Info We Trust

by R J Andrews

  The hero's journey helped anchor this book's narrative. But it is just a narrative model, a useful approximation, of how it really works. Science fiction author Ursula Le Guin made that clear in an essay titled “The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction.” She distinguished the heroic myth as a masculine hunting narrative: An anointed hero penetrates the mystery of the unknown with his weapon, evolves as an individual, and comes home to boast.

  It is a strange realism, but it is a strange reality. …trying to describe what is in fact going on, what people actually do and feel, how people relate to everything else in this vast sack, this belly of the universe, this womb of things to be and tomb of things that were, this unending story.

  URSULA LE GUIN, 1986

  In contrast, Le Guin offered the feminine gathering narrative: A community collects whispers, secrets, and gossip. Context swirls and the truth emerges, but not because of the daring of an individual, but because of the evolving relationships of all. Instead of the hunting weapon, the tool is the gathering bag that helps forage for food. A narrative bag aggregates stories from all. Just like a community of gatherers, we collect facts and arrange them in pursuit of emergent truths. And so, in the last pages of this book, I hope we can see by Le Guin's counterpoint that the hero's journey into the unknown is just one way of seeing, one model of data storytelling.

  We have to find new languages, and explore how to convey knowledge and inspire feelings simultaneously with data. We have to discover how to be faithful to scientific accuracy while allowing space for exceptions to flourish. We have to bring data to life—human life.

  GIORGIA LUPI, 2017

  Every good dialectic deserves its synthesis. Writer Venkatesh Rao bridged hunter and gatherer narratives with the boat story. A boat story is about a community that goes on an adventure together. Rao described:

  A boat is at once a motif of containment and journeying. The mode of sustenance it enables—fishing, especially with a net, a bag full of holes—is somewhere between gathering and hunting ways of feeding; somewhere between female and male ways of being.

  No single narrative model can fully capture the exhilaration of our craft. Sometimes we are on an individual quest. Sometimes we are part of something bigger than we could ever perceive. Sometimes we band with others to sail over the waves. Data is like water. It can be put to good use or it can drown. To harness data, the world needs information: more information, better information, more complex and nuanced understanding, and better narratives that can show ways for all to flourish. Data storytellers have a vital role to play in this endeavor. We are not the only informers, but we do have a very special responsibility to construct new ways for humanity to engage with data. To be a data storyteller is to be a creator, a maker, a constructor. We do not just make information, but new and enthusiastic visions of how things are and how they might be.

  It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

  THEODORE ROOSEVELT, 1910

  Today, apathy, irony, and snark are seductive ways to engage with the world. However, these perspectives sap the energy necessary to address the very problems they identify. Criticism will always have a role serving the creative process. But what I believe the world needs more of is what Hans Rosling called possibilists. Possiblists have a clear idea about how things are and have a conviction and hope that further progress is possible. Possibilists have a worldview that is constructive and useful.

  Data story critics are nothing new. In 1786, William Playfair published the first modern bar chart and line chart. It was the birth of modern data visualization. And guess what? In 1786, William Playfair had critics. That same year, Dr. Gilbert Stuart responded with a seven-page review of Playfair's inventions:

  To each of his charts the author has added observations [that] … in general are just and shrewd; and sometimes profound … Very considerable applause is certainly due to this invention as a new, direct, and easy mode of conveying information to statesmen and to merchants; although we would recommend to the author to do whatever he can, in any future editions, to make his leading ideas as familiar as possible to every imagination, by additional illustrations and directions; for these in some instances, seem to be wanting.

  In response to Stuart's review of his 1786 Atlas, William Playfair admitted that the last bit of criticism, “is certainly just; and I have attended to the hint.” He took it to heart and he did not stop. Playfair went on to create even more new forms of seeing data: the bubble chart, pie chart, and a proto-Venn diagram.

  Today, there is an incredible wave of data storytellers carrying us to new shores of reality. They are the ones who do not just think differently, do not just see differently, but also work to help us all think and see differently. Data storytellers are not going to be stopped and humanity will never be quite the same again because of their efforts. I am so excited to voyage with them to new lands.

  And so, as we look forward, I hope to have enrolled you in championing the craft too. I wish all data storytellers joy and…

  … may your critics be constructive

  and help you improve your craft.

  May your stories excite meaning in many.

  And may you convey information,

  in the words of Dr. Gilbert Stuart,

  in a most direct and easy manner.

  This book has been a joy to compose. We stretched across time to become adventure companions for a short while. I truly appreciate your attention. Now, I believe it is time to turn ourselves toward the open horizon and sail on, across the water.

  RJ Andrews

  HOW THIS BOOK

  CAME TO BE

  I wrote this book in a room so small that we talked about using it as a closet.

  One data storytelling tradition is to follow projects with a design essay that documents some lessons learned during the process, so future creatives may benefit. In that spirit, here is a short essay about how this book took form.

