The Guardian asks, "are our appliances getting too complicated?" No, they’re not

So-called "function inflation" can actually make our lives simpler.

There was a funny old piece in the Guardian yesterday that was of the opinion that household appliances like toasters and washing machines are getting far too complicated, leaving us baffled, bamboozled and befuddled as to how to use them. This is clearly errant nonsense, in my most humble of opinions.

Unlike the author of the piece, I have far more faith in the average consumer’s ability to comprehend that, for example, the Breville VTT377 4 Slice Toaster’s “high lift” feature is just that – the fact that when you want to get your toast out it lifts it slightly higher, so that you don’t have to burn your fingers trying to retrieve a smaller piece of toast.

“Variable browning” is scoffed at as if it’s some marketing mumbo jumbo, when in fact it just means you can alter how brown you want your toast. Get out of here – the brownness of your toast is variable? How over-complicated! As for the ‘reheat’ and ‘defrost’ functions, how dare anyone want to toast some frozen bread, or warm up but not burn some toast they made earlier? Heresy!

Much is made of the complexity of washing machines, which now have a supposedly bewildering array of programs. The author bemoans the fact that machines now have, “duvet", "sports", "bed and bath", "reduced creases", "allergy" and "freshen up" cycles. If this is terribly complicated for the average punter, I’m clearly missing something. The duvet cycle is for when you need to wash a duvet. Sports would be for sports gear, bed and bath is for bedding and towels, reduced creases is for stuff that’ll need an iron, and "freshen up" uses steam instead of water to take creases out of clean or very lightly-soiled items (depending on the exact model, natch).

None of this is exactly rocket science. It doesn’t take a genius to think to turn the dial to "duvet" if they have just stuffed a duvet in it. Or to turn it to "Cottons 30 degrees" if they want to wash some cottons at 30 degrees, for that matter.

Many of those who left comments are unconvinced. Some bemoaned the fact that washing machines used to have only three dials, for temperature, load and spin speed. “When this needed replacing the range of wash options available on the new machines was mind boggling,” according to a commenter called Thegecko. But let’s just think about that. Let’s say there were nine temperature options on one dial, two load settings on another, and five spin speeds on the third. How many possible combinations are there? 90, by my (I admit pretty rusty) maths. Makes the number of programs on a modern machine look positively sparse. Also, if I know little about laundry, where do I set each of those three dials to wash all my woolly cardies? On a modern machine, I would simply turn the dial to ‘woolens’. Which is really the simpler system?

Similarly, while an old toaster only had one knob, that one knob would get a lot of use. You’d forever be fiddling about with it depending on the thickness of the bread, whether it was frozen or not, whether you were reheating toast and so on. Would you remember where on the one dial is best for all of these? Or would it be easier to hit a ‘frozen’ or ‘reheat’ button and let the toaster do the rest?

The Bosch TWK8631GB Styline Kettle is in trouble too, for its ability to, “Heat water to your choice of 70°C (white tea), 80°C (green tea), 90°C (hot chocolate or coffee) or a familiar 100°C (boiling).” That’s right, there are four water temperature settings. How terribly, er, over-complicated. If you only ever want it boiling then – get this – you have to press ‘boil’ each and every time. Almost like, you know, having to press a single switch on a ‘traditional’ kettle.

Is it wrong for appliances to get more sophisticated, rather than less so? If you look at this kettle, it’s got a number of features many people might find useful. It has a large 1.5L capacity. The heating element is concealed, which reduces limescale build-up. It has a rapid-boil function for when you’re in a rush. A keep-warm function can keep the water at the desired temperature for up to 30 minutes. There is a limescale filter so the spout pours cleanly. In fact, I quite want one of these kettles (Bosch, I hope you are reading this). At £40 it’s practically a steal.

Also accused of being over-complicated is the humble vacuum cleaner. Take the Vax Zoom Family and Pet Bagless Cylinder Vacuum Cleaner, about which the article decries: “The ridiculous name aside, this £150 monument to excessive disposable income includes a "crevice tool", "dusting brush", "turbo tool", "stretch hose" and "flexi crevice tool". You know, for cleaning your flexi-crevices. Which, obviously, aren't a thing [sic].” I personally wouldn’t spend £150 on a vacuum cleaner either. But to say that the various flexible hoses and attachments are terribly complicated seems a bit of a stretch. It doesn’t require someone with a massive brain to put a small brush on the end of a plastic hose when they want to vacuum a narrow gap, whether Vax chooses to call it a crevice tool or not.

Various experts are drawn on to talk about ‘function inflation’ and ‘setting creep’. The iPod is held up as a shining example of making complicated things simple, and yet early iPod menu systems, as well as early versions of iTunes, were actually rather complicated. According to Amplicate, 60 per cent of a sample of over 75,000 consumers hate iTunes to this day. Even now, negotiating iTunes and its integration with the cloud and your various devices is not always a simple task – certainly not as simple as turning a dial to "duvet" when you load a sodding duvet into a washing machine.

