Our Heroine: JK Rowling

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There is an article in today’s Telegraph by Allister Heath (the editor of the Sunday Telegraph) in which the editor, rightfully, refers to J K Rowling as a heroine.

J K Rowling

Mr Heath says, “JK Rowling is a modern British heroine, and all those who have vilified, defamed, threatened and traduced her should hang their heads in shame. She has proved to be a far more effective defender of common-sense values than all but a handful of MPs, exposing the cowardice and moral bankruptcy of much of Westminster and Whitehall.

She has fought indefatigably for ordinary people, for the truth, for the rights of women threatened by the rise of trans extremism, incurring horrific hatred from tens of thousands of deranged woke fanatics. She has had a dramatic impact on our politics, unlike the managerialist politicians who dominate the Cabinet, most of whom go with the flow on all “controversial” subjects and are thus content to be in office but not truly in power.

She has almost single-handedly neutralised trans extremism by running the most significant extra-parliamentary campaign in recent history, using little more than tweets and the occasional interview or speech. She is an inspiration to anti-woke dissidents across all continents, and to anybody who believes in the power of carefully chosen words to change the world.

Until Rowling entered the fray, the Tories, under the calamitous Theresa May, were poised to allow gender self-recognition, extremist trans groups had gone mainstream, it was taboo to scrutinise “gender-affirming care” for children or the Tavistock Centre, and Labour was careering into full woke mode. Today, thanks also to a few brave politicians, while the battle hasn’t been won, the extremists are in retreat.

Unusually given our selfish and venal public culture, Rowling has asked for nothing in return, has been given neither the damehood nor the peerage she deserves, and has in fact paid an immense price for helping to rescue her country. As if this weren’t enough, as the author of Harry Potter, she has done more for the UK, for our soft power, for the happiness of our children, for our economy and for the taxman than any current member of the Cabinet. 

How have we come to a point when a centre-Left billionaire author from Edinburgh represents Middle England’s views better than the London-centric establishment class, and even many “Conservative” politicians? And why did so few come to Rowling’s defence when she started to expose woke madness, most notably when she rightly slammed the growing use of the idiotic term “people who menstruate”? She tweeted: “I’m sure there used to be a word for these people. Someone help me out. Wumben? Wimpund? Woomud?”

When almost our entire establishment – politicians, judges, business leaders, cultural leaders – ran for cover, Rowling took on cancel culture and won. She has broken the spell, proving that the best way to defeat social-media mobs is to call their bluff. By sheer force of personality, by refusing to accept that she had lost her freedom of speech, by crafting tight, sharp and rigorous arguments, by standing up to the bullies, she has drastically shifted the Overton window on issues of gender and sex.

She was at it again this week, writing what many wanted to say but were still too scared to verbalise. Reacting to the fact that a transgender cat killer who murdered a stranger was being described as a woman – and that judges have been told to refer to defendants by their chosen pronouns, whether or not they have undergone surgery or applied for a gender recognition certificate – she lashed out. “I’m sick of this s—”, she said. “This is not a woman. These are not our crimes.”

Rowling has exposed the woke commissars’ ultimate lack of power: The mainstream majority will vote with its wallets and has no time for woke capital. The Harry Potter franchise continues to boom. Hogwarts Legacy, an action role-playing game, sold 22 million copies last year, making it the world’s best-selling video game, generating $1 billion and delivering more royalties to Rowling. 

In theory, the wealthy have the freedom to speak out; in practice, most feel that they have too much to lose and prefer to exercise their influence in private, by lobbying or via political donations. This is unhealthy. They should take a leaf out of Rowling’s book, as the likes of Bill Ackman, a fund manager, has done over the vicious epidemic of anti-Semitism in US universities.

Rowling’s emergence as our era’s leading feminist icon reminds us that the sensible Left and Right must work together, that they have much in common against the dark, extremist, authoritarian revolutionaries who seek to overthrow our society. I, for one, never thought I would come to appreciate Rowling so much, given her background as a Labour supporter. 

But none of that matters any longer: the attempt at eliminating the very concept of man and woman, the irreversible damage inflicted upon children who have had the misfortune of falling prey to social contagion, the attempt at cancelling gay people, the terrible risk to women and girls from the eradication of single-sex spaces in gyms and prisons, the despicable misogyny of those who seek to pretend that it is women, and not men, who commit many rapes and murders, all of these are issues of existential significance to our civilisation that require the unity of all sensible people, of Left, Right or neither. 

Rowling’s should be a model for other campaigns. At a time when Parliament is being cowed by Islamist extremists, we need more brave people to stand up for the silent majority. The answer isn’t to spout nonsense à la Lee Anderson, but to unrelentingly marshal reason and facts to expose the threat and danger to our liberties and democracy. Who will be the next J K Rowling?”

What a great piece of journalism!

Review: LUKA

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This novel was recommended to me by a friend, and as it is about civil conflict situations, I bought a copy.

The author, Ian Bancroft, is a writer and former diplomat based in the former Yugoslavia for over fifteen years. He has written travel articles for various publications, and he has produced foreign policy analysis for The Guardian, Radio Free Europe, UN Global Experts and others. Ian’s first book, ‘Dragon’s teeth – tales from north Kosovo’, was published in 2020.

There are four main characters in LUKA. ‘A’ is a beautiful girl who grew up in Old Town; she has lived through a prior war. She is single and now twenty-seven. ‘L’ is a talented young painter who also lives in Old Town. ‘U’ is a long-serving police officer who never questioned the wisdom of his superiors. ‘K’ is the mother of ‘A’, and an assembly-line worker in a munitions factors. She vigorously defends her father known by the nom de guerre ‘Jinn’, as in ‘djinn’, owing to his almost mystical ability to conjure things into existence. Her father is rumoured to profit from illegal arms sales. ‘A’s great grandfather – unnamed- also appears in the context of previous wars. Most of the book deals with the historic and current conflicts of Old Town, New Town, Upper Town and Lower Town. These are not straight forward military conflicts, but anti-civilian conflicts, involving snipers, rape, torture, imprisonment, and other crimes against humanity. ‘L’ is imprisoned in Luka, an assortment of warehouses in a port. His left hand, which he uses to paint, is crushed by an invisible woman using a hammer. The woman smells of vanilla. At the conclusion of the conflict, ‘A’ and ‘L’ plan to marry. ‘L’ visits ‘A’ at ‘K’s house, where he suddenly recognises ‘K’ as the woman who smells of vanilla. ‘K’ runs out of the house, pursued by ‘A’ and into a nearby forest which is mined. There is an explosion which ends the novel.

