in the same order, and the same text. If we accept that these are all the same content at some essential level (and again, the example used is deliberately basic), we can also see that there a wide range of differences. What do we call these differences? This chapter seeks to address that question directly.

Figure 4.1 Variations of a page from the working draft document of this book to illustrate variation within documents. Only twelve variations are presented here, and the variations among those twelve are still relatively minor. Each variation may also appear in more ways than shown here. For example, when changing from laptop to desktop (a to b), a different operating system (OS) is used, but both are running their nativised versions of MS Word (‘the same’ software). Changing to the smartphone (c) the OS changes as does the file format and the application used to read it (it is being viewed as an e-book). A vast set of different variations could be created: thousands of fonts, colours, printing methods, colours, etc. but linked by what at some level is seen as the same text, content, or document.

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A number of simple means of categorisation present themselves based on sources from the previous chapters and, to some extent, from using intuition. Clearly there are changes in medium and system of (re)production— the ‘print view’ on screen vs. physical printout on paper. Clearly there are changes in style and layout—the same text in the same application on the same machine but set in Minion Pro or Comic Sans. In this example, mode does not change with the exception of user interfaces and the addition of images added to menus (which are part of a separate question). Typographic genre changes across the examples. The different methods of display across media result in different methods of interaction with the artefact and text structure (Do I scroll? Do I turn a page? Do I turn a visual metaphor of a page?), and the (typographical) topic structure also changes. So far, the examples used in this book have been chosen individually to exemplify certain points, often theoretical. Although these examples are not representative of all cases, they were intended to aid in the understanding of abstract ideas. This will continue to be the case for this chapter, while the framework is put in place and questioned. Although a direct need for practicality is vital, the framework presented in this chapter will to some extent be deliberately abstract. Current changes in publishing and media consumption have magnified and extended the commonality and possibilities of variation across medium and mode, but these phenomena are not wholly new and will likely continue to an even greater degree in the future. It is not possible to predict future changes in technology, production, and consumption, but care can be taken to try to ensure that any frameworks that fit the present also fit the past and are constructed in such a way that they might fit the future with easy modification or additions. This is easier in the abstract and with isolated examples. In Chapter 5, more complicated examples in the form of detailed case studies are presented to bring together the more conceptual themes covered in this book so far and in this chapter’s framework (Section 4.3).

4.2 Questioning ‘Medium’ Medium was not covered in as much detail as the terms ‘genre’ and ‘mode’ in Chapter 2. Following the discussion of systems and form in Chapter 3, medium will now be examined again to a greater extent (alongside system) to address foundational issues necessary for the framework outlined in Section 4.3 of this chapter. 4.2.1 Distinctions Distinctions among media only go so far—the range of different media that were shown in Figure 4.1 is relatively limited at a high-level perspective: digital, print, and handwritten. Digital media is a broad,

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catch-all term. The possibility of further sub-divisions is clear, but which are significant? An obvious division of ‘digital’ might be, for example: desktop, laptop, and smartphone (as seen in Figure 4.1; tablets, e-readers, and other mobile devices could also be added). But within these sub-divisions there are still further layers of notable variation, both in terms of hardware and software. Screen type, resolution, and size will vary greatly across different configurations of hardware. Two electronic screens of the same physical dimension and display technology type (LCD, OLED, etc.) might have different display resolutions. Alternatively, two desktop computers with identical hardware configurations running different software may display the document differently, from generalities of surrounding interfaces to specifics of type (text) presentation among different font-rendering engines. Even such distinctions, although attempting to encompass all aspects of a medium, only focus on what the user uses. In the context of digital media, it might be argued that the method of storage is highly significant in the medium: magnetic hard disk drive compared to solid state disk or DVD. Although this is important, there will be many instances in which this is of relatively minor significance to the user, or at least of secondary importance, compared to how they interact with the content of these devices on screen (or other method of visual display). Following such paths, however, ultimately becomes so specific as to be unhelpful. ‘Smartphone model 1234a’ and ‘Smartphone model 1234b’ may be different in some way, but to state every single smartphone variation as a different medium removes the usefulness of medium as a term. There is also a risk of biasing towards digital or electronic devices and publishing as there is a temptation here to combine and confuse the sub-factors that make up perceptions of media and a physical level. The same type and brand of paper stock may be fed through different printing presses. The same stock and press may be used with different ink. It would be convenient to state that changes in exact medium only matter when the change is perceptible, but this must be considered within a wider model of design process. What is noticed by the general reader will differ from what is noticed by the expert practitioner, and this should be accounted for. 4.2.2 Materiality: Digital and Physical A first step is the teasing out of the materiality and systems of consumption.2 Kress and van Leeuwen (2006, p. 233) discuss the significance of materiality with ‘signifier materials’, divided into: surfaces (substrates, e.g., paper); substances (‘ink, gold, paint, light, etc.’); and tools of production (‘chisel, pen, brush, pencils, stylus, etc.’). However, in the case of digital and electronic documents, the classifications of parts of systems

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of (re-)production may become difficult to categorise neatly. Does the keyboard count? Should the CPU, GPU, and memory be included? What about the software and operating system? An additional hardware distinction between systems of production and reproduction (or distribution/consumption) exists in the divide between some digital and print systems. A printer or printing press is needed to produce but not to read a printed document, but a computer (or similar device) and relevant software is typically used to read a document produced on a word processor (without printing it) (paraphrased from Lickiss, 2011). In many printed instances it is a necessity to remove the document from the system of (re)production to allow for consumption. With digital production methods this does not need to be the case, although in some situations a document might be compiled or coded in one piece of software by the author and viewed in another by the user. Additionally, the author may require a physical keyboard (or similar input device) to type a document, but the reader does not necessarily need a keyboard to read the document. The distinction between systems of production and consumption is not as clear as it might initially appear. Current trends in technology, such as the removal of physical push buttons in favour of contextual buttons in touch-sensitive displays, may further blur the production/consumption distinction at a system and material level. The print document is, depending on exact definitions, directly bound to the materiality of its medium. The printed page of text, with few exceptions, contains only the text, narrative, or document printed; it cannot be easily changed to show another. This is a very broad statement, but although there are many counterexamples, they are very specific and not representative of the majority of cases. Palimpsests present a directly physical example and a weakness of the statement’s acceptance that text in printed documents is set, uneditable, whereas annotations and similar additions could create a new or modified document. At the other end of the spectrum, the view could be taken that each new reading of a document of text is different; the same text is never experienced twice. However, this is a different approach to that being used in this book. (See also Section 4.5.4 for discussion of Levy’s arguments relating to document fixity.) Conversely, it is the direct purpose of an e-reader to be able to show an infinite series of documents on one surface. It seems that to read a different print book, the reader must pick up a different physical material object; to read a different digital book, the reader merely changes what appears on the screen of a single physical object. The significance of object here is in terms of the materiality of the surface. In both cases the configuration of what Kress and van Leeuwen (2006) term substance changes configuration to some extent (an electrophoretic display showing one page compared to another), regardless of whether the surface is the same at a token or only a type or level. Electronic screens at a

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material level become digital palimpsests, a surface continually expunged and re-written. Central to questions of medium is the seeming disembodied portability forming an aspect of the quiddity of digital documents. One way to locate the specifics of a digital document is ‘the file’—the distinct store of information that can be opened and read to access its contents. Crucially it can also be transferred and copied to another machine, another materiality. The ‘same’ file can be opened in two different (but compatible) software applications on different hardware running different operating systems. It will probably appear slightly differently in each case, but it is a copy of the same file. To retain some parity between digital and print documents, it is essential to maintain the link between the digital file and the materiality through which it must be embodied to be of direct human use and meaning. There is a risk of lining up unlike examples for comparison given the ease of transfer of digital files among varying materialities. An underlying concern with the exactness of medium and materiality distinction is the change in appearance that results. The extent of changes in appearance may vary significantly. In some cases the change may be too subtle to affect what might be termed the ‘style’ of the appearance. Contrastingly, the same file might be displayed with different sub-pixel rendering, or it might appear in a completely different typeface due to a lack of font availability. The same distinct file on the same distinct hardware seen in the same software may also appear differently. For example, zooming in on a page or using a different ‘view’ (e.g., print layout view compared to draft view) gives a very different appearance. 4.2.3 Hypothetical Example An expanded terminology is needed to label the different types of relationships between and among documents. This must take account of the subtleties of some types of change and, where possible, accommodate both print and digital systems. A hypothetical example of similar but physically distinct documents will now be given, as an introduction, ahead of the framework in Section 4.3. A single-sheet printed bill or invoice is a document, conforming to common views of what a document is in normal language, outside of any specific field of study. It presents concrete information in a physical form, text on paper—an ‘ordinary’ thing presenting no challenge to initial, broad classification. This same document might appear digitally. Again, in common use this digital bill is a document: a print/electronic distinction can be made, but the document no longer has an exclusive link to the physical. The digital version of the document might be a scanned-in or photographed copy of the print document or a direct (native) digital document, for example, a word processor document or database query output saved as a PDF (see Section 2.5.3 for more on medium successions).

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Assuming that change among the three (printed, scanned/photographed digital, and native digital) is limited so far as possible (i.e., the typeface is the same, the relative sizing and positioning of all elements is retained, etc.), are these three variations the same or different documents? The ‘information content’ within each of these variations is at some level the same: the same letters and numbers in the same order and spatial relationship. The difference in context of presentation and medium may mean that information is perceived differently. In certain instances the scanned-in copy of a paper document may be seen as having a different connotation (tone, formality, or provenance) to the paper document it was scanned from, and the interfaces used (both software and hardware) to view the digital version may influence the presentation. In this example there is a change in the system of production or reproduction and in one case a change in physical media. There is a strong temptation to say they are the same document: they have the same layout, at a general level the same information, and although the systems of production or reproduction differ, they are related. The variations in this scenario might be called different instantiations: style, layout, and internal content and meaning remain the same so far as possible but are presented in a different medium or system. The extent to which style is the same is subjective; the same typeface printed on a low-quality inkjet printer compared to a high-quality laser printer may appear noticeably different, especially to an expert. In this example the digital file is assumed to be relatively static—the content does not flow, change, or adapt in response to the device it is being used on or the user’s settings (apart from some changes in screen size and resolution on specific devices). However, a further example will now be considered. If the digital document (e.g., as a website) is adaptive or responsive, there may be a state in which it appears very similar to the print document; for example, the line breaks and relative spacing are the same. However, it can also vary as the browser window changes size, or if it is now viewed on a smartphone not a laptop (screen size variation and device type change), the layout adapts and scales to fit the new display environment. If we take the view we had of this web page in one state or configuration (i.e., larger browser window) and a different adapted state or configuration (i.e., a very small browser window or mobile device), are these the same document? They have been generated from the same code with the intention to communicate the same intended information. It may be tempting to say that yes, the two different configurations are the same document. But are they then the same as the print document in the previous example? In one state the print document (A) appears relatively similar to the adaptive document (B): A = B, a different instantiation. It might be said that the adaptive or responsive web page (B) in a second, different configuration (C) is the same document as itself: B = C. But is the reduced-size browser window configuration of the web page (C) also

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the same as the print document, the print document that shares its layout with the large format configuration (B)? That is, A = B, B = C, but it is more awkward to say that A = B = C. This type of change and variation is different from the different instantiations of the first example of the digital, printed, and scanned and copied invoice.

4.3 Framework: Changes Across Medium and System The example of the responsive document, discussed at the end of the previous section, highlights the need for clear terminology as documents are increasingly communicated simultaneously across a range of systems and mediums. To enable accurate discussion of this phenomenon, an understanding of the types of relationships between these different, but related, documents is needed. Instead of defining document(s) in strict terms, a series of cases of difference and similarity between and within individual documents from groups of closely related documents will now be discussed to outline basic categories and relationships. An emphasis on media, materiality, and the systems of (re)production will be retained initially, following the discussion in Section 4.2. 4.3.1 Overview, Instantiations, and Sets A brief outline of the proposed relationships among documents (and accompanying terminology: document set and document instantiation) will be given here (Figure 4.2 and the rest of this section), ahead of more detailed explanation: Relationship 1: copies and one-offs—the same systems of (re)production and/or materiality with the same content, presentation, and layout. Includes a sub-level for view changes in digital and projected documents, for example, two ‘identical’ printouts of a document. Relationship 2: systematisations—different systems of (re)production and/or materiality with absolute minimum change in layout, presentation, or content outside this change.3 Includes a sub-level to address the very broad cases found within digital systems, for example, a PDF on screen and printout of that same PDF. Relationship 3: (re)configurations—different systems of (re)production and/or materiality accompanied by notable variation in layout or presentation of content. Some content variations may occur as this happens, for example, a print book and an e-book of ‘the same’ text in a different layout and font. Relationship 4: embodiments—different system of reproduction and/ or materiality with very significant divergence of content presentation, use, and layout, for example, train time information from a data feed presented in a smartphone app and an on-station departures board.

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Figure 4.2 Overview of the set of relationships proposed in this framework, between the instantiations of documents within a document set, across changes in system, medium, and materiality. See main text following this figure for explanation of each term.

Two additional terms will now be defined for use in explaining the details of the system: one to refer at an individual level to points within the system and the other to refer to their total grouping. A specific, identifiable document will be referred to as an instantiation. That is, whenever a document can be pointed to directly (‘look, here is a document!’), it is a specific instantiation of a document that is being pointed at. For convenience it can also be used to refer to all tokens (documents) of the same type (see Relationship 1 for clarification). These instantiations of documents point to the artefact, as opposed to any higher level, more theoretical conception of documents. An instantiation is always necessary for the identification of a document—whenever the

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document is presented in any way it is as an instantiation. Instantiation is, therefore, a term for use across all categories of the system. The total grouping of all related instantiations across all levels of variation is a document set.4 There is not a strict boundary to the edge of the set but degrees of belonging. What is included within a document set, what is seen as being related, might vary depending on the perspective and motivation of an analysis or investigation. Broadly, however, theme and content will be seen as the main factors linking a document set.5 Although this begins to stray towards document idealism (see Section 3.4), it is always and only exemplified by collections of direct instantiations. The use of these two terms, document set and (document) instantiation, occupy two different (although not wholly opposite) extremes of the more general usage of the term ‘document’. Without having to commit ‘document’ as a whole to a single view, document sets can address the broader, generalised idea of document, whereas document instantiation deals with the precise, identifiable artefact. Within the relationships among documents described in this section (and Figure 4.2), there are degrees of belonging rather than rigid boundaries. Distinctions may also be subject to shifting and blurring with additional technological advances in future years. No suggestion is made that these relationships (or groupings, categories, etc.) exist in an objective sense; they are instead intended to facilitate more accurate discussion of documents in broad terms. The first category presented may appear redundantly simple but is included to ensure a firm starting point for further ratiocination. 4.3.2 Relationship 1—One-Offs and Copies At the lowest level (low level of complexity and maximum level of homogeneity), we have a single print (or handwritten) document, such as a sheet of printed paper or bound book. This document is the same as itself. There may also be multiple copies of this document identical to one another so far as the system of reproduction allows. There might be minute differences between one sheet of paper (of the same stock type) and another, or slight variations in the wearing of any mechanical printing method, but at too fine a level for this analysis. The same file and printer or press and type has been used on the same paper to create multiple copies of ‘the same’ document. These documents are tokens of the same type; they are equal to themselves and their copies (barring any later modification, annotation, etc.). The manner in which ‘copy’ is understood should be questioned at this point. Ten identical printouts might generally be referred to as copies, but copies of what? In some cases they will not be copies of one another, not copies of their own instantiation, but of a different systemisation. At the same time, it is understood, generally, that the copies should all be

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similar—there is a two-way relationship of copying: between the ‘original’ and its copies and between the multiple copies themselves. If a photocopy is taken of a photocopy, it may be a copy of the same instantiation (with perhaps some very slight variance for different paper or photocopier make). But, if a photocopy is taken of an offset litho printed book page, the outputs are copies of this different instantiation and systematisation. In this second case the copies are more similar to themselves than they are of the instantiation they are intended to be copies of, but they are still copies of this latter. With an electronic document a single instantiation may be viewed in different ways (in terms of scale, the users can zoom in and scroll rather than in terms of ‘print view’, ‘draft view’, etc.). One digital file viewed on the same hardware with the same screen and software is the same as itself, as in the previous level. However, its framing and relative size can be varied. In many cases a reader can change the ‘zoom level’ at which a document is seen and resize the window showing the document. (At this level we assume the document is not responsive.) The reader of a digital instantiation of this document can (probably) zoom in to make the letters on this page 50 mm tall or zoom out and make them 0.5 mm tall. Clearly it is the same document. The layout does not change, the style does not change relative to itself, but the appearance may still be very different, not only in element size but correspondingly in terms of selection shown. Scrolling up or down will show different parts of the page; zooming out will show it in its entirety. This is the same document, the same instantiation of the document with a very similar materiality, seen in a different view. This is a different case from a reader simply holding a print document closer or further away from their face. The relative distance between user and screen can be varied in this same way, but the zoom and scrolling of the electronic document is a change in addition to that resulting from physical distance. Apart from digital documents a case can also be made for variations of size in projected material. Note that documents that adapt and adjust their display for different zoom levels are not included in the case considered in this paragraph. For Relationship 1 it is assumed as a starting point that a given document instantiation is the same as itself. It could also be asked if there are documents that are not the same as themselves. An example of a document that is not the same as itself might be one presenting information updated in real time. There is no change in system or materiality (making this, from the start, outside the core scope of this framework) and no input from the user or viewer, but the content of the document instantiation changes from one moment to the next. Defining these as documents that are not the same as themselves, however, is misleading as the intent behind the document is change. At any one moment it may be in a specific state (see Levy’s concept of ‘fixity’ in Levy, 1994, p. 24, discussed

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in Section 4.5.4 of this book), but this does not invalidate the overall identity of the document. 4.3.3 Relationship 2—Systematisation A further level of difference sees a change in the specific system (and potentially the medium of production or reproduction) with minimal disturbance to other aspects of the document from the perspective of the reader. Style, layout, and internal content and meaning remain the same so far as possible but are presented in a different medium or system. This covers a broad spectrum of system-level change. A photocopy of an inkjet printout would be a different systematisation but would appear very similar and use the same (or close to the same) material substrate. More divergently, a printed document and its on-screen WYSIWIG incarnation would also be different systematisations (different medium and different system). Documents in print and on screen appear very different in terms of their materiality and the methods of interaction afforded thereby. There have been, however, no changes in typographic style (with the possible exception of font rendering), or layout, and the text matches the OHCO6 cohesion for text and text order, even down to the line breaks. Figure 4.3 shows a Word document on a desktop computer, a PDF of that Word document on the same desktop, and the laser printout of the PDF. All are different systematisations of one another. Systematisations will generally be limited to documents of static, rather than responsive, layout. These changes in system are analogous to some areas of Norrish’s ‘transformations’ (Norrish, 1987, p. 5, see Section 3.2). The term ‘transformation’ is not used to describe what is called ‘systematisation’ here as

Figure 4.3 A draft page from this book instantiated in three different systematisations (Word document, PDF, and laser printout). The layout, typeface, line length, etc., are all preserved across the changes in system and media.

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transformation refers to a broader class for relationships, which might be seen to cover Relationships 2–4. Norrish distinguished between the capabilities of systems in categorising types for transformation (Norrish, 1987, p. 5), but a translation between two low or two high systems7 would not necessarily match a relationship of systematization. The capability of a system to vary appearance and space only matters here so far as this is done with the same style or the same marker. For example, the use of emphasis would need to be bold in both systems; a swap from bold to underlined is a greater change, even if it marks the same level differentiation from the regular roman text (which would be accepted by Norrish as a translation between systems of roughly compatible capabilities). 4.3.4 Systematisation and Digital Materiality Systematisations also run up against the problems of medium definition and specificity—at what level is the distinction between two mediums drawn? Digital vs. print? Laptop vs. smartphone? Smartphone model 123a vs. smartphone model 123b? (See Section 4.2.1 for a more detailed discussion of this point). A word processing document and an export of the same as a non-lossy8 digital image file would be systematisations, but what about the same word processing file viewed on two different types of screens and software? (Assume that each document instantiation here is static; i.e., it does not re-adjust line length based on window size). These might simply be classed as systematisations: the document viewed on a glossy laptop LCD screen vs. a desktop CRT screen might be seen as instantiations as different as a word processing document and its printout are. However, there is an inescapable sense that the first two screen documents are more alike. You could walk between two physical devices with external data storage in your hand and open ‘the same’9 digital file on both devices. This appears more akin to two different views or copies rather than systematisations. But arguably the same file was used to display the digital file as is used by the printer to create a print output. Again, the degree of change and the viewpoint of analysis defy any attempt to impose a rigid division. The relationships given here are not strict boundaries; the difference between two similar monitors, compared to two very different monitors are the same kind of difference but to varying extents (sometimes appearing to be essentially just copies, sometimes far more obviously separate systematisations). A more significant example is that of a web page. Assume, to begin with, a relatively static page: HTML and CSS without additional scripting and a layout of set measurements and line lengths. This same page can be called from the same server by users on a wide range of different systems: some identical, some almost identical, and some differing greatly. The same central file is being displayed, and the internal layout of the document remains the same (line breaks, etc.), but the appearance

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of the document for each user may be very different (the view on an 800 × 600 px CRT, compared to a high-pixel density LCD). Difference in locally available typefaces could mean that the instantiation seen by each user is rendered in a different font—a level of variation which moves beyond what is intended here by systematisation. 4.3.5 Relationship 3—(Re)Configurations At the next point on the scale of difference and similarity, documents begin to alter more than is physically required by a change in system and/ or medium. This includes variation in style, layout, and extent to a point where noticeable change has taken place, but there is still a strong cohesion among the instantiations. The change between system and/or medium is accompanied by a change in the configuration10 of the content. Printed text and a digital e-book file of that text would be two different configurations. The ‘text’ in the OHCO sense is the same, the same words in the same order, but the typeface, line length, and other aspects of the layout will be different (even though both conform to broadly the same type of layout (linear interrupted, by Twyman’s, 1979, schema). There may also be further changes in terms of running heads and page numbers (or lack thereof) leading to changes not just to the appearance and layout of the central text but also variation in the content overall. Following the questions about the categorisation of static layout web pages in the systematisations section, the more dynamic types of web page are of relevance here. There is a wide range of possible variation for web pages, from line lengths that re-flow with the browser window to responsive layouts that undergo more advanced layout re-configurations. Again, there is still the disconnect between, firstly, the single file located on a server that contains, in that one file, the parameters for its own reconfiguration and, secondly, the individual re-configurations each end user sees, potentially on the same device (the same medium and/or system). This change within the same medium and mode highlights that the change in configuration, as considered in terms of media, is taking place along two axes: medium (or materiality or system) and appearance (style and layout). This second can be varied without a change in medium as it is conventionally understood but represents a large and important type of change. In Figure 4.4 the e-book file being read on a smartphone provides an example of a re-configuration with a high degree of self-similarity. Depending on whether the phone is held in landscape or portrait position, the line length and margins of the document adapt to suit the screen. As a result of this the exact arrangement of the text changes, line breaks are re-set, and the number of ‘pages’ the document takes up will be adjusted. The text has been re-configured between the changes in screen orientation but is still very recognisably the same core text (i.e., the words

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Figure 4.4 A draft page from this book presented as an EPUB (e-book) file on an Android smartphone. As the phone is rotated, the text is re-configured to match the new line length afforded by the screen orientation.

and their order encoded in typography) presented in the same graphical style. This is different from a change in view as the exact positioning of the internal text has changed relative to itself. The words are in the same sequential order, and for a prose text any changes in line breaks do not alter the semantics of the document. However, the re-flowing of the text is still a very evident change. In more complicated documents, the order of content may not always remain the same within a re-configuration. Elements that appear in parallel on a wide page might appear sequentially on a narrow page. This change within the medium or system continues on a second, separate, but related path from the set of medium and system relationships described here (see Section 4.5). Until the point where configurations are introduced, all changes between relationships are crossmedial (see Section 2.4) with no change in mode,11 although the application of this term depends on where the distinction of media is drawn. Progressing through configurations, at further levels of change, some elements of transmedia variation may occur. As this happens, cross- or trans-mode changes may also be present. However, the variation among modes is unlikely to be total. For example, a mobile web version of a page might have fewer and smaller images than the main web page. This is not a complete change in mode but a difference in balance between modes. The direct applicability trans-medium and cross- or trans-mode is limited here by the scope of the document sets in question. Documents divergent enough to present distinctly different sets of information (albeit thematically related in some sense) would be

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outside what is being considered here in terms of instantiations. Although these terms become increasingly applicable in Relationship 4 (see the next paragraph), this is at the document element level rather than at the level of the document as a whole. 4.3.6 Relationship 4—Embodiment Embodiments represent the furthest degrees of variation between document instantiations across mediums and systems while still conveying the same central information (design and layout also convey information of their own, which may be lost in this context). Embodiments may include changes in the use of and switches in mode (see the cross-mode discussion in the previous section) and complete re-styling of content presentation. In some cases these embodiments may be directly linked—such as a series of instantiations backed by a common content management system (CMS) or database, which is given a new embodiment for a set of different systems and uses. For example, a print catalogue and its online embodiment may display the same set of products with the same core information within a very different layout (despite linked branding) and method of use, possibly incorporating more images or cross referencing. The web example used in discussing systematisations and configurations is again relevant. A single set of files might be made to display very differently and alter the amount of content shown on devices of different sizes. The addition or subtraction of content may also take place to varying degrees. At the extreme of the relationship, working on the fringes of connection by content within a document set, this approaches the transmedia (and trans-mode) relationships as discussed at the end of Relationship 3 (re-configurations). For Relationships 3 and 4 the prefix ‘re-’ may be used interchangeably with the key terms, that is, re-configuration and re-embodiment. This is for convenience, as for certain relationships the ‘re-’ prefix seems more natural to use (especially for re-configuration) and does not alter the intended meaning of the words. It also gives an indication of the direction of change, ‘re-’ allowing flexible variation to be suggested instead of primacy. It should be emphasised that there is no negative connotation at any of the levels of similarity expressed by these relationships outside specific contexts. For certain systems it is a strength to produce identical documents. For others it is a strength to produce either documents with a high degree of similarity (but allowing for variation and adaptation for ease of use) or to produce documents that appear and behave very differently whilst communicating the same underlying verbal and numerical content. Where the exact physical (and software) medium will vary for the end user, having documents that adapt, therefore appearing differently in an objective sense, may provide an overall more cohesive look and feel for the end user.

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The rest of this chapter addresses further issues pertinent to this framework and the understanding of document sets. Chapter 5 presents two detailed case studies, giving a fuller demonstration of the framework in use.