The thing is, some appliances, gadgets and electronics are really badly designed. The issue isn’t the number of functions, it’s how well complexity is hidden from the user. Most people only use a fraction of the features and functions of Microsoft Word, but my five year-old can still create and save a basic document. You can bemoan the fact that you can no longer repair your "overly-complex" car all you like, but do you really want to go back to the reliability of a Hillman Imp, and hand back your air conditioning, ABS, traction control, engine management systems and a whole range of safety features? I wouldn’t. Want a toaster with only one button? Fine, you can still buy one. But don’t presume that the rest of us are too stupid to know the difference between frozen bread and toast.

Are we really baffled, bamboozled and befuddled? Photograph: Getty Images

Jason Stamper is editor of Computer Business Review

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How “cli-fi” novels humanise the science of climate change

The paradox is that the harder climate-fiction novels try, the less effective they are.

When the Paris UN Climate Change Conference begins at the end of November, the world’s leaders will review the climate framework agreed in Rio in 1992. For well over 20 years, the world has not just been thinking and talking about climate change, it has also been writing and reading about it, in blogs, newspapers, magazines – and in novels.

Climate change fiction is now a recognisable literary phenomenon replete with its own nickname: “cli-fi”. The term was coined in 2007 by Taiwan-based blogger Dan Bloom. Since then, its use has spread: it was even tweeted by Margaret Atwood in 2013:

It is not a genre in the accepted scholarly sense, since it lacks the plot formulas or stylistic conventions that tend to define genres (such as science fiction or the western). However, it does name a remarkable recent literary and publishing trend.

A 21st-century phenomenon?

Putting a number to this phenomenon depends, partly, on how one defines cli-fi. How much of a novel has to be devoted to climate change before it is considered cli-fi? Should we restrict the term to novels about man-made global warming? (If we don’t, we should remember that narratives about global climatic change are as old as The Epic of Gilgamesh and the Biblical story of the flood.) If we define cli-fi as fictional treatments of climate change caused by human activity in terms of setting, theme or plot – and accept there will be grey areas in the extent of this treatment – a conservative estimate would put the all-time number of cli-fi novels at 150 and growing. This is the figure put forward by Adam Trexler, who has worked with me to survey the development of cli-fi.

This definition also gives us a start date for cli-fi’s history. While planetary climatic change occurs in much 20th-century science fiction, it is only after growing scientific awareness of specifically man-made, carbon-induced climate change in the 1960s and 1970s that novels on this subject emerged. The first is Arthur Herzog’s Heat in 1976, followed by George Turner’s The Sun and the Summer (published in the US as Drowning Towers) in 1987.

At the turn of this century, Maggie Gee and TC Boyle were among the first mainstream authors to publish climate change novels. In this century, we can count Atwood, Michael Crichton, Barbara Kingsolver, Ian McEwan, Kim Stanley Robinson, Ilija Trojanow and Jeanette Winterson as major authors who have written about climate change. The past five years have given us notable examples of cli-fi by emerging authors, such as Steven Amsterdam, Edan Lepucki, Jane Rawson, Nathaniel Rich and Antti Tuomainen.

Creative challenges

Cli-fi is all the more noteworthy considering the creative challenge posed by climate change. First, there is the problem of scale – spatial and temporal. Climate change affects the entire planet and all its species – and concerns the end of this planet as we know it. Novels, by contrast, conventionally concern the actions of individual protagonists and/or, sometimes, small communities.

Added to this is the networked nature of climate change: in physical terms, the climate is a large, complex system whose effects are difficult to model. In socio-cultural terms, solutions require intergovernmental agreement – just what COP21 intends – and various top-down and bottom-up transformations. Finally, there exists the difficulty of translating scientific information, with all its predictive uncertainty, into something both accurate and interesting to the average reader.

Still, cli-fi writers have adopted a range of strategies to engage their readers. Many cli-fi novels could be classified as dystopian, post-apocalyptic or, indeed, both – depicting nightmarish societies triggered by sometimes catastrophic climate events. A future world is one effective way of narrating the planetary condition of climate change.

Some novelists are also careful to underpin their scenarios with rigorous climatic predictions and, in this way, translate science fact into a fictional setting. Kingsolver, who trained as an ecologist, is the best example of this – and Atwood and Robinson are also known for their attempts at making their speculations scientifically plausible. Also, cli-fi novels, particularly those set in the present day or very near future rather than in a dystopian future, tend to show the political or psychological dimensions of living with climate change. Readers can identify with protagonists. To some extent, the global community is represented in fictional everymen or everywomen. Or, often, it is through such characters that science is humanised and its role in combating climate change better understood.

Can cli-fi lead to change?

Could cli-fi affect how we think and act on climate change? The paradox is that the harder cli-fi tries, the less effective it is. Many writers want to inspire change, not insist on it: the line between literature and propaganda is one that most novelists respect. Literature invites us to inhabit other worlds and live other lives. Cli-fi at its best lets us travel to climate-changed worlds, to strive there alongside others and then to return armed with that experience.

In Paris, the UN will seek a global agreement on climate action for the first time in more than 20 years. There is plenty of climate change fiction out there to help provide the mental and psychological space to consider that action.

The Conversation

Adeline Johns-Putra, Reader in English Literature, University of Surrey

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.