The first, Europe Between Oceans, by the renowned archaeologist Barry Cunliffe, is a masterful work, combining history, archaeology, geography, anthropology, and a smorgasbord of other disciplines in explaining the transformation of human culture and society in Europe from prehistoric to the dawn of the modern, encompassing a ten thousand year period from 9,000 B.C. to 1,000 A.D. Cunliffe writes with erudition and clarity, never oversimplifying, but without the befuddling writing designed more to impressed than to illuminate that is so common in academic circles. The publisher, Yale University Press, is clearly at the top of its game here: the layout is splendid, with plenty of pleasing white space, yet full of helpful maps, photos, and charts. Europe Between Oceans covers much familiar ground, but drawing from the latest research in a multitude of disciplines it provides strikingly new insights.

The second is Lapham’s Quarterly, a literary journal edited and published by former Harper’s editor Lewis H. Lapham. I wasn’t enough in the cognoscenti, I’m sorry to say, to get on board for the first issue, nevertheless I’d learned of the journal’s existence by the second issue, had subscribed by the third, and purchased a gift subscription for my parents by the fourth. Published quarterly, each issue covers a theme—thus far War, Money, Nature, Learning, Eros, and the current issue, Crimes and Punishments. Lapham mixes and mashes genres and primary sources in his investigation of each theme, from ancient to modern, employing excerpts of stories, essays, poetry, art, charts, and photography. Imagine Herodotus and Lazarillo de Tormes slapping high-fives to Franz Kafka and Raymond Chandler because they made it into the latest issue. Reading Lapham’s is like being an observer to the musings of an accomplished collector gripped by bibliomancy during an extended weekend visit to his abode.

Both of these works, at the apex of modern publishing, might cause one to wonder how they could possibly be improved upon in electronic form. Surely they prove the point that e-books could never fully replace print. And yet, and yet…

Jumping just a bit into the future, let’s grab our podkinfliptop, with its color touch screen and multimedia capabilities, and run. Placing the cursor next to an unfamiliar term in Cunliffe’s book, like Bosphorus, brings up its definition. Clicking on the place-name of Tyre deploys Google Earth. Maps of migrations or empires, instead of static, depict the spread and flow over time. Instead of a single picture depicting the ancient city of Miletos, or a bronze warrior god from the 12th century, a gallery of photos is embedded in the e-text. Links lead to further scholarship or modules about topics of particular interest to the reader. Cunliffe’s tome is a big book, nearly too hefty to curl up in bed with comfortably for a nice reading session, but in its e-format it poses no problem on the podkinfliptop, which you read while touring the Aegean region with your family. At the ruins of the Byzantine fortress in Anadolu Kavagi, you take a striking photo and instantly upload the photo to the book’s gallery.

With Lapham’s, the electronic version might explore the theme over the course of a few months with a daily or weekly segment, loaded automatically onto the device, instead of a quarterly publication. Links abound between and among volumes; users add links to other content in order to further illuminate the theme, sharing the links with other users. The podkinfliptop version includes old newsreels, film segments, Billie Holiday singing “Strange Fruit” or Johnny Cash at Folsom, a poem read by its author.

All of these capabilities exist today, in one form or another. A central question is, of course, who pays for all of this? I’m not optimistic that many publishers can, with a positive ROI, create both a beautifully laid out print version and a link- and multimedia-rich electronic version, but nor is it yet clear that many electronic-only publications are financially viable. As I point out in my recent article, larger publishers like Cengage or Pearson certainly have the resources to create resource-rich electronic publications for higher education, and a number of non-profit initiatives, like Connexions or Yale Books Unbound, are underway. But while readers may not balk at forking over $35 for the beautiful hardcover Europe Between the Oceans, customers seem to expect a lower price for electronic versions. Perhaps instead of selling 20,000 copies at $30.00 each of the hardcover, and dealing with returns, YUP could sell 250,000 copies at $10.00 of the e-version. Lapham’s could get a larger number of subscribers at a lower price, or offer it free under a government grant, or corporate or foundation sponsorship. The “publisher” provides the platform and content, encouraging the community to contribute additional links and resources, building on the “book.” I have to remain optimistic that this type of publishing can survive and prosper in the digital age. The University of Michigan Press seems to be betting on it.

When Amazon started out, we knew little of all the things Amazon subsequently taught us, things like the ease of ecommerce, the technology of user authentication and online processing of credit cards, the value of superb customer service, and that unique characteristic of the Web, the ability to create a storefront that could claim to hold truly comprehensive inventory in a particular domain.  While not all organizations do these things as well as Amazon today, and none do them better, the fact is that Amazon has taught us well:  more and more of what Amazon does is now available to rivals.  It is no longer necessary to build your own shopping cart, and if you are stumped by the risks involved in taking an order by credit card, there are vendors lined up to take this problem off your hands.  The gap is closing, and for Amazon to stay ahead of the pack, it must continue to innovate at a breathtaking clip.

