* researcher in infrastructure futures and theory (University of Sheffield, UK)
* science fiction author and literary critic
* writer, theorist, critical futurist
* dishevelled mountebank




The difference between a writer and someone who dreams of being a writer is that the writer has finished.

2 min read

Kate Tempest on writing as a process:

... sometimes everything else disappears, and that happens very rarely. The rest of the time, it’s you writing when you don’t feel like writing, writing when you hate everything that’s coming out, forcing yourself to engage with the idea that it’s going to be shit no matter what you do, and trying to kind of break through that because of a deadline, or because you know that it’s very important to continue. This is what enables you to be a writer.

The difference between a writer and someone who dreams of being a writer is that the writer has finished. You’ve gone through the agony of taking an idea that is perfect – it’s soaring, it comes from this other place – then you’ve had to summon it down and process it through your shit brain. It’s coming out of your shit hands and you’ve ruined it completely. The finished thing is never going to be anywhere near as perfect as the idea, of course, because if it was, why would you ever do anything else? And then you have another idea. And then these finished things are like stepping stones towards being able to find your voice.

The thing is, everybody’s got an idea. Everybody wants to tell me about their ideas. Everybody is very quick to look down on your finished things, because of their great ideas. But until you finish something, I’ve got no time to have that discussion. Because living through that agony is what gives you the humility to understand what writing is about.

Exactly this.

The Fortune at the Edge of the Network [Venkatesh Rao, annotated]

Fresh Venkatesh Rao newsletter instalment that does a pretty good job of teasing out the implications of taking a tektological look at infrastructure through the lens of network theory... so good a job, in fact, that I'm going to grab and notate the whole thing, because he's managed to capsule a bunch of points I've been struggling to phrase clearly.


1/ “The last mile” is a phrase used by engineers to talk about the last (“leaf”) like segments of large networks with approximate center-to-edge topologies.

2/ In all sorts of network logistics (transport, telegraph, telephone etc), historically the "last mile" has been the bane of infrastructure. It’s where the messiest practical issues live.

3/  Right-of-way/eminent domain issues are politically/legally more complex (10 miles of cable laying in the countryside is easier than 1 block in a major city)

4/ Physical issues are more complex as well (water pipes, package deliveries, and fiber optics have different needs but often share pathways for geometry reasons).

[The above covers the basics, though it's far from basic -- see Keller Easterling's Organisation Space.]

5/ Last-mile regimes need not look like “paths” at all: waterways, spectrum rights, line-of-sight (view obstruction in real estate, glide paths for airplane landing approaches, building shadows) 

6/ In the future, drone landing/takeoff logistics, Pokemon Go type AR-conflict rights, bikes vs self-driving cars, will present novel, subtle last-mile issues.

7/ Generally though, the bottleneck is increasingly moving from literal last mile to literal last inch. Phone-to-ear, UPS-truck parking spot to porch, NFC/bluetooth, cafe power outlets.

[In my own taxonomy, this means the bottleneck has moved to the interface layer.]

8/ In raw flow volume terms, the last mile probably accounts for the bulk of actual miles traveled by anything on a network due to sheer number of endpoints.

[Note this is the exact opposite of the way in which money tends to be allocated to network development and maintenance.]

9/ The last mile is the typically the last to go hi-tech. Containerization still stops and turns into break-bulk at city limits. Fiber optics still turns into local-loop copper (DSL) in many places.

10/ As the red !!! show in the cartoon, issues get more tricky in last-block to last-inch land. It's still physically and legally complex, but that isn't the hardest part anymore.

11/ Two forces make the last block especially hard: increased demand and inequality. The case of physical packages illustrates this well.

12/ Increased demand is obvious: postal systems/FedEx etc weren't built with this much small-package flow in mind. Neither were front porches or mailboxes.

13/ Inequality is less obvious: in an unequal society there is more incentive for low-level theft and pilfering, easiest at the last block.

[Less obvious to those of us used to taking a systems perspective, perhaps; the incentive factor demonstrates just how obvious it is to those who live at the ragged edges of networks.]

14/ Anecdotally, theft from porches etc. has risen: more temptation, more people in an economic condition where they can be tempted. But careful how you interpret this. 

