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5 years after my first read, I am discovering new aspects of Cathy O’Neil’s Weapons of Math Destruction (2016). Some of her examples have lost their urgency – by now, most people understand that they are the ‘product’ rather than the consumer, and in Europe, the GDPR has addressed some of the excesses of automated decision-making and profiling – but O’Neil’s widely cited work remains highly relevant. I read it consecutively with Meredith Broussard’s Artificial Unintelligence; the books complement each other perfectly.

Toxic proxies Although O’Neil doesn’t explicitly define it, a ‘weapon of math destruction’ is an algorithm that is opaque (‘black box’), damaging (harmful to individuals or society), and scalable (applied broadly). Closely associated are automated decision-making, predictive modelling, profiling, and the use of proxies. Especially the last of these struck me this time. Since the truth is often too difficult to quantify, models are rely on measurable aspects instead. This makes outcomes unreliable, susceptible to manipulation, and often toxic. University rankings are a good example. Because ‘educational excellence’ is too complex, rankers use whatever data approximates it. As a result, universities focus on improving those metrics rather than the quality of education itself.

We are ranked, categorized, and scored in hundreds of models, on the basis of our revealed preferences and patterns. This establishes a powerful basis for legitimate ad campaigns, but it also fuels their predatory cousins: ads that pinpoint people in great need and sell them false or overpriced promises. They find inequality and feast on it. The result is that they perpetuate our existing social stratification, with all of its injustices. The greatest divide is between the winners in our system, like our venture capitalist, and the people his models prey upon.

Predictive modelling As a contrast, O’Neil mentions Michael Lewis’ Moneyball as an example of safe predictive modelling: the algorithms are transparent, regularly updated, and based on actual game performance rather than proxies. Stakeholders understand the process and share the objective (winning the league). WMD’s, however, work differently. Fairness and public values are not part of the equation. In practice, they harm people with disadvantaged backgrounds, notably poor people. In segregated countries, geography serves as a ‘highly effective proxy’ for race. Imagine the police prioritising surveillance in a wealthy area, O’Neil suggests. This would inevitably lead to an increase in recorded crime, as affluent individuals currently evade scrutiny. New data would then reinforce the perception of the area as a high-risk zone, justifying even more surveillance. Another example of a WMD is predictive marketing – such as marginal universities targeting people with a lower income, persuading them to pay fees for worthless certificates.

Automated vs. human decision-making Towards the end, the book becomes somewhat sluggish, with less engaging examples. Compared to my first reading, it lost a ★. Overall, I’m glad to have revisited it. O’Neil’s conclusion that WMD disproportionately punish the poor, who are often processed by machines, while the rich can rely on human decision-making, remains all too relevant, as does her remark that proxies should be limited to positive feedback loops. I will keep those in mind as I continue with Madhumita Murgia’s Code Dependent.

Phrenology was a model that relied on pseudoscientific nonsense to make authoritative pronouncements, and for decades it went untested. Big Data can fall into the same trap.

Kinderjaren van Norbert Edgar Fonteyne (1904-1938) is een eigenaardig boek. De jong gestorven leraar en schrijver beschrijft zijn jeugd in het Westvlaamse Oedelem, dat tijdens de Eerste Wereldoorlog – Fonteyne was tien – net achter het front aan Duitse kant lag. De schrijver neemt de lezer mee naar het dorp zoals dat er uitzag aan het begin van de twintigste eeuw.

Dorpsherinneringen die tot Napoleons tijd reikten, zelden er overheen - het was alsof die Europese katastroof het heugenis der mensen had weggevaagd!

Hoewel de oorlog een breuk met het verleden markeert, blijft een plot uit. In plaats daarvan bevriest Fonteyne de tijd. Het gevolg is dat zijn narratief aan de ene kant wat oeverloos voortkabbelt, terwijl het aan de andere kant wel prachtige observaties oplevert. De reflecties staan vaak haaks op vastgeroeste clichés over goed en kwaad. Twee voorbeelden:

Dwaze bommengooiers kwamen hun tuig zo maar om het kwijt te zijn of om zich bij een luchtgevecht vrijer te bewegen over de velden uitgieten, of ze strooiden het uren van het voorgeschreven doel neer op onbezette dorpen en vreedzame wijken waar niets anders te treffen was dan een hoeve in de maneschijn. Toen de bondgenoten ons aldus kwamen doodsmijten hebben de mensen zoals de vele voorouders sedert Maximiliaan die door vriend en vijand werden uitgeplunderd, terug de oude duldersgeest opgenomen, en ze filosofisch alle nevenseen gesteld : de vijand die hen met rust liet, en de bondgenoten die een gierende dood en een onmenselijke vernieling kwamen zaaien.

O! die nerse, zonnige septemberdagen met blauwe schaduwen langs de ochtendwegen en windekelken in de hagen, die wij stoeiend en ravottend over de kaal wordende velden en weiden, samen geleefd hebben ! Tien, twintig dagen van braambessen zoeken, aardappellover branden, wespen uitwalmen en sigaretten roken. Gelukkige dagen die te midden van de verwarring der eerste maanden de oorlog heerlijk maakten.