4.4 Designer/Producer Intentions 4.4.1 Intent A missing factor in the questioning of changes across medium, mode, and system, and the relationships therein is intent. In some cases the variation (or lack thereof) among documents across a change in system may be intended, planned, or designed; in others it is incidental. Between certain systems a change may occur which is reversible with input from the user or designer. For example, when pasting text between two applications of similar capability, the font selection might revert to an application default but can then be changed back to the original font by the user. With reference to the series of relationships in Section 4.3, intent could be the difference between categorisation as systematisation vs. configuration. The end result of a change in system or medium might be a configuration into which an amount of effort has gone to make it appear as a systematisation. If the text from a print document is to be presented digitally (as digital text, not an image), the appearance of the raw text used on the digital system will probably not resemble the print document to any great extent, excluding coincidences. There may be many possible coincidences, and some of them might be relatively common, so this is not a point to be dismissed immediately. For example, many print documents might use the same default font and page format as the word processing software into which they are re-keyed or OCR outputted. Considerable time might then be taken to match minutiae of spacing and composition between the two instantiations, one print and one digital, so that their appearance is preserved as far as possible. Here a large degree of change has been applied to the in-between instantiation (the raw digital text, a configuration) to give the appearance of no change other than that forced by the change of system or medium in the final instantiation (the final digital output, appearing as a systematisation). 4.4.2 Intention: Designers and Systems The ‘focus’ of intent might be in the direct hands of the immediate user, with the designer of the document instantiation, and/or distributed back to the people involved in the design of the system of (re)production itself—or shared across all of these parties. Related to the previous examples (Section 4.4.1), a decision on how to parse the styling of clipboard data across applications may have been taken at some point in the design of those applications. What appears to the user as an incidental change

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may therefore have been a change intended by designers of the system when faced with a particular task. For example, text colour might be copied but font selection ignored or all styling discarded and the text restyled in the application default, which might happen to be a close match to the original source. This is not a designed change, an intended change, on the part of the user of the system (the graphic designer) but in some cases might be an intended change, or type of change, on the part of the creator of the system (the software ‘designer’ or developer). Differing degrees of competence may also contribute to differing results from similar intents. A range of areas of competence might come into play, but those of design ability and technical ability are most pertinent for initial examples. The user of the system generating the new instantiations may not have the relevant design training or experience to notice some types of change and/or to know whether these are significant. That is not to say that the changes are imperceptible when pointed out but that the user of the system will not notice them as a matter of course. Examples might include the change between two similar typefaces (such as a pair of geometric sans-serifs) or changes between style of numeral or micro-spacing variables. Secondly, not only does the user of the system need the design acumen to be aware of these changes; they require the technical fluency and ability in using the systems in question. The user might notice a change occurring in the transfer between systems, have the intent to address this change, but then be unable to effect the desired result, even though the new system is capable of the task. It may also be that a system is/would be generally capable of utilising specific typographic or design variables, but the system designers have not realised this is relevant to the tasks the users of their system wish to complete. Degrees of informed and perceptive intent are therefore applicable to the discussion of intent and relevant across a range of competencies. The role played by designers and users in intent must also be considered within the wider context of document creation and dissemination. The context and scale will both have an impact on the views of those involved and the effect of these on any academic consideration. For context, in certain instances ‘design’ may not be applicable from the perspective of those undertaking the actions. An example of this would be document digitisation, an activity currently being widely performed on all manner of documents from diverse periods, technologies, and cultures. The act of digitisation, of ‘replicating’, an already designed document may not be seen as design, perhaps an area more relevant to the analytic bibliographer (e.g., Dane, 2012). This digitisation may be being carried out on a large-scale, organisational/systematic manner. For example, in 2013 the Internet Archive began systematic digitisation of ‘approximately 15 million pages of printed books and pamphlets’ (Story, 2014) relating to the history of medicine from the Wellcome Library, Jisc, and partner institutions. This represents a significant logistical undertaking, requiring

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dedicated space, staff, and equipment. For example, accommodation of the Internet Archive’s work at the Wellcome Library involved ‘demolishing several walls and creating a large open-plan room capable of housing over a dozen scanning units and thousands of books on shelves, trolleys, and crates’ (Henshaw, 2015). Alternatively, digitisation may be carried out by individuals in an impromptu manner as needed with varying degrees of care—photographing an old letter on a camera phone or scanning in a driver’s licence. Between the one-off and systematic cases, it is possible for the technology to be almost the same. High-quality digital imaging is currently likely to be affordable to the home user via assorted routes, some of which may differ little in many applications from professional equipment. Alternatively there may be large differences in software, hardware, and user skill, creating a difference in quality and speed—for example, the use of bespoke hardware and code to enable automation of repetitive tasks in document digitisation. The design creation and dissemination of document instantiations could also occur at a range of levels and points during the history of a document and its publication. In some cases there is intent from the publisher, or creator, from the start of a project to distribute the document across a range of systems and mediums. For example, content might be housed in a specially organised content management system that allows instantiations to be constructed in a range of ways to take account of different systems’ capabilities. In other cases it may be designed for one system (or a very limited set of systems) and later re-distributed via a new system that had not initially been intended as a channel for the document. Although it may be difficult to factor in all of the specifics of individual intent, the distinction between intended and incidental actions is useful to consider in analysing wider arcs of document creation, development, distribution, and the document set(s) related to them. 4.4.3 Intent, Process, and Practice Discussion of intent should be linked closely to thinking about design as a process. The ultimate significance of the exploration here is not what classification in any imposed system of intended or unintended change may result in but to question how designers consider (or do not consider or could consider) the existence of different instantiations of a document within the design process. The third party academic observer might notice certain distinctions (instantiations) that are not seen by the designer, who in turn sees a different set of distinctions. There is also a need to understand the thought process of the document designer when moving across mediums and systems. What are the factors that designers are aware of when making these changes? How are these factors addressed during the planning and development of a design? There are many tasks in this area that designers, both trained

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professionals and lay designers, perform as an assumed part of the process and practice of design for which there is little defined account or theoretical commentary. To answer such questions confidently with anything more than reasoned conjecture from within the discipline would require extensive study of the working methods of practicing designers in the relevant areas—a task outside the scope of this book.

4.5 Medium and Document 4.5.1 Internal and External Boundaries For this hierarchy (the framework of Section 4.3, see Figure 4.2) to be of use, the extent and boundary of a document must be accounted for, not in the sense of where one instantiation sits within a group of like documents (the document set) but the spatial and hierarchical boundaries of what, in any isolated instantiation, is counted as within the ‘area’ of the document. Related queries are also raised by embodiments and re-configurations in terms of transclusion (see what follows) and embedding between sources and documents, highlighted more than ever by contemporary trends on the internet. Web pages have been used as examples throughout this chapter, but their exact status as documents should be considered. The more abstracted ‘thought experiment’ conception of web pages used in that discussion (Section 4.2.3) does not account for the reality of depth of modularity of advertising, content management, and targeted, customised user variation seen on many sites. If a web page is a document, are the adverts displayed on it part of that document or documents in themselves? Assuming these advertisements are dynamic, a user might refresh a page and be presented by the same central text the user wanted but surrounded by a different set of adverts. The term ‘transclusion’ was originally used with reference to early theory surrounding hypertext documents and systems such as Ted Nelson’s Xanadu project (see Nelson, 1987; Nelson, 2007; Sippey, 1996). This transclusion allowed documents to be constructed from fragments of other documents via links and references without adding (changing the location of) the fragments themselves. Sippey (1996) defines transclusion as ‘the act of “quoting” another document on the network, without having to actually “copy and paste” content’. This means that the quoted material remains readable elsewhere in its original forms and in any other places it has been transcluded (Nelson, 2007). In its original use, transclusion is strictly digital and not applicable to documents produced and used on other systems. In hypertext the user may be unaware of the boundary between elements of one document and another transcluded into the same page; however, the distinction would be clear and exact in the code used to link the document components together. Although not transferable to non-digital systems, it is a useful concept to consider to get an

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alternative perspective on placing one document within another, creating documents from and within further documents. An extension of discussion on the boundary of documents brings in wider system context. Is the graphical user interface (GUI) of the software or application used to view a digital document part of the document? Is the surrounding operating system the hardware part of the document? Taken to the extreme the idea that an entire personal computer should be considered as the document seems absurd from a pragmatic standpoint. Having questioned which sub-elements of content within a web page are part of a document, the scope of classification can also be widened to clusters of linked hypertext (websites). Is a single page within this a document, or is the site as a whole a document? A website might be made up of a series of web pages connected by links. Is this analogous to a book containing a series of pages? Travel though linked hypertext documents may be non-linear (see Levy, 1994, p. 27, also Bolter, 1991, argued against by Levy), but this is not a sufficient distinction from print as print documents are not themselves restricted to purely linear reading; for example, catalogues and encyclopaedias are rarely read page by page in series from front to back.12 Similarly, is one screen of a relevant smartphone app (or indeed any software application) a document, or is it the app as a whole that is the document? 4.5.2 Collections and Concatenations Transclusion13 is not the only possible source of confusion caused by having documents within documents. Collections of discrete documents presented as a single document occur in physical and digital media without transclusion. A written letter can be considered a document. A book might present facsimile copies of a series of letters bound into a single volume. Each of these letters can be a document in its own right but have been collected physically. Should the book as a whole now take the role of document? Do the letters within still count as individual documents in this format? Likewise a series of separate digital documents might be combined into one file, itself a document. In the second case there is a risk of being too easily led by technical use of ‘document’ in a software context, compared to a more general view (i.e., that we call it a document in that specific computing context does not guarantee it conforms to notions of ‘document’ as discussed here). Such special case examples can be constructed, but the idea can also be extended to relate to many ‘normal’ documents and objects. A book on art, for example, might include a range of pictures or sketches, paintings, and photographs within one page within one book. The limits of a document may also apply to more conceptual views of documents removed from distinct physicality. A book might contain a range of different types of information and page layout, different modes,

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and a combination of physical materials, but we are often happy to call it a single document. A book is conveniently bound as one distinct physical object. If the book is multivolume, say three volumes, is each volume a document in itself? Is just one book from a multivolume set a part of a document or an incomplete or truncated document? Would it make a difference in classification if multiple volumes came physically grouped together in a slip case? At the page level some multivolume works might restart page numbering at the start of each volume, whereas others might run across volumes. To some extent distinction might depend on the content. Is the status of a single novel, envisioned as one story but split into three volumes, which are always sold together, different from that of a set of three related volumes published as a set, but which can be read as stand-alone texts? 4.5.3 Conceptual and Technical At this point a distinction between conceptual and technical divisions should be raised. Documents and their content or limits can be considered in a technical, systematic manner. Consider, for example, the printing process that leaves an impression of a picture on a page and the code that calls an image file and displays it in line with text. Here, there is a physical (or electronic or code) process. We can directly say that the software is displaying a document, that the document contains an image file which is stored as a separate file and then displayed within the document. At the same time there is the more conceptual or perceptual approach, for example, the chains of media from Section 2.5.3, seeing an image of a page which itself contains images containing images. This can be explored without directly calling on systematic details. A further example of this divide, with relevance to document and mode classification, is that of image and text. A computer file might be a picture of some text. To the computer system (assuming no OCR) this is simply an image. An informed user of the system may be able to see that the file type is an image but that it appears visually to display text. A further user might be shown the image without the former context (e.g., a fullscreen view of the image, saved in a non-lossy format without artefacts) and assume that it is text stored as text14 as they have no technical or systematic knowledge to suggest otherwise. It may not always be apparent to the reader or user what the natures of the processes resulting in the presentation of a document are. As such they may interpret distinctions differently from any underlying technical distinctions. Goldsmith’s concept of Pragma, presented in the context of illustration research (Goldsmith, 1984, Chapter 9), analyses visual impact based on each viewer’s personal experience and how this influences the meaning a viewer constructs from an illustration. This could be applied to traditional documents in a broader sense (outside of illustration), but

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with digital documents the process can become systematically externalised with a level of recursion appearing in the make-up of the documents. Behavioural targeting and similar personalisation used in the generation of elements for web pages (or other digital documents) uses information about the user’s past activity (behaviour) to display targeted content based on that activity. The extent of such system-driven personalisation (as opposed to personalisation selected directly by the user) can vary greatly. A simple thumbnail of ‘last page viewed’ on a page is as relevant here as a quarter-page targeted banner advert or automatic sorting of preferences on a film site. In Goldsmith’s pragmatics the user constructs meaning based on experiences. With current technology, however, the generation of the displayed document can itself be constructed by a system based on information about the user’s past experiences. This document is in turn understood based on the user’s past experiences and will feed into the external assemblage and internal comprehension of future documents. 4.5.4 Fixity Levy’s (1994) questioning in Fixed or Fluid? Document Stability and New Media relates strongly to the concept of self-similarity and stability used to order the levels of the framework presented in Section 4.3. It should first be noted that Levy’s use of ‘fixed’ and ‘fluid’ has a slightly different applicability to what could be directly overlaid onto the levels of the framework; this stems from the use of a more conceptual understanding of document. Levy seeks to disrupt any clear boundary between fixed and fluid documents, challenging the assertion that paper and print represent stability and permanence as opposed to more unstable and dynamic digital documents. This challenge is significant not only as a means to explore an assumed static/dynamic divide between print and digital which persists even today but because Levy questions the ‘fixity’ of a document as one of its ‘crucial properties’ (Levy, 1994, p. 24). Whether or not one agrees with this as a defining feature of documents, the implications of the argument are highly significant within their own context. As Levy emphasises, if permanence and stability are key features of documents as exemplified by print ‘then the new digital products cannot even be considered documents’ (Levy, 1994, p. 25). The argument ‘that all documents, regardless of medium, are fixed and fluid’ is made by Levy (p. 24) highlighting the fluidity and change in a document’s development and life cycle between stages of relative fixity. The example given by Levy (1994, p. 26, paraphrased here) is of a memo, written, photocopied, annotated, and photocopied again. Here a physical print document has undergone change, or has been fluid, between distinct phases of fixity. This is a different type of fluidity than that outlined in the framework of Section 4.3, where Levels 3 and 4 relate to fluidity within

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what would be stages of fixity in Levy’s example. As such, a distinct digital document can still exhibit a degree of fluidity, not found in print documents, within itself at one stage. By extension this more fundamental level of fluidity is still medium dependent. The fixity and fluidity in Levy’s argument relates to the editing and change of a document in a manner compatible with, but distinct from, the framework. Annotation, editing, and change of a document introduces a parallel strand in the discussion of documents: ‘issues of identity’ (Levy, p. 26). Levy goes on to ask what degree of change to a document (such as editing a word processed document) leads to a new ‘version’ of that document rather than ‘a new document’ (p. 26) altogether? This question of identity should be seen as foundational to Levy’s earlier arguments—when tracking fluidity across a document’s changes, the degree of belonging to the original document is vital to consider. If the changes have made the result a distinct, new document then the type of link between the two stages of fixity is different from one of change between two versions of the same15 document. A firm distinction on the point at which a new document appears will be subjective: ‘fixity and fluidity is, to some extent, in the eyes of the beholder’ (Levy, p. 27). Valid arguments can be made that print and paper are dynamic, but even when this is acknowledged, it is a different order of dynamism or interactivity from digital formats. Aside from annotating, ripping, or sticking a printed document, elaborate systems of dials, flaps, overlays, and the like can be used in physical documents to allow changes in what is shown on one page to add interactivity. Children’s books provide many examples of interactivity in printed documents, ranging from pop-up books to the use of interactive page elements to change parts of a story. Moving a flap or dial in a certain way to change a noun in a story might be compared to selecting a different option from a drop-down menu on a website. More unusual methods such as scratch-off panels or scratch-and-sniff could also be employed, not limited to children’s books. However, in print such interactivity and dynamism is generally done at the control of the reader; the reader must provide the physical input to bring about such changes. In digital documents similar interactions may be present (e.g., drop-down menus), but content may also behave dynamically without the reader’s input (such as data feeds of live updates on aircraft flight times). Parallels between Heraclitus’s river (Plato, 1921) and books have been variously drawn before. (This has been done with varied phrasing and degrees of poeticism; Katzev, 2009, collects a number of quotations on this theme, pp. 21–23.) Considering books to be within the category of documents, the extent to which the same document can be viewed (or even exist) twice could be queried. The more emotional, psychological approach to this idea found when making the link to books is of less interest here—although the argument that the viewer’s own context and experience will cause the book to be read differently might be linked

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to Goldsmith’s Pragmatics (Goldsmith, 1984). Instead, it is possibly to identify states of flux, focussed on the document itself, with degrees of change, both internal and external, in creation and in use. As the author of this book I have a word processing file of the book open on a laptop in front of me. It is a document and is saved to the hard drive. Every time I add a new character, space, or word to this document, a change has taken place; the document is not as it was a moment before. Is a new document created every time I press a key? And, simultaneously, is the old document lost unless saved as a separate file? It is accepted in presenting these questions that taken directly as a problem to answer, they are both unhelpfully philosophical and probably impossible to answer with any certainty. The awareness of such themes within the wider context of inquiry, however, is relevant. These cases are similar to Levy’s versions of documents, with some degree of periodic fixity in the saving of the file after some number of additions or subtractions agreed upon as a stage of the document, for convenience. Depending on the system of production, some form of direct version control or tracking may also exist; here there may be a divide between a conceptual and a technological view of document change; see Section 4.4.4. Annotations, both physical and digital, are also relevant. If I make a biro scribble on a printed document, a change has happened. How does this change the identity or classification of the document? A diary might be designed to be filled in day by day and have large areas left blank or lined to afford this. In this instance we have a physical object, the diary, to point to, when questioning whether or not it is a new document on each occasion. A closer link to the river can be drawn to the category mistake about what a river is or what a document is. It still cannot be resolved, however, without a set agreement on what the essence of document is (materiality, content, or use?). In some cases a degree of final fixity may have been supposed by the author, designer or publisher (e.g., the sale of a specific edition of a conventional book), giving a more objective point from which to catalogue later changes. Here little or no change is anticipated within the document itself. Change may occur—annotations, inscriptions, marking, etc.—but this is an addition from an external source. Other documents published at one point of finality or fixity expect or invite change. A children’s book with flaps or dials, as conjectured in a previous section, is an example of this; the book’s physical state might be varied to be read in different ways. Whether a flap is flipped or turned to read ‘bat’ or ‘ball’, it does not seem to be a change similar to that of a version change but a change in state of the same version. Here the change is internal and from within a pre-defined set of options. A document might also be made with the expectation and requirement of change or addition without pre-defined limits. Forms (electronic or physical) are created to be filled in, used. Anything might be written in an open answer box, relevant or not, a change

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which seems more external. An electronic form might only take answers from a list of pre-defined options; this would be a more internal change as for the children’s book example. As shown by the framework (Section 4.3), there is an emphasis in this book on the distinct physical/digital token of a document as ‘the document’, as opposed to broader, conceptual views of documents. One reason for this is the pragmatic desire to be able to point at a sheet of printed paper and say, directly, ‘This is a document’.16 The denoted artefact may be related, indeed very strongly related, to a group of similar documents, but a distinction between them is still required. There is the direct document before the user (before you, now, as the reader) and the broader ‘essence’ of the document (see Platonism and documents in Section 3.4.3). This broader class contains re-configurations of the same content within and across mediums (as this framework covers) and ‘versions’ of a document (see Levy, 1994), such as the document I am correcting now, compared to its ‘draft’ incarnation, compared to the final version you are reading.

4.6 Context for Mode and Genre Having started this book with an exploration of genre, mode, and medium, a focus on the role of medium (and the interaction of medium and system) has been employed for the majority of this chapter so far. Whereas mode has appeared alongside medium and system as a secondary qualifier, genre has barely been addressed. In this section, the role of mode will be expanded upon first as this connects to medium more directly. The applicability of genre in relation to medium/system and mode will then be examined and used to advance the limitations of medium and mode. 4.6.1 Within and Between Mode(s) There are two broad categories of change and variation relating to mode that should not be confused: variation within a mode (or modes), and variation between modes (Figure 4.5). Such an elementary distinction must be acknowledged not because it is abstruse in itself but due to the differing understanding and employments of mode as a term, as highlighted in Section 2.3. To make the initial distinction with reference to Twyman’s (1979) high-level use of mode, a change within modes might be variation happening only within the verbal (written typography) mode, such as editing the text in appearance (font choice and formatting) or wording. A change between modes would be the move from the verbal mode to the combined pictorial and verbal mode, for example, by the addition of an image to the text. To make the comparison another way, directly using Twyman’s (1979) matrix, a change within a mode would move across the columns of the matrix, and a change between modes moves down the rows.

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Figure 4.5 Change within, and change between, mode. The change on the left is, at a broad level, a change within a mode (or set of modes) with the space between the letters changing (the tracking). The right example is a change between modes. In both cases this change within/between mode is taking place within the same medium and system, with the same software and hardware being used in both cases (although admittedly different features of the same software were employed— drawing by the author).

When discussing change in relation to medium, system was useful as a more all-encompassing qualifier. In some cases, even a seemingly simple variation in a document’s production could be considered a change in system. For example, swapping the typeface for a letterpress document would require the use of a different set of physical metal sorts—potentially a change in system, depending on the level at which the term ‘system’ is intended. Pursuing medium/system to the specifics of materiality, a small change might result in more or less ink use—the key signifier material, part of the medium. Taking a wider view, systems can be very broad. Clayton (2013) recounts an example of the documentation within an airport changing as the result of changes in operation room seating from swivel chairs to fixed chairs. The documents ‘exist [.  .  .] within a delicately balanced ecosystem’ (p. 339). With mode, the situation can appear even more pedantic because, at a detailed level, most types of variation within a document will come about through change within a mode and change in one mode will be concomitant with change in another mode. For example, an increase in leading (line spacing) within the wider mode of verbal written language might variously been seen (depending on the use of ‘mode’) as requiring change in the use of the modes: space, colour, typography, and sequence. A change in space (which might be thought of in relation to ‘layout’ in a broader design context) will necessitate some change in colour (i.e., an area that was white is now black, and the overall ‘colour’ of the page, typographically speaking, is changed). The higher level mode of typography, of which space and colour are a part will vary, and the sequencing of space and text will likely vary across a long document. Having suggested that this is pedantic, it would be wrong to hold firmly to such a view because, although it is awkward to follow this explanation at the most fundamental level when aiming for a pragmatic use of mode, it is also essential to the understanding of mode. For change or variation to occur in a document, or between document instantiations,

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something must change; that change will be within mode(s). Even if ‘only’ the medium has changed, this would be a change in mode, where medium can be considered in the capacity of a communicative resource (see Section 2.3.5). A simple application of mode to the medium/system-centric framework of Section 4.3 gives the following: Relationship 1: copies and one-offs—no change in mode. Relationship 2: systematisations—a very significant change may occur between different modes at a technical level, but not at a conceptual/perceptual level. That is, a page of text might have been converted into a vector graphic format but in such a way that most users will still ‘read’ it as text, not image (see Section 4.4.3). Very minor change may occur within modes. Relationship 3: (re)configurations—very significant changes within modes may be present from the changes in the representation of content changing as the system changes. Relationship 4: embodiments—very significant changes both within and between modes may be present. The distinction of translation (change of system, Norrish, 1987) and transformation (change within a system), drawn in Section 3.2.1 when ‘system’ was first introduced, relates directly to the distinction being drawn here between change within and between mode and the relationship of such change to medium. Here, translation is change between systems (and related mediums), and transformation (using the initial broad definitions of Section 2.2.1) is change within a system, matching the change within or between mode distinction from this section. Translation was used by Norrish (1987) to explore changes between systems with different capabilities to present content; capabilities can be considered as the range of modes supported by a system/medium (and flexibility within each of those modes). As systems capable of support different modes and different degrees of differentiation within the same modes interact (in terms of different instantiations of a document being produced or transferred across these systems), the results would fall into different categories of the framework from Section 4.3. See Section 4.3.3 for specific references to Norrish within the framework. The nature of intent in the context of the results of changes that occur with the translation of content between systems of differing capabilities was covered in Section 4.4. Document translation can result in a range of changes, some of which may be outside the control of the designer or user and which may or may not be perceived as significant for the use or analysis of the instantiation. Medium/system and mode may be seen as two variables which can be combined to give combinations of change and non-change. This results

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in three combinations: change in medium but not mode; change in mode but not medium; and change in both medium and mode (with no change at all as the fourth combination). Within these very broad categories there would then be wide variation as to the extent of the change. A caveat to this is, as mentioned previously and in Section 2.3.5, is that a change in medium also represents a change in mode, where medium is viewed as a mode. For convenience it should be assumed that when phrases such as ‘change in medium but not mode’ are used, it means no change in mode, aside from the mode of medium. 4.6.2 Relevance of Change Having identified groupings based on change (or lack of) within/between medium and mode, the next question to ask is: what is it within these groupings that is of interest and relevance to the investigation of this book? Certain changes within mode(s) are not of any special relevance: on a full-colour website, if the heading colour is changed from green to purple (with no additional special significance attached to this change), then there is a change within mode and not medium. In this example it is a small stylistic change affected by mode variation but not one of significant enough depth or variable interaction to be of great interest here. It is a basic, minor change in design that does not raise questions about the interaction of medium and mode. If such a change within a mode required a different medium or system to be employed, that would be of interest. But this boundary of relevance is, again, a question of degree, one that hangs not only on the extent of the change within or between modes but upon the identification of medium and system change. A website might be re-designed within a set of modes in such a way that it appears completely different to the reader, is structured differently, but is still within the same general medium (e.g., ‘a website viewed on devices of type-x’ assumes no great change in plug-ins or coding language that would constitute a change in system). Technically this is ‘only’ variation within modes and without change in medium (as in the first example), but it would be myopic to dismiss the change this presents. If a similar example is constructed using medium, the problem seems to return to the use of medium as mode (see Section 2.3.5). For example, a document might be produced in different size format (one regular, one large print, one pocket size, etc.), but the content formatting could remain the same relative to the substrate size. That is, the typography will be different in size and spacing between the instantiations (change within mode), but this change will to some extent be evened out by proportional change in the size of the substrate. In such an example the mode has changed relatively little by some approaches to classification, and the medium is the same in many ways too, but the change between

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instantiations is pronounced to the reader. These are different instantiations with different specific intended uses rather than minor copy revisions to a document, but certain applications of medium and mode categorisation could be applied to mask this substantial difference. The system of production and medium is of the same broad type: the same machinery and software used to create both instantiations on the same type of substrate but trimmed to a different size. This is a change in size as a difference within the materiality but not a change to new materiality. Likewise, there has been a change within the other modes but in proportion to the size change. The specifics of the missing factor necessary in the discussion of the point at which change becomes of interest, regarding the medium and mode, is muddied by limiting consideration to only medium and mode or at least to an overly simplistic view of mode. Setting up mode as an axis of analysis with medium alone does not allow for the range of possible relationships between document instantiations to be adequately addressed. Twyman’s (1979) matrix/schema sets out ‘mode of symbolization’ against ‘method of configuration’. The confines of the schema as written can therefore be interpreted as being wholly mode centric, with the second axis being further configurations within each mode. As was noted (footnote 100), this schema shows a change within a mode when moving across columns and a change between mode moving between rows. As was suggested by Bateman (2008) and in Section 2.2.4, it is also comparable to a simple genre topology. 4.6.3 Approaching Genre Following the application of mode to the discussion of medium and system, two related gaps are apparent: the need to articulate the specifics of changes within modes and a way to account for seemingly small changes within the framework of medium and mode which appear to produce far greater changes in the reception of a document than their ‘technical’ classification would suggest. Put another way: what is needed is a way to discuss the small changes in style and presentation that result in changes greater than the sum of their parts. Genre can be applied to at least partially account for these gaps, although care is needed at this initial point to work up to broader concepts of genre gradually so that the details and practicalities of the role of genre are not obscured and lost in a divorced conceptual overlay. Although genre is used as the overall term here, only specific aspects of genre will be applied. The use of genre initially required is one that presents a means of grouping and categorising documents using both medium and mode and potentially differentiating factors (and with the possibility to ‘combine’ medium and mode). This appears direct enough and broadly compatible with the review of genre in Section 2.2; however,

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the dynamic interplay among medium, mode, and genre should be kept in consideration. Here genre is being used as an overlay developed from medium and mode (at this stage—a fuller genre model would be more complex), but the use of mode and medium will, in turn, be informed by genre. (See Graham and Whalen, 2008; Bateman, 2008, from Section 2.2.) At the same time, the socially constructed nature of genre also needs to be emphasised. Such an emphasis should not be made without awareness of the related context for medium and mode. To emphasise the social aspect of genre should not diminish the social aspect of medium and mode. However, medium has, to some extent, a basis in physicality and materiality (see Sections 2.5.2 and 4.2). Although the use of medium extends well beyond and extrapolates above simple physicality in the act of considering materials and mediums in use (perhaps even positing a genre of medium), there is a degree of difference between the level of social construction here and in genre (albeit genre is partially constructed from medium). Likewise, with mode, depending on the level of mode, sub-mode, or resource used, there is some fundamental property in play—such as the use of space. Although this is all conceived of within a social context—indeed ‘mode’ only has meaning when used in communication (social)—genre appears to extend beyond that. 4.6.4 Genre and the Role of Style Can an idea of style as a sub-level, rather than constituting the whole of, genre be arrived at through the specifics of mode? For example, style could be defined as the combination of the specific articulation of the modes (including medium as mode) present in a document. That is, the exact colour, size, positioning, etc. of elements in the presentation of the document are its style. Each of the specific variables might be modes or combinations of modes. Typography, for example, might be a mode but built upon the resources or sub-modes of colour and space (see Section 2.3). This idea is partially similar in application to CSS or a similar ‘style’ markup, be it for display specification or categorisation. Moys (2012) employs such a technical approach in constructing a ‘framework for describing typographic presentation’ (p. 28), using terminology familiar from advanced desktop publishing ‘software packages such as QuarkXPress and Adobe InDesign’ (p. 28). Using such a system, a delineation of the variables and use of mode creating the appearance17 of the document can be stated. This technical statement of mode gives the visual appearance of elements in a partially content-agnostic manner, a technical markup of style, but may not match exactly to social, genrerelevant, uses of style. The GeM model (Delin et al., 2002/3) presents an expansion and ‘uncollapsing’ (p. 4) of Waller’s typographic genre model (Waller, 1988),

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creating a separate layout structure, encompassing ‘the nature, appearance and position of communicative elements on the page’ (Delin et al., 2002/3, p. 5). This is where the more stylistic changes brought about by variation in mode within medium are located, as the relationship between small changes at this level. It is hard to take any level fully in isolation as it is only through the combination of the whole that the document and its genre is fully analysed. Although the layout structure is most relevant here, it must be acknowledged that changes to the layout structure may change the interpretation of other structures and vice versa. Without wishing to delve into another discussion of definitions, there seems to be a separation between a full, clinical account of the variables of presentation (style) and the overall visual effect created by some of these variables as perceived by the viewer. A description of the appearance of the document is only basic cataloguing; a further level of analysis is needed to identify those factors contributing to the appearance that are of disproportionate significance compared to their fellows in the perception of the user (and/or of the designer or client). Certain features of the application of modes may be distinctive and key to a style, with others more incidental (e.g., ‘this shade of green is what sets this group of documents apart, the background colour is incidental’). This re-approaches the point raised at the start of this section: the need for a way to account for seemingly small changes within the framework of medium and mode which appear to produce far greater changes in the reception of a document than their ‘technical’ classification would suggest. Section 4.5.2 suggested some examples: a generally insignificant change in heading colour, a slight change in format size, and a wide range of such small but very noticeable changes can be imagined which, although noticeable, are not sufficient to change the genre-level perception of ‘style’. In some situations a certain type of change will be relatively insignificant; in others that variable may be one of the key carriers, main signifiers, of a genre of style (or style of genre?—the terms begin to be exhausted). It may also be that only certain changes in combination create a large effect. Such a line of thinking suggests relevance to two related areas: the use of brand styles and the poorly articulated use of style leading to genre confusion. Expressed in the terminology of this book, the visual styling of a brand (brand visual identity) might be described as a system for the application of a specific use and combination of selected states of modal variation such that a cohesive style is presented across contents and formats. Here a set of mode variables are chosen, such as a specific colour (or group thereof), a specific typeface (or selection thereof), or a certain use of shapes (e.g., always using curved corners) and applied in a range of different contexts.18 Logos may also form a key part of the brand identity, using many of the same features of colour and type in unison with the brand. Logos, as a concentrated focus of brand identity, also illustrate the

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extent to which certain variables within a style (in the technical sense) can be changed and manipulated while still leaving the impression of unity (in a looser, user-perceived sense).19 An extreme example of this is found in the generation of parody or spoof logos. An online image search for the logo of many major companies (e.g., Starbucks) will reveal numerous unofficial variations and applications of the logo. These variations might include changes to the core brand’s colours, wording, illustration, and typeface. However, the spoofs are all only effective because the retain a connection to the original brand despite the variation. Genre and branding are not the same, but at a visual communication and design level, there is a similarity in the way in which both encompass sets of related but different material (in this case documents) through groupings of more or less rigidly defined socially perceived variables. Brand and genre, although two dissimilar areas in a number of ways, can both lead to the generation of a stereotype of groups of documents and group identities. Brand and genre overlap in a wide range of ways—a brand may be applied to documents belonging to a wide range of genres. Motivations and origins may be different—there may be a more conscious intent to create a brand than to cliché a genre. A genre is generated and applied through interaction and experience; a brand is created to project the impression of a certain type of experience. Both maintain a mutable, non-content-locked20 identity across potentially disparate documents or artefacts. Brands may also be influenced in their selection of visual identity by the configuration of the genres related to them. For example, a specialist publisher of horror novels may select its visual identity to conform to the visual genre of the covers of horror novel books. In the horror example the manipulation of style and genre is deliberate; elements of style prevalent in one genre are applied to another to give a specific look and feel with related connotation to another. Although borrowing inference from another genre might be used successfully in this way, accidental misreading of a genre by a designer might lead to a document that is confusing for the user. This would be a situation in the form of ‘well this looks like a restaurant menu, but it’s actually a film listing’. Although such a situation may seem peculiar, this example is taken directly from the author’s design teaching experience. Working with first-year undergraduates who had been tasked with designing and formatting a film listing leaflet, one leaflet was pointed out as looking ‘menuey’ by students commenting on one another’s work in group a feedback session. When asked what it was that gave this impression, the group identified the specific use of centering, italic, and rules (lines) on a white background as looking like a restaurant menu. Similar situations will be relatable to those involved in teaching document design— practice-based commonalities that hint at unintended genre confusion through styling.