15/ As Anatole France sardonically observed, “The law, in its majestic equality, forbids the rich as well as the poor to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets, and to steal bread.”

16/ Concierge services for accepting packages are now increasingly a necessity in bigger cities in middle class apartment buildings. More people are getting personal packages delivered at workplaces.

[Note that this may be a convenience issue as much as a security issue, at least in the UK context... I'd happily take the risk on the occasional pilfered package if it meant I never had to arrange another red-card redelivery, but YMMV, obvs.]

17/ You also increasingly have both large, low-value packages (e.g. cat litter) that are awkward for small locker-based systems or stairwells, and small jewelry-level value packages (iPhones)

18/ Buildings change slowly, especially in old cities with civic gridlock. It will take a decades for new buildings to reflect last-block needs. Follow the writing of Kim-Mai Cutler for this action in San Francisco.

[So now we shift from (relatively) simple material logistics and on to service and data logistics...]

19/ Similar issues occur in other networks. Consider net metering models for solar power, charging needs of electric vehicles, shopping cart services, 1-hour delivery, meal-kit businesses, etc.

20/ There are now fights over charging in charging stations, homeowners are setting up informal charging services on lawns. Blue Apron customers pile up ice packs.

21/ Even more subtleties at the informational level: Airbnb etc. require more sophisticated security for the last block: key transfers, digital locks etc. Your wallet needs RFID scanner protection.

22/ And as more and more value in flow (VIF) is in the last block at any given time, incentives for conflict and crime increase.

23/ "Stealing" cable or electricity required some sophistication, "stealing" wifi was much easier…for a while. The opportunity space will increase at all levels of difficulty.

[Ubiquity of infrastructures plus proliferation of multi-system interfaces divided by privatisation/unbundling/splintering of 'utilities'... when markets encounter habituation, ugliness happens.]

24/ The Dyn DDoS attack relied heavily on IoT devices, particularly insecure surveillance cameras. The “attack surface” as security people call it, will only increase.

[Every new interface device is potentially an interface to any other networked interface. Chips with everything, as the headlines used to go.]

25/ ATM card fraud now uses very sophisticated last-inch tech: molded plastic fake keypads, fake stripe readers on top of real ones, tiny cameras. I recently had an ATM card compromised that way.

26/ The last block/inch is also has a non-criminal economy developing: from unlocking smart-contract rental cars to power outlets in cafes that charge for a charge.

[Criminal economies are a signal of opportunity; this is just as true at the edge of the network as it is at the centre.]

27/ A lot is low-value/high volume so online micropayments arguments ("just make it free"/"not worth financializing") apply. But not all.

[Note that in this case it can be obfuscatory to focus overmuch on the material technology involved; what's interesting about these cases is how the technology gets folded into a service offer. Ownership and control over the interface layer is the opportunity recognised by criminal an non-criminal economic actors alike.]

28/ Frederik Pohl once said “the job of the sci-fi writer is to predict not the automobile but the traffic jam." Traffic jams are usually at the leaves of infrastructure trees.

[Smart guy, Pohl. Good writer, too.]

29/ Literal traffic jams happen most near/in city downtowns.  As s/w eats any network-provisioned service, traffic jams moves further down into capillaries.

[s/w = software, I think?]

30/ I like the holographic principle as a metaphor for for thinking about the effects of s/w-eats-a-network: more of the valuable information within a  volume of space can live on its surface. 

[OK, so this is where Rao's metaphor and one of my own come so close together that they almost bump noses: the infrastructural metasystem is also the metamedium, the medium of all media; hence all media is infrastructurally mediated; hence the metasystem is the veil upon which the Spectacle is projected. Logic of the Spectacle, cf. Debord: "that which is good appears, and that which appears is good"; extended by McKenzie Wark via William Gibson, "that which is secret is better [...] the secret is to the spectacle as art once was to culture. The secret is not the truth of the spectacle, it is the aesthetic form of the spectacle." So when "s/w-eats-a-network", what's really happening is that software is wrapping the deep function of the network up in a glossy package which takes Clarke's Third Law as its primary design principle.]