Unfortunately for Amazon, other Web services are coming up with comparable innovations.  Amazon built a community around its offerings, but the Amazon community is nothing compared to those found at MySpace, Digg, or Facebook.  And Amazon created what may be the first credible ebook device, the Kindle, but already the possibility of reading etexts on the iPod and iPhone is making the Kindle seem like an unlikely winner.  We can imagine a Dr. Frankenstein of ecommerce rummaging in the graveyard for body parts to cobble into the monster that will resemble nothing so much as Amazon:  A second-best shipping system, a second-best shopping cart, a second-best print-on-demand service–but in the end, a credible alternative to Amazon’s systems:  not good, but good enough.

Where Amazon continues to trump all pretenders is in the breadth of its inventory–The World’s Largest Bookstore was its original claim.  It would be very, very hard to replicate this inventory (or, rather, the online catalogue that represents that inventory, which may be warehoused at Amazon or at Amazon’s many vendors).  It may no longer be necessary to catalogue and support all titles, however, if a new online merchant could dominate a particular subject area.  Mike Shatzkin has argued persuasively that the infrastructure of online bookselling marks the end of general trade publishers, which will be replaced with “verticals” in particular fields, abetted by tapping into online communities built around particular topics.  In time the science fiction vertical or the ancient history vertical or any number of other subject-specific sites could incorporate ecommerce activity and pressure Amazon at the edge of empire, relying on the intensity of community involvement to strengthen their marketing proposition vis-a-vis the industry leader.  Amazon tries to be all things to all people, but a niche site must simply be everything to a self-defined group of people.  The intensity of focus becomes the merchandising weapon of choice.

It is astonishing to think of how little a new, topically-based ecommerce site would have to do for itself.  Inventory can be drawn from Ingram or Baker & Taylor; ecommerce software can now be purchased off the shelf; fulfillment (once a big headache for warehouses that were not set up to handle orders to individuals) now has several suppliers; metadata for catalogue entries supporting the ONIX standard can be sent from publishers to the new site; and so on.  Part of Amazon’s position at the head of the pack derived from its willingness to invent new infrastructure and build it.  Now the world of ecommerce is being disaggregated, and the vertically integrated Amazon is beginning to look like it was built for an earlier era.

These thoughts, and the controlling metaphor, were prompted by a recent experience in my local, beloved used-book store.  I wandered among the idiosyncratically organized stock, the stacks of books of all description, the book spines whose lettering had worn away:  paradise.  There on a shelf I spotted the two-volume Modern Library edition of Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.  I hesitated before picking up the books and carrying them to the cash register, but I had promised myself to read Gibbon before I died.  I joked with the cashier that she wouldn’t see me for a long time because I had a very long book to read first.  She said that I would have to read quickly, as the store would close in a month.

Among other causes, Amazon had helped to put that store out of business.  But the proprietor has already begun his next venture, in online bookselling.  He is not himself a threat to Amazon (some of what he will do will be with Amazon’s many services), but he is one of many people and companies gradually coming to terms with the behemoth and finding new ways to find a customer, turn a profit.  It is an army of thousands and they are starting new ventures, testing new value propositions.  It could be said that if any of them achieve anything of importance, Amazon will simply buy them.  But Amazon can’t buy everything:  unlike the imaginative space opened up by a book, the balance sheet of even an imperial corporation is not infinitely extensible.

Is Amazon’s weakness its growing arrogance?  Perhaps.  Speak to the vendors who are now struggling with Amazon’s new Vendor Central system and you will find countless volunteers ready to bring down the tyrant.  Or perhaps Amazon, seeing the success of the iPhone and Stanza ebook reader, is getting desperate, as was suggested by one individual (not cited by name here as the comment was made in a private mailgroup); and this desperation has resulted in Amazon’s new insistence that it will only sell ebooks in the Kindle format.  Amazon would have us believe that resistance is futile, but the growing number of publishers studying alternatives to the Kindle suggest otherwise.

Amazon’s decline will come about because it will not be able to monopolize ebook distribution with the Kindle; because new business models (mostly based on subscription sales of aggregated content to consumers, not unlike Safari Books and similar in form to NetFlix) will challenge Amazon’s operating philosophy; because social networks organized around special interests will help to solve the problem of bringing traffic to a new or series of new online stores; because so many of the pieces necessary for an ecommerce site are available at modest cost from multiple vendors; and because many people are motivated to storm the barricades, whether for profit or just for the hell of it.