  A new book is just another problem that can be analyzed and solved with creativity, right? The process I forged (and endured) to make this book flowed from the practices discussed in Chapter 19. I have since learned that some parts of my process were a bit idiosyncratic, and will focus on these more unique aspects of production.

  My perspective as a data storyteller was the foundation and reference point throughout this book's composition. I believe what is useful for the analysis of a data story is not always relevant to the creation of a data story. I left out what is useful only to the critic. Instead, I wrote to what I believe is useful to the creator. I also consciously reached beyond technical aspects of the craft, in search of deeper meaning. Beyond these, I included what interested me.

  As soon as the book was greenlit, I rushed to learn all I could about writing. Steven King's On Writing best motivated my day-to-day rhythms. I learned the importance of daily physical exercise, daily word-count goals, and the beauty of writing to very loud rock ‘n roll. Light exercise for cognition gave me space to think and kept my energy and spirits high. I also reduced my consumption of alcohol. Maybe the write drunk, edit sober quip works for some. Not me. Every day was precious and missing one because I was not sharp was not an option.

  I found the whole journey to be a complexity management process. Inhabiting the roles of researcher, writer, illustrator, and book designer meant I always had options for where to direct m
y energy. A walk with coffee along the San Francisco Bay, looking for sea lions, started many days. As a kind of creative hydra, I spent this time asking myself what does the book want me to do today? No matter the task, I aspired to hit two heavy creative periods each day. Mornings were my most productive time. My creative energy slumps in the afternoon, so that's when I would exercise. Sometimes I would take short naps to spring a little energy and get an extra dose of free-association time. If things were humming then I would stay up, sometimes until sunrise.

  Word-count goals spurred progress. 2,000 words a day was my goal when I wrote. It was instantly obvious when I had not done the necessary preparation of reading, thinking, sketching, and outlining. It was also obvious at the end of the night when I had run out of steam. When words turned to mush, I said goodnight.

  I split my desk into digital and analog workspaces. All research materials relevant to the section I was working on were at arm's length in a bookcase behind me. At the beginning they all fit. By the end, every flat surface I had was covered in stacks of books and papers. I got myself out of more than one haze by rearranging the piles of books. Colored pens, markers, index cards, book holders, and whatever mix of books I was reading at the time were stored in a small rolling cart. That way, I could wheel essential materials to the kitchen table or comfy chair whenever I got tired of my desk.

  I did research by reading books in thematic bundles. For example, I read three books in one day that each explain statistics to the layperson. Across this project, I found myself developing a style of “extractive reading.” Reading for purpose, in support of a project or specific inquiry, helps focus attention. This aggression was tempered with caution. I did not read for confirmation, but genuine discovery and learning.

  I took a careful approach to reading other books about data visualization. Before writing anything, I read the modern classics (Bertin, Tukey, Tufte, Cleveland, Holmes) written before 1985. This cutoff date is just before interactive computer graphics made a big splash. I read these to discover what still rang true from back then. My hunch was if it was true then and still resonates with my own practice, then it has a good shot at being timeless.

  I did not review any recent data visualization books or articles until after my first draft was complete. I wanted to make sure the skeleton of the book came from my own experience and what I had discovered to be timeless. I also did not want to be too influenced by any other contemporary authors. The story had to be told in my own voice. Once the first draft was finished, I was able to turn to my colleagues to help polish and sharpen my perspective.

  For books that were not about data visualization, I used a similar but more immediate process. For example, for the chapter “Encounter” I wrote everything I could without doing any research. Then I read six books on museum design, curating, and human-scale urban planning that I already had staged. Then, I returned and revised the chapter.

  Here is how I processed material from research to writing. Except in the case of a couple of rare old books, I underlined and made notes directly on the page in red ink. Once the book was read I put it aside, usually for about a day. After this short gap, I re-opened the book to review the redlines. Every book I read got a page (or more) of handwritten notes in a big black Moleskine journal. I copied exact quotes, summaries, and my own reactions in color-coded handwriting into the journal. This process resulted in a hand-lettered notebook chock-full of sketches, quotes, and observations. Condensing research into a single place was useful in many ways. A sequence of different looks at the sources acted as a set of filters. They also gave me and the material time to breathe. Collating everything in one notebook fostered unexpected connections. It expedited writing as I did not have to spend lots of time fumbling between hundreds of sources. As I typed, the journal was open and in view. It is now a neat physical artifact of my experience.

  While reading, I also kept a jumbo-sized index card as a book mark. There, I could write random thoughts that came to me as I read. Anything that came to me across any part of the process got written down. I found my memory generally deteriorated to becoming useless across the writing process. Externalizing any idea was essential if it was to prevail. As the book's form took shape, I would note which chapter, and later, which page number, the idea was relevant to. These cards were stacked and later processed into the draft.