31/ For a network, the “volume” is the part behind the endpoints, which usually converges on one or more back-end centers. The “surface” is the set of all endpoints.

[This metaphor is really, really useful to me.]

32/ As a result, there is a LOT of economic value in the last block to last inch zone. C. K. Prahlad’s famous fortune at the bottom of the pyramid idea generalizes to “edge of any network.”

33/ In future, if current progress in brain implants continues, there may be an even bigger fortune in the “negative 1 inch” that goes into your head (disclosure: company mentioned in that article, Kernel, is a client).

[That's a pretty big 'if', IMO. But Rao knows his wider audience well, I suspect.]

34/ A general topological theory why this happens is that a more informationally powerful technology induces a higher-resolution network structure.

35/ World-eating new technologies extend the resolution of basic infrastructure networks: tens of miles for trains/planes, miles for cars, blocks for electricity, inches for wireless


36/ A network core can be defined as the low-resolution backbone where economics allows aggregation leverage, and low transaction costs for huge financial flows.

37/ This is anything you can call a “cloud” in some sense: a datacenter, a large dam, a power plant, a major interstate highway, a rail depot. I wrote about this idea in my Aeon essay American Cloud

[Personal aside: Rao's American Cloud essay was part of the inspiration for m'colleague Adam Rakunas's second novel, Like A Boss.]

38/ At the edge otoh technology stops being organized by economics, and starts being organized by social norms at its resolution limit set by transaction costs: the price of an in-app purchase for example.

39/ So sociologically, the last mile/block/inch is where the market stops and what I call an economics of pricelessness, based on values and norms, starts to kick in.


40/ When large-scale disruption happens due to a major technology like s/w, social-norms space gets systematically pushed back by market space.

[Cf. Uber, Airbnb etc etc.]

41/ The ultimate reason is physics: this is tendency towards "plenty of room at the bottom" (Feynman). As the market occupies that room, sociology (and in the future, psychology) yields to economics

42/ The transient is ugly because while you're shifting regimes, you’re converting social capital into financial capital, hurting social-capital-rich types (think priests) and enriching platform builders (think unicorn CEOs).

43/ The urban manifestation of these dynamics is gentrification: technology extending the power of markets into our community lives at increasing resolution.

44/ But if you think this process is almost over, think again. It's just beginning. You could say iOS and Android represent gentrified and slum-like digital neighborhoods in the last inch.

[There's a side-spur argument to be made about FOSS and open systems in general, here; as Rao is suggesting, FOSS can't remove these tendencies from networks, but can make it easier for people to have some control over their interfaces.]

45/ You know the old saying, "your freedom of action ends where my nose begins”? This is about to get pretty literal. There is a power struggle right by your nose/ear.

46/ But it isn’t between free individuals and an enslaving techno-capitalist cloud. You never were that free an inch from your face. You were merely the captive of non-economic forces.

47/ At worst the struggle is between the tyranny of markets and the tyranny of unchosen neighbors. The tyranny of money and the tyranny of taboos.

[Scylla and Charybdis, eat your heart out.]

48/ At best though, what we have here is technology liberating you from the tyranny of neighbors. And which view is true for you is more within your control than you think.

49/ If you see technology as potential for increased agency, you can learn to rule the last mile like a gritty cyberpunk novel protagonist, even if you don’t own a billionaire platform.

50/ If you see technology as increasing agency only for privileged others, it will become a self-fulfilling prophecy and you will end up on the losing side of this process.

51/ You will also be on the losing side if you don’t recognize that tyranny of neighbors (“hell is other people”) is a factor, a dynamic the dystopian show Black Mirror explores well.

52/ In the Black Mirror future, technology does not contend with the power of communities. It becomes allied with it to suppress individual freedom even more.

[As the title of the series makes clear: it is merely reflecting society back at itself. Brooker repeatedly makes the point that he's not writing about technology, but that technology has become a handy way to enable plot points that would have been impossible just a decade ago (though the same phenomenon has killed off older plots, e.g. the missed phonecall). The (largely good-natured) joshing that BM has become "what if phones, but too much?" misses the point; BM's not about the phones, it's about the too much, and that's not a function of the phones.]

