Authoring Literacy: From Index to Hypermedia

Jesse Hunter (McGill University)

Abstract: This article charts a thin history of cross-referencing from the classical and medieval commonplace, through print and the index, to hypermedia databases. Cultural practices of early printers are considered in relation to the category "author" and hierarchical structures of textual organization. The challenge to these concepts posed by current uses of hypermedia and electronic writing spaces is evaluated.

Résumé: Dans cet article, nous élaborons l'histoire peu développée des renvois--des registres classiques et médiévaux, en passant par l'imprimerie et l'index, jusqu'aux banques de données hypermédiatisées d'aujourd'hui. Nous considérons les pratiques culturelles des premiers imprimeurs, leur établissement d'une catégorie "auteur" et leur rôle dans la hiérarchisation de l'organisation textuelle. Nous évaluons ensuite l'atteinte portée à ces conceptions par l'emploi actuel d'hypermédias et d'espaces d'écriture électronique.


In current usage, the word "literate," in addition to "educated," "cultured," "lucid," and "polished," has come to mean "having knowledge or competence." For example, today we use the word literacy in such combinations as "computer literacy," "cultural literacy," and "media literacy." Coming from the Latin littera, for letter, literacy's origins might be seen to stem from a user's competence with the technology of letters. However, the convergence of writing with other technologies and techniques makes "literacy" much more than mere "letteracy." Rather, an exploration of literacy calls for a peeling back of layers of technology, each narrated within its own intricate history.

Among the technologies of print that can be seen to have imposed their inherent structure--the dictionary, encyclopedia, and the index--the latter has had arguably the greatest effect on the structure of expository practice in higher education over the past 400 years. The ability to make use of an index, an aspect of scholarly literacy that is often overlooked, has certain tacit implications. One of these is the hierarchical structuring of information in expository text, another is the creation of the category of "author" which has been gratuitously attributed to all published writers in print culture. More recently, technologies and techniques of electronic writing have called into question some of our basic assumptions about narrative structure and authorship. In a search for illuminations on this theme, this essay charts a thin history of the index from the early age of print to the age of electronic writing.


The term "rhetorical pattern," while used largely in reference to writing today, is a carry-over from the practices of oral culture. Aristotle outlines principles of rhetorical organization in The Art of Rhetoric, rhetoric being one of the core curriculum items in Greek, and subsequently in Roman, education. It is in this context that we find possibly the earliest precursor of the index, the commonplace. Walter Ong argues that even after classical cultures had developed writing, their manner of organizing thought was still largely oral:

The formulary character of oral performance is responsible for the development of the doctrine of commonplaces or Loci communes which dominated skilled verbal performance from oral-aural times until the maturing or the romantic age. The loci communes were essentially formulaic modes of expression derivative from oral practices perpetuating oral psychological structures. (Ong, 1967, p. 31)

Aristotle suggests that sophists made systematic use of loci communes and Ong suggests that they became a central part of Western culture. To understand the use of commonplaces, one must understand classical memory techniques. Quintillian's Art of Memory outlines the use of memory places or loci. He suggests as a mnemonic aid, the systematic placement of items to be remembered in easily recallable loci. The relative uniformity of, and subsequent familiarity with, architecture was undoubtedly a factor in this technique. For example, things to be recalled could be placed around a familiar courtyard in the mind's eye, linked to specific landmarks such as an atrium or a statue, then summoned from memory by retracing one's steps and remembering the items.

Commonplaces are a natural extension of these memory places also called topoi in Greek from which we get the English word topic. They could be used in the manner of a topic heading, as a standardized indicator of rhetorical direction. They could also be used to summon from memory a text with which educated interlocutors were assumed to be familiar. A similar practice persists today with the use of quotable quotations: "Sound and fury, signifying nothing"; "The quality of mercy not being strained," and so forth.

This use of commonplaces in classical discourse is in some respects akin to jurisprudence in the "common" law system which also dates back to Aristotle's day but which was introduced formally into Western society by Henry II and flourishes today. In the common law system, highly trained legal professionals consult the indexes of law libraries and previously tried case reporters in search of cases which might provide a precedent upon which to model a decision. The concept of precedence, the appeal to the wisdom and authority of one's predecessors, hearkens back to the classical and medieval use of commonplaces. However, whereas the precedence of the commonplace relied upon collective association, legal precedence is arrived at through hierarchical indexes, including the electronic system Quicklaw. The jurisprudence system is indeed heavily laden with the hierarchical structures of the modern index. Moreover, there are many stakeholders whose training and livelihood reside within that system.