  I now know what other writers meant about pushing through the first draft so that the real work, editing, can begin. Writing the first draft felt like going into an empty room, my nerd cave, and summoning a wild cave bear. Then, all the work that followed was to go back into that room every day to wrestle with the bear. The more I worked with it, the more I found that it had a spirit of its own. It became my responsibility to focus its spirit so that it could sing. I found that being an author, much like any designer, is not so much about producing something out of thin air, but rather about being the motivating force behind an evolutionary process. For editing style, I devoured Steven Pinker's The Sense of Style. His mechanical breakdown of how sentences and paragraphs work was the perfect lens for this engineer-author. I used different search strategies to highlight phrases that might benefit from extra attention. Instead of hedging with fluff words (almost, apparently, nearly…), I learned to qualify where necessary. Instead of lifeless nominized verbs (-tion, -sion, -ing), I learned to resurrect dynamic verbs. Instead of invisible meta-concepts (process, level, …), I tried to include illustrative examples. I learned that intensifiers (very, highly, …) do not intensify. Very turns a true/false statement into a gradated scale. The use of margin notes was directly inspired by Robert Greene's The 48 Laws of Power. About half of my marginalia made it into the final draft. There is so much wonder out there left to explore.

  After the first draft was written I prototyped a single chapter, which forced me to figure out image style, color palette, layout design, and how all of the visual elements might work together. In addition to giving me a very real design challenge, this prototype gave me something to show others. Early feedback from designers and authors helped me define the entire look of the book.

  Across the rest of the process I not only workshopped the words,but also theillustrations and the book layout. Months in, I discovered that it was necessary to do all of this on my own in order to create the composition harmony across each page spread that I desired. Doing it all was equally challenging and insightful. It gave me more constraints, and more ways, of seeing every aspect of the book.

  The primary color palette of Oliver Byrne's 1843 Elements of Euclid inspired the colors. The hundreds of illustrations were a joy to produce. They were all hand-drawn with markers and scanned for digital polishing. Many referenced printed digital collages, YouTube video frames, charts made with D3 and Tableau, Google Earth, and 3-D SketchUp renders. I wanted the illustrations rough enough to convey emotion, but not so rough that they distracted.

  Most of the historic images I reference are manipulated in some way to better serve the story. For example, the found illustration of the Mad Hatter at a tea party was transformed into the Chapter 6 title image. I repositioned his arms, gave him the teapot, and created the stacks of cups by photographing teacups and mugs in my kitchen.

  The following notes have more details about the illustrations. They now reside in a drawer in the same small room.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  One Greek myth has the giant hunter Orion blinded as punishment for a rowdy night on the island of Chios. Not able to see, Orion stumbled to another island where the servant Cedalion comes to his aid. Cedalion stands on the giant's shoulders and orients him toward the East so that the rays of Helios, the sun, can heal Orion's sight.

  Like Cedalion, I too stand on the shoulders of giants. And like Orion, I see better because so many friends have oriented me towards the light. Their unique contributions, mentioned below, mask the overwhelming support they all supplied over many years.

  I am indebted to Ben Jones and Cole Nussbaumer Knaflic for their e
arly enthusiasm for this book. You hold it because they believed.

  Executive Editor Bill Falloon was a trusted protector and advocate of my creative vision. He worked to coordinate a talented team at Wiley that included Steve Csipke, Michael Freeland, Michael Henton, Steven Kyritz, Amy Laudicano, Jean-KarlMartin, KimberlyMonroe-Hill, Purvi Patel, Paul Reese, and Rebecca Sandercock. Christina Verigan's copyediting ani mated my words to life.

  My sister, Elizabeth Andrews, helped make the illustrations and compositions better. Her beautiful eye was there for me every day. Ron Toelke taught me everything I know about book design. Nick Sousanis encouraged me to reach beyond stiff vector art and draw everything by hand. Catherine Madden helped solidify the look while it was still just a fledging prototype. Dan Roam showed me how much fun you can have playing with a book's storytelling.

  I was often blind to the very quest I was on. The following readers, reviewers, and confidants helped me see: Mara Averick, Alice Francis, Lisa Han, Keith Helfrich, Kim Johnston, Susie Lu, Elijah Meeks, Alice Nhu, Peretz Partensky, Matt Plitch, Lisa Charlotte Rost, Leigh Ryan, Rob Simmon, Micah Stubbs, and Shirley Wu. I would especially like to acknowledge Howard Wainer, whose voice rang true across many dimensions. Scott Stern and Amy Abernethy taught me everything I know about data and strategy, I am so grateful for their mentorship. Many supporters of my craft have been with Info We Trust since I first pitched the need for more visual information at MIT's E52, especially Aman Advani, John Aquadro, Sean Bonawitz, Joost Bonsen, Cathy Fazio, Katja and Lukas Gerber, Jorge Guzman, Craig Hosang, Hoolie Tejwani, and Blaize Wallace. Many teachers across my life pushed me forward into new realities. Deirdre Leland, William Hornick, and Hameed Metghalchi: thank you.