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Although borrowing conventions from other genres may be deliberate, it can also be an unintended effect brought about by the specific use of mode variables in combination or isolation, which are then seen as iconic to another genre (see Section 4.4 for intent).

Notes 1. Only the majority, not all, are the same in terms of OHCO. The comments added to the PDF would represent a deviation, and the code or markup views presented in a couple of cases are ambiguous in terms of classification. 2. See Section 2.5.2 for Bateman (2008) on medium and viewing media within a context of systems of production and reproduction (for ‘systems’ see Section 3.2 of this book, Kress and van Leeuwen refer to ‘distribution media’ (2006, p. 237). 3. Such relationships may therefore be limited to systems of compatible ‘capabilities’ (‘capabilities’: the range of graphic resources within a system, such as the use of size, colour, and style variation, paraphrased from Norrish, 1987, p. 2). 4. Swales’s (2004, Chapter 1) use of genre chains, genre sets, and genre networks relates to a similar idea to what is suggested here for document sets. However, as is illustrated in the case studies of Chapter 5 in this book, the use of document set here has a far narrower scope and operates on a lower level (as necessitated by the nature of the study for which they are suggested) than does Swales’s genre terminology. 5. Theme and content where there is a very high to total overlap of written (or other mode) content. This is a far more directly homogeneous set of documents than might normally be considered in a document set for document clustering (see Aggarwal and Zhai, 2012 for an overview of computational text clustering methods, where ‘text’ can range from short phrases to longer documents). 6. OHCO: ordered hierarchy of content objects—this is an ontological view of text identity based on the ordering of content. See DeRose et al. (1990) and Section 3.4 of this book. 7. Low and high refer to the capability of a system to differentiate content by variation of appearance and use of space (Norrish, 1987). 8. Non-lossy: any data compression does not lead to a distortion of the original image data or the ability to reproduce the image. 9. Except of course that the document must be copied from the external memory into the system memory, read, and converted into a human readable format, etc. 10. This might also be interchangeably termed a re-configuration, although the prefix brings with it an indication of re-ordering and heritage—that one is a re-configuration of the other (with a sense of primacy of that preceding other), as opposed to being different configurations of themselves. 11. Mode does not change, excluding seeing image as text (see technical vs. conceptual, Section 4.5.3). The possibility of medium functioning as a mode as raised by Kress and van Leeuwen (2001, p. 22, and see Section 2.3.5 of this book) should also not be discounted. In this regard certain crossmedia relationships automatically bring about a cross-modal change (at least for certain groups of users or viewers). 12. The term ‘linear’ should be questioned in this context. On what grounds are linear and non-linear decided? To take a path through printed content in an order other than that of the page numbers is not necessarily non-linear. At the other extreme, any route is linear from a certain perspective and intention

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14.

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of inquiry. Ultimately, context should be considered beyond the author’s or designer’s intent and the spatial sequence of content. For many of the uses of transclusion here, ‘transdelivery’ may be more technically in line with Ted Nelson’s original views (Nelson, 2007, p. 22:59):‘if a document sends for a piece from somewhere else, I call that transdelivery’, compared to transclusion, that is ‘the same thing knowably in two places’. However, as the term ‘transclusion’ originally relates to hypertext, not print text, its use in this book is already broader than its original definition. The division between text and image can be distorted further at the next level of technicality. Bitmaps and vectors of letters can be considered as images; an arrangement of these images is also an image. In general word processors don’t store their files made of letter images as images, but this need not be the case. Chadtech (an image-based word processor for maths and logic notation) (Stearns, 2014) displays, saves, reads, and edits ‘text’ documents as image (.png) files (although in this example the machine-readable part of the text within the image is encoded in coloured pixels in one corner of the image, not in the area of the letterforms themselves). See Levy’s footnote 1 on p. 24 (1994) on the temptation to put ‘same’ in quotes; a similar struggle has plagued the author of this book. ‘This is a document’ cannot be stated purely objectively; there must still be a context of convention, understanding, communication, and technology to interpret the document as document. Consider appearance for the moment as the terms ‘style’ and ‘genre’ are applicable to the written content (the words and their use rather than their printed embodiment). However, the separation between words and visual style/genre is not wholly distinct. In looking at a ‘traditionally’ typeset book page, the distinction is relatively clear. Where banner headlines, pull quotes, and other short, attention-grabbing, and often large, pieces of text are used as part of the design (as design elements themselves, not just ‘words’, although words on a page are always part of the design), the words themselves might begin to contribute to the style or the initial interpretation of style/genre. A basic example might be the covers of lower-end men’s and women’s magazines using sensationalist or taboo words to grab attention: ‘sex’, ‘fat’, etc. Possibly with sub-specifications and exceptions for certain contexts. Consider Norrish’s (1987) translation between systems of high and low capability— the application of a brand to a system of lower (or different) capability may require differences appropriate to the systems. For example, the core brand font might be Akzidenz Grotesk, but Arial is permitted in the corporate email footer signature. Having focussed on brand similarity, it should be noted that in certain brands, change and mutability of style within certain modes (within bounds of varied strictness) become the unifying distinguisher, for example, Stephan Sagmeister’s Casa Da Musica logo (Roberts and Wright, 2010, pp. 10–25). Content free, broadly speaking, there may be some examples where content is a key part of genre identity and/or certain genre classification systems that emphasises content.

References Aggarwal, C. C., and Zhai, C. (2012), ‘A Survey of Text Clustering Algorithms’, in Aggarwal, C. C., and Zhai, C. (eds.), Mining Text, Data, Springer, pp. 77–121.

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Bateman, J. A. (2008), Multimodality and Genre, a Foundation for the Systematic Analysis of Multimodal Documents, Palgrave Macmillan. Bolter, J. D. (1991), Writing Space: The Computer, Hypertext, and the History of Writing, Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Clayton, E. (2013), The Golden Thread, Counterpoint. Dane, J. A. A. (2012), What Is a Book? The Study of Early Printed Books, University of Notre Dame Press. Delin, J., Bateman, J., and Allen, P. (2002/3), ‘A Model of Genre in Document Layout’, Information Design Journal, 11:1, pp. 54–66, digital version accessed at URL=www.fb10.uni-bremen.de/anglistik/langpro/projects/gem/downloads/ delin-bateman-allen-IDJ.pdf (accessed 17/01/13). DeRose, S., Durand, D. G., Mylonas, E., and Renear, A. H. (1990, reprint), ‘What Is Text, Really?’, Journal of Computing in Higher Education, 1:2, pp. 3–26. Goldsmith, E. (1984), Research Into Illustration, an Approach and a Review, Cambridge University Press. Graham, S., S., and Whalen, B. (2008), ‘Mode, Medium, and Genre: A Case Study of Decisions in New-Media Design’, Journal of Business and Technical Communication, 22:65, pp. 65–90. Henshaw, C. (2015), ‘From Bookshelf to Screen: Creating a Digital Library’, The Library at Wellcome Collection, URL=blog.wellcomelibrary.org/2015/01/frombookshelf-to-screen-creating-a-digital-library/ (accessed 22/05/15). Huitfeldt, C. (1995), ‘Multi-Dimensional Texts in a One-Dimensional Medium’, Computers and the Humanities, 28, pp. 235–241. Katzev, R. (2009), In the Country of Books: Commonplace Books and Other Readings, Troubador Publishing Ltd. Kress, G., and van Leeuwen, T. (2001), Multimodal Discourse, the Modes and Media of Contemporary Communication, Arnold. Kress, G., and van Leeuwen, T. (2006), Reading Images: The Grammar of Visual Design (revised 2nd edition), Routledge. Levy, D. M. (1994), ‘Fixed or Fluid? Document Stability and New Media’, ECHT ’94 Proceedings of the 1994 ACM European Conference on Hypermedia Technology, ACM, pp. 24–31. Lickiss, M. (2011), ‘Digital Ephemera: How Can Transient Digital Files Be Viewed in Relation to Conventional Printed Ephemera?’, The Ephemerist, No. 154, Autumn 2011, pp. 19–25. Moys, J. (2012) Typographic Meaning: Reader’s Impressions of Patterns of Typographic Differentiation, Ph.D. Thesis, University of Reading, UK. Nelson, T. (1987), Literary Machines (Edition 87.1), Theodor Holm Nelson, PDF version from URL=archive.org/details/Literary.Machines.1987 (accessed 23/10/15). Nelson, T. (2007), Transclusion: Fixing Electronic Literature, Google Tech Talks, video of lecture uploaded to YouTube 2012, URL=www.youtube.com/watch?v= ohiKTVVtDJA (accessed 23/10/15). Norrish, P. (1987), The Graphic Translatability of Text, British Library R&D Report 5854, Department of Typography & Graphic Communication, University of Reading. Plato. (1921), ‘Cratylus’, trans. H. N. Fowler, in Plato in Twelve Volumes, Harvard University Press, digital text from Perseus Digital Library, URL=www. perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Plat.+Crat.+402a&fromdoc=Perseus%3At ext%3A1999.01.0172 (accessed 21/10/15).

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Roberts, L., and Wright, R. (2010), Design Diaries: Creative Process in Graphic Design, Laurence King. Sippey, M. (1996), ‘The Road to Xanadu’, Stating the Obvious, URL=www. theobvious.com/archive/1996/07/08.html (accessed 31/10/15). Stearns, C. (2014), Chadtech, URL=chadcs.github.io/ctjs/Chadtech.html (accessed 05/10/14). Story, H. (2014), Wellcome Library and Jisc announce partners in 19th-century medical books digitisation project, URL=www.wellcome.ac.uk/News/Mediaoffice/Press-releases/2014/WTP056966.htm (accessed 22/05/15). Swales, J. M. (1996), ‘Occluded Genres in the Academy: The Case of the Submission Letter’, in Ventola, E., and Mauranen, A. (eds.), Academic Writing: Intercultural and Textural Issues, John Benjamins Publishing Company. Swales, J. M. (2004), Research Genres, Explorations and Applications, Cambridge University Press. Twyman, M. (1979), ‘A Schema for the Study of Graphic Language’, in Kolers, P. M., Wrolstad, M., and Bouma, H. (eds.), Processing of Visible Language, Plenum Press, pp. 117–150. Waller, R. (1988), The Typographic Contribution to Language, Towards a Model of Typographic Genres and their Underlying Structures, Ph.D. Thesis, University of Reading, UK.

5

Application and Case Studies

5.1 Scope and Context In the previous chapters a range of theories have been examined, questioned, and built upon. Examples, both pictorial illustrations and situations of a more conceptual nature, have been used to elucidate key areas in the discussion of documents, systems, mediums, modes, and genres, but these examples have been presented in isolation. Across three chapters of diverse content it was convenient to use individual examples, thought experiments, and draft documents of this book to exemplify the specific arguments in hand. However, the aim is that the ideas and questions from those discussions should be diversely applicable on a wider scale. This chapter moves on from those individual examples to look at case studies of document sets. The appearance of these illustrated case studies in the main body of the book is deliberate—from a design perspective, the documents themselves are a key part of the study, not appendix back matter. These extended examples will be used both to demonstrate the application and relevance of the thinking behind this book and also to identify gaps. The level of detail involved in the case studies reflects the complexities of the relationships that emerge between the instantiations within the document sets. Two case studies with different focuses will be used: the IKEA catalogue and The Guardian newspaper. Many of the instantiations in the IKEA catalogue document set are based around a shared catalogue spread layout repeated across systems and media, whereas The Guardian presents a greater range of variation in the manner in which its content is distributed. Not all areas of discussion are relevant to every example, and it is impractical here to give a case study from every ‘type’ of document set.1 However, the majority of the ideas should be applicable, and the individual examples already presented give some context for any omissions. Although some gaps will remain, even with these two complicated examples, they give ample scope to show the methods of considering documents across medium, mode, genre, and system. In addition to gaps, there are some areas of general overlap across the two case studies. Where this is the case, the relevant issues and ideas will be addressed in

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the first case study (IKEA), then mentioned in brief for The Guardian where they re-occur, with a footnote indicating the relevant IKEA section. Both of these case studies examine complicated documents, whose sets contain instantiations spread across both print and digital mediums. The emphasis is on analysis and questioning rather than applying a system of markup or direct description. Systems and frameworks already exist for both these purposes. What is of interest here is the change, and management of change among individual instantiations within a set. Following the previous chapter looking at intention (Section 4.4), it should be acknowledged that this is not a focus of the case studies. Questions of intention on the part of designers, writers, publishers, etc. are important to keep in mind, and this area of discussion will be continued in Chapter 6. However, the case study material is examined as it would be found available to the user or reader—not from the perspective of the designers who created it. Although it is useful in some areas of the case study to consider what the intent could have been, interviewing and questioning has not been carried out with the document creators (e.g., designers, commissioners, or publishers). Likewise, although the material is being examined after the design process, this is not an experimental exercise in user research or public perception. Experiments could be devised to examine user perceptions of instantiation grouping, styling, genre identity, etc. (see Moys, 2012), but that is not the focus here. Additionally, there are a vast numbers of specialist areas in which a case study could look at between-instantiation relationships, for example, where navigation changes between screen and print instantiations, or the details of typographic rendering across systems. Although it is acknowledged that these are areas of importance, their detailed discussion is not the focus here. Points raised during the case studies in this chapter will be carried over to Chapter 6 for further discussion and analysis to develop the ideas from the rest of the book.

5.1.1 The Use and Meaning of Images Before beginning the case studies, it is necessary to highlight issues around the use and meaning of images. Images are central to this chapter to illustrate the visual examples being discussed and compared. However, their use creates an immediate tension within the context of this book, where the understanding of, and the meaning associated with, the mediums, systems, modes, genres, etc. by which visual communication is realised are under question. Surrounded by discussion of mediums within mediums, embedding, succession, medium as mode, recursive analysis, and the like (see Chapter 2, specifically Sections 2.3.5, 2.5.3, 2.6), the simple use of ‘an image’ in this book may be interpreted differently here than in other accounts. The case studies here are intended as

126 Application and Case Studies an accessible demonstration of the theoretical discussion in the rest of the book, but due to the subject, these case studies are themselves mired in the debate they attempt to clarify. For example, is a given illustration just a ‘straightforward’ example? Is it an image of an image? Or an image of an image of an image of a document—a photo from a printed magazine, re-photographed on a digital camera, then represented on screen (for an example see Section 2.5.3, Figure 2.12)? Although a balance must be found to enable practicality, the train of thought here is always present. Even if it is explicitly stated that a photograph appearing in this book (e.g., an image showing the cover) is only intended to be understood by the reader as showing what the IKEA catalogue’s cover looks like, a range of processes, systems, and instantiations still separate the reader and the ‘original’ (however that is to be conceived). Although it may be argued whether or not this matters, or how to decide in which cases it matters greatly and in which it is inconsequential, that it is the case is not open for debate. In general, where an image is used in this section, it is intended simply as given—a picture of a catalogue spread is representative of the catalogue spread, even though it forms a point in a chain of medium and system succession stretching before (the processes required to present it to the reader here) and after (the processes required in the production of the spread by its creators). However, there is a further complication: in addition to the context of systems as already discussed, an editorial decision must be made on what to include in an image—what exactly is illustrated, and what is cut? Take the example of a word processing document. How is that most sensibly illustrated? Should only the digital page be shown, the software application GUI, the operating system GUI, or the computer itself (Figure 5.1)? Each of these stages would show an instantiation within a different layering of systems—the higher layers are always present in the lower, even if not shown, but by showing them the understanding of the reader may be altered. This is especially the case with the illustration of the materiality of an image—should a screenshot of a phone screen be given or a photograph of the phone itself while it is showing that screen? This is not only a question of whether or not the materiality should be shown—this is: is it needed, can the reader be expected to assume the original materiality, and how does presenting a disembodied screenshot relate to what users actually experience? It may also force specifics as to hardware. A screenshot, although it must originate on some hardware and at a specific resolution, might be seen in some sense as generic. A photograph of a phone showing the screen gives specifics—the web page as viewed on a smartphone, specifically an entry-level Samsung phone, vs. a high-spec iPhone. The editorial choice of what is included not only relates to medium but is also key to genre. How does the situation of use influence genre; should the IKEA catalogue be pictured showing a person sitting on a sofa reading it? Certain documents may have very specific situations making up the

Source: Indeed what information should be given here to reference the images? Where is the boundary of relevance in providing such information to the reader about the origin and media of an ‘image’? It seems simplest just to state: screen resolution 1920 × 1080 px on 22" LCD panel, photographs, and screenshots by the author!

Figure 5.1 The (draft) starting page of this chapter shown here at four different levels to demonstrate the ways in which it could be presented as an illustration. It seems reasonable to show just the page, but moving from left to right, more context could be included, such as the software application within which the page is open (second image)—certainly relevant in system term. Likewise, the operating system and desktop arrangement, within which the application runs may be of equal interest, as seen in the third image. From there, the hardware of the screen could be shown (fourth image), emphasising the materiality of the digital system. This last still does not show the computer running the monitor—this too might be considered relevant. Going further, a photograph of the room in which the monitor is situated could be shown. This last sounds like an extension to the absurd but may still provide pertinent information. In terms of the illustration shown here, there is some overlap between this example and that given in Figure 2.12 but using a more nuanced idea of system here.

128 Application and Case Studies majority of their uses; these situations in which the document is encountered may affect the genre association of the document in addition to any internal features of the document and the wider associations of those features. Ultimately images are going to be used anyway, ontological pessimism regarding their signification notwithstanding. Where a print document is shown, it will be seen photographed as it sits naturally on a level surface; unless specific small details need to be seen, it will not be forced flat under a scanner and bleached white in Photoshop. This approach does not answer the points made here but is at least sympathetic to them. For digital instantiations of documents, this is less simple to provide material context, as the photographing of devices presents more problems in the preservation of clarity of legibility over a screenshot. Additionally, there is the problem of presenting a specific device materiality to a document which could appear on potentially thousands of other hardware configurations. Therefore, digital instantiations will be presented primarily as screenshots, with an example shown of the instantiation seen displayed on a device where necessary. 5.1.2 A Note on Manuscripts Neither of the case studies in this chapter discusses manuscript instantiations in much detail. The theories and discussion of this book are still directly applicable to manuscript instantiations, be they in the form of contemporary notes in biro or the illuminated manuscripts of the mediaeval scriptorium. As has been emphasised before, although current technologies have increased the proliferation of documents across different medium and system instantiations, these types of change and relationships are not new, merely the scale at which they happen. The beginning of the transfer from manuscript to print in the West from the fifteenth century is just as relevant a change as, for example, that from print to smartphone. However, the study and research of manuscript documents and early printed documents is itself an area of specialist research and multidisciplinary interest. It should be noted that this is not limited to incunabula, as the advent of the press did not render manuscript production instantly obsolete, and the relationship between the two would continue to change for some time as the press spread and developed. A further reason for the lack of emphasis on a manuscript case study is to avoid the duplication of existing research. Specifically, ‘How the Page Matters’ by Bonnie Mak gives a detailed case study following Buonaccorso da Montemarno’s treatise Controversia de Nobilitate ‘from the fifteenth to the twenty-first century—on parchment, paper, and computer, and in manuscript, print, and digital forms’ (Mak, 2011, p. 5). Although Mak’s focus is on the page, the account is highly compatible with the approach of this book. Although Mak aims to cover manuscript, print, and digital mediums, there is a greater focus on the first of those two systems—the opposite of the focus in this book. ‘The Digital Page’ (Mak, 2011, Chapter 5) contains a useful discussion of facsimiles but is otherwise limited in depth

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compared to the first three chapters concentrating on physical instantiations. Interestingly, Mak provides high-quality illustrations showing the manuscript and print instantiations but not any digital instantiations.

5.2 IKEA Catalogue Note: Many of the images in this case study appear several times at various sizes and as part of larger diagrams. The image references will only be provided once, at that publication’s first appearance (unless otherwise stated). For example, the page size of the print IKEA catalogue is not repeated in this chapter following its mention in the caption. See the note at the beginning of image references at the end of this chapter for details on the system and number notation used for referencing images in this chapter. (All photographs of documents as physical instantiations as shown on hardware were taken by the author.) 5.2.1 Overview This first case study focuses on the annually published catalogue of the IKEA company (see Figure 5.2). The catalogue is a complicated illustrated document presenting the product range of the Swedish home furnishings company across a range of systems and mediums. Although originally distributed as a print document, the catalogue is now available digitally, as a website, and as a phone app (see Section 5.2.2 for specific details).

Figure 5.2 Examples of the IKEA catalogue, showing the 2013, 2014, and 2015 UK catalogues, with a double-page spread from 2015. This chapter will concentrate on the UK 2015 issue. Note that each issue is published in the summer of the year preceding the catalogue date—so the 2015 issue is published in 2014. Catalogue cover page size 207 × 222 mm (IKEA (print), 2012, IKEA (print 1), 2013, IKEA (print), 2014 with p. 1 and 2–3. N.B. the catalogue page numbering counts the cover as p. 1. This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

130 Application and Case Studies Distribution of the print catalogue is still extensive, however, with 217 million copies printed in 30 languages in 2014 (IKEA 1, [no date]). Aside from suitability as an example due to the wide document set and range of instantiations, the catalogue was also chosen because it is likely to be familiar to some extent to the majority of readers (and to the general public—the document’s users). Although the IKEA catalogue has been printed and re-issued for many years, its use here will be as an example of a contemporary document that is published across systems simultaneously (or at least relatively simultaneously, within logistical confines, where it is a case of counting in days rather than months and years). In the same year the print and digital instantiations of the catalogue are all issued together; it is not that a catalogue first published in 2000 has been digitised in 2005 and made available online in 2015, for example, as a later update and revision to a ‘new’ medium. Instantiations into new mediums might happen over time as technology changes, and there will be a point at which each new instantiation is new that year. In general, however, for any specific year’s issue, it would be that year’s catalogue as a whole that is published across the relevant mediums with prior planning. That said, old catalogues might retrospectively be made available in more recent systems (similar to Mak’s facsimiles, 2011). For example a catalogue from the 1980s could be scanned and turned into a PDF, but that is not the focus explored here. 5.2.2 Instantiations and Core Document Set To make sense of the details of changes and variations among specific instantiations of the IKEA catalogue, an overview and description of the document set constituted by these assorted instantiations must first be sought. For the IKEA catalogue the document set (even before bringing in any fuzzier, more conceptual relationships) has considerable depth in at least two dimensions beyond the target changes across system and medium. That is, the catalogue is now revised and re-published yearly (depth in time), and it is published in 30 languages (depth in linguistic translation).2 The UK 2015 catalogue, for example, has 29 contemporaries in other languages (and additional regional variants), a range of instantiations across systems (print, online, and mobile), and an ancestry of past issues. The depth in each of these dimensions will vary with time (e.g., there is no mobile app version of the UK 1990 catalogue). The main focus for this study will be on the UK issue of the 2015 catalogue (published late 2014, IKEA, 2014); this is chosen as an up-to-date example exhibiting multiple, publicly available instantiations across multiple systems and mediums. From a practical standpoint, the UK version has the convenience of accessibility from within the UK. Due to the size of the catalogue document set, it might be organised, or mapped, in a number of different ways, depending on the focus and perspective of enquiry. For example, having said that the focus will be

Figure 5.3 One possible way to illustrate the UK 2015 IKEA catalogue document sub-set within the IKEA catalogue set. The images given show the first spread of the print catalogue and the item entry for the same furniture item (TARVA chest of drawers) for those instantiations that are not close systematisations of the catalogue. Each of the illustrations for the digital instantiations is representative of a host of sub-variables in terms of device used. A thin black border has been added to all digital instantiation illustrations. Referencing information for the images in this diagram is given in the captions accompanying the following text. Please see the main text following for an explanation of the images/ instantiations within the diagram and the caption text accompanying the explanations for the individual image or document references used in the diagram. This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

132 Application and Case Studies on the 2015 UK issue, the following organisation for an overview of the document set could be constructed (Figure 5.3). Although the focus of this chapter is not description, a brief explanation is needed to make sense of the instantiations shown in Figure 5.3 (all 2015 UK versions) as the difference between some may not be immediately apparent, for example, how the IKEA app differs from the IKEA catalogue app. The descriptions are linked to the diagram via initial letters (e.g., a) and additional reminder images and details provided. More detailed discussion of the relationship between the different instantiations will be given in Section 5.2.3, along with more detailed images for any relevant features. IKEA catalogue (print), (a and Figure 5.4)—a full-colour printed catalogue/brochure, 326 pages, 207 × 222 mm, paperback with perfect binding. This is what might be regarded as ‘the’ IKEA catalogue by the general shopper and can be collected in store or received by post. The two main sections are ‘Ideas’ and ‘Products’. The former shows mocked-up rooms to demonstrate product combinations, including people interacting with

Figure 5.4 The print instantiation of the IKEA catalogue, showing the cover and a pair of sample spreads, followed by a laminated, in-store reference print catalogue (lower right). (IKEA [print] 2014, pp. 1, 2–3, and 100–101, catalogue page size 207 × 222 mm, plus additional margin bolted into binding for the reference copy). This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

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the products. These ideas spreads also include integrated product pricing and information. The products section is a more conventional catalogue format, focussing on individual products outside of the combined room showcases. Where a number of variants for a product (especially large storage units) are possible, only a limited range is shown. The print catalogue does not show the entire product range available from IKEA. The catalogue PDF, catalogue app, and online catalogue show this same sub-set of the product range. The print catalogue includes features that interact with the IKEA catalogue app, allowing users to scan the page to get augmented reality overlay views of the furniture on phones. IKEA catalogue (print, store reference copy), (b and Figure 5.4 lower right)—a full-colour printed catalogue/brochure, 326 pages, 207 × 222 mm (page size, extra margin contained within brackets), printed on heavy-coated stock, bound between two brackets using bolts and secured to a lectern. This robust instantiation of the catalogue is for customer use and reference within IKEA stores. Content and layout are the same as the print catalogue, although the thick stock and bolt-binding afford different

Figure 5.5 IKEA catalogue online (left column) and printing out the same catalogue (right column). On the left the same spread is shown on a 22" LCD monitor and then as a screenshot with the product viewer visible in the top image, minimised in bottom. On the right the in-browser print version of the same page of IKEA catalogue online is shown, as generated when the user selects the print option, followed by the resulting print on a colour inkjet printer. (IKEA [online], 2014, pp. 2–3), (IKEA [printout], 2014). This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