53/ If you think this is unlikely in the real world, think again, entire countries like France seem to be exploring that direction of evolution.  

[UK, also.]

54/ This is not to absolve infrastructure titans and CEOs of big platform companies from all responsibility, or to abandon everybody to their own devices (heh!)

[No, but their position effectively denies us the possibility of taking that responsibility for ourselves; networks perform optimally as organisational monopolies, and as such are fundamentally incompatible with private ownership.]

55/ My buddy Tristan Harris has good thoughts on ethics in design for technology builders. I don’t always agree with the details of his thinking, but he’s right that with last-inch power comes great responsibility.

56/ If you’ve already decided “infrastructure creep” is bad, you’ll use dystopian metaphors like “tentacles of capitalism” or “eye of Sauron” or “the participatory panopticon” (for Black Mirror version).

57/ I personally tend to think of technology as ideology agnostic: this would happen even if we had a different ideology than neoliberal clickbaitism driving it. 

[We part ways a bit here: I'm with Kranzberg regarding the agnosticism or neutrality of technology, not least because technology is people and practices as well as material things, and people and practices are never ideologically neutral. However, I agree that a lot of the functions Rao is talking about here are endemic characteristics of networks in general, and would as such tend to occur even under different regulatory or socioeconomic regimes... but would they occur to the same extent, or at the same rate? I'm not sure, but I think it's a good question.]

58/ My preferred metaphor is the fingers/eyes of technology itself, considered as a whole (what Kevin Kelly calls the ‘technium’). 

[Ugh, Kevin Kelly. Swap all of this guff out for Haraway's cyborg metaphor, which does all the same work without trying to pretend that people and the technologies they use in their daily lives are analytically separable in any useful or believable way.]

59/ The “eyes” (or senses more generally) are getting incredibly precision in what they can see. I think of last-inch/click-tracking level “seeing” as “retina logistics” by analogy with Mac displays.

60/ The “fingers” of technology are getting increasingly delicate and precise as well. If the last-mile actuation capacity of the cloud was a sledgehammer, we’re at needlepoint now. Did your phone ding when this email arrived?

61/ This is scary to a majority, exhilarating to a minority, and as is the case for all big technology shifts, an existential crisis to those who don’t break smart.

62/ And consistent with the general political/ideological position I generally adopt in breaking smart writings, overall, increasing sensing/actuation resolution of infrastructure is a good thing.

63/ The more fine-grained the presence of technology in our lives, the more generative potential there is for humans to level-up to new, more powerful modes of being.

[Generative potential is a double-edged sword.]

64/ Whether powerful technology existing an inch from your face is good or bad depends on how good you are at using it from that locus.

[True enough. Cropping off the last few points, which are mostly marketing, but the last one's worth saving for the first sentance in particualr:]

70/ There is a nonzero-sum fortune to be created at the edge of the network...

[Yes... yes, there is. But it's slipping away, moment by moment.]


In which I find Amitav Ghosh's missing monocle, and return it to him that he might see more clearly

5 min read

Poor old Amitav Ghosh is wondering where all the fiction about climate change might be... when in fact it's right under his nose, and he simply chooses to disregard it as being insufficiently deserving of the label "literature".

Right in the first paragraph, he answers his question and immediately discards the answer:

... it could even be said that fiction that deals with climate change is almost by definition not of the kind that is taken seriously: the mere mention of the subject is often enough to relegate a novel or a short story to the genre of science fiction. It is as though in the literary imagination climate change were somehow akin to extraterrestrials or interplanetary travel.

If for "literary imagination" we substitute "bourgeois imagination", that last sentence is no surprise at all -- because this is about genre, which is a proxy for class.

And when Ghosh surveys the few examples of supposedly literary fiction that have dealt with climate change, look what happens:

When I try to think of writers whose imaginative work has communicated a more specific sense of the accelerating changes in our environment, I find myself at a loss; of literary novelists writing in English only a handful of names come to mind: Margaret Atwood, Kurt Vonnegut Jr, Barbara Kingsolver, Doris Lessing, Cormac McCarthy, Ian McEwan and T Coraghessan Boyle.