LUKA is almost a catalogue of crimes against humanity, presented factually, but there is relatively little explanation of the motivations, the reasons, impulses, etc. which generate these crimes. The characters are realistic, but the use of generic letters to identify them deprives them of flesh and blood. Similarly, the use of generic place names takes away their authenticity. The time line of the book is sometimes difficult to follow. The actual narrative covers about twenty years, but the historic references cover nearly a century. A more conventional structure, cause and effect, and real world identification would have been far more satisfying.

Feedback

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Harry Bingham of Jericho Writers had this to say about feedback in last Friday’s email:

“One thing that mildly panics me when I offer advice via Feedback Friday is this: What if my advice is totally wrong?
There are some areas where I don’t have those worries. Sometimes, for example, I give specific editorial advice on a particular passage.
For example: “Your long second sentence would be better split over two sentences.” “The image of the X in this passage is interesting but currently a bit confused.” “You could lose word count here and still convey what you need to convey.”
In all those instances, I’d mostly expect any competent editor to agree with me, or at the very least to understand my concern. Exact strategies for dealing with the concern are legion, of course, but the editorial process is basically the same three steps, repeated endlessly: Figure out if you have a bad feeling; Figure out where that feeling is coming from; Figure out what to do about it. Those three steps are the same whether you’re a paid third-party editor, or a free beta-reader, or just you re-reading and re-editing your own work.
Obviously, the editorial process would be a bit pointless without that third and final step, but the first two steps are often the ones that feel transformative. “Oh, gosh, you’re right! Now I know why I felt uneasy and I can already see several different solutions all of which could work.”
Likewise, if I’m talking about something very brief and self-contained – an elevator pitch, for example – I feel well-qualified to offer feedback. Coming of age story in the world of Shakespeare’s Macbeth? That’s a wonderful, saleable pitch, and I’d pick that book up in a bookshop. Near-future eco-disaster novel for adults involving mermaids, flying killer robots and a talking rabbit? Um. Maybe not quite so good. Even here, it’s hard to be confident quite what I’m criticising.
If I come across a less-than-compelling elevator pitch, is it the pitch that’s at fault (a simple fix)? Or is it that the book itself doesn’t work (a terrifying prospect)? Because of this uncertainty, I try to proceed gently but I do tend to trust my gut feeling about the material in front of me. Other reasonable people might disagree, but I’d expect my views to be echoed by most genuinely competent judges. (Though, having said that, I’m meaner than most. Whenever I’ve given feedback alongside agents, I’m almost always pickier than they are. I’m Simon Cowell, minus the botox.)
Then we get to some more delicate areas. In last week’s Feedback Friday, we looked at very brief plot synopses. Thar’s a super-useful exercise for any writer because it forces them to consider the top-level shape of their plot as well as the causal unity of it. (What do I mean by causal unity? Simply that most novels don’t work if it’s one thing, followed by another thing, followed by another disconnected thing. We want the various events to flow, seemingly inevitably, from the one event that incites everything.) In those cases where I was underwhelmed by a synopsis, what exactly should the author deduce? That the synopsis is poor? That the book’s basic plot structure is poor? Or just that Harry didn’t like something, as a matter of his own personal taste? Honestly, in a lot of cases, I think any one of those three explanations are possible.
A short synopsis isn’t much to go on and a certain humility is in order from anyone offering advice. Much the same goes for any criticism of a passage where context is significant. So let’s say for example, I’m not that impressed by a passage where Princess Kara faces the dark Lord Mephilo. Suppose I think that Princess K just wouldn’t be likely to say or do X, or that a particular emotional reaction feels awry, or something else of that sort. Well, is that because the passage isn’t convincing? Or because there’s backstory dealt with elsewhere in the book which makes those things explicable? Again, any sane editor just has to approach questions like these with humility. All you can do is note an uneasiness and let the author use that observation in any way that’s helpful. In the end, the responsibility is always yours, the author’s. The issue isn’t really whether you like what I, or some other editor, say. Often enough you won’t. But I want the mermaids! I insist on keeping Pep the Talking Rabbit! And fair enough: this is your book, not mine. The question is always, “Is this comment useful?” Does it illuminate something? Do you the author get an insight that you personally find useful and actionable? Authorial responsibility never changes, no matter how far you go. Comments from me via Feedback Friday? Comments from an editorial buddy or beta reader? Detailed comments from a pro Jericho Writers editor following a read of your entire manuscript? Comments from an agent? From a publishing editor? From a copy editor who’s preparing your manuscript for publication? You must never let go. The manuscript remains yours. I literally don’t let a publisher change a comma without my approval.
When I’ve had copy editors who didn’t get my style, I’ve been through a whole 100,000+ word manuscript reversing the changes that have been made. It’s your book and no one else’s. Ever If a comment chimes, use it. If a comment doesn’t, disregard it. If a comment alerts you to a particular issue, but you want to deal with the issue in some way other than the one suggested, then go with your solution.
It’s your book.”

More Controversy at Royal Society

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Following up on last week’s post, there is an article in The Standard written by Merlanie McDonagh, an Evening Standard columnist on Salman Rushdie’s views on the dispute.