134 Application and Case Studies interaction with the catalogue (can’t be left open on spreads near the start or end of the catalogue). The pages are wider overall, with large internal margins so that content is not lost in the bolted binding. IKEA catalogue (online) [d and Figure 5.5]—this instantiation is also simply called the ‘IKEA catalogue’ and is hosted on the IKEA website at onlinecatalogue.ikea.com/GB/en/IKEA_Catalogue/. The online catalogue is a Flash object that displays in a conventional web browser. Content is displayed as a series of double-page spreads, closely matching the print catalogue. Navigation is via dragging left or right, clicking left or right arrows on screen, or using arrow keys to move between page spreads. Further navigation is provided by a bar at the top, allowing searching, bookmarking, favourites, contents list functions, and scrolling through a progress bar. The interface also has print, download, and assorted share/social media functions. Additionally the online catalogue contains videos of some product showcases. The text cannot be selected. Individual products shown in room mock-ups and showcases can also be seen below the catalogue pages. Clicking on these images brings up further product information, including a ‘Read more’ link directing the user to the relevant page of the IKEA website. IKEA catalogue (printout, online) (g and Figure 5.5)—the print option on the IKEA catalogue online takes the user to a further web page (primarily written in JavaScript) which displays a dump of every spread from the online catalogue as .jpg image files in a vertically scrolling continuum down the page. The user can then print using a normal browser/system dialogue, which groups the images into pages depending on print settings. Note that the online catalogue cannot be printed effectively. Attempting to print using the system dialogue prints a page of image-embedding options for social media sharing and embedding. IKEA catalogue (printout, print) [c. and Figure 5.5]—the paper print result of the above online printout view page. The final appearance of the printout will depend on the print settings and the specific printer used. An extensive range of variations is possible here: laser, inkjet, colour, greyscale, black and white, print quality settings, paper choice, etc. Additionally the user might choose to send the print job to a PDF (or XPS, or similar) printer, generating a digital PDF of the print view online catalogue, a secondary form of PDF catalogue in addition to the ‘main’ PDF catalogue described as follows (note that the text would then not be selectable). IKEA catalogue (PDF) (d and Figure 5.6)—full-colour PDF IKEA catalogue with the file name ‘ikea_catalogue_en’, 19MB. Pages are displayed as double-page spreads. The PDF lacks the additional interactive content of the online catalogue, making it more similar in content to the print catalogue. The text in the PDF catalogue can be selected. The PDF version of the catalogue is not prominently available on the IKEA website. Within the online flash catalogue, there is a semi-hidden top menu bar, the further drop-down sub-menu of which has a download button which

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Figure 5.6 IKEA catalogue PDF, 2014 (left), showing p. 2 of the PDF, which is a combined spread of pp. 2–3 of the catalogue. (IKEA [PDF], 2014, p. 2) IKEA catalogue app (centre and right), showing a single page in portrait orientation on a tablet and a double-page spread in landscape orientation on a smartphone. In both cases the additional navigation and product viewing bars have been minimised. (IKEA [app 1] 2014, pp. 2, 2–3). This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

links to the PDF. In some cases the PDFs are hosted on third-party sites but on an ad hoc basis.3 IKEA catalogue app (h and Figure 5.6)—available on Google Play and the Apple App Store for smartphones and tablets. An app version of the catalogue, the application itself is a container/browser for IKEA publications and can contain the catalogues of several years and/or other IKEA publications such as their business brochure (covered in more detail later in this section). The catalogue itself is then downloaded within the app. The catalogue app effectively functions as an image gallery: pages are stored as a series of .jpg files in the application directory. The user can then swipe from one image to another within the app or navigate using progress-bar scroll or search functions from a hidden top menu bar, similar to the online catalogue. These .jpg files are relatively low resolution, and the catalogue app downloads images of different dimensions depending on the device. The app includes some of the features found in the IKEA catalogue online, including social media sharing, video content, and extra product information. As with the online catalogue, there is a ‘Read more’ link directing the user to the relevant page of the IKEA website, but the IKEA website is opened within the IKEA catalogue app without the device’s default browser interface. On devices with screen-rotation enabled, the catalogue is displayed as single pages in the portrait orientation but as double-page spreads when using it landscape. As mentioned with the print catalogue, the catalogue app links to the print catalogue (or any other instantiation sharing identical core page layout and scan markings—in digital instantiations the scan mark ‘+’ act as a direct hyperlink) by allowing users to scan pages using the catalogue app to access augmented reality content. Pieces of IKEA furniture can

136 Application and Case Studies then be viewed in the context of a real room, superimposing the view of the furniture onto the tablet or smartphone’s camera view of the room. (This functionality is outside the direct scope of this book. It does, however, represent a direct link between print and digital instantiations.) Note: this is one of two different IKEA apps, which have distinctly different appearances and functionality. When installed, the catalogue app icon is labelled simply as ‘catalogue’ and is listed in the relevant app stores as ‘IKEA catalogue’. This instantiation will always be referred to here as the catalogue app, the other IKEA app will be called IKEA app. IKEA website (f and Figure 5.7)—this is the main (UK) IKEA website at www.ikea.com/gb/en/. The main site is effectively a large product browser and web store. Notably it does not call itself a catalogue on the page, but all URLs browsing product areas contain ‘/catalogue/’, for example, ‘www.ikea.com/gb/en/catalog/categories/departments/living_room/’. The layout is similar to what a user might expect of a generic, large online web store, departing noticeably from the layout of the catalogues previously described. The web store has a wider range of products including images of alternative colours, styles, configurations, etc. for many of these products. Users can purchase IKEA products from this website, a significant difference in functionality over the instantiations already described The site has links to the online catalogue (which has a download link for the PDF) and to the app stores where the phone/tablet apps can be obtained. The online catalogue links to the website where full product information is available. The app catalogue does the same, but displays the website page within the app. Note: the IKEA website and the IKEA catalogue online are both accessed as websites and are both, effectively, catalogues. This instantiation will always be referred to here as the IKEA website or web store, the other as the online catalogue. IKEA mobile site (i and Figure 5.8)—a variation of the website previously described, designed specially to work on devices with smaller screen sizes, such as smartphones and tablets. All IKEA mobile URLs are preceded by ‘m.’ without www., for example, m.ikea.com/gb/en/.

Figure 5.7 The IKEA homepage page from the IKEA website, the product page for the TARVA drawer unit, and the page source for that same page. (IKEA (website), 1999–2012). This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

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The layout of the mobile site is markedly different from the full website and is arranged to suit a narrower screen with greater use of vertical space and scrolling. Most of the same content from the full site is present; however, there are fewer links to other products. For example, the ‘complementary products’ shown on the full site (such as varnish and paint brushes) are not shown or linked on the mobile site. Line lengths adjust to fit screen size and will also re-flow if a device when screen rotation is switched between portrait and landscape orientation. Users may still access the non-mobile website on mobile devices, via a link at the bottom of the page which allows users to switch between the mobile and ‘Full site’. If a user has managed to access the full version of a page on a mobile device without using the ‘Full site’ link, a note appears at the top of the page suggesting ‘Go to Mobile version of IKEA. co.uk’. IKEA app (j and Figure 5.8)—this app has a range of functions, including IKEA store location and product bar-code scanning. It also contains a product catalogue, which is what is of main interest here. This catalogue (simply called ‘products’) is navigated by a series of text-based menus and displays product images and information. Purchases cannot be made within the app itself, but purchase links are provided to each item on the IKEA website. As with the IKEA website, the IKEA app departs from the print catalogue layout. The app does not include room mock-ups and showcases, only direct product example pictures.

Figure 5.8 IKEA mobile site (left) for the same product shown in the second image of Figure 5.7, displayed here on an Android tablet and smartphone. (IKEA [mobile website], 1999–2012). IKEA app (right) page for the TARVA chest of 3 drawers. (IKEA [app 2], 2014) This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

138 Application and Case Studies The overview given in Figure 5.3 and the instantiations described show only a tiny area of the document set of the IKEA catalogue. (Note: the construction of the document set is questioned and revised in terms of instantiation relationships in Section 5.2.4.) As specified earlier, it focuses only on the UK 2015 issue—the diagram therefore appears wholly UK centric by intention and is limited to just one of many years’ issues. Even so, many specifics are missing. Most significantly, the digital ‘instantiations’ shown are bodiless— devoid of system or medium. For Figure 5.3 this was done for ease of diagramming, but within the context of this case study, the screenshot presented, divorced from its device, is meaningless except as a signifier for the embodiment as a whole. The IKEA website is not sensibly experienced by the user except when manifest on a medium and system (see the discussion in Section 5.1.2). Many of the screenshots shown so far in this case study are not shown on a specific computer (a laptop, a desktop of brand ‘xyz’, an iMac, a tablet, etc.; see Section 4.2 for the granularity of medium and system) but do still have the browser application bar/ interface above them. Even this is indicative of a specific system. The online catalogue, the PDF catalogue, the app catalogue, the website, and the IKEA app have been listed as separate instantiations, but in the diagram each represents a document sub-set of further instantiations based on system (hardware) differences. Some of these differences may be significant and worthy of investigation, others minor, but in need of justification as to why they can be ‘dismissed’ as such. Having mentioned systems and the display of digital instantiations, it should be noted that the IKEA catalogue app not only contains the current IKEA catalogue (and brochures, see end of this section for more discussion of these) but also any previously downloaded (now out-of-date) catalogues. Although, in Figure 5.3, catalogues from previous years, stretching back from the top of the diagram, have been excluded, they were still part of the app (at least on the phone of the researcher) in 2015. In this sense the organisation in Figure 5.3 does not make sense at a practical level from the point of view of the catalogue app. The catalogue app is a container for catalogues, rather than a catalogue itself, emphasising the complex relationships within the, at times, seemingly disembodied nature of digital documents. The print catalogue cannot contain both the 2014 and 2015 issues. 5.2.3 Set Inclusion and Boundaries Figure 5.3 was restricted to what could be thought of as the ‘official’ instantiations, that is, those deliberately released by IKEA and used or viewed within the probable intended context. The wide range of hardware and software through which the digital instantiations can be accessed produces a spectrum of variations that cannot be wholly accounted for. The printout version of the catalogue begins to push the boundaries further—the

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user can set the printer to print landscape, not portrait, or might print the catalogue only with black and white draft settings. However, these are all to some extent still within the intended uses. The other digital catalogue instantiations (excluding the IKEA website, IKEA app, and printout version) do not allow the user to print directly. But there are ways round this; a user might take a screenshot and then print the screenshot. The screenshot might be saved in a format that further compresses image quality. Parts of the catalogue may also feature within third-party content—spreads shown on blogs and websites, for example, or shared and embedded via social media, where the surrounding context cannot be anticipated. If the transfer is instead from print to digital, another scenario is possible: a reader of the main print catalogue might take a photograph of a page, or detail of a page, on a smartphone for the purpose of sharing with a friend or keeping as a reminder or reference (Figure 5.9). This photograph of the print catalogue might then be printed out again, using one of a range of different settings. Then there are user and reader

Figure 5.9 Users may not always interact with official instantiations in the ways intended by the document producer. IKEA produces two smartphone apps, but a user might still take a photograph of details for an item from the print catalogue (such as the price, in this example) on a phone to act as a reminder. (Page shown from IKEA [print] 2014, p. 2). This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

140 Application and Case Studies modifications—annotations, marginalia, and bookmarks. Some of the digital instantiations include the ability to add bookmarks and favourites internally. Readers might also make notes by hand on the print catalogue, marking for emphasis, adding extra details—all variations that can serve to distinguish one copy of an instantiation from another at some small level. The document set presented in Figure 5.3 is further limited by the inclusion of only public facing instantiations. Behind these there will be a raft of instantiations and files created in different software and mediums as part of the development of the published document. Some of these may be different versions—drafts of text or layout or mock-ups with filler content. Alternatively there are the documents from which a complex document may be composed—text and images written and created by different authors, stored in different places, which are then combined into one file. Other instantiations may appear very similar but for the change in system, for example, the high-quality print-ready file from which the print catalogue is output. There are also the different ‘views’ of what would otherwise be one instantiation—the code behind the web page or app, the postscript behind the document layout, etc. (see Figure 5.7). Any attempt to draw relationships among the instantiations represented in Figure 5.3 must be aware of the ‘hidden’ stages in between. These hidden stages are in some ways similar to occluded genres (Swales, 2004; see Section 2.2.3) but even more obscure or occluded. Additionally, these hidden stages have ambiguous status in terms of their own genre classification. As mentioned in Section 4.3, the exact division between such stages and instantiations may be a classification by degree, changing with intent and perspective. In addition to these ‘hidden’ (see Section 2.2.) and more customised instantiations of the catalogue document, the document set is defined (and therefore limited) by the decision as to where the boundary of similarity is drawn. The instantiations chosen for Figure 5.3 all represent ‘the’ (an?) IKEA catalogue, but even so there are some immediate divisions: the print catalogue and the online digital catalogue are more visually similar than the online digital catalogue and the searchable catalogue that makes up the IKEA website itself (see the explanation for each of the instantiations in Section 5.2.2). But ‘the’ IKEA catalogue is not the only public facing documentation, and other catalogue- (or brochure)-like documents exist; for example, IKEA business (IKEA, 2013) is aimed at office premises, retail outlets, and hospitality services. This business brochure is part of a set of IKEA product brochures, which in spring 2015 included the themes: Summer Fun, Bedroom, Wardrobes, Kitchens, and Bathrooms (IKEA, 2015). The brochures are not just sections taken from the main catalogue but have been specifically designed and compiled. A comparison between the IKEA business brochure/catalogue and the main IKEA catalogue can be seen in Figure 5.10. The two catalogues

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Figure 5.10 Comparison of spreads from IKEA business brochure/catalogue (left) and the main IKEA catalogue (right). The two catalogues are different—none of the spreads or room mock-up images used are the same. As such it is not possible to present two spreads that are directly ‘the same’ for comparison. These were chosen as they show similar products and situations (food storage) and because both feature a prominent use of the same line of IVAR storage units (seen on the left-hand page in both cases). Although many of the same product lines are shown (the business catalogue having a smaller range), they are sometimes shown in different configurations. Many of the products are modular and/or have a range of options. In this figure both show IVAR combinations, but at different prices and dimensions, due to different uses of parts and multiples. The styles are similar (especially across a wider range of spreads as a flexible grid is made good use of in both catalogues). Notably the use of text with(in) each image is similar, with prices places on top of the images. However, the main catalogue often features people interacting with the objects (although this is not illustrated here), a feature entirely absent from the business catalogue. For the business catalogue the accent colour is blue; for the main catalogue it is orange. Source: (IKEA [print 2], 2013, pp. 14–15, IKEA [print], 2014, pp. 100–101)

have overlap in terms of products shown (but using different images), presenting these products in a similar, although not identical, style. The product names are the same and the product information differs only when different variations or configurations of a product are used for the illustrations (see the caption for Figure 5.10 for detail). The question is: on what grounds should IKEA business (or any of the other ‘brochures’) be included, or excluded, from the document set? IKEA business is a different size, uses different colours and different illustrations, and shows a smaller set of products than the full IKEA catalogue. Moreover none of the pages or spreads are identical between the IKEA business and main print IKEA catalogues. These are significant differences. However, considerable differences also exist between the main print catalogue and the online web-store ‘catalogue’. This latter, to mention but a few differences, has fewer in situ images but a vast set of product variation and configuration pictures, more extensive product

142 Application and Case Studies information, different functionality (it can be used to shop online), and different mediums and systems of distribution and interaction.4 The two print catalogues here are both the same medium—print, interacted with in a similar way—and they organise information within the same set of constraints imposed by this shared medium. Clearly the business catalogue could be included in a document set of UK IKEA catalogues from a specific year—if any broadening of the set shown in Figure 5.3 was done, it would be one of the first candidates for inclusion in a broader set. Likewise, the IKEA app and the web store could be excluded in the narrowing of the set. They represent a greater departure than the systemisation instantiations (exact classification is discussed in Section 5.2.3) of the main catalogue. The brochures show fewer products in total than the main catalogue and are shorter in extent. However, the main catalogue itself shows fewer products, and/or fewer product variants, than the IKEA website does. Target audience presents a way to add a distinction between the brochures (especially in the case of the business brochure) and the main catalogue. Here the difference in audience, the separation between the individual or family furnishing a living space in a more general sense, compared to use in business or other restricted interest (such as only wanting to browse wardrobes) reflects a difference in use. The same person might make use of both catalogues, but they will be used in different contexts, even though in both cases the final action (the purchase of items from IKEA) is the same. Admittedly, for the instantiations that have been included in the document set, the specifics of use also vary: a smartphone app is not used in the same way a print catalogue is; the catalogue app and the IKEA app have different focuses—one for browsing and one for product specifics. The difference in the system may also create different sub-groups of users (due to access to and proficiency using technology). Enlarging the document set to include a greater breadth of content (such as the IKEA business catalogue) would, at a certain point, move towards a wider description of genre. As has been seen, there are different axes along which a document set might be organised and expanded—in this case study further documents from IKEA might be included to create ‘the document set of IKEA public facing documents’. Alternatively, external similarities might be found: the IKEA catalogue within a document set of other catalogues (and there would be varying degrees of similarity here). For example, the printed IKEA catalogue could be compared to another furniture or home goods catalogue from other brands/stores. The two print catalogues might be similar to each other not just in terms of medium but also layout and general method of presentation in some examples (itself likely as a result of the conventions of the shared medium and genre). The IKEA website, on the other hand, uses a different medium,

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means of interaction, layout, and level of detail from the print catalogue but might be grouped with the IKEA print catalogue in terms of product specifics, branding, and ownership. With a sufficiently broad definition of ‘document’ (see Section 3.4), the carefully curated contents of IKEA stores could be seen as documents, as a 1:1 life-size instantiation of the other catalogues shown in Figure 5.3. The store contains the same products but with in-room mock-ups and stand-alone displays showing the same product information printed on small labels. The broadening of document sets to include large, three-dimensional spaces such as buildings is outside the scope of this case study and the narrower sense of document in use here (although labels within these spaces would still be documents). However, there is a similarity between the fullpage photographs of room mock-ups in the catalogue with the mock-ups of rooms in the stores themselves and the integration of text and image (or, space) in both cases. In the catalogue, product information is placed over the photograph and next to the relevant product in the picture. In the store, product information labels and signs are placed on products within the rooms or hang from the ceiling next to the relevant product. 5.2.4 Relationships Between Instantiations Having outlined the boundary of the document set for the IKEA catalogue (2015, UK issue), discussion now moves to the relationships among the specific instantiations within the set. This discussion will be carried out within the framework outlined in the previous chapter (specifically Section 4.3) and in the context of the initial descriptions given for each instantiation following Figure 5.3. Care must be taken in the allocation of any sense of primacy to a specific instantiation. Although the IKEA catalogue is being used as an example of a document set in which the different instantiations are all published together, the following comparison places an emphasis on some instantiations more than others. In terms of intent (see Section 4.4), this might be done from the perspective of the document producers (what they see as the ‘core’ instantiation, if any), or from that of the document consumers, or both. With the IKEA catalogue the print instantiation has a longer history than the other public facing instantiations and has been a key part of the brand identity. Although recent changes in technology have been accompanied by a number of new instantiations, many of these still retain metaphors of the print catalogue, with implementations of spreads and numbered pages in new mediums. Therefore, the print catalogue and its most similar instantiations are the starting points for comparison, which then progresses to the more divergent instantiations.

144 Application and Case Studies Print, Store, and PDF Catalogues (Figure 5.11) The mainstream print instantiation of the IKEA catalogue and the instore reference instantiation present an initial systematisation relationship. The layout and content of both appear ‘the same’: the same words, pictures, and graphic devices in the same combination and order. The medium and system of production are relatively similar—both are ‘print’ but on different stocks (making the store reference copy thicker). A significant difference is the binding method: perfect for the mainstream catalogue compared to bolts for the store version (Figure 5.12). Here some change in production beyond simply printing on heavy stock and using a new binding takes place between the instantiations. This is a minimal change within systematisation. Moving next to digital instantiations, the catalogue PDF again exists in a systematisation relationship to the print catalogue. Because the print catalogue and the store reference print catalogues are systematisations of one another, the PDF catalogue is also a systematisation of the store reference catalogue (and vice versa). Again, the layout and content appear

Figure 5.11 Systematisation relationships among the print, store, and PDF catalogue instantiations. All three instantiations have systematisation relationships to one another, although the print and store reference copies are more similar to one another than the PDF. This diagram will be built up further over the following pages.

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Figure 5.12 Print catalogue, in-store print reference catalogue, and detail of binding margin on in-store reference catalogue.

‘the same’ across the change in system. In the PDF, pages are presented as spreads, with no loss in the spine and navigation between spreads using the computer’s interface rather than a physical page turn. The PDF could be viewed on a wide range of hardware—a desktop Mac, a touchscreen PC laptop, a smartphone, etc., and each of these would present a different experience to the user. So long as each of these systems has the capability of displaying the features encoded for the PDF, it is still classed as a systematisation (within the context of digital materiality; see Sections 4.2 and 4.5) in relation to the two print instantiations.

Online and App Catalogues and Printouts (Figure 5.13) The IKEA catalogue online and the IKEA catalogue app both present a step of divergence away from the trio of systematisations addressed so far. Initially they appear on a level with the PDF catalogue—systematisations (within the context of digital materiality): the same alpha-numerical and pictorial content in the same relative layout but presented in a different (digital) system with only those minor changes necessary to meet the changes between systems of compatible capabilities. However, both the online and app catalogue systematisations have additional features beyond those needed for the change in system from print. With relevance to Norrish’s (1987) translations among systems of differing capabilities (see Section 3.2.2), the detail here is not that one system is higher or lower than another but that they overlap in the areas of capability necessary to display the document. One system may have a vastly higher capability overall, but as long as both can display an overlapping set of features needed for a specific document, this does not matter (the higher system is not being used to full effect, but the document does not require this). The direct view of the catalogue spreads within the online catalogue and catalogue app relate as systematisations both of one another and the instantiations discussed in the preceding paragraphs. However, the full functionality of the online and app catalogues contains additional

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Figure 5.13 Systematisation relationship between the IKEA catalogue online and IKEA catalogue app.

information, interactivity, images, and videos. This means that, overall, the online catalogue and print catalogues are not systematisations of one another: the addition of a video is not a minimum alteration necessary for a change between the systems. Nor is it a re-configuration relationship: it is not that the same alpha-numerical and pictorial content is present but that the same broad content is present in a different style and arrangement. If the online catalogue and app catalogue are taken as a whole, they must be different embodiments compared to the print (and store and PDF) catalogues. Yet they are not full re-embodiments as generally intended in Section 4.3.4—they are embodiments containing systematisations. Taken in isolation, the .jpg images of catalogue spreads viewed in the IKEA catalogue app are systematisations of the print and PDF catalogues. The layout, images, and content of the pages are the same in all of

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these systems and instantiations. It is when they are part of the app,5 with the additional functionality it adds, that the embodiment classification is applicable (see Figure 5.14). The added content has its own layout, not seen at all in the print and PDF instantiations, and in some cases forms a framing device to the content that would otherwise be considered as systematisation. However, even within the app and online catalogue, the additional content is hidden to a large extent until activated. It would be entirely possible to browse the web catalogue as a systematisation of the print catalogue, without using either the top or bottom menus

Figure 5.14 PDF catalogue top, followed by screenshots from the IKEAcatalogueapp on a smartphone, showing three different levels of menu intrusion onto the spreads (from left to right and top to bottom). As can be seen, in the default view (second row of the first image) the only noticeable difference is the blue triangle signalling the location of the menu. However, once the menus are activated, the appearance of the spread becomes crowded and makes the previously hidden additional functions available (hairline black border added to all images by the author). This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

148 Application and Case Studies (which are minimised by default). The social media buttons are relatively discrete, and the videos are optional, again with discrete buttons and markers on the page to trigger them. If these buttons are seen as minor additions, it is possible for a user to view the online and app catalogues solely as systematisations. Figure 5.15 shows the relationships among the instantiations covered so far. The printout instantiations (Figure 5.16) contain the possibility of a wide range of further digital and print instantiations. The end user might use and create further instantiations from the images that make up the printout instantiations in a vast number of ways. A user might, for

Figure 5.15 The relationship of the online and app catalogues (systematisations of one another) to the print, store, and PDF catalogues (systematisations of one another). Under the framework of Chapter 4, the two groups are embodiments relative to each other, due to added content. However, the online catalogue and app are clearly based around close systematisations of the print and PDF group; the extra content is in addition ‘on top’ of the systematisation.

Figure 5.16 Printout catalogue on screen, in on-screen printer dialogue, then inkjet printed as two spreads to a page portrait in black and white.

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example, wish to have a T-shirt printed covered in pictures of IKEA catalogue page spreads. In theory this would be a further print instantiation of the IKEA catalogue. In practice it is not practical here to ponder every conceivable and novel way for a third party to re-instantiate (or, indeed, wear) the IKEA catalogue. However, the most common instantiations in which the printout catalogue material could appear might reasonably be assumed to be: 1) the web page containing spreads as a continuous run of images and 2) printouts made from these images (some other possibilities are covered in the caption to Figure 5.16). Option 1 represents a re-configuration of the print and PDF catalogues but an embodiment relative to the online catalogue and app catalogue (assuming the online catalogue and app are themselves seen as embodiments of the print and PDF catalogues). Here the content is the same and in the same order but presented without any clear separation or metaphor for the page: multiple pages are visible at once on default browser settings. (It would also be possible to zoom out and/or change scroll settings in a PDF viewer to achieve a similar result with the PDF catalogue.) With Option 2 the nature of the relationship depends on the specifics of how the images are printed by the user. Certainly the printout is not a copy of the regular print instantiation—the print quality and method, stock, and binding would all differ. The printout pages can be printed only as spreads, unless the user takes the time to separate them into pages using an image editor (Figure 5.16). A systematisation relative to the print catalogue would be possible—the spreads could be printed, ordered, and collated. Re-configurations would also be possible, for example, if several pages were to be printed per sheet of paper. Sufficient variation may also be arrived at to result in a different embodiment, for example, by printing in black and white with several images per page. The range of options within the sub-set of printout instantiations means that these instantiations would exist in different relationships to one another. Some printout instantiations will be systematisations relative to one another but embodiments relative to other printout instantiations. Websites and IKEA App (Figure 5.17) So far, all of the instantiations have been centred on the same (or very similar) set of catalogue page layouts and spreads but packaged in different ways. The IKEA website (regular and mobile version) and IKEA app both show extreme variation relative to these spread-based instantiations. The preceding ‘catalogue’ instantiations can be seen as forming their own set of instantiations based around the catalogue spreads, from which the website and app depart. Although the IKEA website and IKEA app both provide information and illustration of the IKEA product range (as the other instantiations do), they do so within a completely different layout from the other instantiations, using more and/or different pictures

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Figure 5.17 Relationship between the IKEA website, mobile site, and IKEA app. The IKEA website represents an embodiment relative to the other two instantiations, even its own mobile version, due to considerable change in layout, style, and content. The mobile site and IKEA app are far more similar to one another. Although there are noticeable changes in layout and detailing, the content is broadly the same within this variation.

and text. Immediately the IKEA website and app instantiations can be seen as different embodiments relative to any and all of the other instantiations discussed so far. The layout and content differ greatly, and in most cases they utilise different systems. The distinction as to whether the system has changed will vary with each comparison between specific instantiations and the degree of exactness used. The IKEA online catalogue and IKEA website are both pages on the internet and can be viewed in the same browser by the user on the same hardware. However, the former is presented as a Flash object and the later as a JavaScript/HTML/CSS, web page, etc. These represent two systems with potentially different capabilities, even though both instantiations are accessed using the same hardware and browser online. A browser without a Flash player plug-in would be able to access the IKEA website, but not the online catalogue, so the system difference can be pinpointed here. Compared to the other instantiations which had an embodiment relationship to the print catalogue, the website and app can be seen as further removed and might even be split into a separate document set. The catalogue app and online catalogue form something of a bridge as the ‘Show Products’ menu on the bottom of the screen in these instantiations shows isolated product images and information in a style more similar to the website and IKEA app than the print catalogue spreads.