Now, I'll concede that most of them have preferred generic labels other than science fiction for their works at one time or another, but it's very hard to make the case that Atwood, Vonnegut and Lessing haven't written works that slip very easily into the sf folksonomy, while McCarthy has written a very successful dystopia. So that's half of Ghosh's successes demonstrably working in the speculative fiction tradition... but they can't be speculative fiction, because they're too good for that trash. They've won awards and stuff -- awards that aren't rocket-shaped. Ipso facto, no?

To his credit, Ghosh gets pretty close to the technical distinction in narrative strategy that demarks the dichotomy he's observing, via one of Moretti's more interesting theory-nuggets:

This is achieved through the insertion of what Franco Moretti, the literary theorist, calls “fillers”. According to Moretti, “fillers function very much like the good manners so important in Austen: they are both mechanisms designed to keep the ‘narrativity’ of life under control – to give a regularity, a ‘style’ to existence”. It is through this mechanism that worlds are conjured up, through everyday details, which function “as the opposite of narrative”.

It is thus that the novel takes its modern form, through “the relocation of the unheard-of toward the background ... while the everyday moves into the foreground”. As Moretti puts it, “fillers are an attempt at rationalising the novelistic universe: turning it into a world of few surprises, fewer adventures, and no miracles at all”.

I offer that the absence of Moretti's fillers -- often but not always replaced with anti-fillers designed to re-enchant the novelistic universe, and make of the universe a character in its own right -- is a way to describe one of the more fundamental strategies of speculative fictions, where it is preferable to have a world with more surprises, more adventures, and more than the occasional deus ex machina). Moretti's fillers are basically the opposite of worldbuilding; they remove complexity, rather than adding it.

And here we see the true root of the problem, the reason no one who identifies as a writer of "serious" "literary" fiction can handle climate change in their work -- look at Ghosh's language, here, and tell me he doesn't feel the class pressure of genre (my bold):

To introduce such happenings into a novel is in fact to court eviction from the mansion in which serious fiction has long been in residence; it is to risk banishment to the humbler dwellings that surround the manor house – those generic out-houses that were once known by names such as the gothic, the romance or the melodrama, and have now come to be called fantasy, horror and science fiction.

It's clearly not that "the novel" as a form can't handle climate change: science fiction novels routinely invert the obstacles set out in Ghosh's piece in order to do their work. It's that to upset those particular obstacles is to break the rules of Literature Club, to go slumming it with the plebes of genre fiction: literary fiction can't write about climate change, or about any other topic that requires an understanding of the storyworld as a dynamic and complex system, because -- as a self-consciously bourgeois genre in its own right -- it cannot commit the sin of portraying a world where the bourgeoise certainties no longer pertain, wherein hazard and adventure and unexpected events are revealed to be not merely routine, but to be the New Normal.

Take it from a squatter in the generic out-houses, Amitav old son: there's only one way you'll ever get literary fiction that deals with climate change -- and that's by acknowledging, however grudgingly, that not only was science fiction capable of being literature all along, but that science fiction began by asking the question whose suppression is the truest trope of the literary: what if the world were more important than the actions of individuals?

Play as counterpoint to the infrastructural mediation of industrial spacetime

3 min read

Yeah, it's another Will Self talk, this time from Nesta's 2016 FutureFest -- he's pretty on-point with a lot of my interests these days, which makes me think I should probably make the effort to read more of his fiction*.


‎So this talk is ostensibly about fun and play, but Self being Self, it wanders off (see what I did there?) into psychogeography and other places. What really interested me in particular was his positioning of play as a counter to the constrictions of technologically mediated life: he talks of (and I paraphrase from memory and scribble notes, here) the way in which smartphones have 'fused industrial time and space into our cerebellums', with the result that we are rarely (if ever) in that state of unplacedness and unproductivity which the d‎érive was designed to discover. Now, this is scarcely an original observation on Self's part (Gibson's Blue Ant trilogy is in some respects entirely about what one character refers to as the 'eversion of cyberspace'), but the positioning of play and the derive against it is interesting to me because it opens the door on a way to experience infrastructure while receiving minimal or no support from it. The industrial conception of time was reified by the spread of the railways, and with them, the telegraph; meanwhile, the GPS network has seen a similar thing happen to the industrial conception of space, which, like its temporal cousin, is all about ownership and apportionment -- maps don't create or describe territories, but capture them, divide them up (all the better to be conquered).