Print and the Index

The index would appear to be a minor innovation amongst the many developments in literacy that are incident with the advent of print. It may well be considered an afterthought in the early stages of book arrangement. In its current use, however, it has become a form of meta-text whose influence, while largely invisible, is pervasive.

The ability to organize alphabetically is a by-product of writing rather than of moveable type. Certainly cross-referencing existed and had been used long before Gutenberg's invention. The Alexandrian Library is fabled to have had alphabetical catalogues. However, in manuscript libraries, shelf lists were generally arranged by incipits (the first few words of a text) and often relied on rhyming schemes which were limited because metrical demands called for the exclusion of various works (Eisenstein, 1979, p. 90). Library catalogues were generally incomplete and reflected the multiform character of scribal culture. They were idiosyncratically arranged according to the vagaries of individual library custodians. This was equally the case in the libraries of university towns that were maintained by mendicant orders. Medieval library custodians, like current-day legal professionals, had a great stake in keeping libraries organized in a way that made their expertise indispensable. Being the one individual who knew where a given manuscript lay made one a vicarious source of revelation, perhaps a great source of pride to the mendicant librarian in whom such a vice was rarely indulged.

If custodians of manuscript libraries had little motivation to create uniform library indexes, there was even less to encourage compilators (book compilers) to cross-reference manuscripts. The rewards for cross-referencing in scribal culture reflected the enormous effort it required. It was a labour of love and devotion, as suggested by one Genoese compiler in 1286 whose alphabetical catalogue was produced not by his own prowess but by "the grace of God" working within him (Daly, 1967, p. 73).

Two manuscripts, even of the same dictation, would almost never correspond in foliation. Therefore each manuscript would call for a separate index. It required a special brand of stoicism to produce an index for use with a single manuscript, really for one's solitary use, or for use by the limited number of individuals who might make the pilgrimage to it. The compiler who slaved over such a work undoubtedly would have been present to decipher his arcane methods for any interested pilgrim. In general, there was little in scribal culture to foster the development of uniform indexes.

Print and Print Practices

Unlike the styling of a manuscript, the printing of a book produces pages that are duplicates of an original. Uniform foliation meant that one index could serve an entire edition of a printed work. However, this contingency of print technology only partially explains why indexes became standard elements in scholarly writing. Another important influence in the increased importance of the index can be found in the cultural practices of early printers. Just as a medium can act as a social metaphor, so the social context of a medium's production can play a crucial role in providing its culture with definition. Thus, the environment in which printing took place became the defining metaphor of Renaissance scholarship. We may see glimpses of this defining metaphor in the esprit de système, of the print shops of sixteenth-century Europe:

Many early capitalist industries required efficient planning, methodological attention to detail, and rational calculation. The decisions made by early printers, however, directly affected both tool-making and symbol-making. Their products reshaped the powers to manipulate objects, to perceive and think about varied phenomena. Scholars concerned with "modernization" and "rationalization" might profitably think more about the new kind of brainwork fostered by the silent scanning of maps, tables, charts, diagrams, dictionaries, and grammars. They also need to look closely at the routines pursued by the individuals who compiled and produced such reference guides. (Eisenstein, 1979, p. 88)

The esprit de système that existed in print shops included, for the sake of efficiency, arranging materials where they could easily be found. This practice left its imprint on the actual texts as well. One publisher commented, "it is easier to find things when they are each disposed in a place and not scattered haphazardly," when referring to the organization of a text he had edited (Eisenstein, 1979, p. 74).

The environment of the print shop and that of the scriptorium bear little resemblance to one another, the latter with its carrels of chanters (or meditators, as Eco calls them), and the former with its entrepreneurs surrounded by piles of paper. The printer is less like a scribe in the age of manuscripts than he is like a software designer in the information age, surrounded by reference manuals.

In keeping with the stereotype of the Renaissance scholar, many early practitioners of the printing trade were scholar-printers such as Robert Estiennes, Christopher Plantin, and Aldus Manutius. The print shops of these men were also resource libraries. Plantin's library began with the books needed by correctors: lexicons, thesauruses, and other reference works created by Plantin. It grew to be a valuable collection greatly envied by his competitors.