Sir Salman Rushdie

“Sir Salman Rushdie has intervened in the kerfuffle about the Royal Society of Literature under the presidency of Bernardine Evaresito, author of Girl, Woman, Other. Irked by questions from some members about whether the organisation is doing its job, especially protecting the interests of writers, she declared in the Guardian that this “historic institution” is doing just fine. But it had to be “impartial” about issues as in, though she didn’t mention it, the attack on Sir Salman at a literary festival.

The great man has responded on X: “Just wondering if the Royal Society of Literature is ‘impartial’ about attempted murder, @BernardineEvari? (Asking for a friend.)” Dame Marina Warner, a past president, had complained that the RSL hadn’t supported him.

Quite so, Sir Salman. If the RSL cannot bring itself to clamber onto its high horse about a homicidal attack on a writer because the attacker did not like Sir Salman’s views on Islam, it may as well shut down those agreeable premises in Somerset House and go home.

But the discontent about the society goes beyond this rather low bar. It’s a rarefied version of the problems that attend any institution that goes in for diversity and inclusion. It would be invidious to say that the appointment of Evaristo, a Booker prize-winner, is part of this, though she kind of invites the thought by saying that her presidency shows how the institution is modernising.

A more obvious example is the extension of fellowships to 40 under-40s. It took the waspish Philip Hensher to observe: “Some of the writers who have benefited from this widening are i) expensively educated and privileged ii) not very good.” Oof.

Most of us who keep authors afloat by buying books aren’t bothered about the RSL. But there’s a small stratum of writers for whom it matters desperately, whose status is bolstered by being a fellow. And it does do good work, for instance in getting books into prisons.

The row demonstrates the elephant traps that await organisations that try to modernise without taking on board what that entails. And Evaristo, though a feisty promoter of the RSL, is more activist than figurehead. Good for her, less good for the RSL.”

I agree completely with Sir Salman and Dame Marina!

Controversy over Selecting Royal Fellows of Literature

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The Guardian had an article on 29 January by Vanessa Thorpe, Arts and Media Correspondent, about proposed changed to the process of selecting fellows of the Royal Society of Literature.

Bernardine Evaristo, President, Royal Society of Literature

I quote from the article: “Fellows of the Royal Society of Literature, an august body founded in London in 1820, seemed poised to stride into the new year on a bold footing, with an inclusive programme of events and a revitalised membership. Its Booker prize-winning president, Bernardine Evaristo, alongside poet Daljit Nagra, chair of the society’s leadership council, were promising further modernisation soon.

But a major revolt among longer-term fellows is now threatening to destabilise the society. A council meeting of members next month will be forced to address a growing number of complaints.

‘There is a lot of turbulence,’ recent president Marina Warner told the Observer. ‘It is a question of a lack of respect for older members and a loss of institutional history, which was something fellows cherished.’

The RSL has not responded officially to public criticism, and did not respond to requests for comment, but this weekend the leadership sent out a letter to alert members to ‘a concerted campaign of disinformation’ and to ask them not to share this ‘misinformation’.

Set up under the patronage of George IV to ‘reward literary merit and excite literary talent’, the society, based in Somerset House, still has royal sponsorship from Queen Camilla. But those critical of its recent past speak of a ‘shambolic’ and ‘clubby’ institution – a place intended to shelter elite talent, rather than represent the wider community of accomplished writers.

‘The society should not just be for a group of older, rather entitled, people, however distinguished. These problems had to be sorted quickly,’ said one new fellow this weekend.

In a speech given last year, Evaristo challenged the assumption that the RSL was still ‘old-fashioned.’ It was, she said, now ‘very forward-looking, very progressive and committed to inclusion at every level’. Under the day-to-day leadership of director Molly Rosenberg the society has won greater funding and shed its cosy atmosphere.

But those same ‘radical moves’ heralded by Evaristo, designed to make the RSL more relevant and more diverse, have prompted a rebellion. The novelist and biographer Miranda Seymour recently resigned, and amid allegations of ‘scandalous’ disregard for proper procedures, a number of members have told the Observer they are considering following suit. This comes after the resignation in 2018 of Piers Paul Read in response to an initial call for younger fellows.

There are fears among members that the strife will soon rival divisions in the Society of Authors, where Philip Pullman stepped down as president last year because he claimed he could not speak freely in the role.

The RSL’s latest efforts to diversify followed Evaristo’s assessment that the charity ‘needed to change’ to become one that is ‘for all writers, rather than traditionally writers who are white and middle class’, and so last year 62 new fellows were inducted.

Plans for 2024 include a change to the method of electing fellows, who must have written a minimum of two distinguished works. Currently, to be recognised with fellowship an author must be nominated by an existing fellow or honorary fellow before being considered by the RSL council and senior officers. Under the new process the public will be invited to recommend writers for fellowship and then a series of broader-based election panels will consider the recommendations.

This is the sort of fundamental switch that unsettles writer Amanda Craig: ‘It used to be an enormous honour to become a fellow. But when people are just starting their writing careers, it is not the same.’

A former chair of the society, Anne Chisholm, told the Observer: ‘Of course the RSL, like all venerable institutions, has an imperfect past: it needed to change with the times. My worry is that the pace and style of change has lately been alienating too many fellows and disrespecting the RSL’s history.'”

I have given up my membership in RSL because it did not have events which interested me, not that I thought that there was anything wrong with the events. It is, clearly, an elitist and fusty organisation, but I think that any venerable institution invites disaster when it goes for sweeping changes. Far better, in my opinion to make careful, incremental changes, bringing the membership along at each step. The requirement for prospective fellows to have two distinguished works is probably fair, if one has a clear idea what a ‘distinguished’ work is. Under the old admission regime, long-time fellows looked for literary quality novels and scholarly non-fiction. Under the proposed regime, ‘broad-based election panels’ may have an entirely different idea of what a ‘distinguished work’ is. My concern is that literary quality may be sacrificed for popularity with particular readerships, genres, subject matters, or styles.

Rarely Used Power Words

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There is a list of 30 English words which are rarely used, powerful, and should be available to any writer appearing in the June 22, 2023 issue of Literature News and contributed by Alka. I think this is quite a good list, because all of them have a clear, crisp meaning, and while they may be rarely used, they aren’t obscure. Interestingly, none is an adverb. How many are familiar?