Like Self, I don't se much likelihood of these systems rolling back any time soon, absent the sort of socioeconomic collapse in which the lack of GPS would be the last thing on anyone's mind. However, play and playful approaches to industrial spacetime -- per Debord and company, but perhaps minus their death-wish nihilism -- might nonetheless still offer escape from the invisible matrix, even if only temporarily.

(I also like his idea of walking to and from airports, though I suspect it wouldn't be viable for every journey, even assuming one had the free days required; I sure wouldn't want to try walking from Boston Logan to Harvard Square, f'rex.)


[* -- I remember during the late 90s a friend loaned me a copy of The Sweet Smell of Psychosis, right around the time that said friend and others were getting into the cocaine glamour of superclubbing...oh, the irony. I mostly took away from the book the timely (and subsequently justified) warning that cocaine's worst side-effect was the way in which it turned ordinary people into monumentally self-deluded and paranoiac arseholes, but perhaps the affect of the writing -- which is as seedy and unsettling as the descent into fuckedupness it describes -- put me off reading him again.]

Fear of a Blank Verse Planet

2 min read

I've long been an admirer of Adam Roberts, and that's as least as much for his critical writing as for his fiction output, if not perhaps a little more. I put this down (at least in part) to his stint as a 'columnist' when I was still running Futurismic as a regular webzine*, where I was first exposed to his Borgesian strategy of reviewing imaginary works; I'm sure he's not the only source of the notion I have that a review should in some manner stylistically reflect the text to which it is responding, but he's always my go-to example of someone who does it routinely, and does it well.

And here's an example, just published as part of this year's Strange Horizons funding drive. Because how else to appropriately respond to a Baen publication about anthropogenic climate change written entirely in blank verse, but in blank verse?

The fact remains this is a verse-novel;
And as such, frankly, it’s a curate’s egg:
In equal measures striking and inert.
No question it’s echt science fictional
A perfectly effective instance of
This kind of techno-thriller doomsday yarn
(Though it mutates into a stranger and
More satisfying kind of story by its end).
And Turner’s good on "door dilated" stuff
Those kinds of unobtrusive details that
Hallmark much trad SF...

The closing section is the key, though, in making clear that pastiche can and should have purpose beyond the simple joy of rummaging in the dress-up box.

Sf and solutionism / QuantSelf and behaviourism

2 min read

Evidence, if such were needed, that C20th science fiction and the solutionist impulse are two prongs of the same fork:

Technologically assisted attempts to defeat weakness of will or concentration are not new. In 1925 the inventor [and popularisor of pulp science fiction] Hugo Gernsback announced, in the pages of his magazine Science and Invention, an invention called the Isolator. It was a metal, full-face hood, somewhat like a diving helmet, connected by a rubber hose to an oxygen tank. The Isolator, too, was designed to defeat distractions and assist mental focus.

The problem with modern life, Gernsback wrote, was that the ringing of a telephone or a doorbell “is sufficient, in nearly all cases, to stop the flow of thoughts”. Inside the Isolator, however, sounds are muffled, and the small eyeholes prevent you from seeing anything except what is directly in front of you. Gernsback provided a salutary photograph of himself wearing the Isolator while sitting at his desk, looking like one of the Cybermen from Doctor Who. “The author at work in his private study aided by the Isolator,” the caption reads. “Outside noises being eliminated, the worker can concentrate with ease upon the subject at hand.”

(I'm fairly sure there are still a few big names in sf whose approach to writing and life very much resembles resembles Gernsback's Excludo-Helm(TM), if only metaphorically so.)

The above is excerpted aside from a pretty decent New Statesman joint that makes a clear and explicit comparison between the Quantified Self fad and B F Skinner's operant conditioning; shame they didn't reference any of the people who've been arguing that very point for the past five years or so, but hey, journalism amirites?