While many printers were themselves scholars, many scholars began to frequent print shops as these places took on the status of cultural centres for intellectuals:

Insofar as decisions entailed consultation with the professors and physicians, print dealers, painters, translators, librarians and other learned men, it is not surprising that printers' workshops became cultural centers in several small towns or that the most advanced work in scholarship and science during the sixteenth century seemed to gravitate away from the old lecture halls and academic precincts. Moreover, printers were usually in a position of being able to profit from passing on to others systems they devised for themselves. (Eisenstein, 1979, p. 87)

While the organizational practices of the print shop played an important role in creating scholarly reference points, the competitive commercial nature of the printed book trade played a crucial role in bringing authors to the level of magnanimity that they have achieved today. Systematic cataloguing is a desirable practice in any business that has to account for an inventory. Such catalogues needed to be clear and coherent and conducive to turnover. As with other communications media that are burdened with the task of marketing the content of a predecessor (scriptures and commentaries remaining the primary content of incunabula), early printers were encouraged to add something new to old texts. They began to advertise "new and improved" products. Peter Schoeffer, for example, advertised that his texts were "more complete and better arranged" and "more readable," with "better arranged indexes." The content of these indexes also changed significantly.

Reference Points and Persons

In addition to "topics" which were a carryover from commonplaces, a new point of reference came to make its mark in the cross-referencing systems of printers, and a new category of writer: the author. While it is commonly held that the "star" system was created in Hollywood, there is strong evidence to suggest that it dates back at least to the early days of print.

As self-serving publicists, early printers issued book lists, circulars and broadsides. They put their firm's name, emblem and shop address on the front page of their books. Indeed, their use of title pages entailed a significant reversal of scribal procedures; they put themselves first. Scribal colophons had come last. They also extended their new promotional techniques to the authors and artists. (Eisenstein, 1979, p. 59)

In the scribal context, degrees of authorship were possible, but writing had been a collaborative enterprise. In the thirteenth century, St. Bonaventure outlined four ways his contemporaries could make books: as a scriptor (copyist); as compilator (compiler of other's works); as a commentator (a commentator who adds explanations to the work of others); and as auctor (the author of the principal part but with the addition of the work of others for confirmation) (Eisenstein, 1979, p. 122). Unique authorship was not even a consideration in Bonaventure's analysis. A further deterrent to unique authorship was the problem of assigning proper credit to scribal "authors." Who wrote Genesis? For that matter who actually wrote the Gospels?

While authorship, as it was exploited by sixteenth-century publishers, was a marketing tool, these publishers cannot be seen as being entirely entrepreneurial in making the author a commodity. There were certainly "fans" of authors in their own right even in the age of incunabula. Johannes Trithemius, considered by Besterman to be the "father of the bibliography," compiled Liber de scriptoribus Ecclesiastes, a three-thousand-page list of titles and authors containing an alphabetical index of "almost 1,000 authors" (Besterman, 1936, p. 157). It is perhaps of note that, while this abbot of Sponheim clearly had a penchant for authors, he had little faith in print technology; he is said to have had many print editions copied back onto vellum (Lowry, 1979, p. 266).

Incidental to the creation of the author as a point of reference are literary property rights which accompanied laws to accommodate the patenting of inventions. Previously, just as the individual's work had been tied to the protection of guilds, brain work had been bound within a collaborative model of the scriptorium. The terms "plagiarism" and "copyright," along with patenting, become part of the vernacular only after printing. For both the inventor and the author this created an added enticement: the elixir of immortality:

It is useful to recall that both the eponymous inventor and personal authorship appeared at the same time and as a consequence of the same process. Cheaper writing materials encouraged the separate recording of private lives and correspondence. Not paper mills but printing presses, however, made it possible to preserve personal ephemera intact. The "drive for fame" may have been effected by print-made immortality. (Eisenstein, 1979, p. 121)

Authorship also offered less apotheotic promise, the possibility of rising social status. Thus, in eighteenth-century France, a man with a skilled pen had the feeling he could climb the social ladder. There were, in fact, a limited number of philosophes who were not of noble birth. However, writing for the rising "bourgeoisie" put a member of the "middle class" in fairly good company if only by association:

The philosophes were men of letters. This is more than just a phrase. It defines a vantage point and eliminates the stale debate over their status as philosophers....[D]evotion to the art of writing gave the philosophes the strength that comes from membership in a respectable guild.... No matter how varied their concerns, they were men of a single career. (Gay, 1964, p. 117)

Reauthoring the Index

While traditional modes of cross-referencing have been augmented greatly with digital aids, the index remains largely a print technology. However, a relatively recent set of database technologies may be undermining the traditional index. Hypermedia and what have come to be called multimedia "authoring" tools may prove to call into question the structures and categories that we have inherited from the traditional index.