Amazon will not go quietly or quickly.  It is a great company and no stranger to risk or innovation.  But we are not likely to see Amazon continue to grow and increase its dominance of publishing and bookselling.  Sometimes it’s just time to go.

I have dusted off that proposal and reproduce it here, with a bit of editing for context-building. An interesting (to me) aspect of the original post was that it garnered a fair number of offline inquiries, all from commercial publishers. This was despite the fact that the post clearly stated that there was nothing in the proposal for commercial ventures. I interpret this response to indicate that publishers are studying all new business models for academic materials and are determined to come to the dance even when they are not invited.

Almost Open Access begins with institutional repositories, which align themselves, understandably, with their parent institutions. Since most institutions at least in part serve undergraduates, for whom the goal of creating “the well-rounded person” has not been entirely abandoned, IRs set out to cover everything–to put the universe into the university. Let’s call this the vertical axis: the self-contained institution, with the IR that reflects the institution’s goals and constituencies. Researchers, on the other hand, tend to align themselves with other researchers in their fields. The expert on the use of microalgae for CO2 mitigation happens to reside at Tulane, but his or her intellectual colleagues may sit at the University of Hawaii or in Tokyo. Research thus is horizontal, straddling multiple institutions. This is the world of professional societies and academic fields (which are reflected in journals publishing). There is a tension here: libraries and IRs are being asked to face in two directions, vertically and horizontally, straining resources.

Not surprisingly, the actual use of IRs is less than many had hoped for, and much of the use is for such things as students’ papers. Nothing wrong with that, but it is not in keeping with the often-declared goal of “capturing the intellectual output of the university.” What I propose is that in addition to IRs (which ultimately are simply going to be extensions of course-management systems, so why not just hand off this function to Blackboard and be done with it?), libraries organize disciplinary repositories or DRs. These would be horizontal, not vertical, and reflect the actual research activities of the global intellectual community.

These DRs can be assembled on a consortial basis, with institutions sharing access to DRs and each institution taking charge–exclusive charge, so as to avoid redundancy–of a certain number of topics. How to assign who does what will not be easy, but it simply makes no sense for there to be competing DRs for some segment of nanotechnology or Keats research. One would expect that Harvard and the University of Chicago would do more than Middlesex Community College or an emerging institution in the developing world, but there is a case to be made for every institution to do something. Universities can save a great deal of money by recognizing that in some cases, there is no need to be universal.

How would this work? Progressively, I would hope. The larger institutions would take over the curation of more disciplines, but even the smallest would have to contribute something in order to get access to all the rest. The definitive DR on stem-cell research may be curated at John Hopkins and the history of Silicon Valley at San Jose State–not really comparable, to be sure–but Hopkins and SJS would each have access to the other’s DR. To each according to his means. To join the consortium, an institution would have to propose to the governing board what DRs the prospective member plans to sponsor and curate. The stern gaze of the board would prevent free riders or “cheap riders”: Carry your weight in curation or be an outcast.

As for independent scholars without institutional affiliation, I propose that they would gain access by doing the equivalent of purchasing a library card from a member institution. For $50 you get everything.

This plan solves a number of problems. It aligns repositories with the research community–horizontally, in DRs. It saves money by negating the need for institutions to try to cover everything, a pointless and unnecessary endeavor in the world of the Internet. For those uncomfortable with commercial organizations operating within the academic community, it provides a purely consortial arrangement among similar not-for-profits. It is progressive, enabling the participation of Third World scholars on the same level of access as their lucky counterparts in Oxford and Palo Alto. It provides a good ROI for major institutions, and a fabulous ROI for small ones. It eliminates the free-rider problem by mandating some level of curation, however small (but scaled to an institution’s resources), and thus provides an incentive for all institutions to get involved. And it captures the output of academic institutions in such a way as to provide significant incentives for researchers to participate (which is the problem with IRs: little researcher participation).

Open Access purists will note that this plan falls short of full OA. That is correct: this is Almost Open Access, as it requires institutional affiliation (which you can get for the cost of a library card). The virtue of AOA as opposed to OA is that AOA is sufficiently suasive to ensure economic commitment and participation. Traditional publishers (for whom there is absolutely nothing in this plan) will remark that AOA is what they have advocated all along. That is also correct. But publishers will never grow comfortable with pure OA, as their business training will not permit them to expend 100% of their effort to satisfy 1% of demand.

But they are not needed for this plan, so their comfort is besides the point.