De schrijver is meer bezig met het dagelijks leven dan met oorlogspropaganda. Hierin deed hij mij overigens denken aan de Franse schrijver Roger Martin du Gard (Kijken door een sleutelgat). Zelf verwijst Fonteyne naar Le Grand Meaulnes van Alain-Fournier, een schrijver met wie hij wel is vergeleken. Toch is Fonteyne niet wars van vaderlandsliefde. Integendeel, in de laatste hoofdstukken gaat hij nadrukkelijk in op het Vlaams bewustzijn.

Ondanks dat ik niet onverdeeld enthousiast ben over dit boek, begrijp ik waarom sommigen beweren dat Fonteyne tot de Vlaamse klassieken behoort. Zijn taalgebruik is niet altijd toegankelijk, maar wel telkens de moeite waard.

Vanaf mijn dertiende jaar stond het vast : ik zou schrijver worden! Het is voor de kunstenaar een ramp van meet af als een schrijver tegenover het leven te staan ; het leven niet voor zichzelf maar voor rekening van het boek te ontdekken. Ik geloof niet dat er goede schrijvers uit zo’n verjaarde ambitie voortkomen. Het levensinzicht is vervalst! Ze leefden nooit als gewone mensen, ze liepen immer in de marge, en wilden zichzelf een tikje superieur. Het leven gaat bij hen iets opzettelijks worden, iets verkrachts, en smaakt naar papier en inkt.

In the current debate about artificial intelligence (AI), ‘big tech’, and data, Meredith Broussard stands out as a remarkably clear and eloquent voice. In Artificial Unintelligence (2018), she aims to empower people by explaining what computers and algorithms do, who designs them, and who stands to benefit from the rise of technology.

Maths rather than intelligence Broussard’s recurring message is that technologies – both hardware and software – are created by humans. Simple as this observation may seem, in practice, there is a great deal of misunderstanding about what we can realistically expect from digital technology. The misconceptions are fuelled by promises from the industry. Our language for computers is also misleading. Since computers neither know nor think as sentient beings do, ‘intelligence’ is an inaccurate term. Instead, they consist of multiple layers operating on mathematical principles. The same applies to machine ‘learning’, which essentially means that a machine can improve at its programmed tasks, not that it acquires knowledge, wisdom, or agency. This is not genuine ‘learning’.

Statistics on steroids When we talk about AI, we mean narrow AI – ‘statistics on steroids’, as Broussard calls it. Narrow AI is designed to perform specific tasks or a set of tasks. General AI, on the other hand, exists only in Hollywood movies. The industry continues, however, to dangle the illusion of a future that was never possible to begin with.

Technochauvinism is often accompanied by fellow-traveler beliefs such as Ayn Randian meritocracy; technolibertarian political values; celebrating free speech to the extent of denying that online harassment is a problem; the notion that computers are more “objective” or “unbiased” because they distill questions and answers down to mathematical evaluation; and an unwavering faith that if the world just used more computers, and used them properly, social problems would disappear and we’d create a digitally enabled utopia.

Human-in-the-loop systems Broussard draws on her coding background to illustrate the risks of treating data – again, generated by people – as immutable truth. While AI can detect patterns too complex for humans, it cannot account for everything. This makes fully automated decision-making undesirable; instead, the author argues that human-in-the-loop systems, which combine AI with human intelligence, are a more realistic path forward. She also highlights that most engineers today are not creating new technologies, but maintaining existing ones.

Big tech Towards the end, Broussard shifts focus to the people behind the big tech industry, criticising their homogeneous backgrounds and indifference to social issues.

we have a small, elite group of men who tend to overestimate their mathematical abilities, who have systematically excluded women and people of color in favor of machines for centuries, who tend to want to make science fiction real, who have little regard for social convention, who don’t believe that social norms or rules apply to them, who have unused piles of government money sitting around, and who have adopted the ideological rhetoric of far-right libertarian anarcho-capitalists. What could possibly go wrong?

Artificial Unintelligence is often cited, and I understand why: Broussard conveys her expertise in an accessible way and takes a stance. Some sections are so detailed that I skimmed through them, but in the end, I learned a lot. I will continue my reading on digital technologies by revisiting Weapons of Math Destruction by Cathy O’Neil.

We need to stop fetishizing tech. We need to audit algorithms, watch out for inequality, and reduce bias in computational systems, as well as in the tech industry.

There is a particular charm to Ernest Hemingway’s debut novel, The Sun Also Rises. Of course, ‘we will always have Paris,’ as Humphrey Bogart said, but it’s not just because the characters live and feast near Jardin du Luxembourg and Montparnasse. (Yes, Jake, we were practically neighbours there, though I do not understand how you managed to afford La Closerie des Lilas without a proper salary. Did the place change that much?) Just as a party can be captivating when you lose track of time, this novel draws you in as it meanders through the day-to-day lives of five seemingly carefree American expats, who stroll from one bar to the next. Their activities and discussions hold no particular significance, merely unfolding against the backdrop of interwar Paris and the San Fermín festival in Pamplona.