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The IKEA app is for use on smartphones and tablets running Android and iOS and is designed to work within the constraints of a small screen and touch interaction. The IKEA website has both a standard and mobile version of each product page, the latter of which is better suited to a small screen. Although the main website is not designed for a small screen, it may still be accessed on smaller mobile devices (examples shown in Figure 5.18). The IKEA app and the IKEA mobile website product pages show marked similarities on an initial view. The layout and styling are broadly the same, with some variations in detail. For example, the button to expand a collapsible content heading on the app is an arrow; on the

Figure 5.18 Comparison of the ‘TARVA chest of 3 drawers’ unit product page on: (top) the IKEA website on a laptop, (lower left) the IKEA website on a smartphone, (lower centre) the IKEA mobile site on a smartphone, and (lower right) the IKEA app one a smartphone. This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

152 Application and Case Studies website it is a cross. The behaviour after this, however, is different: the headings on the app pop-up a full screen box with the relevant information (e.g., ‘Product Information’); on the mobile website the headings expand into content boxes, several of which may be open at once. There is a direct link between the two but only one way: from the app the user can press a button to go to the relevant mobile website page (to allow the user to purchase the item—this functionality is not present in the app), but the user cannot go from the website to the app. The app has only one orientation (portrait), but the mobile web page will adjust line length to accommodate a wider landscape view in addition to the portrait orientation closely matching the app. The relationship between these two is somewhere between systematisation and configuration: a change in system is present, but layout change is generally minimal. However, slight changes in content and styling are present (e.g., the presence of the button linking the app to the website). The (non-mobile) website has a strong stylistic link to both of these instantiations. Content is similar, with some (but not all) of the same pictures, the same product descriptions, and similar styling (the IKEA brand blue, the same typeface, plain white background, etc.). However, the layout and the organisation of content is different—key information (name, price, size, etc.) appears to the side of the main picture, not below. The area below instead shows ‘Complementary Products’ (a feature absent from both the mobile website and IKEA app) and ‘Product Information’ under separate tabs. Interestingly, the individual product pages on the IKEA website are very static—line lengths will not adjust to match changes in window size. This contrasts to the mobile site, which can adapt line length to suit screen orientation. Due to these differences in layout and content, the website represents an embodiment relative to the mobile and IKEA app instantiations but one of closer similarity to the other instantiations described here, to which it is a more distant embodiment. Figure 5.19 shows the relationships among all of the instantiations covered in this section. 5.2.5 Summary Points Across print and assorted digital systems, a core section of the instantiations forming the IKEA catalogue document set communicate a unified page layout—‘the same’ page make-up, with ‘the same’ text and image across instantiations. Only those instantiations not directly calling themselves ‘catalogues’ (the website and IKEA app instantiation) deviate from this. Due to this focus on maintaining the same pages (or simulations thereof) and layouts, the set presents a lack of middle ground: there are systematisations, and there are embodiments but few re-configurations. Re-configurations would change the layout—the line endings and the

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Figure 5.19 The relationships and groupings of the IKEA catalogue document set as reviewed in this case study, compiled from the figures and discussion in this section. The inclusion of the group of ‘varied relationships’ that were not covered in detail represents a very wide range of possible relationships that would vary on a case-by-case basis (see Sections 5.2.2 and 5.2.3 for further details). As can be seen, the instantiations based around the core catalogue page layouts have a higher degree of similarity to one another. See Section 5.2.5 for further analysis. This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

picture placement. In this particular document set, the catalogue layout is a key part of the document set identity. Where the relationship between these catalogue-based instantiations jumps from systematisation to embodiment, it is not that the core page layout has changed but that ‘the same’ page layout has been placed in a

154 Application and Case Studies new context that augments its functionality. This is seen in the online and app catalogues, which add videos (significant as a change or addition of mode, not just a change in content) and additional product information. These are embodiments built around systematisations: augmentations. These differing embodiments appear more similar to one another on an immediate level than might be anticipated from an initial reading of the framework in Section 4.3, due to the inescapable similarity of the catalogue page spread systematisations within the embodiments. Although some of the instantiations feature optional video content, all use text and images (although it would be possible to disable image loading in a web browser). There is little variation among the modes used across instantiations, but there is a great deal of change in the relative balance of use of those modes. Instantiations based around the print catalogue spreads are very image dominant, including full-bleed images across full spreads. Other instantiations, such as the IKEA app, still use the core modes of text and image, but the images are of reduced impact, used to illustrate rather than drive engagement with the document. There is also a difference in the technical and conceptual functions of the modes (see Section 4.5.3). In some of the digital instantiations featuring the core catalogue spreads, the text is encoded as digital text (and can be selected, copied, etc.); in others it is part of an image—no more technically distinguished than, for example, a picture of a shower curtain. For the user this makes little difference (unless trying to copy and paste text or search key words), it is effectively the same as the main print instantiation—the text and image have been combined into a system and materiality which make no distinction. The relationship of seeing one systematisation as the basis for a more divergent embodiment instantiation reinforces the discussion in Section 4.4 relating to document boundaries and combinations; that is, where a systematisation of the catalogue is augmented by further options, content, and methods of interaction, the systematisation is still present but within an embodiment. Likewise, the catalogue app has been seen to be a container for catalogues rather than a catalogue itself. The question of document boundaries and identity is more pronounced in The Guardian case study that follows (see specifically Sections 5.3.5 and 5.4 and for combined discussion, ahead or additional discussion in Chapter 6).

5.3 The Guardian Note: Many of the images in this case study appear several times at various sizes and as part of larger diagrams. As with the previous case study, image references will be provided only once, at that publication’s first appearance (unless otherwise stated). For example, the page size of the The Guardian print newspaper is not repeated after its mention in

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Figure  5.20. (All photographs of documents as physical instantiations and as shown on hardware were taken by the author.) 5.3.1 Overview This second case study focuses on The Guardian (Figure 5.20), a national British newspaper published daily by the Guardian Media Group. The daily print circulation of The Guardian was 180,731 copies in September 20146 (The Guardian, 2014). In addition to its print distribution, The Guardian also has a significant digital presence, having announced in 2011 that it would pursue a ‘digital first’ focus (Andrew Miller, quoted in Sabbagh, 2011), ‘a major transformation’ aimed at doubling digital revenue, following declining print sales (Sabbagh, 2011). This emphasis on digital adaptation, in addition to its existing print instantiation, makes it a highly suitable example for this book.7 As will be seen, The Guardian content is published over a wide range of systems, some of them run by third party companies. Due to this, there is a lower level of central control over instantiations than seen in the IKEA case study. As such, it is neither practical nor useful to describe the minutiae of details across all instantiations—the main cases will be selected with details drawn out where relevant. The Guardian is a complicated document (i.e., it contains: text, images, an articulated hierarchy, a range of types of information, etc.) with

Figure 5.20 The Guardian, 6 May 2015, the specific issue of the newspaper on which much of this case focuses: page size 313 × 470 mm. (The Guardian, 6.05.15). This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

156 Application and Case Studies instantiations across multiple systems and mediums. Whereas the core IKEA catalogue instantiations were predominantly image centric, The Guardian is far more text dominant, although many images are still present. The instantiations and format of The Guardian have changed over time, both in print (e.g., the move to the ‘Berliner’ page format in 2005, Cozens, 2005) and online (e.g., The Guardian Facebook app, launched in 2011 is no longer accessible, Pickard, 2011), but it will be considered here as it is published at present rather than in any historical context. In addition to The Guardian, there is the weekly published The Guardian Weekly, and a Sunday paper, The Observer. The former contains content from both the latter and the daily editions of The Guardian. More details of the relevant specifics of this relationship are covered in Section 5.3.3. The Guardian Weekly and The Observer are not a focus of this study, but it is important to be aware of these sister newspapers from the outset as they are strongly linked to the document set of The Guardian, and their content is combined in some of the digital instantiations. Additionally, it should be noted that the print instantiation of The Guardian includes separate supplements, varying with the day of the week—more information on supplements is given in Section 5.3.2. 5.3.2 Instantiations and Core Document Set As with the IKEA catalogue, to make sense of the changes and variations among specific instantiations of The Guardian, it is first necessary to gain an overview of the document set and the instantiations of which it is comprised. The document set of The Guardian is potentially very broad: not only is it published across multiple instantiations, mediums, and systems, but this happens daily. To enable a focus on the relationships among specific instantiations, a narrow date band has been used, primarily using issues from the week May 4—10 2015, with the main cover story from the 6 May 2015 Wednesday issue (The Guardian, 06.05.15) being used in the majority of the illustrations. May 4—10 was the week of the UK national election, 2015. As might be anticipated this meant there was a central, dominant theme to coverage for the issues of that week, and this is seen in the figures accompanying this case study. The Guardian is published only in English, removing one possible dimension from the document set as compared to the IKEA catalogue. Although there are distinct US and Australian Guardian websites,8 these share a common layout and style with the UK site and have shared news content. The distinction between these will not be a focus of this case study. Suffice to say that they show and emphasise different stories as fits local interests but within the same general layout and styling. For example, on 5 May 2015 the US and UK website front pages both showed a headline and image relating to an article about a shooting in Texas. On the US front page this is the top story, but on the UK version, it is on a

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second level after UK election news. Clicking the link to the story on both the UK and US front pages linked to an identical story. Both story pages have identical URLs, but mark their respective edition (UK/US) with the relevant option showing on the edition selector in the top right of the header. Therefore, it is possible to be on the UK Guardian page while using the US edition and vice versa. Before moving to the overview of the set and the description of the specific instantiations, it must be noted that The Guardian’s digital instantiations are far more responsive than those seen with the IKEA catalogue. The specifics of this will be covered as the case study progresses, but in general this responsive content makes classification more convoluted. As was mentioned in Section 5.3.1 a number of these digital instantiations operate on systems run by third parties, which present content written by The Guardian. Therefore, the presentation of The Guardian content might not always be fully controlled by The Guardian but subject to changes in third party systems, leading to an even greater range of possibilities. Due to these digital vagaries and the size of the document set, it might be organised, or mapped, in a number of different ways depending on the focus and perspective of enquiry. Using the UK edition for Wednesday, 6 May 2015, the following organisation could be constructed to give an overview of the document set (Figure 5.21). A brief explanation and description of the instantiations shown in Figure 5.21 is now given to outline more of the specifics pertaining to the responsive digital instantiations and to clarify the difference between them (e.g., how The Guardian app differs from The Guardian daily edition app). More detailed discussion of the relationships among the different instantiations is given in Section 5.3.3. The Guardian (print; a and Figure 5.22)—A full-colour printed newspaper, 313 × 470 mm, folded newsprint. The extent varies over the week by day as different days contain specific recurring sections, features, and supplements (which are themselves not of constant extent). The core newspaper is around 40 pages, the daily Sports supplement ~10 pages, and the weekday G2 supplement 24 pages. This is what might be traditionally regarded as ‘the’ The Guardian newspaper by the public, although The Guardian itself is now committed to growing digital services (see Section 5.3.1). The print newspaper is available from newsagents, supermarkets, etc. The main paper contains news (national and international), opinion pieces, letters, reviews, obituaries, jobs listings, weather forecast, puzzles, and advertisements. Some additional sections appear only on specific days of the week, such as the Education section on a Tuesday (the details of which sections appear on which days are not directly relevant to the level of analysis in this case study). The Guardian Sports section is a separate daily supplement, which comes folded inside the main paper. The G2 supplement is included every weekday, again with the type of content

Figure 5.21 Overview of the document set for The Guardian, 6 May 2015. The images given show the ‘front page’ of each instantiation, that is, the cover of the printed newspaper or the landing page for the day’s digital instantiations. Each of the illustrations for the digital instantiations is representative of a host of sub-variables in terms of device used. For this case study only a greyscale Kindle has been used as this has a significant difference in capability relative to

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Figure 5.22 The Guardian print newspaper for 6 May 2015. The newspaper comes with a sport and G2 supplement which folded inside the paper on Wednesdays. (The Guardian, 06.05.15, p. 1)

varying by day. The G2 page size is half that of the main paper and Sports supplement and is stapled together, not just folded. The cover contains images, headlines, straplines, and parts of major articles that are continued further inside the paper. The pages contain a mix of text and images, with specifics of format and layout varying with the content type. Most pages contain multiple, different stories, articles, and reviews and their associated illustrations, these different pieces of content being separated by rules and boxes. Text within these pieces is arranged in columns, sometimes with additional, lighter, separating rules; headings may run across multiple columns. Images are primarily photographic, with captions outside the image area (again, this is a generalisation; advertisements and information graphics frequently diverge from this).

other mobile device instantiations. The relationship between The Guardian and The Observer is covered in Section 5.3.3. Referencing information for the images in this diagram is given in the captions accompanying the follow text. A black border has been added to all digital instantiation illustrations. Please see the main text following for an explanation of the images and instantiations within the diagram and the caption text accompanying the explanations for the individual image and document references used in the diagram. This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

160 Application and Case Studies The Guardian digital newspaper (e and Figure 5.23)—an online version of The Guardian print edition as distinct from The Guardian website. A range of websites and companies provide similar services in this area, making an extensive range of print newspapers from around the world available digitally. Newspaper Direct (www.newspaperdirect.com) and Press Reader (www.pressreader.com) are two typical examples. The web interfaces provide a range of viewing and navigation options, including zoom, one- and two-page (spread) view selection, an interactive index, thumbnails, the ability to download the paper as a PDF, and the option to print pages (or parts of pages) from the paper. There is also an option to have sections of the paper read aloud by a synthetic text-to-speech voice. The page(s) of the newspaper are interactive objects with encoded text (rather than a simple picture of the page). In addition to reading the pages of the newspaper on screen in their print layout, the user can click on an article or area of text to make it appear in a pop-up window (Figure 5.23 right). Here the article is (re)formatted as a single column of running text instead of the multi-column format of the print newspaper. The Sports and G2 supplements retain their identity as in the main print instantiations and are browsed separately from the main section of the paper. The Guardian PDF (f and Figure 5.24)—a PDF file of The Guardian is available via some of the digital newspaper instantiations already mentioned. Note that the PDF instantiation of The Guardian is not available from The Guardian directly, only from the digital newspaper sites. The Guardian printout (c and Figure 5.24)—the digital newspaper sites mentioned here allow the user to print pages from The Guardian. The user could also do this after first downloading a PDF file of the newspaper

Figure 5.23 Above and right, The Guardian digital newspaper via newspaperdirect. com. As with the print edition, the supplements are available to browse as distinct objects. Some of the navigation functions (shown left) include section bookmarks and page thumbnails. On the far right is an example of a single article displayed in a pop-out window, reformatted from the multi-column layout. (The Guardian [digital], 06.05.15). This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

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Figure 5.24 PDF and black-and-white laser printout of that PDF onto A3 paper. (The Guardian [PDF], 06.05.15)

and then printing from the PDF. The final appearance of the printout will depend on the print settings and the specific printer used. A range of variations is possible here: laser, inkjet, colour, greyscale, black and white, print-quality settings, paper choice, etc. Additionally the user might choose to send the print job to a PDF (or XPS, or similar) printer, generating a digital PDF of the print view of the online newspaper, a secondary form of PDF newspaper in addition to the ‘main’ PDF instantiation available as a download option on the digital newspaper sites. The Guardian website (d and Figure 5.25)—this is the main UK The Guardian website at www.theguardian.com/uk (/us and /au variants are not covered by this case study). The front page contains headlines, straplines, and images as links to full stories on the site. This front page contains far less detail (little or no running text) than the front page of the print newspaper, but a greater number of pieces are featured. Across the site, content is sorted into sections (national and international news, opinion, sports, etc.) as seen with the print newspaper. After the front page and section pages, full pieces have a page to themselves each, unlike the print instantiations, where several pieces and stories may share a page. The website provides video and audio elements for some articles. The site layout adapts to browser window size at five main levels, the main changes being the re-arrangement of page elements that are not part of the central story (see Figure 5.25). The view of the website seen on a smartphone may appear as a different arrangement to that on a laptop,

Figure 5.25 The layout of The Guardian website adapts relative to the width of the browser window. Some of this change happens by degree, but the five main stages showing more pronounced variation are shown here. Note especially the change in position of the popular stories column on the right (on narrower versions this is moved to the end of the article) and the social media sharing buttons. (Hyde [online], 2015). This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

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but the laptop can arrive at the same arrangement as the smartphone by reducing the browser window size. A significant difference in content between the website (and its related instantiations to follow) and the print newspaper is that the website contains news stories, pieces, and articles from more than one day. The content of ‘a day’s’ print newspaper changes every day, whereas the articles on the front page of the website will change daily (if not more often), and the articles from previous days can still be accessed within the same site at a later date. The Guardian website printout (b and Figure 5.26)—pages printed from The Guardian website by users. The for-print page of an article generated by the website is noticeably different from the main website formatting. Images and graphics are absent, as is the site’s navigation and ‘Related Content’ features. The article is presented on its own, as a single column of black text on a white background filling the page (even with landscape print settings) with small margins. As with the other printout instantiation (e.g., Figure 5.24), the final appearance of the printout will depend on the print settings and the specific printer used. Additionally the user might choose to send the print job to a PDF (or XPS, or similar) printer, generating a digital PDF. Guardian app (g and Figure 5.27 top row)—available on Google Play and the Apple App store for smartphones and tablets. This app appears very similar to The Guardian website but is accessed through a custom app or browser. If users are browsing The Guardian website on a device with the Guardian app installed, they are prompted to continue reading in the app rather than the device browser (although this is optional). The front page story or headline selection and layout is similar to the website, although the app uses fewer images (the app front page lacks the large, blue banner header seen on the website). A side navigation menu can be accessed via a button at the top of the app, providing links to the main content sections (news, music, education, etc.). Individual articles and stories are also presented in a very similar layout to the website. As with the website, the layout of the app adapts to device and screen size and orientation, the re-arranging of content happening in a manner similar to the website. The Guardian app in many ways functions as a propriety browser for viewing The Guardian website and CMS content but does not allow readers access to some of the nonjournalism-related content of the website, such as The Guardian dating service. However, such services are outside the scope of this case study. Note: this instantiation is one of two different apps for The Guardian; although these access overlapping content, they have some differences in appearance and functionality. This instantiation will always be referred to here as the Guardian app; the other app is called Guardian and Observer daily edition app. The former app is free and available on both smartphones and tablets, whereas the second app requires a subscription and is only for tablets.

Figure 5.26 Website printout: the article on The Guardian website, the article in print preview, and the article printed with colour laser A4. (Hyde [online], 2015). This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

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Guardian and Observer daily edition app (h and Figure 5.27 bottom row)—available on Google Play, Amazon Appstore, and the Apple App store for tablets and Kindle Fire. This is a paid-for subscription app available on tablet-sized devices only. Each day a new digital edition of The Guardian (or Observer on Sundays) is downloaded by the app. Within each issue only those articles from that specific day’s paper are available. To access past articles the user must navigate back to the app’s starting screen and select a past issue. Although this sorting of content is more similar to the print newspaper, the general interaction and layout closely resembles that of the Guardian app. The Guardian and Observer daily edition app includes video content from The Guardian website not found in the print instantiation of the paper. There are also some differences in image selection, with the Guardian and Observer daily edition app following those found in the print newspaper rather than the website. Guardian and Observer Kindle edition (g and Figure 5.28)—daily subscription for Amazon Kindle e-readers This is a paid-for subscription available for a range Kindle e-readers but will be discussed here in the context of those with black-and-white electrophoretic displays as this marks a distinct difference in system capability not seen in the previous systems and instantiations. This is seen in details such as article’s author names, which are picked out in colour in most of the other instantiations but differentiated by means of italicisation in the Kindle edition. This instantiation does have pictures but in black and white. As with the Guardian and Observer daily edition app, a new digital edition of The Guardian (or Observer on Sundays) is downloaded each day. Within each issue only those articles from that specific day’s paper are available. To access past articles the user must navigate back to the Kindle’s index screen and select a past issue. The front page of each issue has a standard layout, which does not change from day to day, unlike in other instantiations. A 2×2 grid of categories and sections is displayed per page (Top stories, UK News, International, Financial, etc.), giving a link to that section and the main story within the section for each issue. The Sports and G2 supplements have their own sections. Each story appears on its own page (or run of pages), with little menu, navigation, or related-content clutter on screen. As the device does not have continuous scroll, content is portioned into pages, although the page division will vary depending on device screen size and user text size and display preferences. There are thousands of issues of The Guardian across multiple instantiations, all of which can be said to make up the document set of The Guardian. The overview given in Figure 5.21 and the instantiations described show only a tiny portion of the set, focussing on the current, main, publicly accessible instantiations with specifics drawn from just one week’s issues.

Figure 5.27 Two different Guardian apps: (top row) Guardian app showing the same story on a range of devices, in both landscape and portrait orientations, iPad 3 (retina display) 185 × 240 mm, Nexus 7 114 × 200 mm, Galaxy S3 mini 63 × 121 mm; and (top row) Guardian and Observer daily edition app, showing (left) the ‘front page’ of the day’s edition, and (right) a screenshot of the same story. (The Guardian [app 1], 06.05.15; Hyde [app 1], 2015). This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

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Such a simple run-through of the digital instantiations encounters the same problems of system and medium specificity as those found with the IKEA catalogue (and, therefore, not restated in full here; see Section 5.2). None of the digital instantiations are experienced by the user except when manifest on a medium and system (see the discussion in Section 5.1.2—a note on images). The digital instantiations have been listed as separate, distinct instantiations here, but in the diagram each represents a document sub-set of further instantiations based on possible system (hardware) differences. A key area of difference within the instantiations of The Guardian is that of depth and identity of content over time. The contents of each day’s print instantiation is different: the Thursday, 7 May, issue does not also contain the content of the Wednesday, 6 May, issue. Here the difference is distinct as separate physical objects. The Guardian and Observer daily edition app updates daily to receive the latest content and displays each day’s content and issue as a distinct, daily edition to the user but all within the container of the app; the app is a container of newspaper content rather than a newspaper itself. The Guardian website and Guardian app

Figure 5.28 The Guardian and Observer Kindle edition, showing (left) the grid arrangement of the front page and (right) the start of the main article used in this case study. As with other instantiations this is the main headline article and appears as the top left article on the front page. However, it is not immediately recognisable as the image selection is completely different from that found in other instantiations. (The Guardian [Kindle], 06.05.15; Hyde [Kindle], 2015)

168 Application and Case Studies show that day’s news on the front page and section pages, but after that, the distinction of content by day becomes a matter of notation (articles contain a date of publication) rather than structure. There is no direct organisation of content by day or by print publication issue. An article from one day may link back directly to articles on a similar subject from previous weeks or months. The division and grouping of content into set, distinct, daily editions for the Guardian and Observer daily edition app is artificial compared to The Guardian website and Guardian app. There is not a technological or system limitation meaning that content on this digital instantiation cannot be more dynamic (although for some users, being able to download the day’s newspaper in advance and then read offline may be a necessity). Instead an active editorial decision has been made to retain the print newspaper convention of daily publication. 5.3.3 Wider Document Set and Genre The instantiations described here represent the core of the public facing instantiations of The Guardian as distributed or made available by the Guardian Media Group and its partners. However, as with the IKEA catalogue, the ‘official’ or ‘indented’ instantiations do not account for everything. Screenshots of web pages; digital photographs of sections of print instantiations; file versions and fragments used only by the writers, designers, and publishers; copy and pasted or re-reported content; and the assorted different ways in which a user might attempt to print out parts of digital instantiations onto hard copy all provide scope for a plethora of ‘other’ instantiations. (The reasoning here is, again, essentially similar to that found in the IKEA case study; see the first three paragraphs of Section 5.2.3—set inclusion and boundaries for a more detailed explanation.) The interaction between The Guardian, The Guardian Weekly, and The Observer creates a question of content identity greater than that found with the additional brochures from IKEA. The Guardian is published every day except Sundays, when its sister newspaper, The Observer, is published. The Guardian Weekly is published weekly but is generally only available via subscription9 and has an international scope and readership. Content for The Guardian Weekly is drawn from ‘the considerable editorial resources of The Guardian, with selected features from The Observer, the Washington Post and Le Monde’ (theguardian.com/weekly, [no date]). Both of these newspapers appear in print and a range of other instantiations, similar to those outlined for The Guardian. Each therefore represents a document set in its own right in addition to being a part of a broader Guardian document set. These two sister newspapers and their instantiations are looked at here in the same level of detail as The Guardian, but some discussion is necessary due to their close connection to The Guardian document set.

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The print instantiation of The Observer appears relatively distinct from The Guardian’s print instantiation. They use the same paper size but are typographically distinct from one another (different font and layout), and The Guardian is not mentioned on The Observer’s front page. The Guardian Weekly paper format is half the size of the other two papers but retains branding and style closer to The Guardian. The website instantiations for The Guardian, The Observer, and The Guardian Weekly, however, present a far more uniform appearance. The websites for both sister papers all fall under the main theguardian.com domain. Even when they have distinct domains listed, they re-direct to theguardian.com; for example, www.observer.co.uk, given as the website for The Observer on its front cover redirects to www.theguardian.com/observer. The home and front-page sites for all three papers then use the same style and grid template, meaning that these significant digital instantiations appear to be within The Guardian’s key document set. As websites they lack the independence that the different formats, layouts, or styling of the print instantiations suggest. The relationship between these three papers highlights the questions related to document identity covered in Chapter 4. The websites all appear to be very similar in branding and appearance, produced as extensions of The Guardian website and blurring their identity. In terms of branding, The Guardian Weekly in print appears closely linked to The Guardian in print, but The Guardian Weekly is a concatenation of transcluded content (see Section 4.5) from multiple newspapers. Each of these pieces of transcluded content represents, at the least, a re-configuration relative to its original publication (working at the level of the article rather than the document). The details of the extended document set of The Guardian newspaper in terms of identity and relationships among document content appear to be extremely convoluted. The need to view documents as part of a process of creation and publication, both in terms of editorial and design workflow, can be seen here: individual writers produce articles, which are combined to form a newspaper, some articles of which are then re-combined with others to make a different, but overlapping, newspaper. An aspect of digital instantiations not covered in the IKEA case study is that of social media, online promotion and notifications, and summaries sent to readers digitally. Although IKEA engages with and produces content for social media, this was seen as of reduced relevance to the specific document set of the IKEA catalogue. However, if the content of a newspaper is primarily seen as news (and related contemporary articles), signalled by the front page (whether conceived in print or digital), then aspects of this are duplicated via social media presence and related outputs. Two broad categories might be seen here: firstly, The Guardian content or links to The Guardian content presented by The Guardian to the public on third party sites, and secondly, direct

170 Application and Case Studies communication (full articles, summaries, notifications, and links) by The Guardian to specific readers, users, and subscribers on an individual level. Major examples for the first category can be seen with The Guardian’s pages on YouTube (The Guardian [YouTube], 08.05.15), and Facebook (The Guardian [Facebook], 08.05.15). Whereas the print instantiations of The Guardian do not include video content, many of the digital instantiations do. This video content can be found on The Guardian’s official YouTube channel. This is a re-curating of content from The Guardian, by The Guardian, arguably a form of instantiation of The Guardian, although the video mode is not the focus of this case study. The Guardian Facebook page does not duplicate content to the same extent as the YouTube channel but does use headlines accompanied by images and straplines and summaries to provide direct links to articles on The Guardian website. This is similar functionality to The Guardian website’s own front page, which ‘advertises’ stories to readers who then click a link to read the main article. Interaction of social media with instantiations of The Guardian are also generated on an individual level, with readers being able to embed and share digital content with one another (e.g., The Guardian website has social media buttons enabling readers to share links and summaries of articles on Twitter, The Guardian [Twitter], 07.05.15). Moving to the second category—communication sent directly to individuals—examples include The Guardian’s email services and notifications on smart devices generated by Guardian apps. Readers can subscribe to receive regular emails from The Guardian, generally with a specific focus, such as a summary of events in a specific subject area or links to a selection of the key stories of the day. The Guardian app gives headline and breaking news notifications to users (Figure 5.29). Both of these are a form of headline publicity and key article selection that inform users of the contents of The Guardian. Advertisements have already been mentioned (Section 4.5) as they relate to document boundaries. The Guardian features a wide range of advertisements, and their presence, especially in digital instantiations, relates to document identity as well as document boundary. Although the adverts themselves will not be dwelt on here, their presence in Guardian instantiations raises two points. Firstly, advertisement servicing is dynamic: each time a user refreshes a page, they may be served with a different advertisement on what is otherwise ‘the same’ page (see Figure 5.30). Secondly, many users will have some form of ad-blocking software or browser extensions in place, meaning that no advertising appears at all. A range of systems, both at hardware and software levels, have been used for the screenshots and photographs in this case study, and a number of them utilised ad blocking. As will be seen, however, none of the screenshots appear anomalous to the viewer when there is

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Figure 5.29 Guardian app smartphone notifications within Android, each notification showing an image and the start of a headline. Pressing the notification takes the user to the fully story.

no advert—the viewer may not even realise an advertisement is being blocked. In some cases10 The Guardian website will alert viewers to this, with a fixed position footer note stating: ‘We notice you’ve got an ad-blocker switched on. Perhaps you’d like to support The Guardian another way?’ (theguardian.com/weekly, 13.08.15). This footer is then a change to content and layout made to inform viewers that they are blocking other content and layout items. Ultimately, the differences brought about by advertising, as shown in Figure 5.30, could be classified as separate instantiations—they are not the same as one another. However, this would create such a systemic problem in analysing digital documents that an allowance must be made for content areas that contain intentionally changing content. The document set and instantiations covered so far have all been within The Guardian’s brand and authorship, giving a clear theme to their grouping even when the final system and forms diverge considerably. However, it could be argued that the print instantiation of The Guardian newspaper is more similar to other, different, print newspapers (The Independent, The Telegraph, etc.; see Figure 5.31) than it is to its own assorted digital instantiations. This is partly an argument based on

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Figure 5.30 The same article URL with the same core news content, running on the same device, photographed seconds apart after a page refresh. The on-page advertisement at the top of the article has changed: it is a different advertisement but the same news story. The overall layout of the page is the same—the advertisement is in the same place, but the specifics of the content have changed. Arguably the internal layout of each advert is also different as each contains different words and images in different arrangements. In some browsers, users may have directly blocked advertising content so that it does not appear at all. (Hyde [online], 2015). This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

system and materiality of an instantiation but more significantly the role these have in the perception and construction of genre. It seems, initially, to be elementary to consider The Guardian as part of the genre of ‘newspapers’—but is The Guardian website a part of the newspaper genre?11 There might be a ‘newspaper website’ sub-genre. Here the websites for two different newspapers would be part of the same genre. However, there might be a wider ‘news’ genre containing other types of sources. For example, a TV news channel’s website and The Guardian website might both be ‘news’ in genre terms, but are these two more similar to one another than The Guardian in print is to its own website? The interplay between genre and brand can be seen here, as first

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Figure 5.31 An example of the interaction between genre, medium, and system. The Guardian as a print newspaper (a physical object) matches the broader set of print newspaper documents very closely when compared to other instantiations of The Guardian document set, such as the website or apps. Not only are the print newspapers linked by their materiality but by the conventions of layout common to the genre of print newspaper. The word-for-word content is far more similar between instantiations of The Guardian than other newspapers but also not wholly dissimilar. Other newspapers focussing on the same part of the world are likely to have stories on many of the same news events.

covered in Section 4.6.4, and is discussed further in Section 5.3.5. To a certain extent it would be possible to test user genre association between such websites, in the manner of the work of Moys (2012) and Santini (2007)—although Santani’s use of genre categories for websites is not fully in line with what might be used by a designer. Such testing would be a significant undertaking, however, extending the experiments across medium and system, not just genre. 5.3.4 Relationships Between Instantiations Moving on from the descriptions of individual instantiations, and having outlined the boundary of the document set for The Guardian, the relationships among the specific instantiations within the set can now be addressed. The discussion is carried out within the framework outlined in the previous chapter, Section 4.3, and in the context of the initial descriptions given for each instantiation in Section 5.3.2. As was the case with the IKEA catalogue, care must be taken in the allocation of any sense of primacy to a specific instantiation. In terms of intent (see Section 4.4) this might be done from the perspective of the document producers (what they see as the ‘core’ instantiation, if any), or from that of the document consumers, or both. The main print instantiation of The Guardian has a longer history than the other public facing instantiations

174 Application and Case Studies and is still a key part of the newspaper’s identity. However, The Guardian’s digital instantiations depart significantly from metaphors of the page— they are not generally attempts at augmented facsimiles. Print readership of The Guardian has been on the decline in recent years, whereas digital readership has seen significant increases. In a 2013 survey, The Guardian’s print readership was found to be down by 16%, whereas monthly readership had increased by 159% (Greenslade, 2013). The National Readership Survey (2014), for January 2014—December 2014, gave monthly figures for of 4,206 print readers of The Guardian and The Observer, compared to 10,488 online readers, although these categories may overlap to some extent (numbers given are for adults older than 15 in Great Britain). This makes it difficult to internally justify any one starting point for the relationships among instantiations—the print instantiation will be used here, largely as a matter of convenience. The Guardian Print and Digital Newspaper (Figure 5.32) Starting with the main print instantiation of The Guardian, its relationship to the digital newspaper instantiation (and that instantiation’s further, related, instantiations: the printout, PDF, and single-story views it links to) presents a very high level of similarity in terms of content and layout despite the differences in system (top and bottom left of Figure 5.32).