The earliest traces of the concept of hypermedia can be found in an article in Atlantic Monthly in 1945 by Vannevar Bush. Bush, an MIT analogue computer specialist who oversaw the ENIAC and Manhattan Projects, had anticipated the concerns of the information age, an age with an abundance of data, but inadequate means of retrieval.

The difficulty seems to be, not so much that we publish unduly in view of the extent and variety of present day interests, but that publication has extended far beyond our present ability to make real use of the record....Our ineptitude in getting the record is largely caused by the artificiality of systems of indexing. When data of any sort are placed in storage, they are filed alphabetically or numerically, and information is found (when it is) by tracing it down from subclass to subclass....The human mind does not work that way. It operates by association. With one item in its grasp it snaps instantly to the next that is suggested by the intricate web of trails carried by the cells of the brain. (Bush, 1945, pp. 16-18)

Bush's dream of the "Memex"--a device for organizing text, sound, and image data, a device that could be consulted with exceeding speed and flexibility--was not realized in his lifetime. However, through the convergence of efforts of the US Department of Defense's Advanced Research Project Agency (ARPA) in the 1960s, the videodisk from MIT's Architecture Machine group of the 1970s, and the work at the Xerox Palo Alto Research Center (PARC) in the early 1980s, the technological foundation was laid for Ted Nelson and Doug Engelbart to conceive of hypertext.

The computer communications networks ARPANET and BITNET, installed in the 1960s and 1970s, represent early embodiments of hypertext. In 1981, Ted Nelson's Literary Machines, subtitled "The Report on, and of, Project Xanadu, Concerning Word Processing, Electronic Publishing, Hypertext, Tinkertoys, Tomorrow's Intellectual Revolution, and Certain Other Topics, Including Knowledge, Education and Freedom," was an important step toward laying the technological and ideological foundation of hypermedia.

Hypertext found its first general application in the Apple Macintosh program, HyperCard, created by Bill Atkinson. HyperCard is a software package that allows users to make stacks of virtual cards. The essential difference between a file card and this virtual card, however, is that with the latter, a user can move instantly from one card to any other in a stack by means of associative reference points encoded into each card. The file card is merely a metaphor, of course, in the same way that the Macintosh computer's operating system and later Windows software use a desktop metaphor with icons for objects such as files and folders, even a trash can for discarding unwanted files.

Object orientation is central to HyperCard's design and may be a crucial component in redefining authorship. Atkinson, perhaps inspired by Nelson's allusion to Tinkertoys, has likened HyperCard to an erector set. "When you buy an erector set... it has a brochure of things that were built... you start by building as in the pictures. Then you customize a little bit" (Atkinson, in Kaehler, 1988, p. xv). The card metaphor can be replaced with other graphic interfaces. There are a number of examples of children's adventure games written in hypertext in which the card metaphor is replaced by a room or environment. Thus participants move from one environment (or card) to any other in the game with the click of a button. In another application of hypertext, the Metropolitan Museum's collection has been catalogued so that each image (or card) is stored on disk and various details within an image can be stored (as additional cards). This gives a browser a variety of reference points; painting, artist, detail (or whatever feature the browser wishes to encode). In yet another application, Egyptologist Lynn Holden at the Carnegie Melon Institute has developed a multi-media journey through Egyptian Temples. In Holden's virtual Egypt, hypertext explorers can move through an electronic space, accessing information on elements in the visual field by clicking their mouse on an item of curiosity, anything from an explanation of the head of Horus to a phonetic transcription and interpretation of a hieroglyph. Cards can equally be hypertext pages or "lexia." Jay David Bolter, Michael Joyce, and John B. Smith have scripted a hypertext system called Storyspace upon which Joyce has initiated the interactive novel Afternoon. In this non-linear text, readers travel through a narrative by whatever path they choose, giving the text closure whenever they lose interest, in effect re-authoring the narrative.

