Next time you are in a library, be careful not to mention the name "Nicholson Baker." His book, [1] Double Fold: Libraries and the Assault on Paper (2001), caused an uproar in the usually quiet world of bookshelves and circulation desks. In Double Fold, Baker examined the practice of "destroying to preserve,"[2]. According to Baker, librarians' justifications for this destruction are based on flawed analysis and—in certain cases—blatant deception.

Most often, library officials [3] cite the deterioration of old books and newspapers as the reason for converting them to microfilm. This became a major issue during the late 1980s, when concern spread that a large percentage of library collections were brittle and in need of immediate attention. Patricia Battin, the former president of the Commission on Preservation and Access, played a leading role in creating this apprehension.  In journal articles, lectures, and media interviews, she spoke repeatedly of books literally turning to dust. [4]

As more federal funding became available, libraries turned to a simple test created in the 1950s to determine which books should be transferred to microfilm and retired from circulation. The corner of one of a book's pages is folded back and forth—sometimes as many as five times[5] to see if it will break; in certain cases, examiners even give a gentle tug on the folded corner. Librarians opposed to the "double-fold" test argue that it subjects the book to a trial that it would never face during regular use. Books that fail the test may still be able to withstand thousands of individual page turns [6], they add, which makes the practice seem more like an excuse for clearing materials from the shelves than a genuine examination of which books are too brittle to be handled.

[7]Finally, while conversions may create shelf space for libraries that are running out of room, [8] there is a cost. Microfilming—the method still favored by preservationists—is expensive, typically exceeding $150 to film one year of a newspaper collection, a sum that would cover the storage costs of thirty paper years for an indefinite period of time.[9]. Newspapers such as Joseph Pulitzer's New York World [10] were full of colorful illustrations—maps, political cartoons, murder diagrams, children's puzzles, and even needlepoint patterns. On microfilm, many of these illustrations are reduced to cloudy black blurs. [11]. A possible solution, and one urged by Nicholson Baker, is to keep both the original printed materials and the microfilm copies. Ultimately, the conflict over the preservation of library materials can be attributed to a difference in philosophy. Preservationists who agree with Baker envision an ideal library with an infinite amount of storage space that also serves as an archive and museum. Regardless of whether they share Baker's vision, most librarians point to what they consider to be a higher priority: the creation and maintenance of facilities that welcome the public for daily use. Until these priorities are reassessed and sorted out, the added space and ease of access provided by microfilming will continue to advance, but at a price not everyone is willing to pay.

[12] This is the negative version of the Law of Unintended Consequences, a basic principle of economics. We encounter its workings when we deal with child-proof bottle caps that are intended to protect children but prove frustrating to everyone else. We meet it again when we struggle mightily to open CDs and DVDs that have been shrink-wrapped to discourage theft. The Law of Unintended Consequences further [13] violates us when, in order to spare our fingernails, we are forced to carry around lever-like devices to pry open drink cans with tab tops invented to make such devices unnecessary.

The Law of Unintended Consequences operates most cruelly when a cleverly designed solution actually worsens the very problem that it was intended to remedy. [14] The public waste bin is a good example. [15] For instance, public waste bins were steel baskets with mesh sides that enabled waste removers to determine when the bins were full. Their size and shape allowed for easy emptying, which typically involved picking up the receptacle and overturning it into the back of a trash truck.

Unfortunately, the waste bins had problems such as [16] size and weight. The bins might contain organic waste or leftover liquids in carelessly disposed cups, cans, and bottles. These liquids produced a sticky sludge that dripped to the bottom of bins, leaving a malodorous puddle when the containers were picked up and a syrupy trail when taken to the trash truck. [17] With the development of thin flexible plastics, however a solution seemed to be at hand.

 Waste bins were soon [18] fitted with large plastic bags that would hold the trash securely for simple and clean removal.  Waste removers had merely to lift out the old bag, replace it with a new bag, and carry the old bag to the truck. It was then that the Law of Unintended Consequences intervened. No one, it seems, anticipated the effect that the plastic bags would have on people's waste disposal behavior. Anything could now be discarded, with no worry about spillage[19], so people casually tossed in soft drink cans, bottles, and paper cups, whether empty or full upright or inverted. Food in any form—half- eaten doughnuts, pizza crusts, multilayered sandwiches, five-course takeout dinners—was simply thrown into the bin.

In theory, none of this should have been a problem. After all, [20] what went into the bag stayed in. It soon became apparent, however, that something had gone wrong. No matter how carefully the full, sloshing plastic bags were removed from the bins, they would frequently develop leaks and start releasing their contents in the back of trash trucks well before the vehicles reached their intended destination. Furthermore, the bags were vulnerable to squirrels and other rodents[21] who could easily chew holes in them and release their liquid contents onto the ground before removal hour. Instead of well-maintained, plastic-lined disposal bins—or even the somewhat untidy mesh bins that preceded them—public spaces now overflowed with foul-smelling, messy, sticky, and rodent-infested heaps of muck. [22]

[23] Children are some of the best students with regards to understanding musical theory. Children are taught about music before they have had sufficient experience of it. [24] They are taught, for example, to pin pasteboard notes on a make-belief staff; they are told that one note is the father-note and another the mother-note; (one supposes the chromatics to be irascible old-maid aunts); all sorts of subterfuges are resorted to in an attempt to teach them what they are too young to learn and what, in any case, can have no significance whatever except when based on a long process of actual experience. [25]