Figure 5.32 Systematisation relationships among the print, PDF, and digital newspaper instantiations. All three instantiations have systematisation relationships to one another, but the digital newspaper allows readers to isolate one story to be read in a re-formatted view, lacking columns. This specific view is, therefore, a re-configuration. This diagram will be built up further over the following pages.

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The digital newspaper and main print instantiations initially appear as systematisations of one another—they are the same word for word, with the same images and layout. There is a change between system but with few changes beyond what is necessary to accommodate two systems of compatible capability. Indeed, newspaperdirect.com describes its digital instantiation as being ‘just as they are printed’ (Newspaper direct, [no date]). The digital newspaper instantiation does have the addition of a hyperlinked table of contents and the ability to share pages via social media, but these are relatively minor changes generated by the digital newspaper presentation system. The print newspaper lacks an interactive table of contents (assuming that annotation is disregarded in this use of interactive) but may afford ways of locating sections other than scrolling through all pages online. For example, the reader might just flick through the top corners of the pages to find a section rather than opening the newspaper page by page sequentially. The PDF instantiation that can be downloaded (or PDF printed) from the digital newspaper instantiation is also a systematisation of the print and digital newspaper instantiations. The layout and content appear ‘the same’ across the change in system. The PDF could be viewed on a wide range of hardware systems. Each of these would present a different experience to the user, but so far as each system has the capability of displaying the features encoded for the PDF, it is still classed as a systematisation (within the context of digital materiality, see Section 4.3.4) in relation to the main print instantiation. Printout instantiations can be created from the PDF instantiation or by using the print feature of the digital newspaper instantiation (Figure 5.33). The broad label ‘printout instantiation’ contains a vast number of possible sub-instantiations depending on the system and settings used to output the printouts.12 A systematisation relative to the print newspaper would be possible through home printing an ordered and collated instantiation in full colour. However, re-configurations and embodiments

Figure 5.33 The Guardian digital newspaper via newspaperdirect.com and printouts of the same in both black and white and full colour.

176 Application and Case Studies would also be possible, arrived at, for example, through combinations of colour or black-and-white printing, printing multiple pages per sheet, and/or re-ordering contents. The range of options within the sub-set of printout instantiations means that these instantiations would exist in different relationships to one another—some printout instantiations will be systematisations relative to one another but embodiments relative to other printout instantiations. The digital newspaper instantiation allows stories to be read in their own window (Figure 5.34), reformatted from the make-up of the page systematisations. The individual stories are presented as re-configurations relative to the story on the page of the digital newspaper: the same words and images but with a noticeable format change with the removal of columns and changes in image placement relating to that. Taken on their own, these are re-configurations. However, if this ability is viewed as an additional feature of the digital newspaper instantiation as a whole, then the systematisation relationship between the print and digital newspaper instantiation is in question and might be considered as a re-configuration. This story view does more than zoom in; it re-arranges contents layout relative to itself and isolates it from other content on the newspaper page, but it does not add new content. The digital newspaper instantiation provides a further way to isolate content with printouts as users are given the option to print only an area of a page (defined by the user using a rectangular marquee tool) rather than the whole page (Figure 5.34). These printouts could, depending on the printing set-up

Figure 5.34 Two ways of isolating story content within the digital newspaper instantiation: (left) a pop-out window view of the front-page story shown in Figure 5.33—this view re-formats the text of the story into a single column—and (right) an area print of the text of the same story—this does not re-format the text but lets the user print only a selected area of the newspaper page, allowing just one story or article to be printed.

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used, be output as systematisations of a selected area of a page in the print or digital newspaper instantiations but not as systematisations of the whole document. Kindle Edition (Figure 5.35) The Guardian Kindle edition, when running on a greyscale display Kindle (and therefore lacking colour), has a significant disparity in system capability compared to the other systems discussed in this example. This means that different images are used and some illustrations seen in other print and digital instantiations are wholly absent. Unlike the other digital instantiations discussed as follows, the Kindle edition does not contain video content. In addition to the layout changes already mentioned in the Section 5.3.2 description of this instantiation, the text used here differs from the print and other digital instantiation both in terms of specific wording and paragraph breaks. Due to these significant changes, the Kindle edition must be seen as an embodiment relative to all of the other instantiations: there is a change in system, a change in layout, and a change in content. For some specific features, articles within the Kindle edition and other instantiations may be re-configurations of each other; that is, for articles consisting wholly of text, with limited use of colour that can easily be replaced by other typographic variables, see Figure 5.36.

Figure 5.35 Building on the relationships mapped out in Figure 3.32, the Kindle edition is an embodiment relative to all other instantiations.

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Figure 5.36 Colour pie charts showing predicted election results in the print and Guardian and Observer daily edition app were absent from the same story in the Kindle edition—understandably, as the charts relied heavily on colour. This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

Apps and Guardian Website The remaining digital instantiations (the pair of apps and The Guardian website) are set apart from the preceding instantiations by the ability to deliver video content. This video content is often inserted into articles that also appear in other instantiations, integrated into the layout and surrounding content (Figure 5.37). In the IKEA case study the use of video content was an additional overlay or detail relative to the main layout. Here the video content is more central and may replace content (such as static images) from other instantiations. This places these instantiations in a relationship of embodiments relative to any and all of the instantiations covered so far. The Guardian and Observer daily edition app is distinguished from the Guardian app instantiation and the website in that it is published in discrete, daily issues. The content follows that seen in the main print instantiation, and the same articles are available on The Guardian website (often with different images and/or more video content) but are presented there as part of the continuous body of news making up the website. An individual story within the Guardian and Observer daily edition app might appear as a systematisation relative to the Guardian app and website (assuming it has the same images and video) at an article

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Figure 5.37 The Guardian website article corresponding to the front-page article shown for the print (and related) instantiations. The video content dominates the top of the page, replacing the photograph (also of Boris Johnson) seen in the other instantiations.

level. The front page, however, would not, as it has a different image and story selection and is static (compared to the rapidly changing front page make-up of the website and app). There is no contradiction in stating that a specific story has a systematisation relationship to the story in another instantiation while at the same time ruling instantiations of the newspaper as a whole as embodiments relative to each other. See Figure 5.38 for a mapping of the relationships among these digital instantiations. The website instantiation retains an overall theme of daily news on the front page, which lists the headlines of the day. However, articles from previous days are also accessible on the site and often linked as related content from more current articles. The headlines on the front page broadly match those in other instantiations but may use different images and will also update to show breaking news throughout the day. This means that the front page is not constant, even within a single day. The arrangement of page elements for the website instantiation is responsive based on the size of the browser window (which for small, smart devices is often the screen size). This means that a user may experience ‘the same’ website instantiation seconds apart, with a clearly different layout. This responsive change in layout (shown in Figure 5.25 in the initial description of the instantiations) is a designed change: so far as possible across diverse systems, the way in which the website layout adapts to screen size has been pre-determined by the site designers. It is not a type of change directly requested by the user: although users may have resized the window, they have not explicitly clicked on an option for a different view

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Figure 5.38 The relationships among these remaining digital instantiations become complicated and dependent on the level of analysis. As the website is capable of being different from itself depending on browser and screen size, its exact relationship to any other instantiations is varied. Generally speaking, the daily edition app appears as an embodiment, although some stories or specific sections may be re-configurations. The Guardian app is generally a re-configuration at an article-byarticle level, but some elements are embodiments. The print layout generated by the website removes images and changes all of the formatting, making it a clear embodiment.

(e.g., ‘Print View’ or ‘Reading Mode’). Because of its responsive nature, the website instantiation shows a very pronounced change across the assorted hardware and software systems it can be viewed on. The instantiation has not been designed to appear the same on both a smartphone and a widescreen desktop monitor but to attempt to communicate the same content in a manner appropriate to the devices, with appropriate adaptation. As has been mentioned, individual articles on the website instantiation may appear as systematisations relative to The Guardian and Observer

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daily edition app. Due to the responsive layout, they might also be reconfigurations and, when video or other content is added, embodiments. Pages or articles from The Guardian website can be printed by users on their own printers. These printouts have their own for-print styling and omit all images. The relationship between the printouts and any other instantiations will vary depending on the content of the specific article and the specifics of the system used for printing. If an article has no images and consists of straight text, then if the website interface and branding is ignored, the printout may be a re-configuration of the website instantiation (and any other instantiations with identical article text). This is likely to lead to a higher degree of similarity between printouts and articles on the Kindle instantiation, which lacks video and uses fewer images in the first place. The Guardian app appears and functions in a similar manner to the website instantiation on its narrowest window layout. The front page runs the same stories, with occasional images differences. The layout of stories is also different compared to the narrowest website layout—on the narrowest layout the website stacks stories as a vertical list; the Guardian app places some side by side horizontally. The Guardian app front page also excludes strapline text and additional links for some stories. The front page of the Guardian app therefore represents a relatively minor reembodiment relative to the website in terms of the front page (and therefore overall). Individual article pages are far closer to re-configurations relative to the website, with some changes in formatting, although there are differences in surrounding page furniture regarding menu buttons and interface specifics. Figure 5.39 shows the relationships among all of the instantiations covered in this section. 5.3.5 Summary Points The Guardian has been shown to be made up of a diverse document set. There is no single, dominant layout used across a majority of instantiations (the set contains few systematisations). Instead, more modular chunks of content are configured and displayed across a range of layouts on differing systems and mediums. The Guardian brand identity and the content itself provide the links across this diversity. In all cases the reader is explicitly told that they are viewing The Guardian content, even when using a third party system (such as Newspaper Direct), and that content is, broadly speaking, the same—there are some text changes and more image variation, and video may or may not be present. Overall this makes the identity of The Guardian more nebulous regarding a set manifestation of content and layout. The iconic, physical instantiations of the print paper newspaper at the core of the newspaper genre is not carried across into new mediums (with the exception of newspaperdirect.

Figure 5.39 The relationships and groupings of the The Guardian document set as reviewed in this case study, compiled from the figures and discussion in this section. Although there are clusters of related layouts, it is the imagery that plays a strong linking role between embodiments. Even then, the images for a specific story change across systems. See Section 5.3.5 below for further analysis. This figure can also be found in the colour plate section.

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com and the like, which are run by third parties). This is in sharp contrast to the IKEA catalogue, which retained a set page layout across many of the instantiations. Questions as to the boundary and identity of a single instantiation are raised by The Guardian case study. For example, the newspaperdirect.com digital newspaper layout presents the whole print newspaper in the manner of a digital facsimile (layout matching the print layout as a systematisation), but each article within the digital newspaper can then be read as a single-column scroll of continuous text outside the print newspaper layout. The presence of this option may suggest that whereas the systematization of the print layout to the digital layout presents a strong link across the two systems, the practicalities of reading dense, multi-column text on digital devices mean that the option to have a continuous single-column run of text is desirable from a usability perspective. The digital systematization calls on genre cues from the print instantiation; that is, those features seen as typical of the typographic genre of print newspaper are reproduced even if they are less effective when transferred to a new system. Additionally, the text can then be read by text-to-speech software on the newspaperdirect. com site. This represents three distinct ways of communicating the information (the news), but are they three separate instantiations? There is an over-arching system containing all three ways of accessing the article information, all of these are accessed within one browser window displaying a specific site and the tools provided by the site. However, at a deeper level the resources used to display each instantiation differ—the text-to-speech instantiation makes use of the device’s speakers, employing both hardware and software (systems) not required to view the digital newspaper layout. In addition to the system argument, the scope of the content should be considered: the single column layout and text-to-speech content communicates one story at a time. The digital newspaper layout, the systematisation of the print newspaper, displayed as the initial instantiation within the system, acts as a user interface to navigate to the other means of receiving the information. The digital newspaper page view contains all of the information: there is no truncation of content when used as an interface as seen on The Guardian website (a headline, a strapline, or a picture thumbnail) to link to the full article—it is both the full article and an interface to that article. The user clicks on the headline of a story on the print page view to be taken to the single-column view (‘listen’ is then a sub-option from the single column). The single-column view is accessed only through the page systematisation; it is an instantiation within an instantiation. At the other extreme of instantiation interface are the notifications sent by the Guardian app: short snippets of text with a very small image acting as a link to a full article. Each notification could be regarded as a document (if an SMS text or an email might easily be considered as a document, why not a notification?) which acts as a link to a larger

184 Application and Case Studies document and in doing so bypasses the ‘front-page’ navigational devices of the Guardian app. The Guardian app has a front page linking to current articles, and users can browse within a section, but the notification circumvents that. Closely related to the questions of document identity raised by The Guardian document set are questions of genre. Genre categorisation of Guardian instantiations in comparison to other documents and companies was mentioned in Section 5.3.3. Genre as a whole is a significant subject of discussion in the following chapter, and as material from this case study is used there, it will not be discussed in great detail here. However, the main points relevant to The Guardian in terms of genre are: genre classification both within the document set and between different (external) document sets from within similar genres; the interplay between genre and brand as identity cues; and the features of multi-genre documents, variously interpreted, at differing levels of analysis. The Guardian case study features responsive content. This is significant to consider in comparison to the relationships that were the focus of Chapter 4 as within these responsive instantiations there is, in some sense, an internal change. The document changes, but the system might not—on a desktop or laptop, the browser window can be resized, causing the content on the page to re-format to accommodate the new window size. An initial response might be to say that this is a change within a system; the system has not changed but the content or its layout (in the terminology of Section 3.2, this is transformation, not translation). However, making the browser window smaller does, fundamentally, alter the capabilities of the system used to display the document. This change may often be brought about with no special purpose or intention on the part of users— they might resize a window for preference or convenience. However, this does not mean that that radically altering the size of the display area for a document is an insignificant change. Crucially, this is designed change and variation: the adaptation to match the size (of window or screen) is pre-planned, and the stages neatly fit into the re-configuration category (even if they are not seen as separate instantiations, they still match this relationship pattern). In other cases content might change more drastically in terms of inclusion and exclusion rather than (re)formatting—elements and chunks of content could be included or omitted at different sizes or replaced with contracted or expanded variations.

5.4 Consolidation The IKEA Catalogue and The Guardian are not directly comparable either in terms of scale or composition (nor genre). However, both have been shown to represent broad document sets consisting of instantiations with varying degrees of intra-set similarity. Detailed discussion of the key points raised by the case studies is presented in Chapter 6,

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drawing on material from the earlier chapters of this book. This section consolidates and combines points from both case studies ahead of that discussion. Mode has not been a central factor in either case study. Both of the examples are primarily reliant on text and image as broad modes, although the balance between the two is different. In both examples, video (and accompanying audio, both speech and music) is present in some of the digital instantiations but not as an addition to, rather as replacement of, content that was already present in text and image. Mode is of more significance when considered in combination with medium and system in terms of the affordance and capability of the systems in question. In both examples the specific mediums are generally being used within high-capability systems, for example, full-colour print with welltrained staff who can utilise the system(s) effectively. Medium and system appear as far more fundamental aspects in considering the documents sets. However, there is a risk of grouping too many different distinguishers within medium and system and then using medium as a factor alone. Mode is supported by medium and system, and medium and system may be key aspects of genre. A distinction made on medium might instead be one made on genre, where the medium is a key genre identifier. The use and applicability of genre will be discussed in detail in the following chapter. Although the case studies have helped illustrate the application of the framework from Section 4.3, it has also highlighted the additional intricacies of applying such theoretical frameworks to the complexities of real documents. As Twyman’s (1979) schema encounters problems when applied to complex, composite, and multimodal documents, the framework of this book must work on multiple levels to account for some variations. With both of the case studies, the intention was to look at documents and document sets. However, it was necessary to look at only a small section of each document (e.g., one story within a newspaper), with some accompanying overarching comment. For example, the weather forecast or obituaries sections of The Guardian contain very different types of information to a headline news article used and will have their own developed conventions of display and formatting (genre). These more diverse types of content were not examined in any detail and may present different patterns of relationship and variation across the document set. Relationships between documents and sub-elements of documents may be different at different levels. This effect was still seen, even though only a limited area of each document set was examined. Certain pairs of instantiations appear to have one type of relationship overall, until a specific sub-view of one sub-element was used, which changed the relationship at that level (e.g., the newspaperdirect.com instantiation of The Guardian). Such difficulties, however, were anticipated (see Section 2.6 on recursive analysis). One key factor in the application of the framework remains

186 Application and Case Studies the question of document identity (and document instantiation identity). Despite earlier discussion (see Sections 3.4 and 4.5), the case studies (especially The Guardian) further highlighted the vagaries here. It is, unsurprisingly, difficult to apply a framework to a subject when the unit of analysis for that subject is seemingly so inconstant.

Notes 1. Impractical or, indeed, impossible. This would mean defining what the core types were (genres?), which were, or were not, valid, and what level of subdivision to stop at. New types of document sets and genres emerge with time, and others may show high redundancy—these relationships would be interesting to examine, but cataloguing them is outside the scope of this book. 2. Published yearly and in 30 languages at present. Clearly it is not the case that 30 language editions have been present from the start of the company; the number would vary (generally increase) over time. The first Swedish catalogue was published in 1951 eleven years after IKEA’s founding, and the appearance of catalogues in other languages followed the company’s global expansion (IKEA 2, [no date]). 3. At the time of writing it was possible to find the 2014 UK issue as a PDF on third party sites. The 2015 issue could not be found, but other countries or regions (such as the United States) were available. 4. The US and UK print versions of the catalogue could accurately be said to be more alike than the UK print and PDF catalogue instantiations. However, the distinction by region has already been imposed as a hard condition for this specific case study. 5. If the app is viewed here effectively as an image browser that adds functionality, how is this different from viewing the same images in another, nonIKEA distributed, browser? Another browser might offer added functionality over just showing an image—such as adding favourites, bookmarks, ratings, etc. Although this is a generic type of functionality, and not specific to IKEA, it is still a form of added functionality from the system. 6. For comparison, this figure made it the 11th largest circulation of a daily British national newspaper, the Sun being the largest with a circulation of 2,019,032 copies (The Guardian, 2014). The Guardian has a far smaller circulation than both the IKEA catalogue (even if the daily totals for an entire year’s editions of The Guardian are combined) and the most popular British daily newspapers. The use of The Guardian as a case study example here is due its ‘digital-first’ emphasis rather than as a high-circulation document. 7. The Guardian has also been used by Bateman (2008, p. 180) as an example for discussing genre in multimodal documents as a comparison between print and screen. The appearance of both the print and website instantiations of The Guardian have changed considerably since then (the examples and illustrations in Bateman, 2008 appear to be from 2000). 8. www.theguardian.com/us and www.theguardian.com/au for the US and Australian sites, respectively. It is possible to switch between the three different regions using a drop-down menu on the top right of the site. At the time the case study was conducted (May 2015) a beta ‘international’ version was also available at www.theguardian.com/international. 9. Although The Guardian Weeklyfrequently asked questions web page mentions buying the newspaper at newsstands (theguardian.com/help, 2012) it appeared to be unavailable without a subscription on the UK high street when

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this case study was carried out. A number of news agents and related shops of varying sizes were looked at in Reading, Brighton, and London: none of them sold The Guardian Weekly but stated that it had to be ordered directly. 10. This function of the website was not apparent during the original case study period in May 2015 but was in effect when reviewing material in August 2015. 11. Bateman (2008, pp. 179–182), compares The Guardian in print and The Guardian website using the comparison to question the use of genre definition and categorisation. Bateman states that placing these two instantiations (‘equivalents’ in Bateman’s terminology) in the same genre (newspaper) ‘tells us something useful about the reasons why the two documents contain information of similar kinds’ (Bateman, 2008, p. 179) but does not provide a useful indication of the ‘interpretive strategies the documents required of their readers’ nor the differing ‘spatial organisation’ of the documents (Bateman, 2008, p. 179). 12. The same general points apply here as they did to the IKEA catalogue printouts (see Section 5.2.4 for more detail), although with the difference here that there are no intermediary page-spread images between the digital instantiations and the printout instantiation.

References Bateman, J. A. (2008), Multimodality and Genre, A Foundation for the Systematic Analysis of Multimodal Documents, Palgrave Macmillan. Cozens, C. (2005), ‘New-look Guardian Launches on September 12’, The Guardian, Guardian News and Media, URL=www.theguardian.com/media/2005/sep/01/ theguardian.pressandpublishing (accessed 04/05/15). Greenslade, R. (2013), ‘Print Readerships Down Again, But with Online Audiences on the Up’, theguardian.com, Guardian News and Media, URL=www.theguardian. com/media/greenslade/2013/nov/28/national-newspapers-newspapers (accessed 08/05/15). The Guardian. (2014), ‘ABCs: National Daily Newspaper Circulation September 2014’, The Guardian, Guardian News and Media, URL=www.the guardian.com/media/table/2014/oct/10/abcs-national-newspapers (accessed 04/05/15). The Guardian. (20015, May 6), ‘Guardian News and Media theguardian.com/ weekly, [no date], Subscribe to the Guardian Weekly, Guardian News and Media, URL=www.theguardian.com/weekly/subscribe/about-guardian-weekly (accessed 14/08/15). IKEA, 1. (no date), About the IKEA Group, Inter IKEA Systems B.V., URL= www.ikea.com/ms/en_GB/this-is-ikea/about-the-ikea-group/index.html (accessed 18/03/15). IKEA, 2. (no date), 1940s—1950s—IKEA, Inter IKEA Systems B.V., URL=www. ikea.com/ms/en_GB/this-is-ikea/about-the-ikea-group/index.html (accessed 30/03/15). IKEA. (print 2). (2013), IKEA BUSINESS 2014, Inter IKEA Systems B.V. IKEA. (print), (2014), IKEA 2015 (IKEA print catalogue) Inter IKEA Systems B.V. IKEA. (2015), Catalogue and Brochures, IKEA.com, Inter IKEA Systems B.V., URL=www.ikea.com/ms/en_GB/customer-service/about-shopping/catalogueand-brochures/index.html (accessed 09/04/15). Mak, B. (2011), How the Page Matters, University of Toronto Press.

188 Application and Case Studies Moys, J. (2012), Typographic Meaning: Reader’s Impressions of Patterns of Typographic Differentiation, Ph.D. Thesis, University of Reading, UK. National Readership Survey. (2014), NRS Jan-Dec 14 Fused with comScore Nov2014, PDF from URL=www.nrs.co.uk/downloads/padd-files/pdf/nrs_ padd_jan_dec14_newsbrands.pdf (accessed 08/05/15). NewspaperDirect. (no date), The Guardian and Observer Digital Editions, Newspaper Direct Inc., URL=guardian.newspaperdirect.com/epaper/viewer.aspx (accessed 08/05/15). Norrish, P. (1987), The Graphic Translatability of Text, British Library R&D Report 5854, Department of Typography & Graphic Communication, University of Reading. Pickard, M. (2011), ‘Introducing the Guardian’s New Facebook App’, The Guardian, Guardian News and Media, URL=www.theguardian.com/help/insideguard ian/2011/sep/22/the-guardian-on-facebook-app (accessed 04/05/15). Sabbagh, D. (2011), ‘Guardian and Observer to Adopt “Digital-first” Strategy’, The Guardian , Guardian News and Media, URL=www.theguardian.com/ media/2011/jun/16/guardian-observer-digital-first-strategy?INTCMP=SRCH (accessed 04/05/15). Santini, M. (2007), ‘Zero, Single, or Multi? Genre of Web Pages Through the Users’ Perspective’, Information Processing and Management, 44:2008, pp. 702–737. Swales, J. M. (2004), Research Genres, Explorations and Applications, Cambridge University Press. Twyman, M. (1979), ‘A Schema for the Study of Graphic Language’, in Kolers, P. M., Wrolstad M., and Bouma, H. (eds.), Processing of Visible Language, Plenum Press, pp. 117–150.

Image References The Guardian. (06.05.15). Guardian News and Media. The Guardian (app 1). (06.05.15). The Guardian, The Guardian Daily Edition, Guardian News and Media, Android app version obtained from: play. google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.guardian.android.tabletedition. google&hl=en_GB (app downloaded 05/05/15, newspaper issue downloaded 06/05/15). The Guardian (digital). (06.05.15). Guardian News and Media via NewspaperDirect Inc, URL=guardian.newspaperdirect.com/epaper.viewer.aspx (accessed 06/05/15). The Guardian (Facebook). (08.05.15). The Guardian Timeline, URL=www.facebook. com/theguardian/timeline (accessed 08/05/15). The Guardian (Kindle). (06.05.15). The Guardian and the Observer, The Guardian and the Observer (Kindle Edition), Guardian News and Media, Amazon Kindle subscription via URL=www.amazon.co.uk/The-Guardian-and-theObserver/dp/B004MME3M8 (downloaded 05/05/15, newspaper issue downloaded 06/05/15). The Guardian (PDF). (06.05.15). Guardian News and Media via NewspaperDirect Inc, download URL=guardian.newspaperdirect.com/epaper.viewer.aspx (accessed 06.05.2015). The Guardian (Twitter). (07.05.15). ‘Guardian Front Page, Thursday 7 May 2015: It Couldn’t Be Closer’ [Tweet], URL= twitter.com/guardian/status/ 596056731869937664/photo/1 (accessed 07/05/15).