Your humble servant: UI design, narrative point-of-view and the corporate voice

5 min read

I've been chuntering on about the application of narrative theory to design for long enough that I'm kind of embarassed not to have thought of looking for it in something as everyday as the menu labels in UIs... but better late than never, eh?

This guy is interested in how the labels frame the user's experience:

By using “my” in an interface, it implies that the product is an extension of the user. It’s as if the product is labeling things on behalf of the user. “My” feels personal. It feels like you can customize and control it.

By that logic, “my” might be more appropriate when you want to emphasize privacy, personalization, or ownership.


By using “your” in an interface, it implies that the product is talking with you. It’s almost as if the product is your personal assistant, helping you get something done. “Here’s your music. Here are your orders.”

By that logic, “your” might be more appropriate when you want your product to sound conversational—like it’s walking you through some task. 

As well as personifying the device or app, the second-person POV (where the labels say "your") normalises the presence within the relationship of a narrator who is not the user: it's not just you and your files any more, but you and your files and the implied agency of the personified app. Much has been written already about the way in which the more advanced versions of these personae (Siri, Alexa and friends) have defaults that problematically frame that agency as female, but there's a broader implication as well, in that this personification encourages the conceptualisation of the app not as a tool (which you use to achieve a thing), but as a servant (which you command to achieve a thing on your behalf).

This fits well with the emergent program among tech companies to instrumentalise Clarke's Third Law as a marketing strategy: even a well-made tool lacks the gosh-wow magic of a silicon servant at one's verbal beck and call. And that's a subtly aspirational reframing, a gesture -- largely illusory, but still very powerful -- toward the same distinction to be found between having a well-appointed kitchen and having a chef on retainer, or between having one's own library and having one's own librarian.

By using “we,” “our,” or “us,” they’re actually adding a third participant into the mix — the people behind the product. It suggests that there are real human beings doing the work, not just some mindless machine.


On the other hand, if your product is an automated tool like Google’s search engine, “we” can feel misleading because there aren’t human beings processing your search. In fact, Google’s UI writing guidelines recommend not saying “we” for most things in their interface.

This is where things start getting a bit weird, because outside of hardcore postmodernist work, you don't often get this sort of corporate third-person narrator cropping up in literature. But we're in a weird period regarding corporate identities in general: in some legal and political senses, corporations really are people -- or at least they are acquiring suites of permissible agency that enable them to act and speak on the same level as people. But the corporate voice is inherently problematic: in its implication of unity (or at least consensus), and in its obfuscation of responsibility. The corporate voice isn't quite the passive voice -- y'know, our old friend "mistakes were made" -- but it gets close enough to do useful work of a similar nature.

By way of example, consider the ways in which some religious organisations narrate their culpability (or lack thereof) in abuse scandals: the refusal to name names or deal in specifics, the diffusion of responsibility, the insistence on the organisation's right to manage its internal affairs privately. The corporate voice is not necessarily duplicitous, but through its conflation of an unknown number of voices into a single authoritative narrator, it retains great scope for rhetorical trickery. That said, repeated and high-profile misuses appear to be encouraging a sort of cultural immunity response -- which, I'd argue, is one reason for the ongoing decline of trust in party political organisations, for whom the corporate voice has always been a crucial rhetorical device: who is this "we", exactly? And would that be the same "we" that lied the last time round? The corporate voice relies on a sense of continuity for its authority, but continuity in a networked world means an ever-growing snail-trail of screw-ups and deceits that are harder to hide away or gloss over; the corporate voice may be powerful, but it comes with risks.

As such, I find it noteworthy that Google's style guide seems to want to make a strict delineation between Google-the-org and Google-the-products. To use an industry-appropriate metaphor, that's a narrative firewall designed to prevent bad opinion of the products being reflected directly onto the org, a deniability mechanism: to criticise the algorithm is not to criticise the company.


In the golden era of British railways, the rail companies -- old masters of the corporate voice -- insisted on distinctive pseudo-military uniforms for their employees, who were never referred to as employees, but as servants. This distinction served largely to defray responsibility for accidents away from the organisation and onto the individual or individuals directly involved: one could no more blame the board of directors for an accident caused by one of their shunters, so the argument went, than one could blame the lord of the manor for a murder commited by his groundskeeper. 