1. Abstruse (adj.): Difficult to understand; obscure.
Sentence 1: The professor’s abstruse lecture on quantum physics left the students bewildered.
Sentence 2: The book contained an abstruse passage that required multiple readings to grasp its meaning.

2. Acrimonious (adj.): Harsh in nature, speech, or behaviour.
Sentence 1: The divorce proceedings became acrimonious as the couple fought over their assets.
Sentence 2: The debate turned acrimonious as the politicians exchanged personal insults.

3. Alacrity (n.): Willingness to do something quickly and enthusiastically.
Sentence 1: Sarah accepted the job offer with alacrity, excited to start her new role.
Sentence 2: The team responded to the coach’s halftime pep talk with renewed alacrity on the field.

4. Ameliorate (v.): To make something better or improve a situation.
Sentence 1: The doctor’s treatment plan ameliorated the patient’s symptoms and enhanced their well-being.
Sentence 2: The charity’s efforts to provide clean water to the village ameliorated the living conditions of the residents.

5. Assiduous (adj.): Showing great care, attention to detail, and perseverance in one’s work.
Sentence 1: The assiduous researcher spent countless hours in the lab conducting experiments.
Sentence 2: The author’s assiduous editing process ensured that the final manuscript was flawless.

6. Clandestine (adj.): Done secretly or in a concealed manner, often implying something illicit or forbidden.
Sentence 1: The spies met in a clandestine location to exchange classified information.
Sentence 2: The couple planned a clandestine rendezvous under the moonlit sky.

7. Conundrum (n.): A difficult or confusing problem or question.
Sentence 1: Solving the puzzle proved to be a conundrum even for the most experienced players.
Sentence 2: The ethical conundrum presented in the novel forced the protagonist to make a challenging decision.

8. Deleterious (adj.): Harmful or damaging to health, well-being, or success.
Sentence 1: Smoking has been proven to have deleterious effects on both physical and mental health.
Sentence 2: The company’s deleterious financial decisions led to its eventual bankruptcy.

9. Ephemeral (adj.): Lasting for a short period; transitory or fleeting.
Sentence 1: The beauty of cherry blossoms is ephemeral, as the flowers bloom for only a few weeks each year.
Sentence 2: The actor’s fame was ephemeral, as he quickly faded into obscurity after his initial success.

10. Equanimity (n.): Calmness, composure, and evenness of temper, especially in difficult situations.
Sentence 1: Despite the chaos around her, she maintained her equanimity and approached the problem with a clear mind.
Sentence 2: The leader’s equanimity during the crisis reassured the team and helped them stay focused.

11. Esoteric (adj.): Intended for or understood by only a small group with specialised knowledge or interest.
Sentence 1: The professor’s lecture on advanced mathematics was esoteric, and only a few students could follow along.
Sentence 2: The book delved into esoteric philosophies that were beyond the comprehension of most readers.

12. Exacerbate (v.): To make a problem, situation, or condition worse or more severe.
Sentence 1: The hot weather exacerbated the drought, leading to further water shortages.
Sentence 2: His careless comments only served to exacerbate the tensions between the two families.

13. Fervent (adj.): Intensely passionate or enthusiastic.
Sentence 1: The artist had a fervent desire to create meaningful and thought-provoking artwork.
Sentence 2: The politician delivered a fervent speech that inspired the crowd and ignited their patriotic spirit.

14. Gregarious (adj.): Fond of the company of others; sociable.
Sentence 1: Mark was known for his gregarious nature and always enjoyed hosting parties.
Sentence 2: The gregarious puppy wagged its tail and eagerly greeted every person it encountered.

15. Idiosyncrasy (n.): A distinctive or peculiar feature, behaviour, or characteristic that is unique to an individual or group.
Sentence 1: John had the idiosyncrasy of wearing mismatched socks every day.
Sentence 2: The small coastal town had its idiosyncrasies, including a yearly festival dedicated to seashells.

16. Impervious (adj.): Not allowing something to pass through or penetrate; incapable of being affected or influenced.
Sentence 1: The fortress was built with thick walls that were impervious to enemy attacks.
Sentence 2: Despite the criticism, her confidence remained impervious, and she continued pursuing her dreams.

17. Languid (adj.): Lacking energy or enthusiasm; slow and relaxed in manner.
Sentence 1: After a long day at work, she enjoyed taking a languid stroll by the beach to unwind.
Sentence 2: The hot summer afternoon made everyone feel languid and drowsy.

18. Melancholy (n.): A feeling of deep sadness or pensive sorrow, often with no obvious cause.
Sentence 1: As she watched the sunset, a sense of melancholy washed over her, and she reflected on the passing of time.
Sentence 2: The hauntingly beautiful melody carried a tinge of melancholy that touched the hearts of all who listened.

19. Myriad (adj.): Countless or innumerable; a large, indefinite number.
Sentence 1: The garden was adorned with myriad flowers, each displaying its vibrant colours and delicate petals.
Sentence 2: The old bookstore housed a myriad of books, spanning various genres and eras.

20. Nebulous (adj.): Vague, hazy, or indistinct in form or outline; lacking clarity.
Sentence 1: The concept of time is nebulous, as it is difficult to define precisely.
Sentence 2: The artist’s abstract painting featured nebulous shapes and colours, allowing viewers to interpret it in their own way.

21. Obfuscate (v.): To make something unclear, confusing, or difficult to understand.
Sentence 1: The lawyer attempted to obfuscate the facts to create doubt in the minds of the jurors.
Sentence 2: The politician’s speech was filled with jargon and obfuscating language to avoid addressing the issue directly.

22. Panacea (n.): A solution or remedy that is believed to solve all problems or cure all ills.
Sentence 1: Some people view education as a panacea for societal issues and inequality.
Sentence 2: The new product was marketed as a panacea for ageing, promising to reverse all signs of wrinkles and fine lines.