With technology that makes it possible for writers to alter the very structure of the apparatus that they use to navigate through information, the lines between reader and writer become blurred. The implications of this fact have not been lost on researchers experimenting with the technology. Patricia Search (1993), a member of a team of artists, art librarians, curators, and art historians on the research project Hyperglyphs at the Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, has experimented with hypermedia to develop guidelines to facilitate navigation and information retrieval. To this end, she has outlined the syntax of hypermedia.

Hypermedia programs encourage the user to browse through the multimedia database and create links between varied sources of information. The focus is on the non linear association of ideas rather than narrative communication. In this type of communication environment, the user can create an information structure that is an integration of diverse interpretive elements. (Search, 1993, p. 71)

The Prognosis for the Author

Landow (1992) finds authors and their stories to be at a point of crisis:

This technology--that of the printed book and its close relations, which include the typed or printed page--engenders certain notions of authorial property, authorial uniqueness, and a physically isolated text that hypertext makes untenable. The evidence of hypertext, in other words, historicizes many of our current assumptions, thereby forcing them to descend from the ethereality of abstraction and appear as corollaries to a particular technology rooted in specific times and places. (Landow, 1992, p. 33).

The whole story of the author, however, is not as yet played out. As suggested above, authorship grew to its current importance in social history, in part, due to its adoption by early printers as a category, a reference point, through which their wares could appear to be "new and improved." The history of communications is replete with examples of serendipitous uses (and non-uses) of technologies, and unforeseen implications. George Eastman's 1886 invention of a flexible transparent film base was the necessary coincidence which made moving pictures, as we know them, possible. Conversely, the Difference engine, designed by Joseph Clement and Charles Babbage, was a functioning mechanical computer for which, in 1832, the British government saw little future. Considering the number and diversity of factors involved in writing the narrative of a technology and its users, it may be early to speculate on the future of the author.

HyperCard manuals refer to the upper levels of use of the software, in which the user can design objects and navigational interfaces, as the "authoring" and "scripting" levels. The term "authoring" has caught on in the computer world. It has come to refer to multi-media software tools and the creation of interactive interfaces that they make possible. Thus in addition to the categories of copyist, compiler, commentator, and author in St. Bonaventure's analysis, the computer world is discovering a new category of author, a reader/writer who is information navigator, manager, inventor, illuminator. Indeed, there are a whole set of possibilities for authorship that make the category of "author" elusive to definition.

Collaborative Writing Spaces

Today, hypertext is no longer the application of a proprietary software or its offshoots. Hypertext has found its way onto the Internet in the World Wide Web, an information service initially developed by physicists, but soon to be co-opted by all manner of Internet users. Who these users will be and how they will fashion this writing environment should prove very interesting.

In evaluating the transition from the print to the electronic writing space, Jay D. Bolter (1991) draws upon the critical writings of Joseph Frank, who styled the term "spatial form" for text that worked against the "strict causal-chronological order." Modernist poets Eliot and Pound are said to "undermine the inherent consecutiveness of language, frustrating the reader's normal expectation of a sequence and forcing him to perceive the elements of the poem as juxtaposed in space rather than unrolling in time" (Frank, in Bolter, 1991, p. 159). James Joyce's Finnegans Wake and Ulysses are also examples of works that, though they are to some extent loyal to the conventions of narrative structure, are so richly layered with allusions and neologisms that the reader's sense of chronology is heavily assaulted. Joyce was a huge fan of cinema and is said to have tried in Ulysses and other works to recreate in literature the montage techniques of early film makers (see Kern, 1983, pp. 6, 77-80).

While this disruption of time in Modernist writing is applauded as technologically ahead of its time by Bolter, it often has an unsettling effect on readers. Finnegans Wake may be one of the most critically acclaimed and least read books of modern literary history. Bolter's own Writing Space, which appears in both a traditional book format and as a hypertext, is illustrative in this regard. The hypertext version can have an unsettling effect on readers who find themselves lost in its labyrinth of interconnection. Clearly those readers who navigate easily through the traditional version, skimming from paragraph to paragraph, main idea to main idea, aided by the road map of index and the signpost of section heading, find that these guides have abandoned them in the electronic version. Theirs is a bookish literacy.

Often hypermedia navigation systems betray the biases of their designers' bookish literacy. In the Hyperglyphs project, noted above, the main pair of navigational tools is "search" and "sort." This pair, akin to the more traditional skills of skimming and scanning, are clearly practices of book-literacy which designers have adopted in their use of hypermedia. It seems reasonable to conclude that some of the hierarchical structures of traditional print technology are bound to be transplanted into hypermedia. However, there are writing spaces being created by readers and writers whose hierarchical literacy is not yet so fossilized. In fact, in electronic bulletin boards and multi-user conferences, the over-literate can often become disoriented trying to chart new textual territory.