This, then, is our great fallacy. It is impossible to expect children to be musical if they begin with symbols of any kind. Furthermore, in the teaching of songs without notation, the whole stress can be laid on fundamental things. What are these? First, a sense of rhythm. In the development of music rhythm came before melody, as melody came before harmony. Rhythmic freedom and accuracy are essential, [26] not only to a child’s musical education, but to its physical well-being as well. Now there is one thing certain,—namely, that freedom and accuracy in rhythm can be brought about only by actual bodily movement. (It is unnecessary to [27] lurk on the fundamental difference between actual rhythmic movement and any symbol of it, such as a half or quarter note.) And the beginning of the musical training of children should consist in marching, or clapping hands to music played by the teacher. Following this the actual notes of simple folk-song may be expressed in bodily motion—as in running or dancing—the chief point being to engage the whole body. The beginnings of Eurhythmics [28] as evolved by Dalcroze serve this purpose excellently, the meter of the song (4/4 or 3/4) [29] was expressed with the arms, while, at the same time, the rhythms (or actual notes) are expressed by the movement of the feet with the body in motion. It must always be kept in mind[30], instead, that this training is for the mind and the æsthetic sense, and that the bodily motions are for the purpose of giving children an exact sense of rhythm. Too great [31] stress cannot be laid on the necessity of always using good music. [32] Furthermore, I wish to avoid the pitfalls that are spread at every hand in the form of schools for self-expression in which children and adults are taught so-called “æsthetic” movements to music. Æsthetic dancing is one thing; a musical education is another. The cry for self-expression is characteristic of out attitude toward education. A child or an adult is asked to listen to a piece of music and then to express in motion or pose what it feels. Undisciplined by experience, incapable—as we all are—of fathoming the mystery of great music, uneducated in those immutable laws that underlie all æsthetics, what can such a person express—save that idiosyncrasy which he at that moment is? So, ultimately, one expresses a Beethoven sonata or symphony by poses and movements—in a Greek dress, against a curtained background and under a calcium light! [33]

Every time you sit down with your phone in your back pocket, you’re reminded of a fundamental truth: [34] Devices dominate our lives.

But soon there may be devices that can stretch, bend and even repair themselves when they’re damaged.  [35] By harnessing the unusual properties of a liquid metal called gallium, materials are aimed to create a new generation of flexible devices for virtual reality interfaces, medical monitors, motion-sensing devices and more.

The  [36] aim is to take the functionality of electronics and make them softer, says Michael Dickey, a chemical engineer at North Carolina State University. “I mean, the body and other natural systems have figured out how to do it. So surely, we can do it.”

Bendable electronics can also be made with conventional metals. But solid metal can fatigue and break, and the more that’s added to a soft material, the more inflexible the material becomes. [37] Liquid metals don’t have that problem, Dickey says — they can be bent, stretched and twisted with little or no damage.

Flexibility turns out to be just one of gallium’s useful properties. Since it’s a metal, it conducts heat and electricity easily. Unlike the better-known liquid metal mercury, it has low toxicity, and low vapor pressure, so it doesn’t evaporate easily.

Gallium flows about as easily as water.  [38] However, it may not be able to evaporate so simply, allowing it to be easily formed into semisolid shapes. The surface tension,  [39] which is 10 times water, can even be varied by [40] dipping the liquid metal in salt water and applying a voltage.

“I’m [41] subjectively biased, so take this for what it’s worth. But I think this is one of the most interesting materials on the periodic table because it’s got so many unique properties,” says Dickey, coauthor of an overview of gallium in the 2021 Annual Review of Materials Research.

Interest in gallium lagged in the past, partly because of the unfair association with toxic mercury, and partly because its tendency to form an oxide layer was seen as a negative. But with increased interest in flexible and, especially wearable electronics, many researchers are paying fresh attention.

 [42] To make bendable circuits with gallium, scientists form it into thin wires embedded between rubber or plastic sheets. These wires can connect tiny electronic devices such as computer chips, capacitors and antennas. The process creates a device that could wrap around an arm and be used to track an athlete’s motion, speed or vital signs, for instance, says Carmel Majidi, a mechanical engineer at Carnegie Mellon University. 

 [43] The liquid metal wires will be applied to many electronics we use today. As a demonstration, Dickey made earbud wires that can stretch up to eight times their original length without breaking. Other circuits can heal themselves when torn — when the edges are positioned against each other, the liquid metal flows back together.

Gallium circuits can also be printed and applied directly to the skin,  like a temporary tattoo. The [44] “ink” works like a conventional electrode, the kind that is used to monitor heart or brain activity, says Majidi, who made such a circuit by printing the metal onto a flexible material. The tattoos are more flexible and durable than existing electrodes, making them promising for long-term use.

The shape-shifting quality of the liquid metal opens up other potential uses. When the metal is squeezed, stretched and twisted, its shape changes, and the change in geometry also changes its electrical resistance. So running a small current through a mesh of gallium wires allows researchers to measure how the material is being twisted, stretched and pressed on.