23. Querulous (adj.): Complaining or whining in a petulant or irritable manner.
Sentence 1: The querulous customer was dissatisfied with every aspect of the service and demanded a refund.
Sentence 2: The child’s querulous tone annoyed the teacher, who asked him to speak with respect.

24. Reticent (adj.): Inclined to keep silent or reserved; not revealing one’s thoughts or feelings readily.
Sentence 1: Despite the intense questioning, the witness remained reticent and refused to disclose any further information.
Sentence 2: The usually reticent boy opened up to his best friend, sharing his deepest fears and insecurities.

25. Sagacious (adj.): Having or showing keen mental discernment and good judgment; wise and shrewd.
Sentence 1: The sagacious old man offered valuable advice based on his years of experience.
Sentence 2: The CEO’s sagacious decision to invest in new technology propelled the company to unprecedented success.

26. Taciturn (adj.): Reserved or inclined to silence; habitually silent or uncommunicative.
Sentence 1: The taciturn loner preferred solitude and rarely engaged in conversations with others.
Sentence 2: Despite his taciturn nature, his eyes spoke volumes, revealing the emotions he kept hidden.

27. Ubiquitous (adj.): Present, appearing, or found everywhere.
Sentence 1: In today’s digital age, smartphones have become ubiquitous, accompanying people in every aspect of their lives.
Sentence 2: The fragrance of freshly brewed coffee was ubiquitous in the café, enveloping the space with its comforting aroma.

28. Vacillate (v.): To waver or hesitate in making a decision or choice; to be indecisive.
Sentence 1: She vacillated between accepting the job offer and pursuing further education.
Sentence 2: The committee’s members vacillated for hours, unable to agree on a course of action.

29. Wanton (adj.): Deliberate and without motive or provocation; reckless or careless.
Sentence 1: The wanton destruction of the historic monument outraged the community.
Sentence 2: The driver’s wanton disregard for traffic rules led to a dangerous accident.

30. Zealot (n.): A person who is fanatical and uncompromising in pursuit of their religious, political, or other beliefs.
Sentence 1: The religious zealot preached his beliefs on street corners, attempting to convert passersby.
Sentence 2: The political zealot refused to consider alternative viewpoints and dismissed any opposing opinions as invalid.

AI Wins Prize

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An article in today’s RTÉ website titled: “Japan literary laureate unashamed about using ChatGPT” caught my eye. There is no author contribution shown.

“The winner of Japan’s most prestigious literary award has acknowledged that about “5%” of her futuristic novel was penned by ChatGPT, saying generative AI had helped unlock her potential.

Since the 2022 launch of ChatGPT, an easy-to-use AI chatbot that can deliver an essay upon request within seconds, there have been growing worries about the impact on a range of sectors – books included.

Lauded by a judge for being “almost flawless” and “universally enjoyable”, Rie Kudan’s latest novel, “Tokyo-to Dojo-to” (“Sympathy Tower Tokyo”), claimed the biannual Akutagawa Prize yesterday.

Set in a futuristic Tokyo, the book revolves around a high-rise prison tower and its architect’s intolerance of criminals, with AI a recurring theme.

The 33-year-old author openly admitted that AI heavily influenced her writing process as well.

“I made active use of generative AI like ChatGPT in writing this book,” she told a ceremony following the winner’s announcement.

“I would say about 5% of the book quoted verbatim the sentences generated by AI.”

Outside of her creative activity, Ms Kudan said she frequently toys with AI, confiding her innermost thoughts that “I can never talk to anyone else about”.

ChatGPT’s responses sometimes inspired dialogue in the novel, she added.

Going forward, she said she wants to keep “good relationships” with AI and “unleash my creativity” in co-existence with it.

When contacted by AFP, the Society for the Promotion of Japanese Literature, the Akutagawa award’s organiser, declined to comment.

On social media, opinions were divided on Ms Kudan’s unorthodox approach to writing, with sceptics calling it morally questionable and potentially undeserving of the prize.

“So she wrote the book by deftly using AI … Is that talented or not? I don’t know,” one wrote on X, formerly known as Twitter.

But others celebrated her resourcefulness and the effort she put into experimenting with various prompts.

“So this is how the Akutagawa laureate uses ChatGPT – not to slack off but to ‘unleash creativity'”, another social media user wrote.

Titles that list ChatGPT as a co-author have been offered for sale through Amazon’s e-book self-publishing unit, although critics say the works are of poor quality.

British author Salman Rushdie told a press conference at the Frankfurt Book Fair in October that recently someone asked an AI writing tool to produce 300 words in his style.

“And what came out was pure garbage,” said the “Midnight’s Children” writer, to laughter from the audience.

The technology also throws up a host of potential legal problems.

Last year, John Grisham, Jodi Picoult and “Game of Thrones” author George RR Martin were among several writers who filed a class-action lawsuit against ChatGPT creator OpenAI over alleged copyright violation.

Along with the Authors Guild, they accused the California-based company of using their books “without permission” to train ChatGPT’s large language models, algorithms capable of producing human-sounding text responses based on simple queries, according to the lawsuit.”

From my point of view, the use of AI to produce literature must sort out the copyright problem. When that issue has been resolved, using AI to write, or co-write, books will be accepted as commonplace, legal and ethical. We human beings have always adopted new technology, even dangerous technology, having found the good in it.

Fighting AI

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There is an article in Monday’s issue of the Daily Telegraph concerning a lawsuit filed by the New York Times against Microsoft and Open AI that, on the face of it, is about imitating copyright news articles. But what is at stake is whether an artificial intelligence company could ‘train’ its software on the works of, say, Salman Rushdie, and then produce new Salmon Rushdi titles without paying the author any royalty. The article which bears the title “Silicon Valley’s mimicry machines are trying to erase authors” is written by Andrew Orlowski who is a technology journalist who writes a weekly Telegraph column every Monday. He founded the research network Think of X and previously worked for The Register. 