What struck me most was the filmic atmosphere of the novel, as if Federico Fellini and Woody Allen had collaborated to make a movie in the style of Casablanca or The Talented Mr. Ripley. Perhaps such associations reflect how influential Hemingway truly was. Books that came to mind were: ・ Giovanni’s Room (Americans crossing the ocean to escape conventions back home); ・ The Great Gatsby (published just a year earlier); and ・ Look Homeward, Angel (not necessarily for common ground, but because this novel ends in the United States with the onset of World War I, it felt as though Hemingway was picking up the story from the previous generation).

That said, I wouldn’t describe this as an outstanding novel. Ultimately, the lack of plot began to get on my nerves. I’m looking forward to continue my reading with The Old Man and the Sea.

“Oh, Jake,” Brett said, “we could have had such a damned good time together.” Ahead was a mounted policeman in khaki directing traffic. He raised his baton. The car slowed suddenly pressing Brett against me. “Yes,” I said. “Isn’t it pretty to think so?”

Albert Camus is an engaging author, whose novels L’Étranger and La Chute guided me into French literature. I had hoped to find more of his enigmatic writing in L’été, a collection of short essays (or essayistic stories) written in the 1940s, but I found them too brief to truly enjoy. There are good reasons to appreciate the essays, though. Camus’ musings on the Mediterranean, particularly his birthplace, French Algeria, are worthwhile and rich with classical references. A highlight is his reflection on Oran, a city ‘with its back against the sea’, characterised by both beauty and ennui, where the author reveals how grace can be found in even the smallest things.

Il semble que les Oranais soient comme cet ami de Flaubert qui, au moment de mourir, jetant un dernier regard sur cette terre irremplaçable, s’écriait : « Fermez la fenêtre, c’est trop beau. » Ils ont fermé la fenêtre, ils se sont emmurés, ils ont exorcisé le paysage.

Dit voorjaar was ik enthousiast over Tantes (1924) van Cyriel Buysse, dat zich afspeelt in een Vlaamse dorpsgemeenschap aan het begin van de twintigste eeuw. Een revolverschot van zijn tante Virginie Loveling (1836-1923) maakt nu zelfs nog meer indruk op me. Hoewel ik een pagina of vijftig nodig had om te wennen aan de wat ouderwetse stijl, komt het dorp Vroden – gebaseerd op Nevele in Oost-Vlaanderen – al vlug tot leven. In een wereld waarin meisjes ‘jong’ (lees: ongehuwd) blijven of ‘reuzelen’ (trouwlustig worden), beschrijft Loveling de tweespalt tussen de ongetrouwde notarisdochters Marie en Georgine over hun buurman en weduwnaar Luc Hancq, gezien vanuit Marie, de oudere en minst charmante van de twee. Uit het pistool dat in de eerste akte vergeven werd volgt dan – geheel conform de regel van Tsjechov – een schot.

‘Met eefer Georgine is hij toch nog heel anders, heel anders,’ hield Trientje vol, als een blinde dat mes in Marie’s hart omdraaiend, maar om haar meesteres, goedig, ook enige voldoening te gunnen of niet bepaald te weerspreken, gaf zij de verklaring: ‘Ge weet immers wel dat wie ergens te vrijen gaat, zelfs de hond van ’t hof gaarne ziet, ge zijt de hond van ’t hof en daarom…’

Marie steelt in elk opzicht de show. Haar tragikomische gevoelsleven is zowel voorstelbaar als volkomen onvoorspelbaar. Ik moest soms denken aan het literair naturalisme van Émile Zola (Thérèse Raquin), dat ook de grenzen van de menselijke psyche opzoekt. Loveling gaat die hier en daar voorbij, maar het levert spectaculaire literatuur op. Ik ben blij dat de hernieuwde aandacht voor vrouwelijke schrijvers uit het verleden haar werk nieuw elan heeft gegeven.

Whether you love or hate her, Dutch author Connie Palmen (1955) deserves some credit: more than three decades after its first publication, her debut novel The Laws continues to spark conversations. I must admit, I started with low expectations, as I was not eager for yet another Dutch psychological novel about sexuality. Fortunately, those expectations were off. Instead, Palmen offers a glimpse into a young woman’s search for… well, life, the universe, and everything, I suppose. Throughout seven chapters, she encounters seven men, each of whom shapes her in one way or another. Set in the 1980s, the term ‘mansplaining’ had not yet emerged, but it seems to amuse the protagonist. In any case, it was a relief that they weren’t all lovers.

Recognition played a significant role in my appreciation of the novel. Any story depicting student life in Amsterdam – especially around the Oudemanhuispoort – sparks my imagination. I also value the author’s attempt to intertwine literature and philosophy. On the downside, I occasionally lost track of the narrative, unsure of where the author was headed. In the later chapters, the novel unfortunately takes on the character of ‘yet another psychological novel about sexuality’. All in all, I understand why so many people love this book, but I’m not among those who shower it with praise.