The end of the codex and the death of Literature

2 min read

Interesting (and appropriately rambling) talk by Will Self, expanding on his recent thesis that a) the technology of the codex is on the way out, and thusly b) so is capital-L literature. I'm not sure I buy it completely, but his argument goes to lots of interesting places, and I recognise a lot in his description of the academy as a sort of care-home for obsolescing art-mediums such as the modernist novel.

(The audience, on the other hand, replete with writers and teachers of writing -- two categories that overlap a great deal, as Self points out -- fails to recognise his description with such venom that it's hard not to characterise their response as classic denial. That said, these are anxious times in the academy, and particularly at the arts and humanities end of it, and being lectured about the demise of your field of expertise by a man still managing to make a living producing that which you study must be a bit galling; in essence, Self does here to literary scholars what Bruce Sterling repeatedly does for technologists and futures types. The difference appears to be that literary scholars know a Cassandra when they hear one.)

Also of interest is Self's characterisation of the difference between literary fiction and genre fiction, perhaps because it is both vaguely canonical and seemingly unexamined: that old tautologous chestnut about literary fiction not being a genre because it doesn't obsess over reader fulfilment and boundary-work. That may be true of literary writers, perhaps (though Barthes is giving me some side-eye for saying so), but it is to ignore the way the publishing industry deals with the category, which is almost entirely generic... and that's a curious oversight for someone who predicates their argument about literature's decline on explicitly technological dynamics. Nonetheless, well worth a watch/listen.

Synthetic space(s)

3 min read

While I will probably always be gutted that someone else has beaten me to writing a history of EVE, I can at least take comfort in the fact that the person who's done it appears to get it -- the game itself is of little interest, it's the utopian economic space-for-action which the game provides that matters:

I met these two guys from the University of Ghent who created a computer model that shows what happens to economic prices in certain parts of EVE, depending on whether or not there are battles going on nearby.

In these areas where a lot of ships are being destroyed, you would expect to see the price of materials skyrocket, because everyone’s trying to build new ships and new fleets. But what they found was that, in areas where a lot of ships are being destroyed, the prices go through the floor, because everyone in that region of space starts liquidating everything. There’s an invading alliance coming, and they’re trying to get their stuff out the door as fast as possible, to make sure their stuff doesn’t get taken or conquered. They said this is similar to what you see in the real world. In pre-war Germany, the price of gold dropped through the floor because everyone was trying to liquidate their belongings and get out of the country. …

EVE is the most real place that we’ve ever created on the Internet. And that is borne out in these war stories. And it’s borne out because these people who—you find this over and over again—who don’t view this as fictional. They don’t view it as a game. They view it as a very real part of their lives, and a very real part of their accomplishments as people.


Something that I found formed very early on in EVE was the understanding among certain leaders was that people will follow you, even if they don’t believe in what you believe in, simply because you’re giving them something to believe in. You’re giving them a reason to play this game. You’re giving them a narrative to unite behind, and that’s fun. It’s far more fun to crusade against the evil empire than it is to show up and shoot lasers at spaceships.

Now mulling over the possibilities of studying the role of infrastructure in virtual economies... anyone want to picth in on a grant application?

Call for Blog Posts: Fiction and Sociology | Blog | The Sociological Review

This special section of The Sociological Review’s website invites short blog posts (1500 words or less) reflecting on these trends. This could include questions such as the following: 

  • Is the value of fiction for sociology simply a matter of finding new ways to write about existing research? Or can fiction inform the research process itself? 
  • What are the risks involved in writing in a fictional mode about research? Is there a possibility we undermine the value of sociological research? 
  • Is the promise of sociological fiction simply a matter of accessibility or is it something more? 
  • Is there an important distinction to be drawn between writing sociological fiction and being a sociologist who writes fiction?
  • How can fiction be used, as Bourdieu put it, to give “symbolic force, by way of artistic form, to critical ideas and analyses”?  

Interesting opportunity for people working the fiction/futures coalface. Thanks to @hautepop for the heads-up.