Andrew Orlowski

Orlowski says, “Silicon Valley reacts to criticism like a truculent toddler throwing its toys out of the pram. But acquiring a bit of humility and self-discipline may be just what the child needs most. 

So the US tech industry should regard a lawsuit filed last week as a great learning experience.

The New York Times last week filed a copyright infringement against Microsoft and Open AI. 

The evidence presented alleges that ChatGPT created near-identical copies of the Times’ stories on demand, without the user first paying a subscription or seeing any advertising on the Times’ site. 

ChatGPT “recites Times content verbatim, closely summarizes it, and mimics its expressive style”, the suit explains.

In other words, the value of the material that the publisher generates is entirely captured by the technology company, which has invested nothing in creating it.

This was exactly the situation that led to the creation of copyright in the Statute of Anne in 1710, which first established the legal right to copyright for an author. Then, it was the printing monopoly that was keeping all the dosh.

The concept of an author, a subjective soul who viewed the world in a unique way, really arrived with the Enlightenment.

Now, the nerds of Silicon Valley want to erase it again. Attempts to do just that have already made them richer than anything a Stationer’s Guild member could imagine.

“Microsoft’s deployment of Times-trained LLMs (Large Language Models) throughout its product line helped boost its market capitalization by trillions of dollars in the past year alone,” the lawsuit notes, adding that OpenAI’s value has shot from zero to $90bn. 

With Open AI’s ChatGPT models now built into so many Microsoft products, this is a mimicry engine built on a global scale.

More ominously, the lawsuit also offers an abundance of evidence that “these tools wrongly attribute false information to The Times”. The bots introduce errors that weren’t there in the first place, it claims. 

They “hallucinate”, to use the Cambridge Dictionary’s word of the year. Publishers who are anxious about the first concern – unauthorised reproduction – should be even more concerned about the second.

Would a publisher be happy to see their outlet’s name next to a ChatGPT News response that confidently asserts, for example, that Iran has just launched cruise missiles at US destroyers? Or at London? 

These are purely hypotheticals but being the newspaper that accidentally starts World War III is not something that can be good for the brand in the long run.

Some midwit pundits and academics portrayed the lawsuit merely as a tactical licensing gambit. 

This year both Associated Press and the German giant Axel Springer have both cut licensing deals with Open AI. The New York Times is just sabre rattling in pursuit of a better deal, so the argument goes.

In response to the lawsuit, OpenAI insisted it respects “the rights of content creators and owners and [is] committed to working with them to ensure they benefit from AI technology and new revenue models”.

However, the industry is worried about much more than money.

Take, for example, the fact that the models that underpin ChatGPT need only to hear a couple of seconds of your child’s voice to clone it authentically. AI does not need to return the next day to perfect their impression. After that, it has a free hand to do what it will with its newfound ability.

So, the economic value of a licensing deal is impossible to estimate beforehand. And once done, it cannot be undone. As one publishing technology executive puts it, “you can’t un-bake the cake”.

Previous innovations in reproduction, from the photocopier to Napster, were rather different beasts, as the entrepreneur and composer Ed Newton-Rex noted this week. Past breakthroughs were purely mechanical or technological changes. But this new generation of AI tools marry technology with knowledge.

“They only work *because* their developers have used that copyrighted content to train on,” Newton-Rex wrote on Twitter, since rebranded as X. (His former employer, Stability AI, is also being sued for infringement).

Publishers and artists are entitled to think that without their work, AI would be nothing. This is why the large AI operations – and the investors hoping to make a killing from them – should be getting very nervous. They have been negligent in ignoring the issue until now.

“Until recently, AI was a research community that enjoyed benign neglect from copyright holders who felt it was bad form to sue academics,” veteran AI journalist Timothy B Lee wrote recently on Twitter. “This gave a lot of AI researchers the mistaken impression that copyright law didn’t apply to them. “It doesn’t seem out of the question that AI companies could lose these cases catastrophically and be forced to pay billions to plaintiffs and rebuild their models from scratch.”

Would wipe-and-rebuild be such a bad thing?

Today’s generative AI is just a very early prototype. Engineers regard a prototype as a learning experience too: it’s there to be discarded.  Many more prototypes may be developed and thrown away until a satisfactory design emerges. A ground-up rebuild can in some cases be the best thing that can happen to a technology product. There’s certainly plenty of room for improvement with this new generation of AI models. 

A Stanford study of ChatGPT looking at how reliable the chatbot was when it came to medicine found that less than half (41 percent) of the responses to clinical conditions agreed with the known answer according to a consensus of physicians. The AI gave lethal advice 7 per cent of the time.

A functioning democracy needs original reporting and writing so that we all benefit from economic incentives for creativity. We must carry on that Enlightenment tradition of original expression. 

Some may find such arguments pompous and any piety from the New York Times difficult to swallow. But there are bigger issues at stake. 

A society that gives up on respect for individual expression, and chooses to worship a mimicry machine instead, probably deserves the fate that inevitably awaits.”

Censoring Imagination

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Moira Marquis has an article dated December 7, 2023 on the Lit Hub website is which she talks about the importance of magical thinking for the incarcerated. She has a PhD and senior manager in the Freewrite Project at PEN America’s Prison and Justice Writing program; she previously organized programs to supply books in prisons.

Moira Marquis

Moira writes: “In 2009 I was working with the prison book program in Asheville, North Carolina when I got a request for shapeshifting. I was shocked and thought it was funny, until I came to realize esoteric interests like this are common with incarcerated people.

Incarceration removes people from friends and family. Most are unsure of when they will be released, and inside prisons people aren’t supposed to touch each other, talk in private or share belongings. Perhaps this is why literature on magic, fantasy and esoteric ideas like alchemy and shapeshifting are so popular with incarcerated people.

When deprived of human intimacy and other avenues for creating meaning out of life, escapist thought provides perhaps a necessary release, without which a potentially crushing realism would extinguish all hope and make continued living near impossible. Many incarcerated people, potentially with decades of time to do ahead of them, escape through ideas.