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The Guardian (YouTube). (08.05.15). The Guardian Home, URL=www.youtube. com/user/TheGuardian?gl=GB&hl=en-GB (accessed 08/05/15). Hyde, M. (app 1). (2015). ‘Boris Johnson Rolls Up for Brief Cameo in Tory Election Campaign—And Steals the Show’, Guardian and Observer Daily Edition App, 06.05.15 issue, Guardian News and Media See ‘The Guardian (app 1), 06.05.15’ for app and edition reference. Hyde, M. (Kindle). (2015). ‘Boris Johnson Rolls Up for Brief Cameo in Tory Election Campaign—And Steals the Show’, The Guardian and the Observer (Kindle Edition), Guardian News and Media via Amazon.com See ‘The Guardian (Kindle), 06.05.15’ for app and edition reference. Hyde, M. (online). (2015). ‘Boris Johnson Rolls Up for Brief Cameo in Tory Election Campaign—And Steals the Show’, theguardian.com, Guardian News and Media, URL=www.theguardian.com/politics/2015/may/05/boris-johnsondavid-cameron-uxbridge-jungle-cat (accessed 06/05/15). IKEA (website). (1999–2012). IKEA (IKEA website), Inter IKEA Systems B.V., homepage URL=www.ikea.com/gb/en/, TARVA product information URL=www. ikea.com/gb/en/catalog/products/90219612, EKTORP product information URL= www.ikea.com/gb/en/catalog/products/S29902382/#/S39006794) (accessed 01/04/15). IKEA (mobile website). (1999–2012). IKEA (IKEA website), Inter IKEA Systems B.V., homage URL=m.ikea.com/gb/en/, TARVA product information URL=m. ikea.com/gb/en/catalog/products/art/90219612 (accessed 01/04/15). IKEA (print). (2012). IKEA 2013, (IKEA UK print catalogue) Inter IKEA Systems B.V. IKEA (print 1). (2013). IKEA 2014, (IKEA UK print catalogue) Inter IKEA Systems B.V. IKEA (print 2). (2013). IKEA BUSINESS 2014, Inter IKEA Systems B.V IKEA (PDF), (2014), IKEA 2015, (IKEA PDF catalogue) Inter IKEA Systems B.V., URL=d1mu9ule1cy7bp.cloudfront.net/2013/media/catalogues/884/ikea_cata logue_en.pdf (accessed 30/03/15). IKEA (app 1). (2014). IKEA 2015, (IKEA catalogue app) Inter IKEA Systems B.V. Android app version obtained from: play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com. ikea.catalogue.android&hl=en_GB (accessed 13/11/14). IKEA (app 2). (2014). IKEA app, (IKEA app) Inter IKEA Systems B.V. Android version obtained from: play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.ikea.app (accessed 13/11/14). IKEA (print). (2014). IKEA 2015, (IKEA print catalogue) Inter IKEA Systems B.V. IKEA (printout). (2014). IKEA 2015, (IKEA catalogue online print view), Inter IKEA Systems B.V., URL=d1mu9ule1cy7bp.cloudfront.net/1.1/eccatalogues/ printout/884/?lr=True (accessed 30/03/15). IKEA (online). (2014). IKEA 2015, (IKEA catalogue online), Inter IKEA Systems B.V., URL=onlinecatalogue.ikea.com/GB/en/IKEA_Catalogue/ (accessed 30/03/15) IKEA (printout). (2014). IKEA 2015, (IKEA digital catalogue) Inter IKEA Systems B.V. IKEA (reference). (2014). IKEA 2015, (IKEA print catalogue) Inter IKEA Systems B.V. theguardian.com/help. (2012). Guardian Weekly FAQs, Guardian News and Media, URL=www.theguardian.com/help/2012/jan/19/guardian-weekly-faqs (accessed 14/08/15).

Colour plate 1 Examples of the IKEA catalogue, showing the 2013, 2014, and 2015 UK catalogues, with a double-page spread from 2015. This chapter will concentrate on the UK 2015 issue. Note that each issue is published in the summer of the year preceding the catalogue date—so the 2015 issue is published in 2014. Catalogue cover page size 207 × 222 mm (IKEA (print), 2012, IKEA (print 1), 2013, IKEA (print), 2014 with p. 1 and 2–3. N.B. the catalogue page numbering counts the cover as p. 1.

Colour plate 2 One possible way to illustrate the UK 2015 IKEA catalogue document sub-set within the IKEA catalogue set. The images given show the first spread of the print catalogue and the item entry for the same furniture item (TARVA chest of drawers) for those instantiations that are not close systematisations of the catalogue. Each of the illustrations for the digital instantiations is representative of a host of sub-variables in terms of device used. A thin black border has been added to all digital instantiation illustrations. Referencing information for the images in this diagram is given in the captions accompanying the following text. Please see the main text following for an explanation of the images/instantiations within the diagram and the caption text accompanying the explanations for the individual image or document references used in the diagram.

Colour plate 3 The print instantiation of the IKEA catalogue, showing the cover and a pair of sample spreads, followed by a laminated, in-store reference print catalogue (lower right). (IKEA [print] 2014, pp. 1, 2–3, and 100–101, catalogue page size 207 × 222 mm, plus additional margin bolted into binding for the reference copy)

Colour plate 4 IKEA catalogue online (left column) and printing out the same catalogue (right column). On the left the same spread is shown on a 22" LCD monitor and then as a screenshot with the product viewer visible in the top image, minimised in bottom. On the right the in-browser print version of the same page of IKEA catalogue online is shown, as generated when the user selects the print option, followed by the resulting print on a colour inkjet printer. (IKEA [online], 2014, pp. 2–3), (IKEA [printout], 2014)

Colour plate 5 IKEA catalogue PDF, 2014 (left), showing p. 2 of the PDF, which is a combined spread of pp. 2–3 of the catalogue. (IKEA [PDF], 2014, p. 2) IKEA catalogue app (centre and right), showing a single page in portrait orientation on a tablet and a double-page spread in landscape orientation on a smartphone. In both cases the additional navigation and product viewing bars have been minimised. (IKEA [app 1] 2014, pp. 2, 2–3)

Colour plate 6 The IKEA homepage page from the IKEA website, the product page for the TARVA drawer unit, and the page source for that same page. (IKEA (website), 1999–2012)

Colour plate 7 IKEA mobile site (left) for the same product shown in the second image of Figure 5.7, displayed here on an Android tablet and smartphone. (IKEA [mobile website], 1999–2012). IKEA app (right) page for the TARVA chest of 3 drawers. (IKEA [app 2], 2014)

Colour plate 8 Users may not always interact with official instantiations in the ways intended by the document producer. IKEA produces two smartphone apps, but a user might still take a photograph of details for an item from the print catalogue (such as the price, in this example) on a phone to act as a reminder. (Page shown from IKEA [print] 2014, p. 2)

Colour plate 9 PDFcataloguetop,followedbyscreenshotsfromtheIKEAcatalogueapp on a smartphone, showing three different levels of menu intrusion onto the spreads (from left to right and top to bottom). As can be seen, in the default view (second row of the first image) the only noticeable difference is the blue triangle signalling the location of the menu. However, once the menus are activated, the appearance of the spread becomes crowded and makes the previously hidden additional functions available (hairline black border added to all images by the author).

Colour plate 10 Comparison of the ‘TARVA chest of 3 drawers’ unit product page on: (top) the IKEA website on a laptop, (lower left) the IKEA website on a smartphone, (lower centre) the IKEA mobile site on a smartphone, and (lower right) the IKEA app one a smartphone.

Colour plate 11 The relationships and groupings of the IKEA catalogue document set as reviewed in this case study, compiled from the figures and discussion in this section. The inclusion of the group of ‘varied relationships’ that were not covered in detail represents a very wide range of possible relationships that would vary on a caseby-case basis (see Sections 5.2.2 and 5.2.3 for further details). As can be seen, the instantiations based around the core catalogue page layouts have a higher degree of similarity to one another. See Section 5.2.5 for further analysis.

Colour plate 12 The Guardian, 6 May 2015, the specific issue of the newspaper on which much of this case focuses: page size 313 × 470 mm. (The Guardian, 6.05.15)

Colour plate 13 Overview of the document set for The Guardian, 6 May 2015. The images given show the ‘front page’ of each instantiation, that is, the cover of the printed newspaper or the landing page for the day’s digital instantiations. Each of the illustrations for the digital instantiations is representative of a host of sub-variables in terms of device used. For this case study only a greyscale Kindle has been used as this has a significant difference in capability relative to other mobile device instantiations. The relationship between The Guardian and The Observer is covered in Section 5.3.3. Referencing information for the images in this diagram is given in the captions accompanying the follow text. A black border has been added to all digital instantiation illustrations. Please see the main text following for an explanation of the images and instantiations within the diagram and the caption text accompanying the explanations for the individual image and document references used in the diagram.

Colour plate 14 Above and right, The Guardian digital newspaper via newspaperdirect.com. As with the print edition, the supplements are available to browse as distinct objects. Some of the navigation functions (shown left) include section bookmarks and page thumbnails. On the far right is an example of a single article displayed in a pop-out window, reformatted from the multi-column layout. (The Guardian [digital], 06.05.15)

Colour plate 15 The layout of The Guardian website adapts relative to the width of the browser window. Some of this change happens by degree, but the five main stages showing more pronounced variation are shown here. Note especially the change in position of the popular stories column on the right (on narrower versions this is moved to the end of the article) and the social media sharing buttons. (Hyde [online], 2015)

Colour plate 16 Website printout: the article on The Guardian website, the article in print preview, and the article printed with colour laser A4. (Hyde [online], 2015)

Colour plate 17 Two different Guardian apps: (top row) Guardian app showing the same story on a range of devices, in both landscape and portrait orientations, iPad 3 (retina display) 185 × 240 mm, Nexus 7 114 × 200 mm, Galaxy S3 mini 63 × 121 mm; and (top row) Guardian and Observer daily edition app, showing (left) the ‘front page’ of the day’s edition, and (right) a screenshot of the same story. (The Guardian [app 1], 06.05.15; Hyde [app 1], 2015)

Colour plate 18 The same article URL with the same core news content, running on the same device, photographed seconds apart after a page refresh. The on-page advertisement at the top of the article has changed: it is a different advertisement but the same news story. The overall layout of the page is the same—the advertisement is in the same place, but the specifics of the content have changed. Arguably the internal layout of each advert is also different as each contains different words and images in different arrangements. In some browsers, users may have directly blocked advertising content so that it does not appear at all. (Hyde [online], 2015)

Colour plate 19 Colour pie charts showing predicted election results in the print and Guardian and Observer daily edition app were absent from the same story in the Kindle edition—understandably, as the charts relied heavily on colour.

Colour plate 20 The relationships and groupings of the The Guardian document set as reviewed in this case study, compiled from the figures and discussion in this section. Although there are clusters of related layouts, it is the imagery that plays a strong linking role between embodiments. Even then, the images for a specific story change across systems. See Section 5.3.5 below for further analysis.

6

Design Perspectives on Multimodal Documents

This chapter combines the points raised from the case studies with the wider debates from the book as a whole. Key areas from this book are highlighted and their remaining problems summarised and discussed.

6.1 The Use of Definitions and Terminology 6.1.1 Ambiguity and Gaps Throughout this book there has been a recurring questioning of definitions used to initiate and direct discussion. Although these definitions and the terms they relate to have been applied to the analysis of designed documents, many of the sources for these definitions have been from outside the fields of graphic communication and typography. As has been seen, attempting to apply these definitions (these methods of explaining and articulating theoretical reasoning to the outputs of a practical discipline) has frequently shown areas of confusion, conflict, or inapplicability when trying to reason through a range of examples. In many cases these gaps in the use, or applicability, of definitions and existing expositions of understanding have led to the most interesting areas for discussion (e.g., the terms ‘document’ and ‘multimodality’). This terminological difficulty and the related gaps indicate a number of points: a lack of clear terminology and conceptual clarity at a broad level; a lack of terminology and clarity as it relates to the specifics of the current trends in document production and use; and a lack of connection between theory and practice. All three of these admittedly very broad points are closely connected. Awareness of the gap between practice and theory is significant in a number of ways. This gap is in part brought about by the use of theories from areas related to, but not centred within, graphic communication. That theories from the fields of computer science or linguistics do not wholly overlap with the issues of graphic communication should not in itself be surprising. It does, however, highlight a lack of current research from within the field addressing the theoretical aspects of areas already the subject of study in other fields but highly pertinent to design

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itself—not only cross-platform publishing but questions relating to genre and document in general. At the same time, this gap in theory does not represent a lack of practitioner expertise, simply the paucity of engagement between academia and practice in this area. Design has been happening already and functions through implicit practitioner expertise, regardless of the presence, or lack, of explicit external theorising. To enable theory to catch up to, and then begin to inform, design practice and education, an articulated understanding and vocabulary relating to the current concepts central to graphic communication and document design is necessary (and this book aims to begin to assist in this task). This articulated vocabulary may exist, in part, in other fields already, but transfers poorly to the field of design due to its technical and abstract nature, or because it covers concepts already central to design practice under other names, or both (this point is covered as it pertains to multimodality specifically later in this chapter, Section 6.3.3). The lack of appropriate vocabulary makes it hard to bridge the gap from implicit understanding and use of conceptual and theoretical matters within design practice to clear, explicit discussion. The benefit of developing a clearer conceptual understanding is that it could aid the discussion of design problems among designers, communication with experts in other fields, and the clarification of more conceptual points to design students.1 More detailed discussion originating from within design should then lead to and help inform a richer and more nuanced understanding of multimodal document analysis across, within, and between other interested disciplines. 6.1.2 Ambiguity and Level of Application A key obstacle to arriving at clarity with regard to definitions, terminology, and classification pertaining to the areas of graphic communication relevant to this study is the fundamentally interconnected nature of much of the high-level terminology (medium, genre, etc.). In many cases these areas are broad; for example, questions around ‘medium’ are of ubiquitous applicability. As such, they relate to more than just the specific interests of this book; however, the level of detail needed here may be greater than in other discussions and is brought to bear here with a specific (design) perspective in mind. The discussion in this book of terms that are central to document description has demonstrated that it is possible in several cases not only to define one term in terms of others but to substitute one term for another entirely. Although the terms are by no means synonymous, in each case a couple of justifying sentences might contrive to convince the reader otherwise. Medium can be utilised as mode (Section 2.3.5); style can be delineated through mode (Section 4.6.4), and some of the more detailed explanations of mode are self-contradictory (Section 2.3); multimodality,

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once accepted, is self-evident; form might be a type of content (Section 3.3); medium can be defined in terms of materiality, system, or both; and all of these (and more) can be defined within, or used to define, genre. A diligent sophist might easily construct arguments to prove that each term is another or that one does not exist except as an extension of another. There is a sense in which a level of inherent ambiguity is essential and inescapable due to the interrelated nature of the terminology. Few of the terms discussed in this book can be defined without reference to and reliance on other terms, and different situations and contexts require a focus on specific aspects of broad and multi-faceted terms. This does not mean that the terminology is meaningless or deliberately misleading. Instead it emphasises both the interrelated and co-dependent nature of the features in question and the need for more discussion among design practice, research, and other disciplines on how to talk about the multimodal aspects of graphic communication in documents. This is especially the case at a ‘mid level’ of discussion and description—a level aiming to avoid being mired in minutiae (while still accounting for them), without becoming so abstract as to lose applicability in practice. To use genre in the broadest sense, approaching common use, is not difficult—it is the casual usage of everyday conversation. Conversely, it is not difficult to use materiality, medium, and system at an absolute level— to describe in exact detail: dimensions, chemical composition, software revision, etc. Likewise, style might be specified to the nth degree through the specifics of mode and medium usage. These two extremes function effectively but quickly become either too general for specific discussion or so exhaustive as to be stifling. A use of terminology that operates at a mid level would therefore be the most useful practically within design. As has been seen in this book, however, this is difficult to arrive at. The scope of system, as an extension of medium (see Section 3.2.2) is another area notable for its potentially wide applicability. System pertains both to minute details relating to the display of the document in question, for example, the specifics of screen glass, and to external variables at increasing degrees of separation from the document, for example, the seating arrangements in an office and how that impacts the design process (after Clayton’s, 2013, example in Section 4.6.1). The information at both of these extremes may well be equally relevant in some considerations of a document but represents a very wide spectrum of variation to be considered under a single term. A degree of fluidity is necessary both to allow use across divergent subject matter and to enable use at differing levels of application. What has been described so far as ‘mid level’ still contains a wide range of possibilities, of degrees of specificity and inclusiveness at which analysis can take place. Having the relevant terminology and supporting theory to accommodate multilevel analysis is vital and well illustrated by the recursive decomposition of graphic objects shown by Engelhardt (2002;

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see Section 2.6 of this book for discussion). To choose a specific level of analysis is essential, but this must not be done to the exclusion of adjacent degrees of specificity or context (although obviously this needs to be of decreasing detail at each stage of removal). This choice of level of analysis has been a recurrent theme in this study as a whole (especially Sections 2.3.1, 3.4, and 4.5) and is emphasised further regarding specific areas of terminology here in the discussion of documents and genre (Sections 6.3 and 6.4).

6.2 Digital and Physical 6.2.1 Print, Physical, and Digital In the context of the widespread and growing use of digital systems for communication and media consumption, consideration should be given to the distinction between physical and digital media. This book has examined the relationships among instantiations of the same, similar, or equivalent content across multiple systems and media. The relationships between physical and digital instantiations have been used as examples and formed a significant part of the case studies in Chapter 5. However, as has been emphasised several times, the distribution of content across multiple instantiations is not new to the digital age. In many cases it may now happen faster, and with greater diversity and mutability, but it is by no means a new phenomenon. For example, a 1950s novel might have existed as a manuscript, as serialised newspaper instalments, then in hardback, then as several paperback editions. This represents a perfectly valid document set of multiple instantiations with varied internal relationships across distinct systems of production and reproduction. There is a temptation to give preference to digital mediums when considering interactivity and dynamic documents. But print documents offer ‘interactivity’ in many ways. As Frascara (2004, p. 173, and see Section 3.2.2) points out, a user might ‘tear apart [. . .] cut out [. . .] circle with a pen [. . .] photocopy [. . .] bin’ a print document. In addition to this external interaction, print documents might, more rarely, have movable elements, such as sliding tabs, spinning dials, overlays, and pop-ups, all of which present dynamic forms of interaction. There is a danger, however, of being too quick to dismiss differences between print and digital on the basis of plausible counterexamples across the two means of reproduction. But, conversely again, the relationship between print and digital is further blurred by inescapable links between the two in many cases. Linked chains of production within design and publication are very common, the most prominent example being that print documents are usually now designed on digital systems. Alternatively, a digital document might require a stage of being printed out and re-digitised. A further example of this could be a form, created and distributed digitally,

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which must then be printed out to input certain information by hand before being re-digitised (scanned or photographed) for return. The print or digital identity of interactivity is less clear when there is interaction and interchange between print and digital over a document’s life cycle. The act of transfer between print and digital (and vice versa) might itself constitute a form of interaction. A distinction between digital and print may in some situations become a distinction between digital and physical, emphasising the difference in materiality. However, digital documents created and distributed on digital systems are also inescapably bound to physicality: the digital system runs on physical hardware. This physicality is vital to consider, not as a true yet insignificant detail but in terms of how features of ‘print’ vs. ‘digital’ documents are viewed. Digital documents are still (often) interacted within a physical manner—in many cases this method of interaction is different from print—a user turns pages on a print book and scrolls with a mouse on screen. However, a digital system (still necessarily bound to physicality) can be created to mimic a print system (to a greater extent than digital facsimiles such as scanned documents): electronic paper could be used to make a multi-page physical book object; the method of interaction would be identical to a print book but nothing would be printed. In Section 4.2 a key conceptual difference between digital and print documents was raised regarding medium and physicality, that is, the extent to which the text of a print document is bound to its physical materiality, whereas a digital system might display a very wide range of different documents on the same physical device (at a token, not just a type, level). Additionally, this means that a specific digital document might be instantiated on multiple systems, both between different users, or for the same user (e.g., using a website on a smartphone and on a desktop computer), resulting in extended changes in context of use. When comparing print and digital document instantiations, close attention is needed to avoid comparing unlike instances of interaction or use in relation to physicality and access to content within a ‘document’. Although both print and digital documents require physical interaction, print documents are accessed in specific ways. Pages of a book, for example, might be flicked through ‘at random’, but opening the book is inescapable (the cover must be touched, probably seen); however, a sub-page of a website might be accessed without navigating its homepage. 6.2.2 Labels and Conventions Some of the features seen as distinct between digital and print are conventions of use, not material necessities; others are misconceptions arrived at through the overextension of initial assumptions. For example, print might be more closely linked to physical interaction with a document than is the case with digital documents. However, touch screens are becoming increasingly common in consumer electronics, allowing readers to interact

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‘directly’ with documents. It should be remembered, however, that the means of interacting with digital documents prior to this—the keyboard and mouse—are both inherently touch-based methods of interaction. The mouse and the keyboard, however, operate at a stage removed in terms of input. If such a line is taken, it might then be asked if the viewing device on which a digital document is rendered represents a stage of removal greater than a printed page compared to ‘the text’? This brings the discussion back to the points raised in Chapter 4 and metaphysical conceptions of ‘texts’. The relationship between print and digital is especially relevant when discussing genre and the boundaries between (or within) documents (these areas are highlighted briefly here; see the following Sections 6.3 and 6.4 for more detail). With genre there has been the attempt to construct cyber-genres, with functionality distinct from traditional documents and genres. As the GeM model corrected, the materiality and functionality are not privileged attributes of cyber-genres but common to all (Bateman, 2008, p. 216). The materiality of documents also comes into play when looking at the separation of elements within compound documents. In many digital documents it is possible to directly isolate elements of a document via a URL or file link (e.g., a banner advertisement on a page can be opened on its own without the rest of the web page). With print documents there could be two extremes, an advertisement might be printed on the same sheet of paper as the rest of a document (although being a clearly distinct piece of information to the reader in most cases) or might appear as a separate flyer packed in with a larger document. A digital/print distinction might initially appear to be one of the more clear-cut pairings covered in this book. However, documents produced over multiple print/digital instantiations and changes between print and digital across document life cycles present a layer of ambiguity. There is a need to question the meaning behind labels of digital, print, and physical while taking care to avoid getting lost in surface assumptions. The differences should not be overstated, and there are many analogies between the two. Neither should the differences be ignored. Differences need to not only be considered in terms of documents as outputs but also regarding change in wider processes and systems of production and consumption. The interaction between print and digital is likely not only to continue to shift, but the rate of change between and within the two will vary. Change within digital documents, the establishment and change of forms, genres, and technologies, may be more rapid than in print. This variation in the rate of change, in addition to the change itself, is likely to affect the perception of the relationship between print and digital.

6.3 Genre Genre represents a broad range of concepts with input from various disciplines (see Section 2.2), but as has been seen in the discussion in this

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book, it can be difficult to transfer successfully to graphic communication. This is significant as many of the multimodal features of designed documents are key variables manipulated by graphic communication practitioners. Although the core ideas of genre are highly suitable for application to graphic communication (from Waller, 1988, and onwards), both in terms of analysis (e.g., Moys, 2012) and for consideration during the design process (e.g., Graham and Whalen, 2008), there are a number of issues clouding its practical application. 6.3.1 Multimodal/Dimensional Genre This book has concentrated on document sets comprising, at some level, ‘the same content’ realised across different mediums, modes, forms, and systems. Because of this similarity in content at one level, it might seem that the very use of genre as a key term is anomalous. These document sets are already so closely linked that their members might be said to be within the same genre as one another by default, with the only exception being the system. Here the use of genre at one level would be something that should be applied externally between different document sets rather than internally between instantiations of what is, to some extent, ‘the same’ document (and, therefore, if ‘the same’ then part of the same genre). Bateman addresses this in his comparison between the print Guardian and The Guardian online (see Section 5.3 of this book): Making them ‘co-generic’ with respect to their assumed identity as ‘news-papers’ certainly tells us something useful about the reasons why the two documents contain information of similar kinds: i.e., ‘news’. But in other respects this view is less helpful. It does not, for example, give us a particularly accurate indication of the interpretative strategies the documents require of their readers. (Bateman, 2008, p. 179) There is a temptation to apply classifications of genres of increasing precision and sub-categorisation to account for each degree of variation found among documents. At a certain level this begins to become too detailed for anything but the most analytic and corpus-based work, so a more practical approach is needed. Part of this may come from a more detailed understanding of genre; for example, Askehave and Nielsen (2005) suggest a ‘two-dimensional’ genre incorporating medium as well as text ‘to “up-grade” the genre model; and also suggest ways [. . .] to account for web-mediated texts’ (p. 7). This follows a trend to treat so-called cybergenres as different from ‘traditional’ genres, the benefit of which has been a re-emphasis on materiality in terms of the functionality and interaction with documents. Fortunately this concept of functionality has been reincorporated back into all genres, digital or physical, by the GeM model, which includes the role of content, form, and function (Bateman, 2008,

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p. 216) universally rather than seeing functionality as the special preserve of the cyber-genre. From a design perspective it appears essential that genre is considered as multimodal and, similarly, that aspects of form, medium, and resulting functionality are all central. From other perspectives this approach might be labelled as a ‘multi-dimensional multimodal genre’ approach. From the perspective of design, it must necessarily just be ‘genre’ as without the ‘additions’ heralded by the modifiers there is little for the designers to concern themselves with in terms of genre. Mutlimodality takes on a further dimension regarding document sets with cross- and transmedia instantiations (see Section 2.4) as these will frequently (although not always) involve a change in available modes or the specifics of common modes. Therefore, when discussing a multimodal document (i.e., any and all documents), full consideration of a document set must be given as it is increasingly common for documents to exist in multiple instantiations across different media (with associated mode variations, including medium as mode). This has been the focus of exploration in this book and its framework. The scope of multimodality expands in line with the scope of the conception of a ‘document’ (see Section 6.4). 6.3.2 Multi-Genre In addition to multi-dimensional and multimodal, it may be useful to be able to consider a document as belonging to multiple genres (multigenre). There are a number of ways in which a concept of multiple genres is applicable; one document can be assigned: different genres by different users; different genres following more or less user familiarity with the document; and multiple genres simultaneously by one user (and all combinations of these). This first option, categorisation into different genres by different users, has already been covered in Section 2.2.3 with reference to Santini (2007) and is in many ways essential as genre is socially constructed. Graham and Whalen (2008; see Section 2.5.1) address a similar concept with ‘hybrid’ user groups who all have different reasons for and aims in using a specific document, leading to a hybridisation as to the perceived genre classification of that document. Users’ perceptions of genre might also change, potentially very rapidly, as their exposure to, or familiarity with, an object (document) changes (in addition to their familiarity with the genre as a whole). An initial perception of a document might be formed at a distance, literally judging a book (or magazine, paper, etc.) by its cover or not even its cover as a whole— just the overall impression of style and colour given from a distance. For example, a distinction might easily be made at a distance, and without specifics, between a mass market supermarket hardback book vs. literary fiction published by a small press. Cues might involve the use of photography and typography, even if the details of the content of the image

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and the words are not decipherable (see Moys, 2012, for the influence of typographic variables on users’ impressions of documents). Another example might be the colour and stylistic differences among publications directly marketed at specific genders. On looking more closely at the cover (and/or back, header, flaps, etc., depending on specifics) of a document, a more concrete idea of genre might be arrived at: specific words and summary sentences give a more concrete idea of content (this may agree or disagree with the impression gained at a distance). Further stages might involve skimming or flicking through the document and finally reading or using it in detail. At each stage the user’s exact association of a given document to a specific genre might change solely through deeper experience with the document itself. In Section 3.3.2 the balance between graphic structures and conceptual structures (and similar ideas under varied terminology; see Section 3.3.2) was addressed. This balance may relate to specific genre patterns. In addition to graphical and conceptual structures not being aligned with one another, users may have an idea of the structures typical of the genre they identify a document as belonging to. Graphical structures and conceptual structures of documents need to operate in relation to genre as an additional ‘structure’. This variation of genre interpretation as experience increases is different from, but parallel to, the concept of nested or recursive genres first raised in Section 2.6.2. There, the context of documents (i.e., the type of place or space they are obtained from or displayed in), documents themselves and sub-elements of documents may all be given genre classifications at different levels. This means that, at the lower levels, two sub-elements from different documents might have a similar genre classification to one another despite belonging to different genres at higher levels. For example, there are genre conventions for tables of contents that can be recognised among documents from otherwise divergent genres, such as a car magazine compared to a corporate sustainability report. Such an application of genre to wider internal and external features and spaces would begin to stretch the use of the term as it is applied at present, moving genre even further from purely verbal or textual considerations. Elsewhere, combinations of genre and space tend not to be concerned with the literally spatial. For example, genre spaces and genre topologies represent ‘genre systems as geography of the possible’ (Dryder, 2008, p. 503), not physical spaces in the real world. Other genre research considers genre-defined texts as they relate to, and influence, space(s) rather than those spaces as genres in themselves (e.g., Genre and the City, Shapiro, 2011). A more direct affinity can be seen in the pattern language concepts of Christopher Alexander’s pattern languages (Alexander, 1979; see also 1975 and 1977) from the field of architecture. These patterns account for context and conflicting forces to describe specific problems (such as user needs for the functionality of an area of a building) which