An illustrative example of children's lack of disorientation within electronic writing spaces relative to their bookish elders can be found in multi-user dungeons (MUDs). In 1980, in his final year at Essex College, Roy Traubshaw adapted the popular game Dungeons and Dragons to the electronic medium. His classmate Richard Bartle expanded it the next year, called it MUD (for Multi-User Dungeons) and put it on the Internet (Kelly & Rheingold, 1993). Since that time, the concept of a MUD has broadened to include activities as diverse as MIT's Cyberion City, an electronic electro-polis constructed by elementary and high-school-aged children, and MediaMOO, an electronic conference space designed by Amy Bruckman and Michael Resnick who are researching "MUDing as a serious form of scientific communication" (Kelly & Rheingold, 1993). Cyberion City, a text constructed by the collaborative writing of as many as 500 participants per day, now contains over 50,000 objects, characters, and rooms. This is clearly the domain of the video game generation:

The main architects of Cyberion City are 15 years old or younger. The sheer bustle and intricacy of the land they have built is intimidating to the lone overeducated immigrant trying to get somewhere or build anything. As San Francisco Chronicle columnist Jon Carroll exclaimed on his first visit, "The psychological size of the place... makes it seem like [you're] being dropped into downtown Tokyo with a Tootsie Roll and a screwdriver." (Kelly & Rheingold, 1993, p. 70)

The comparison of Cyberion City to the virtual worlds of popular video games should not be taken lightly. When adults sit down to try a hand at such distractions, they are likely to inquire as to "the object of the game." Their queries to children often invoke a puzzled expression, accompanied by the impatient response: "You just play." What do emerging technologies of writing hold in store for the future of literacy? Educators might want to turn to children for the answers. However, the response "You just play," might be more disorienting to them than the electronic writing spaces that children are educating themselves to "play" in.


Hypermedia and multi-media authoring systems come on the cusp of an apparent upheaval in communications technology. New structures of literacy are falling into place that call into question the defining paradigms of our current assumptions. In the post-Modern condition, the problems of heterogeneity are easily attended to by hypermedia. Whether this technology of accountability is incident with, or answers to, the needs of an age caught in a deluge of information is not at issue. Nor do we need to worry that this technology threatens to make obsolete comfortable categories such as "author." Just as there remained Herculean heroism in the age of print, a place will be found for authors in the digital age.

It is exciting, nevertheless, that those who are currently exploring electronic writing spaces are navigating and charting a new world. They are building the route and providing the vehicles upon which others will explore. This will be a virtual world, and akin to the cosmologies of the medieval cathedral and memory theatre, it will take on the character of the beliefs, desires, hopes, and fears of the pilgrims who travel through it.


Besterman, T. (1936). The beginnings of systematic bibliography. London: Oxford University Press.

Bolter, J. D. (1991). Writing space: The computer, hypertext, and the history of writing. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.

Bush, V. (1945). As we may think. Atlantic Monthly, 176, 101-108.

Daly, L. W. (1967). Contributions to a history of alphabetization in antiquity and the middle ages. Brussels: Latomus.

Eisenstein, E. (1979). The printing press as an agent of change. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Gay, P. (1964). The party of humanity. New York: Knopf.

Kaehler, C. (1988). HyperCard power: Techniques and scripts. Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley.

Kelly, K., & Rheingold, H. (1993). The dragon ate my homework. Wired, 1(3), 68-73.

Kern, S. (1983). The culture of space and time, 1880-1918. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

Landow, G. P. (1992). Hypertext: The convergence of contemporary critical theory and technology. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.

Lowry, M. (1979). The world of Aldus Manutius: Business and scholarship in Renaissance Venice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Nelson, T. (1984). Literary machines. Swarthmore, PA: Theodore Holm Nelson.

Ong, W. (1967). The presence of the word: Some problemena for cultural and religious history. New Haven: Yale University Press.

Search, P. (1993). The art and science of hypermedia. In R. A. Braden, J. C. Baca, & D. G. Beauchamp, Art, science and visual literacy: Selected readings from the 24th annual conference of the International Visual Literacy Association, pp. 71-80. Blacksburg, VA: The International Visual Literacy Association.

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