Which is why it’s especially cruel that U.S. prisons ban magical literature. As PEN America’s new report Reading Between the Bars shows, books banned in prisons by some states dwarf all other book censorship in school and public libraries. Prison censorship robs those behind bars of everything from exercise and health to art and even yoga, often for reasons that strain credulity.

The strangest category of bans however, are the ones on magical and fantastical literature.

Looking through the lists of titles prison authorities have gone to the trouble of prohibiting people from reading you find Invisibility: Mastering the Art of Vanishing and Magic: An Occult Primer in Louisiana, Practical Mental Magic in Connecticut, all intriguingly for “safety and security reasons.” The Clavis or Key to the Magic of Solomon in Arizona, Maskim Hul Babylonian Magick in California. Nearly every state that has a list of banned titles contains books on magic.

Do carceral authorities believe that magic is real?

Courts affirm that magical thinking is dangerous. For example, the seventh circuit court upheld a ban on the Dungeons and Dragons role playing game for incarcerated people because prison authorities argued that such “fantasy role playing” creates “competitive hostility, violence, addictive escape behaviors, and possible gambling.”

A particularly strange example of banning magic can be seen on Louisiana’s censored list.

Fantasy Artist’s Pocket Reference contains explanations of traditional nonhuman beings like elves, fairies and the like. It also features drawings of these beings and some guidance on how to draw them using traditional or computer based art. The explanation for this book’s censorship on Louisiana’s banned list reads, “Sectarian content (promotion of Wicca) based on the connection of this type of literature and the murder of Capt. Knapps.” Captain Knapps was a corrections officer in the once plantation now prison, Angola, in Louisiana. Knapps was killed in 1999 during an uprising that the New York Times attributed  to the successful negotiation of other incarcerated people for their deportation to Cuba at a different facility in Louisiana prior that year. It is unclear how this incident is linked in the minds of the mailroom staff with Wicca or this book—which is a broad fantasy text and not Wiccan per se. (Prison mailrooms are where censorship decisions are—at least initially—made).

As confused as this example is, what is clear is that these seemingly disparate links are understood by others within the Louisiana Department of Corrections since Captain Knapps’ death continues to be cited as rationale for why fantasy books are not allowed.

Is the banning of fantastical literature in prisons just carceral paranoia—or it is indicative of a larger cultural attitude that simultaneously denigrates and fears imagination? After all, prisons are part of U.S. culture which, despite a thriving culture industry that trafficks in magic and fantasy, nonetheless degrades it as lesser than realism. We see this most clearly in the literary designation of high literature as realist fiction and genre fiction like science fiction, Afrofuturism, magical realism as not as serious.

Magic’s status as deception and unreality is a relatively recent invention. Like the prison itself, it is a reform of older conceptions. In Chaucer’s time and place, ‘magic’ was a field of study. For example, in The Canterbury Tales, written in 1392, he writes, “He kepte his pacient a ful greet deel/ In houres, by his magyk natureel” when speaking about a doctor whose knowledge of plants was medicinal. Magic was connected to knowledge in Chaucer’s mind because of its connection with the Neoplatonic tradition, which acknowledged the limits of human knowledge. The known and the unknown were in a kind of relationship.

However, the Oxford English Dictionary notes, “Subsequently, with the spread of rationalistic and scientific explanations of the natural world in the West, the status of magic has declined.” Beginning with OED entries from the 1600s, “magic” becomes a term to designate manipulation of an evil kind.

At this time in Europe and its settler colonies, ‘magic’ became applied to a huge variety of practices increasingly seen as pernicious, from healing with herbs to rituals associated with nature spirit figures, like the Green Man and fairies, to astrology and divination. The diverse practices popularly labeled ‘magical’ were lumped together only through their association with intentional deception, superstition and error.

Writers like Ursula Le Guin have gone to great lengths to contest the supposedly firm divide between magic and reality. She argues that imagination is eminently practical and necessary:

Hard times are coming, when we’ll be wanting the voices of writers who can see alternatives to how we live now, can see through our fear-stricken society and its obsessive technologies to other ways of being, and even imagine real grounds for hope. We’ll need writers who can remember freedom — poets, visionaries — realists of a larger reality.

For Le Guin, rejecting imagination is the ultimate collapse of the human social project.

Joan Didion’s conception of magical thinking as escapism is not far from this. The imagination that allows us mental respite from trauma is a bedfellow to the imagination that envisions our world unmoored to current conditions. There are so many issues that demand wild dreams to be addressed in more than shallow and inadequate ways.

It’s much simpler and less disruptive, of course, to deny dreams as unrealistic and to assert their danger. Imagination’s potential for disrupting systems already in place is clear. Those that cite this danger as a reason to foreclose imagination may even admit current systems imperfections yet, necessity. This may be the perspective of prison censorship of magical literature—commonly banned under the justification that these ideas are a “threat to security.”

Incarcerated readers say the censorship they experience oppresses their thoughts and intellectual freedoms. Leo Cardez says, “They [books] are how we escape, we cope, we learn, we grow…for many (too many) it is our sole companion.” Jason Centrone, incarcerated in Oregon, expresses exasperation with the mentality that sees magical thinking as threatening: “Or, lo! The material is riddled with survival skills, martial art maneuvers, knot-tying, tips on how to disappear—like this.”

Banning fantasy is particularly pernicious. Regardless of how you view incarceration—as an existence in a degraded and injurious confinement, or the justifiable requisitioning of people who have done harm away from others—we should all agree that we want incarcerated people to be able to imagine otherwise. Whether it’s imagining themselves or systems differently, creativity of thought is a tool to build a better life for everyone.

Such foreclosure of the imagination, a preemptive denial of the possibility of alternatives are a death-knell for betterment both individually and socially.

We need more magic, not less.”

I agree with Moira: imagination is a vital part of our humanity.

Collaboration: Novelists & AI?

