Spring Break
The fall of Facebook
by Hannah Kirsch
Deputy Editor
Arts | 9/2/08
Posted online at 5:53 PM EST on 9/1/08
/ Last updated at 12:56 AM EST on 9/1/08
Exit Facebook. You are no longer my favorite procrastination tool. Enter LibraryThing.
After all, what fun is perusing the newly publicized intimate details of peripheral friends' lives when I can catalogue every book I have ever read and compare the resulting compendium to other users' online libraries? Yes, this is the gist of LibraryThing, and no, I did not expect it to become such a timesink.
But there's the allure of seeing the totality of your literary experience spread out on the screen like a patient etherized upon a table. It's at once gratifying and humbling: "I've read three books by William Faulkner! Oh, and 12 by Jodi Picoult." Or perhaps, "Hey, I added 100 books before I couldn't think of any more! Oh, that user has 2,000." The only downside is that a $10 membership is required to add more than 201 books to a personal library.
Then there's the opportunity to indulge in a little flaunting of literary snobbery. Among the statistics LibraryThing provides is book obscurity, and I'm a little ashamed to say that I take involuntary pride in each rise in my obscurity rankings. My author cloud shows in larger font my most frequented authors; I love seeing Doris Lessing's name as grossly bloated as J.K. Rowling's, and I've got a friend who is particularly pleased with the enormous William Gaddis that visually dominates his author cloud. Speaking of friends, LibraryThing also provides the surprising option of pursuing social networking that is largely, but not solely, dork-oriented. The "You and none other" tab shows which books in my library are shared with only one other user, complete with a disturbingly intimate icon of two linked wedding rings. Why am I tempted to click this person's name and add him as a LibraryThing friend?
I know which users share the greatest percentage of books in their libraries with me, and I can peruse the site's talk pages for chats with authors, book reviews or recommendations and idle discussion of everything from the latest in Terry Pratchett to the most hallowed works of Plato. Quirky usergroups like The Green Dragon advertise "ale & lively, funny, lusty chat" about "Tolkien, Fantasy, SciFi, mythology; all books of wonder!" There are erudite groups championing obscure gothic novels and goal-oriented groups endorsing BookMooch or the "50 Book Challenge." LibraryThing Local even compiles a list of nearby literary events-Back Pages Books, More Than Words and the Waltham Public Library are all included in the database, which helps inspire my confidence in the site's depth of scope.
There's something peculiarly compelling about LibraryThing. I'm still busily entering books from my childhood (thus confronting an embarrassing profusion of science fiction from those awkward middle school years) and from this past summer's literary endeavors. Each entry brings me closer to someone else out there whose library includes both a Dover Miniature Score of Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique, virtually the complete works of Arthur C. Clark and a profusion of Japanese magical realist fiction. Hopefully, he or she will also show up to that open book group meeting at the Trident Booksellers and Café.
After all, what fun is perusing the newly publicized intimate details of peripheral friends' lives when I can catalogue every book I have ever read and compare the resulting compendium to other users' online libraries? Yes, this is the gist of LibraryThing, and no, I did not expect it to become such a timesink.
But there's the allure of seeing the totality of your literary experience spread out on the screen like a patient etherized upon a table. It's at once gratifying and humbling: "I've read three books by William Faulkner! Oh, and 12 by Jodi Picoult." Or perhaps, "Hey, I added 100 books before I couldn't think of any more! Oh, that user has 2,000." The only downside is that a $10 membership is required to add more than 201 books to a personal library.
Then there's the opportunity to indulge in a little flaunting of literary snobbery. Among the statistics LibraryThing provides is book obscurity, and I'm a little ashamed to say that I take involuntary pride in each rise in my obscurity rankings. My author cloud shows in larger font my most frequented authors; I love seeing Doris Lessing's name as grossly bloated as J.K. Rowling's, and I've got a friend who is particularly pleased with the enormous William Gaddis that visually dominates his author cloud. Speaking of friends, LibraryThing also provides the surprising option of pursuing social networking that is largely, but not solely, dork-oriented. The "You and none other" tab shows which books in my library are shared with only one other user, complete with a disturbingly intimate icon of two linked wedding rings. Why am I tempted to click this person's name and add him as a LibraryThing friend?
I know which users share the greatest percentage of books in their libraries with me, and I can peruse the site's talk pages for chats with authors, book reviews or recommendations and idle discussion of everything from the latest in Terry Pratchett to the most hallowed works of Plato. Quirky usergroups like The Green Dragon advertise "ale & lively, funny, lusty chat" about "Tolkien, Fantasy, SciFi, mythology; all books of wonder!" There are erudite groups championing obscure gothic novels and goal-oriented groups endorsing BookMooch or the "50 Book Challenge." LibraryThing Local even compiles a list of nearby literary events-Back Pages Books, More Than Words and the Waltham Public Library are all included in the database, which helps inspire my confidence in the site's depth of scope.
There's something peculiarly compelling about LibraryThing. I'm still busily entering books from my childhood (thus confronting an embarrassing profusion of science fiction from those awkward middle school years) and from this past summer's literary endeavors. Each entry brings me closer to someone else out there whose library includes both a Dover Miniature Score of Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique, virtually the complete works of Arthur C. Clark and a profusion of Japanese magical realist fiction. Hopefully, he or she will also show up to that open book group meeting at the Trident Booksellers and Café.
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