journalism

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There’s a lot of animated chatter among some of my favorite journalists over the redesign of their publication’s site. Last week, the Atlantic Monthly rolled out what appears to the casual reader as a slight update of the IA, along with some major changes to the way that blogs are integrated. Reader reaction was anything but casual; anger and suspicion seemed to be the most common reader emotions, shared, at least in part, by the writers. The Washington Post’s Ezra Klein nails the goal of the redesign, “Seems like a bet to re-center the Web site around the Atlantic as an institution rather than leaving it as a web hosting service for a couple of bloggers.” Which seems smart, actually.

The Atlantic online redesignThis clustercuss is the redesign. (I can’t find a picture of the “before,” but it wasn’t really too different, to the casual observer).

The real problem: The redesign isn’t radical enough.

It simply shifted content around — a sure-fire bet to piss off regular readers. The redesign doesn’t address bigger problems around findability, readability, navigability, whatever you want to call a lingering sense of not being able to get around easily. It also breaks from a common blog convention: homepages that includes lengthy content for each post (UPDATE: they’ve changed this). The biggest change is that they’ve moved away from individual blogs as linear, ever-expanding solo narratives, which I think is interesting. What they’re moving toward is less clear.

According to spirited commentary by the Atlantic writers, the redesign was driven by the arcane calculus of advertising. I won’t pretend to know how online ad placement works in a place like The Atlantic, but what I do know is that someone told them to spread their fresh content around, and it’s kinda half-spread.

I am a big Atlantic reader. I subscribe to the print edition, and I regularly read three of its bloggers — Ta-Nehisi Coates, James Fallows and Andrew Sullivan. I subscribe to their feeds, so I don’t go to theatlantic.com unless I want to comment on Coates’ blog, or read comments, which means I’ll head there a couple of times a week, but when I get there I’ll be deeply immersed in a thread.

To me, the true opportunity was to leverage the sprawling, smart conversations that these writers continually create — to create a sort of salon among the readers and writers. To Klein’s point above, you’d think a virtual salon would be exactly the kind of thing that would “re-center” the brand. Breaking out of the conventional blog model is a reasonable first step. Blogs are long threads, and maintaining individual threads needlessly inhibits wider-scale conversation. So they’ve taken that half-step away from threads (which are a helpful organizing principle for readers), but the salon is nowhere in sight. And this is a problem.

Thomas McGuane takes a shot at describing what it’s like to land a tarpon:

The closest thing to a tarpon in the material world is the Steinway piano. The tarpon, of course, is a game fish that runs to extreme sizes, while the Steinway piano is merely an enormous musical instrument, largely wooden and manipulated by a series of keys. However, the tarpon when hooked and running reminds the angler of a piano sliding down a precipitous incline and while jumping makes cavities and explosions in the water not unlike a series of pianos falling from a great height. If the reader, then, can speculate in terms of pianos that herd and pursue mullet and are themselves shaped like exaggerated herrings, he will be a very long way toward seeing what kind of thing a tarpon is. Those who appreciate nature as we find her may rest in the knowledge that no amount of modification can substitute the man-made piano for the real thing — the tarpon. Where was I?

I came across this in The Best American Sports Writing of the Century, an absolutely killer collection edited by David Halberstam, but you can check it out in the SI Vault: “The Longest Silence,” by Thomas McGuane.

Amidst the many changes around and within journalism, the journalist — as an actor in creating the news — is becoming more recognizable, identifiable, and individual. For instance, I’m “friends” with New York Times reporter Nicholas Kristof. (Okay, it’s on Facebook, but still).

Kristof himself is a media decathlete: In addition to being a NY Times columnist, he has a blog on nytimes.com, updates his Facebook status daily, posts tidbits of news to Twitter — and all of this relates and refers to his “official” journalist work as a journalist for the Times. He also engages with his readers in comments, carrying on conversations about his posts. These different “touch points” — a term that I hate, but which seems appropriate here — allow him to test assumptions, get quick feedback, and share information that may not fit into the framework of an official column. They also gives readers ways to get more engaged with topics they care about, providing a variety of avenues for participation. Finally, they give readers more insight into the reporters themselves — their interests, their informal voices, their senses of humor.

Is insight good? Is “participation” good?

I don’t know. This humanization of news sources isn’t totally new, either. There have always been celebrity journalists like Kristof, and their greater exposure ensures the accrual of an identity more extensive than a mere by-line.

The difference is that this also happening at much more granular levels. My friend Leslie is a reporter for the Modesto Bee. She uses Twitter to post meta-news (@BeeReporter), and created a Facebook page (ReporterAlbrecht) to foster a community around her beat. At the Lawrence (Kansas) Journal-World, the sports reporters record podcasts, comment on articles, and maintain blogs.

I personally love the new avenues of participation, but I wonder what the effect of all this will be. News has become more of conversation. Reporters are extending their identity into the public sphere, becoming distinct as individuals. Does this increase the value, authority, credibility, reach, or depth of the subsequent journalism?