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Debbie Urbanski has an article on the Lit Hub website dated December 8, 2023 in which she argues that novelists should embrace artificial intelligence.

Debbie Urbanski is a writer, nature lover, and human whose stories and essays have been published widely in such places as The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy, The Best American Experimental Writing, The Sun, Granta, Orion, and Junior Great Books. A recipient of a Rona Jaffe Writer’s Award, she can often be found hiking with her family in the hills south of Syracuse, New York.

Debbie Urbanski

Debbie says: “Let’s imagine, for the purpose of this essay, that the following statement is true: An AI writes a novel.

Actually, forget about the imagining. This is already happening. Today’s AIs—large language models (LLMs) specifically, like GPT-4—can write. If you’ve glanced at the headlines this year, you probably know this. They can write papers for high school students, they can write bad poetry, they can write sentences, they can write paragraphs, and they can write novels.

The problem is, for now, the creative writing that LLMs produce isn’t that great.

To demonstrate this point, I recently gave GPT-4 a few lines from my novel that describe a post-human world. Then I asked it to complete the paragraph. Here’s what it wrote:

The woods seemed to inhale, drawing in its myriad of lifeforms, coalescing into a pulsing organism. The gurgling creek was its veins, the trees its lungs, the moss and ferns, its skin. This realm thrived on its own rhythm, deaf to the clockwork of man-made time. Creatures great and small, predators and prey, living in an intricate ballet—well, you get the idea. If I were being kind, I would call these sentences overwrought and unpleasant.

So here’s what I really want us to imagine for the purpose of this essay: An AI writes a novel and the novel is good.

This is what a lot of people, and certainly a lot of writers, are angry and scared about right now. That AI, having been trained on a massive amount of data, including copyrighted books written by uncompensated authors, will begin writing as well or better than us, and then we’ll be out of a job. These concerns over intellectual property and remuneration are important but right now, it feels they’re dominating the discussion, especially when there are other worthwhile topics that I’d like to see added to the conversation around AI and writing.

Such as: how can humans and AI collaborate creatively?

Which brings me to a third possibility to consider: An AI and a human write a novel together.

In my first novel After World, I imagine humanity has gone extinct and an AI, trained on thousands of 21st century novels, has been tasked to write their own novel about the last human on Earth. When I began writing in the voice of my AI narrator in 2019, I had no idea that within a few years, artificial intelligence would explode into public view, offering me unexpected opportunities for experimentation with what, up until that point, I had been only imagining.

Some of the interactions I’ve had with LLMs like GPT-3, GPT-4, and ChatGPT have been comical. GPT-3 recommended some truly awful book titles, such as Your Heart Was A Dying Light In An Abyss Of Black, But I Lit It Up Until You Burned Bright And Beautiful, or Eve: A Love Story. (Eve is not in this novel, I explained. This didn’t seem to matter. It is just a cute play on words, replied GPT-3.) But many of my conversations with LLMs have been fascinating.

I’ve discussed with them about what AI would dream if they dreamed. We talked about the questions an AI might have about how it feels to be a human. We discussed what the boundary between AI and humans would look like if this boundary was a physical one. (An “ever-evolving, shimmering and translucent wall,” if you’re wondering.) We talked about why poetry comforts people, and we tried writing poetry and song lyrics together. We created so much bad poetry and so many bad songs.

But after days and days of so much bad writing, GPT-4 presented me with this pleading prayer which now appears at a turning point of my novel. To the embodiment of growth and expansion, / To the embodiment of purpose and fulfillment. / To all these entities and more, I humbly offer my plea, / Grant me the strength to manifest my desires…

One can certainly reduce these sorts of exchanges to my typing in prompts and the LLMs responding to those prompts, but what I’ve experienced feels like a much more collaborative process, more of an active conversation that builds on previous interactions. In a way, when we talk with GPT-4, we’re talking to ourselves. At the same time, we’re talking to our past, to words we’ve already written or typed or said. At the same time, we’re talking with our future, portions of which are unimaginable. As a writer, I find that the most exciting of all.

Here are a few other examples of human-AI collaboration that leave me optimistic:

1. “Sunspring”“ (2016)
A short film directed and acted with grave seriousness by professional humans but written by Benjamin, a LSTM recurrent neural network. The writing is surprising, surreal, and beautiful. I’ve watched this film more times than I’ve watched any other. I find it both weird and moving. It features one of the prettiest songs I know, “Home on the Land,” written by Benjamin but sung and scored by the human duo Tiger and Man. From the lyrics: I was a long long time / I was so close to you / I was a long time ago. (Interesting to note that “Zone Out,” Benjamin’s much less collaborative 2018 film that he wrote, acted in, directed, and scored, doesn’t have nearly the same emotional impact as his more collaborative work, despite the fact that the technology had advanced in the two intervening years.

2. Bennet Miller’s exhibition at Gagosian (2023)
Miller, a Hollywood director, generated more than 100,000 images through Dall·E for this project. The gallery show displayed 20 of them. When I first saw these photographs in March 2023, I couldn’t stop looking at them. I still can’t look away. I find them haunting, existing on the edges of documentary and fiction and humanness, suggesting a past and memories that didn’t happen but nonetheless was recorded.

3. Other Dall-E’s collaboration with artists (ongoing)
In particular, check out Maria Mavropoulou’s work on “A self-portrait of an algorithm”  and “Imagined Images”; everything August Kamp is doing, including documenting the worlds of her actual dreams with ChatGPT and Dall·E; and Charlotte Triebus’ Precious Camouflage, which examines the relationship between dance and artificial intelligence.

I worry that we’re forgetting how amazing this all is. Rather than feeling cursed or worried, I feel lucky to get to be here and witness such a change to how we think, live, read, understand, and create. Yes, we have some things to figure out, issues of training, rights, and contracts—and, on a larger level, safety—but I think it’s equally important to look up from such concerns from time to time with interest and even optimism, and wonder how this new advance in technology might widen our perspectives, our sense of self, our creativity, and our definition of what is human.”