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I'm late to this book - it's been a part of the discourse for a decade or so now. It's strong, punchy, and pithy: a quick guide to the mindsets we need in order to prevent totalitarianism. But its sections on media and the internet feel particularly weak - a call to support print newspapers doesn't feel like the right thing - and I think its claims about communism are not particularly nuanced. Still, we need calls to action, and this is a good one.

Written with absolute moral clarity, the argument here is searing, precise, and visceral. While I don't know how to make people care either, the immediacy of the author's writing goes a long way towards bringing this genocide, these atrocities and abuses of human life at the hands of empire, home. He makes the unimaginable imaginable, but does not dilute the horror in the process. These are true atrocities, and the claim made in the book's title is obviously correct. I will be thinking about some of the passages here - which aren't just passages, of course, they're real things that happened to real people - for the rest of my life. I should. We all should. I wish I could force everyone to read this.

I really struggled with the first third of this book - it felt like nightmare after nightmare with no obvious reason. Horror and gore for kicks. But the back half really justifies the first: this is a story about remembering your humanity in the face of dark times, and a little about how power corrupts. If you squint, there’s maybe something here about how terrible things are sometimes needed to maintain peace and stability, but I’m going to choose to ignore this thread. The first half of this book was harrowing; I enjoyed the second half very much.

Very readable: a pageturner book that keeps you going through a riveting plot at breakneck speed. I also enjoyed the discussion of alien-ness in the context of building relationships of all kinds. I was a little taken aback by the CIA turning out to be the good guys; the aliens in many ways being as harmful as the knee-jerk reactions against them made them out to be; the truth-seeking indie journalist being one of the bad guys; and the (spoilers) thing that Ampersand does to Cora without permission towards the end. I felt like the themes either weren't thought through as well as they might be, or were otherwise more right-wing than I typically want to enjoy. Which is a shame, because those things aside, I enjoyed the read very much.

A much-needed overview of the shortcomings of AI - and, in particular, of the AI vendors. There's a lot here that's important for everyone to understand as the technology threatens to become omnipresent. I'm glad to recommend it as a primer; it's important to keep your eyes open. But the question is left open: okay, so now what?

I liked the suggestion that smaller, more ethically-trained, more specific software is better, and I completely agree. But in a world where the generalist models are being added to everything, where rampant surveillance is being incentivized by their use, and where businesses and non-profits are being held accountable by their shareholders and board members to investigate the technology because of the hype surrounding it, what are the real, immediate solutions? The problem is clear; the way forward is not.

I appreciated the resonances here - of loss and death, of censorship and control, of the rigidity life takes on as you grow old - and have no idea which were intended. It doesn’t matter. The themes of inevitable loss in particular spoke to me and made me realize truths about people I’ve lost and people I know I will lose soon because time is out of my control. You can accept it, you can frantically try to hold on, but it will happen anyway.

I appreciated the writing advice, but more than that, the personal insights from Charlie Jane. This is a book about writing, but it’s also kind of a memoir about being a writer; she expertly uses her own experiences, and most importantly, mistakes, to make points that always land on the affirming and inspirational side of the rhetorical garden. It’s a warm book, written by someone who very obviously cares, and very obviously wants to help. That counts for a lot.

This is a spy novel, sure, but also an exploration of the nature of our relationship with our history at every level - from the personal to that of our species. As such, it’s more introspective than tense; a reflective journey more than a pulse-pounding one, but a worthy journey nonetheless. It’s one of those novels where the protagonist is just on the edge of unlikable, and knowingly so, but in a way that is more relatable than we might care to admit. It took me a little while to get into it, but I soon found its untethered rhythm. It’s one that will stick.

I really enjoyed this story about time travelers racing to prevent the timeline from being edited to eradicate women’s rights. It felt relevant somehow. Can’t put my finger on it.

Aside from the obvious analogy for where we are, I had a hard time putting this down. It was so much fun. I want more.

A powerful set of first person essays on injustice that serve to emphasize the parallels - and hard links of funding and culture - between systemic racism in America and in Israel. Its point is not to provide a comprehensive overview of the problem, but to shine a light through a particular lens into it. The result is compelling and tragic. A portrait of occupation and oppression which is easier to overlook than face.

A deeply thought out exploration of different kinds of societies, that also happens to come with well-rounded, deeply-flawed characters and genuine tension. It is, as advertised, a thought-provoking masterpiece: a piece about politics and human nature, albeit in space opera clothes.

This works best as a chronology of how social media influence has undermined democracy and truth. In that sense it'll be a really useful resource for generations to come: these things really are what this era was about, and DiResta really doesn't hold anything back. The book is at its weakest when her own life intersects with these trends, forcing her to act as defense against accusations that were levied at her - not because those arguments had any validity (they didn't), but because it sometimes serves as a sidebar to the rest of the narrative.

This was a challenging one. On one level, it’s of the Twilight era, almost in response to those novels: genuinely repellant and intentionally alien in opposition to vampire romance. But this is a book about power dynamics; interconnectedness and free will. It’s a hard book to like, but I see what Butler was doing here, I think, and there’s a lot to think about.