It's not who we are but where we are: skating the periphery versus pushing the envelope - the space of libraries need not be physical

Blocking software prevents access to certain Internet materials, either through exclusion (i.e., preventing access to selected materials) or through inclusion (allowing access only to selected materials). Its challenge to library work as we know it has less to do with its efficacy, which is dubious at best, than with the possibility that it one day will be. Patrick Wilson (1968) uses the term "exploitative control," the wielder of which "has merely to say what he wants writings for, and is then provided with what will suit that purpose best" (p. 25). He goes on to argue that libraries, with varying degrees of success, have attempted to fulfill that role on behalf of others. While it is not clear from this particular example who the wielder is and to whom or what he relays his request--Wilson later discusses the political ramifications--there is no doubt that the ability to define "suitable" and, by default "unsuitable," places said wielder in a position of considerable power over what is, for the time being, an infinitely expanding "docuverse."

Filtering software's threat to library work is defined less by its existence than by its presence (defined earlier in terms of belongingness). Thus, whether or not such software exists and how it is used is inconsequential, apart from its effect on policy and procedure. It is where it exists that should concern us. By this the author does not mean whether it resides on a library terminal or in private homes, but refers to the milieu of its creation and, presumably, continued development.

In other words, just as filtering software presses one to re-evaluate the whatness of library work, so too does it expand the sense of "whereness." Virtual reality, digitization, artificial intelligence--by whatever name we call it--we are nonetheless compelled to metaphorically ground ourselves in a Cooperesque information landscape. For example, hypertext writing has been variously described as "topographic" (Bolter, 1991), "open-bordered" (Landow, 1992), and "a plane of realization" (Berressem, 1996), phrases designed to transcend its basic insubstantiality. By implication, library work (if not the library itself) must not only establish a locus of control but be able to chart a credible course across these topographies, borders, and planes.

Downs and Stea (1977) contend that proper cartographic representation must satisfy four sets of decision rules (pp. 64-66). It must serve some purpose, it must offer a particular perspective, it must be drawn to scale, and its correspondence to the size of the environment being represented made clear. And it must employ symbols meaningful to would-be navigators.

While sorely tempted to apply these rules to library work in cyberspace, to do so would carry this article beyond reasonable parameters. The earlier "punnish" phrase, "virtuality is its own reward," suggests that,just as in the physical world, one can hope to gain knowledge, meaning, and personal satisfaction through the simple fact that one exists. The danger lies in assuming we carry the exact same identity when we shift dimensions (for a compelling discussion of this point, see Sherry Turkle's [1995] Life on the Screen). And, if our perceptions of self are different, how can our perceptions of place not be different as well? Knowledge representation-whether in the mind, on the shelf, or over the Internet--is still subject to the polychotomy of human expression and classification.