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might be resolved in a multitude of ways and network with one another. As such, the patterns begin to act as both a genre space and an application of genre to space. Note, however, that patterns and genre are not the same as one another (see Waller and Delin, 2010, p. 8). This idea of nested or recursive genre is not the same as sub-genre as conventionally conceived. It is a sub-genre within (or above or around) the document, not a sub-genre within a genre (although sub-genre and nested genre may overlap). Graham and Whalen (2008) suggest ‘gestalt-shift genres’ (as they put it ‘[for lack of a better term]’ p. 89), where a document of one genre contains functionality of a further genre, given some change in use. The example given is an e-card which becomes a game after delivering its message (‘Ryzex E-Card Game’ example used throughout the Graham and Whalen, 2008, paper). In some sense these are nested genres, but the shift of genre due to an active change of use is a different type of relationship. In addition to these layered, multiple genre classifications there might be the simple assignment of multiple genres in a manner similar to that discussed by Santini (2007; see Section 2.2.3) but taking multiple genre categorisations for one document from one person. This, however, brings the focus back to a practical use of genre and questions as to the level of the use of genre. This is especially problematic when many folk genres are dominated by one aspect of a genre’s make-up, such as its medium or physicality or its content. 6.3.3 Practicality and Use Within Design What is needed is to make genre a direct, practical tool for use within graphic design (and within graphic design as a ‘multimodal’ discipline, although multimodality can be assumed as inherent; see Section 2.3). Genre, however, is already a tool in general use applied to a wide range of situations in production, consumption, and analysis. It is used both academically and in a lay or folk (or ‘common use’) context. In many cases this use of genre may be implicit rather than explicit. A competent designer is likely to be sensitive to genre but might not articulate their thinking in such terms if asked to externalise the thought process. There is no reason to expect them to be familiar with Waller’s diagrams of genre within the design process (Waller, 1988), even if this is an accurate representation of the method. Other terminology might be used: talk of conventions, styles (in a broader sense), types (again, in a broader sense than ‘fonts’), etc., but referring to a related foundational concept of genre. Likewise users and consumers might be very adept at genre-based decision-making and interpretation without describing it as such (see Section 2.2.1 for similar reasoning from McQuail, 1987). Genre, then, is already a practical tool but one that falls short in two specific ways. To enhance its practical use there needs to be greater direct

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discussion of genre (as genre) within graphic communication and design. To enable this a fuller academic understanding of genre within graphic design must be arrived at. In attempting to generate more articulated and thorough discussion of genre within graphic communication, at both the level of the practitioner and the academic (and the overlap between the two), a distinct mismatch or shortfall between the work generated on genre from other fields and the requirements of graphic design is seen. That the extension of genre to multimodal documents, to the consideration of features outside the verbal characteristics of text, requires justification and an advancement of research (see Bateman’s, 2008, pp. 196–202, view of research moving in this direction) seems mystifying from a graphic design and communication perspective. Although the combination of genre and multimodality is providing a key area of fresh research and thought within genre studies, designers require no encouragement to consider ‘multimodality’—it is the term, rather than the concept, that is foreign. Indeed, to some extent design approaches the question of genre from an inverted perspective of mode primacy. Where the text, the words themselves and their combination (style, register, etc.), has been the focus of genre in other fields, the layout and appearance of the text has been the focus of design. For many authors the final typesetting of the text by a non-writer who specialises in such things might be a necessary but incidental detail—the chief mode of the author is written—verbal and linguistic. The document designer, in many, although not all, cases, is given the words of another to work with. Aside from minor copy editing the text is a given; it is not a mode that can be utilised by the designer. Words are the essential, core mode for the practice of typography but frequently not the mode manipulated by the typographer. Type style, shape, colour, space, arrangement, and image can be varied as they apply to the words and ideally utilised in such a way to support the words (see Chapter 3 on logical structures of text and layout vs. content structure), but the words themselves are not the mode of the designer’s input. Genre has traditionally been language and text centric (monomodal, if that were possible), and this same text is central to the document designer; it is their ‘material’. However, the focus of modes used to act on this text (the modes of multimodality, all of them essential, even if not always fully articulated!) is different. The chain of thought here is not true in all cases; designers can be authors and may have extensive editorial control over text in some cases. However, such an account represents a general context to reason through the differences in approach and the need for genre theory within design compared to other fields. A further difficulty with the use of genre within graphic communication is not just the level of application of genre as a term but its area of specific use and relevance for the people involved in design and its

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study: commissioners, designers, design students, consumers, and those writing about the academic side of design. There may be attempts to study genre in an objective way, but the relative nature of genre is inescapable. Much study of genre external to the field of design is, variously, analytic, corpus-based, or computational—a somewhat clinical outlook on an essentially social field. These are not bad approaches, and more research is needed into all areas; however, there does appear to be a gap. Although there is an increasing emphasis on materiality, including the role of the systems of production behind that materiality, there is a risk of studying the objects that are the result of design externally from the design process (something of which this book is itself guilty!). Consider the difference between a computational corpus-based study of genre and Graham and Whalen’s 2008 study, which described itself as ‘an ethnographic case study exploring the practice of a professional new-media designer’ (Graham and Whalen, 2008, p. 65). The existence of ‘genres’, or even ‘documents’, in the abstract is of little direct relevance to design, when these ‘concepts’ are of such continuous practical application. What are being seen as ‘new’ variables to consider in multimodal documents are, then, foundational to graphic design. There is also a need to consider the documents which make up genres as the result of a practice-based discipline, not isolated artefacts. It should be remembered that many ‘designed’ items are the result of lay design rather than the output of those with formal design training or positions. Terms such as ‘practice-based discipline’ risk making design appear an exclusive activity (Design vs. design), but this is not the case. Such a division would be better considered as a continuum: the difference between experienced ‘Designers’ and the untrained amateurs engaging in design tasks is not a clear distinction. It might be theorised that genre sensitivity increases along this continuum, at least in terms of production. The lay designer might be very sensitive to genre in terms of consumption of documents but be unable to articulate this sensitivity fully when producing documents themselves.

6.4 Documents ‘Document’ has been used in this book as a vital, but problematic, concept. Having been first interrogated in terms of initial definition and meaning in Section 3.4, it was then used pragmatically in the context of document sets and instantiations to enable the framework of Section 4.3 to be devised. Section 4.5 explored further issues relating to document boundaries and identity beyond the neat definitions of Section 4.3, these issues being confirmed and highlighted again by the case studies of Chapter 5, especially The Guardian (see Section 5.3.5). What, then, is the position of ‘document’ following such analysis?

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6.4.1 Distinction and Identity The question of document boundary—where a document begins or ends— covers most of the problems relating to document albeit in different ways with both internal and external considerations needed. What distinguishes an internal from an external problem of document boundary is a matter of perspective. Broadly speaking, an internal question of boundary would be along these lines: are distinct sub-elements of what appears commonly as a single, distinct document or documents in their own right? For example, advertisements within a newspaper, in print or online—externally, the question is: to what extent can items which are commonly seen as separate documents in some way, but share some notable close connection, be considered to be part of a single document (e.g., multivolume publications or loose material bundled with another publication, such as flyers in a magazine)? Publications or communications (documents) compounded of what were, at one point, multiple different documents relate to both of these views (e.g., a newsletter comprised of articles originally written in different files). Taken further, more philosophical conjectures can be raised, such as the identity and nature of a text across assorted variations, versions, or states. What is the boundary at which the document assumes a new identity (see Section 3.4 on document Platonism)? As with the more general discussion on terminology in this chapter (see Section 6.2), a balance must be reached with the term ‘document’. It is essential that there be a general, useable, and relatable term with which to refer to the end products of graphic communication. At the same time, there is an undercurrent of conceptual ambiguity which must be acknowledged. For the outlining of the framework in Chapter 4, some of the ambiguous areas of document were side-stepped to enable a more direct focus on just one area—that of addressing multiple instantiations of ‘the same’ document across mediums, systems, and modes. This does not solve the problem of document boundaries, and this gap was evident again in The Guardian case study in Section 5.3. The point at which this became relevant was when large and complicated documents within a set began to share less of the same broad content. Where two instantiations across differing systems shared a high number of content objects (be they articles, pictures, adverts, etc.), even if there were variations in the specifics, it was easy to draw a link of shared identity and boundary. The level at which the boundary is drawn could be debated—the newspaper as a whole compared to just one story or just one image within one story. Whichever is chosen it could be matched across the two instantiations. Internal and external questions are not resolved, but progress can be made nonetheless. However, beyond a relatively straightforward case where a number of content objects are shared, the problem becomes more pressing. If an instantiation, B, contains the content of instantiation A in a more-or-less

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similar manner (a systematisation) but also contains a large amount of other content not found in A, it is necessary to draw a boundary between A and B. Should only that portion of B which broadly matches the content and function of A be compared to it as a document? If so the comparison is easily defined but may not account for the wider context of the presumably complex and composite document that is B. If the more diverse content of B is included, then A immediately becomes greatly dissimilar overall, even if the shared content has a high degree of similarity. This faltering hunt for systematic exactness regarding documents often fails to account for the production and life cycles of documents. At an archival level this matters little; the document is as it is, stored and catalogued to be preserved in a set state (and in some areas there will exist archives of matter relating to the creation and design and development of documents—drafts, sketches, etc.). Not only are many documents composed of what were at one point individual documents in their own right (e.g., each photograph), but in many cases each of these component documents will exist in multiple instantiations: the core text as a Word document, a PDF, or a printout and the illustrations in assorted file formats (and maybe as hand-drawn or printed artefacts which were then photographed). These might then be placed into a document template, which is itself, at some level, a document. Documents created from this multitude of component documents might then themselves become components of later documents. 6.4.2 Key Considerations At this point the use of ‘document’ as a term, chosen initially due to its everyday common practicality, seems lacking, and a slide begins back towards phrasings such as content objects or document objects. Certainly this would be more amenable to the creation of a system of recursive document objects similar to that of Engelhardt’s recursive graphic objects (2002; see Section 2.6 of this book for discussion). Here a qualifier such as ‘object’ could be added only when necessary. Any definition of document, unless unhelpfully abstract, seems unlikely to be wholly defensible against the range of possible critiques. Rather, ‘document’ should be used without excessive technicality at the level relevant to any given analysis while keeping in mind the following areas: • •

•

the potentially recursive nature of documents within documents; the vagueness of document internal and external boundaries and the extent to which this may be perceived differently for print vs. digital documents; documents as part of a production/design and use/consumption cycle (and the myriad instantiations of components and iterations this leads to);

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Design Perspectives on Mm. Documents questions of document identity as content varies, as system and medium change, and in the case of dynamic documents; specific variation in terms of document version (editions and drafts) and document state (in dynamic documents) in addition to medium or system change; broader questions of text (document) ontology and document identity across multiple instantiations; for all of these difference between digital and print or physical (see Section 6.2) and the extent to which perceived differences here are conceptual or technical. (see Section 4.5.3)

Although these areas of continued uncertainty regarding defining documents are identified, the terms ‘document set’ and ‘document instantiation’ (given in Section 4.3) enable more accurate discussion of such uncertainties. In all cases, there is a need to address the general and the specific, accounting for broad connections across content of varying similarities while retaining a firm awareness of the extent to which specifics and context give meaning and use to documents. Further, this gives a workable resolution to the questions of text Platonism raised in Section 3.4 by placing the meaning and use on instantiations as opposed to idealised abstractions. As with the framework in Chapter 4 and the case studies of Chapter 5, specific lines of enquiry will naturally find some areas to be more relevant to focus on than others, with some being of only very minor interest in certain cases. Due to this, it will generally be desirable to use diverse and complicated examples to reveal gaps and problems in theories. For example, the additional degrees of variation shown in The Guardian case study compared to the IKEA catalogue revealed areas in which the framework begins to struggle. However, where the framework struggles at clinical categorisation, the concepts and vocabulary behind the framework still provide a context when discussing and identifying these struggles. The analysis and categorisation of multistate or dynamic, primarily digital, documents has not been covered in a great deal of depth in this book and represents a wide subject in its own right. There are a number of different areas and types of documents to which such analysis is relevant (many of which may overlap in any given instance) including: change based on system parameters (e.g., the size of the user’s browser), change based on user input, change based on pre-determined variables (e.g., a set of variables from which one is chosen at random), or change based on third party input. Although not necessarily relevant in all cases, it is again important to emphasise these changes as internal to an instantiation: change within the instantiation, rather than change between instantiations that was the focus of the framework of Section 4.3. As suggested by the case study summary in Section 5.3.5, a crucial factor

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here is accounting for designed change(s), for example, a set of three system-specific layouts for an article and the extent to which these layouts show change in terms of content (including layout as content) and mode use. These designed changes are part of intended, planned change: changes within an instantiation that form a key part of that instantiation’s identity.

6.5 Conclusion This book has discussed the graphical communication of content with a high degree of similarity across changes in medium, system, mode, and genre. Although the use of diverse means of publication is not a wholly new phenomenon, it is now of growing importance and commonality. This research has placed a direct focus on such content: documents which are at some level ‘the same’ information but which are published in diverse forms. In some cases, this transfer of documents across different systems may result in outcomes with a high degree of similarity, with little effort from the designer (be they professional or lay). In others, effort may be needed to ensure that the outcomes appear and function as similarly as possible despite changes in system. Alternatively, the affordances of different systems may be more actively embraced, and alternative embodiments of the content are arrived at to convey the same information in a manner sympathetic to a system and its use. This book presents a framework to begin to account for the differing degrees and types of change occurring within sets of documents realised in multiple instantiations. A pair of deliberately complicated (yet not unusual in terms of their make-up) case studies has been employed to test the framework and exemplify the arguments discussed. The framework was shown to be broadly successful in accounting for the wide range of material present in the case studies. However, some of the intricacies revealed areas of ambiguity related to continued vagaries of definition and conceptual understanding. The extent and type of change between document instantiations will continue to develop with advances in technology and changes in the production and consumption of content. As change will continue, there is a need for a flexible system to identify types of relationships among document instantiations, and such a system must be backed by a depth of conceptual reasoning to account for categories of change as they occur. The wide-ranging critical discussions in this book aim to give a more rigorous grounding in such reasoning. In particular, the use of ‘document sets’ and ‘document instantiations’ to address specific aspects of the broader term ‘document’ allows for more accurate analysis. These terms allow the commonalities and linked features of documents across systems to be considered while emphasising the fundamental importance of context and specifics in the consumption of graphic communication.

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A critical and reflective discussion of the terminology associated with genre and document theory has been shown to be vital. Designers might consider document design and theory to be their domain; however, much of the research in the area is from other fields. Likewise, those from other fields may consider the outputs of document designers to be their area of study while knowing little about document design. Perspective, expectation, and basic assumptions differ greatly among fields of study. (Multi) modality has been shown as a prime example of this, as an area which has received a large amount of recent research in non-design fields but covering ideas fundamental to graphic design. More research is needed from within graphic design and communication to relate and refine the theories targeted at the products of graphic design, but originating in other disciplines, to design theory and practice itself. Combing multimodality and design contributes to what Hiippala (2015, p. 83) sees as ‘hopefully an emerging trend, whereby multimodal researchers and information design take prospective steps towards each other’. A more design-centric approach will not only strengthen research undertaken by other disciplines but also lead to theories of greater practical applicability and use for designers creating documents and give them a clearer language and framework with which to discuss and explain design problems and solutions.

Note 1. Similar sentiments were expressed by Waller (1988; see pp. 303–304 especially), noting that for design, ‘simple guidelines and slogan languages are generally better welcomed than theoretical constructs which few will make the effort to understand’ (p. 303) and that this is at odds with the technical and abstract systems constructed in other fields.

References Alexander, C. (1975), The Oregon Experiment, Oxford University Press. Alexander, C. (1977), A Pattern Language, Oxford University Press. Alexander, C. (1979), The Timeless Way of Building, Oxford University Press. Askehave, I., and Nielsen, A. E. (2005), ‘What Are the Characteristics of DigitalGenres?—Genre Theory From a Multi-Modal Perspective’, Proceedings of the 38th Hawaii International Conference on System Sciences, IEEE. Bateman, J. A. (2008), Multimodality and Genre, a Foundation for the Systematic Analysis of Multimodal Documents, Palgrave Macmillan. Clayton, E. (2013), The Golden Thread, Counterpoint. Dryder, B. D. (2008), ‘Taking Up Space: Genre Systems as Geographies of the Possible’, Journal of Advanced Composition (JAC): Rhetoric, Writing, Culture, Politics, 28:3/4, pp. 503–534. Engelhardt, J. (2002), The Language of Graphics—A Framework for the Analysis of Syntax and Meaning in Maps, Charts and Diagrams, Institute for Logic, Language and Computation, University of Amsterdam, Ashenhurst.

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Frascara, J. (2004), Communication Design, Principles, Methods, and Practice, Allworth Press. Graham, S. S., and Whalen, B. (2008), ‘Mode, Medium, and Genre: A Case Study of Decisions in New-Media Design’, Journal of Business and Technical Communication, 22:65, pp. 65–90. Hiippala, T. (2015), The Structure of Multimodal Documents, An Empirical Approach, Routledge. McQuail, D. (1987), Mass Communication Theory: An Introduction, Sage. Moys, J. (2012), Typographic Meaning: Reader’s Impressions of Patterns of Typographic Differentiation, Ph.D. Thesis, University of Reading, UK. Santini, M. (2007), ‘Zero, Single, or Multi? Genre of Web Pages Through the Users’ Perspective’, Information Processing and Management, 44:2008, pp. 702–737. Shapiro, M. J. (Ed.). (2011), Genre and the City, Routledge. Waller, R. (1988), The Typographic Contribution to Language, Towards a Model of Typographic Genres and their Underlying Structures, Ph.D. Thesis, University of Reading, UK. Waller, R., and Delin, J. (2010), Towards a Pattern Language Approach to Document Description, Paper presented at Multidisciplinary Approaches to Discourse, Moissac, France, 2010. Technical Paper 4, Simplification Centre, University of Reading, UK.

Index

Note: Page numbers in italics indicate figures and in bold indicate tables on the corresponding pages. access structure 39, 40, 49n2, 50n15 Actor Network Theory (ANT) 78 adaptation, content see change Adobe InDesign 117 Alexander, C. 206 Aristotle 8, 81n6 artefact structure 10–11, 40, 66, 81n10 Askehave, I. 38, 206 Bateman, J. A. 9–11, 13, 16–18, 17, 116, 200; three-point justification for use of genre 40 Baudrillard, J. 43, 48–49 Bazerman, C. 13 behavioural targeting 109 bibliography 82n16 Biggs, M. 77–78, 79 Bordwell, D. 9 boundaries, internal and external 106–107; IKEA catalogue 141–146, 141, 146 Bram, T. 69 branding 119, 121n19 Briet, S. 73, 82n15–16 Buckland, M. K. 74 case studies: The Guardian (see Guardian, The); IKEA catalogue (see IKEA catalogue); manuscript instantiation in 128–129; scope and context of 124–129, 127; use and meaning of images in 125–128, 127 change: conceptual views of design and 62–72, 70; documents and 72–80; within and between modes 112–115, 113; overview of 55–56;

relevance of 115–116; translation, transformation, and systems 56–62 collections and concatenations 107–108 concatenations and collections 107–108 (re)configurations 94, 95, 100–102, 101, 120n10 consolidation 184–186 content adaptation see change content management systems (CMS) 102 context of documents 1–3, 2; and framework for mode and genre 112–120 copies and one-offs 94, 95, 96–98 craft tradition 81n9 crossmedia 31–36, 33, 34, 36; applicability to mode 32–36, 33, 34, 36 crossmodal (term) 50n10 de Beaugrande, R. 12 de Bono, E. 7 deconstructionism 67 Defining Multimedia 37 deRose, S. 75–76 designer/producer intentions and framework 103–106 design perspectives: ambiguity and level of application in 191–193; case studies (see case studies); competing visions in 81n8; conclusions on 205–206; on digital versus physical systems 193–195; documents 201–205; form, content, structures, and systems 63–66; form and content in 63; genre 195–201; impact of form/

Index content division on 66–68; intent in 103–106; practicality and use within 199–201; thought process in 105–106; traditions in 81n9; use of definitions and terminology 190–193 digital materiality 90–92 digital media 193–195; as catch-all term 89–90; interactive nature of 80–81n3 digitisation projects 104–105 distinction and identity in multimodal documents 202–203 documents, multimodal 72–73, 201–205; book structure for understanding 4–5; case studies (see case studies); change and (see change); collections and concatenations of 107–108; conceptual and technical divisions in 108–109; context of 1–3, 2; defining 73–75, 203–204; distinction and identity in 202–203; fixity of 109–112; framework of (see framework, document); internal and external boundaries and 106–107; linear versus nonlinear 15, 15, 16, 42, 68, 100, 107, 120–121n12; note on referencing regarding 5; OHCO and SGML texts and 75–78; overlap of written 120n5; platonism and 78–80; proposed relationships between 94–96, 95; scope and limitations of understanding 3–4 document science 82n15 Dokvit programme 74 e-book files 100–101, 101 embodiments 94, 95, 102–103 ‘Emergence of the Memo genre’ 13 Engelhardt,Y. 19, 44–45 Fixed or Fluid? Document Stability and New Media 109 fixity 109–112 fluidity 109–110 form and content 63; further distinctions in typography and 69–72, 70; impact of division of 66–68; structures and systems 63–66 ‘form follows function’ concept 65, 81n12 foundational notion 11

209

framework, document: changes across medium and system to 94–103, 95, 98, 101; context for mode and genre and 112–120; designer/ producer intentions and 103–106; introduction to and context of 87–89, 88; medium and 89–94; medium and document 106–112 Frascara, J. 80n3, 81n7, 193 genre: background and definition of 8–9; branding and 119; concerns about direct approach to practical use of 16–18, 17; context and framework for 112–120; design perspectives on 195–201; framework and use of 116–117; materiality and 40–41, 50–51n16; multi- 197–199; multimodal/dimensional 196–197; practice and social action in 12, 12–15, 14; recursion in 46; style and 117–120, 121n17; three-point justification for use of 40; Twyman’s schema and 15, 15–16; Waller’s model of 9–12, 10, 11 Genre and Multimodality (GeM) project 11, 11, 16, 117–118 Gibson, J. 40 Goldsmith, E. 45, 108–109, 111 Goodman, N. 26, 44 Graham, S. S. 39, 39, 197, 199, 201 graphic language: genre in 8–18; medium and multimedia 36–43, 39, 43; mode 18–31; multi-/cross-/transmedia/model 31–36, 33, 34, 36; overview of 7–8; recursive analysis 44–49 graphic objects 44–45 Guardian, The 3, 11, 18, 124–125, 201, 202, 204; apps and website of 183–186, 182; consolidation in 184–186; instantiations and core document set of 156–168, 158–162, 164, 166–167; Kindle edition of 177, 178; overview of 155–156, 155; relationships between instantiations of 173–181, 174–177, 179–180; summary points on 181–184, 182; wider document set and genre of 168–173, 171–173 Guardian Weekly, The 156, 168 Haley, A. 69 Hayles, N. K. 67–68 Huitfeldt, C. 77–78, 79

210

Index

IfDA 18 IKEA catalogue 2, 3, 124–125, 173, 204; consolidation in 184–186; instantiations and core document set of 130–140, 132–134, 136, 138, 139; online and app catalogues and printouts relationships 145–155, 146–148; overview of 129–130, 129; print, store, and PDF catalogues relationships 144–149, 147; relationships between instantiations in 143–152; set inclusion and boundaries 138–143, 139, 141; summary points on 152–154; use and meaning of images in 125–128; websites and IKEA app relationships 149–152, 150, 150–151 images, use and meaning of 125–128, 127 information studies 82–83n17 inscription 44 instantiations 93, 94–96, 95; and core document set of IKEA catalogue 130–140, 131–133, 136, 137, 139; and core document set of The Guardian 156–168, 158, 160–161, 166–167, 171; manuscripts 128–129; relationships between, in The Guardian 178–186; relationships between, in the IKEA catalogue 146–156 intent 103; process, practice, and 105–106 intention 103–105 interactive nature of digital technology 80n3 internal and external boundaries 106–107; IKEA catalogue 141–146, 141, 144 interpretive modes 19 Kindle edition of The Guardian 177, 178 Koch, P. 66 Kress, G. 17, 20, 22–23; on materiality 40; on modes 30, 47; on multimodality 26–27 labels 7–8, 194–195 Lamport, L. 65 Latour, B. 78 Lee, D. Y. W. 8 Lemke, J. L. 16 Le Monde 168 levels of mode 19–22, 21 Levy, D. M. 109–111

linear versus non-linear content 15, 15, 16, 42, 68, 100, 107, 120–121n12 Logan, S. 70 logical structure 62, 64–66, 68, 77–78, 81n11, 205 Lupton, E. 42 Mak, B. 128–129 manuscripts 128–129 materiality: digital and physical 90–92; genre and 40–41, 50–51n16; proposed relationships among documents and 94–96, 95; systematisation and digital 99–100 McLuhan, M. 37, 41–43, 43, 48 McQuail, D. 8 meaning 45; constructed based on experience 109 medium: changes across 94–103, 95, 98, 101; changes within and between mode and 112–115, 113; collections and concatenations of 107–108; combined with mode/multimodality 28–31, 29; conceptual and technical divisions and 108–109; distinctions among 89–90; fixity and 109–112; genre and materiality of 40–41; hypothetical example of 92–94; internal and external boundaries and 106–107; materiality of 90–92; multimedia and 36–43, 39, 43; recursive nature of 48–49; succession 41–43, 43 Miller, A. 42 Moby Dick 79, 80 modality 22–23; see also multimodality mode 18–19; applicability of crossand trans- to 32–36, 33, 34, 36; combining medium and 28–31, 29; context and framework for 112–120; levels of sub-modes and 19–22, 21; modality, truth, and verisimilitude in 22–23; multi-/cross-/transmedia/ 31–36, 33, 34, 36; recursion in 46–48; relevance and multimodality of 26–27; subjectivity and 23–26, 25; variation within and between 112–115, 113 Mode, Medium, Genre Interaction Heuristic (MMGI) 39, 39 mode as semiotic resource 20 mode of expression 19

Index mode of organisation 19 mode of symbolization 19 monomodality 48 Moys, J. 117 multi-genre 197–199 multimedia and medium 36–43, 39, 43 multimodal/dimensional genre 196–197 multimodality: combining medium and 28–31, 29; genre and 200–206; relevance and 26–27; see also modality Multimodality and Genre 10, 40 mutatis mutandis 32, 66 narrative language 27 National Readership Survey 174 naturalism 22 Nelson, T. 106 nested genre 199 new media 50n14 Nielsen, A. E. 38, 196 non-linear versus linear content 15, 15, 16, 42, 68, 100, 107, 120–121n12 Norrish, P. 56, 57, 59, 98–99 objects, graphic 44–45 Observer, The 156, 159, 169–174, 178, 180, 188 O’Keefe, D. J. 38–39 one-offs 94, 95, 96–98 Ordered Hierarchy of Content Objects (OHCO) model of text structure 75–78, 83n19, 120n6 Orlikowski, W. J. 13, 16 overlap of content 120n5 personalisation 109 physical materiality 90–92 platonism 79–80 Pollock, J. 24–25 practicality and use within design 199–201 Prestel view data system 59–60 Production and Metaphysics 50n9 Purchase, H. 37–39, 44–45, 50n13 QuarkXPress 117 Reading Images 22, 40 recursive analysis: genre 46; graphic objects 44–45; medium 48–49; mode 46–48 recursive genre 199 relationships among documents: (re)configurations 94, 95, 100–102,

211

101, 120n10; embodiment 94, 95, 102–103; in The Guardian 178–186; in the IKEA catalogue 146–156; one-offs and copies 94, 95, 96–98; systematisation 94, 95, 98–100 relevance and multimodality 26–27 Renear, A. 76 rhetorical tradition 81n9 Richards, C. 7, 19, 45, 63 romantic tradition 81n9 Ryman, R. 22 Santini, M. 14–15, 197, 199 Schriver, K. A. 74 Scolari, C. A. 32 semantic chaos 32 sets 94–96, 95 signifier materials 90 sign making and modes 21, 21 Sippey, M. 106 Smashing Magazine 69–70 Southall, R. 63–64, 65–66 Standard Generalised Markup Language (SGML) 77–79, 83n20 Stöckl, H. 24, 28–30, 29, 47 style, genre and 117–120, 121n17 sub-genre 204 subjectivity and mode 23–26, 25 sub-modes 19–22, 21, 48 succession 41–43, 43 Swales, J. M. 10, 13 systematisations 94, 95, 98–99; digital materiality and 99–100 systems: changes across 94–103, 95, 98, 101; classes of translation and 57–61, 58, 60; intention effect on designers and 103–105; materiality and 90–92 tacit knowledge 56 text as artifact 10 three-point justification for use of genre 40 transclusion 106–107 transformations 98–99 translation and transformation of graphical content: background and definition in 56–57; combining and questioning 61–62; systems and classes of 57–61, 58, 60 transmedia 31–36, 33, 34, 36; applicability to mode 32–36, 33, 34, 36 truth 22–23

212

Index

Twyman, M. 8, 112; on conceptual structure 65; on intrinsic and extrinsic typographic features 70; on mode of symbolization 116; on subjectivity of mode 23–24; system of notation 70–71; on verisimilitude 23 Twyman’s schema 15, 15–16, 19, 20 typography, form/content distinctions in 69–72, 70 Typography Without Words 70 van Leeuwen, T. 20, 22–23; on materiality 40; on modes 30, 47; on multimodality 26–27

verisimilitude 22–23 visual genres 16 Walker 58 Waller, R. 9–12, 17–18; on access structure 39, 49n2; genre model of typographic communication 9–12, 10, 11, 41, 64, 67, 117–118 Washington Post 168 Wellcome Library 104–105 Whalen, B. 39, 39, 199, 201, 207 Xanadu project 106 Yates, J. 13, 16