What do you think?
Rate this book


169 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 19, 2024
Living writers, now that we've gotten a close look at them, are pretty embarrassing. Famous authors of the past? Mostly blowhards. Posthumously celebrated writers, on the other hand, all seem to walk under the grace of Kafka's umbrella, with Melville and Emily Dickinson.
—p.2
Both are entrenched and unelected powers that pride themselves on maintaining absolute secrecy about their developments. Both believe they have the solutions for everything, which they never hesitate to unilaterally impose. Above all, they both believe that these solutions are inherently apolitical, because they're based on data.
—Quoted on p.33
Whenever I thought about contacting the Times, I found myself hesitating. While the paper had shown some willingness to displease the US government with its WikiLeaks reporting, I couldn't stop reminding myself of its earlier conduct involving an important article on the government's warrantless wiretapping program by Eric Lichtblau and James Risen. {...} the paper's editor-in-chief, Bill Keller, ran the article past the government, as part of a courtesy process... If the Times, or any paper, did something similar to me... it would be tantamount to turning me in before any revelations were brought before the public.
—Quoted on pp.37-38
Snowden's bitterness at the loss of his childhood playground is also his warning to us: the famous New Yorker cartoon—"On the internet, nobody knows you're a dog"—has been exposed as naïve. Snowden wants us to understand that, unless you employ three-layer encryption, they even know your breed.
—p.45
Compared to most artists of any kind, I've been showered with attention. I'm absurdly lucky.
—p.67
{...} exemplified by names like Heinlein, Asimov, and Clarke, SF's sturdy dead-white-guy canon, is where the fascination with technology and the future went to get mashed up with American exceptionalist ideology: technocratic triumphalism, Manifest Destiny, Libertarian survivalist bullshit. Hard SF fueled both the Cold War-era space race and, soon after, Ronald Reagan's "Star Wars" dream. As Adam Curtis showed in the BBC series Pandora's Box, the notion of defensive missiles in space was essentially whispered into the cowboy actor's ear by two leading conservative hard-SF writers of the '80s, Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle.
—p.81
Lem belongs in that company of SF writers—Wells, Olaf Stapledon, Kim Stanley Robinson, a few others—who practiced intentional extrapolation with regular and sustained success.
—p.82
From another of his letters to Kandel: "Lem's Three Laws proclaim: 1) nobody reads anything; 2) if they read, they don't understand anything; 3) if they read and understand, they instantly forget."
—p.96
"{...} to live in peace and freedom is a frail kind of good fortune that might be taken from me in an instant."
—p.123, Italo Calvino, from an essay called "By Way of an Autobiography"
"The war was here, the war he had declared, and he was in a car with his generals; he had a new uniform.... And as though it were some sort of game, he sought only the complicity of other people—not too much to ask—so much so that people were tempted to allow him it, in order not to spoil his party; in fact one almost felt a sting of remorse at knowing that we were more adult than he was, in not wanting to play his game."
—p.125, from Calvino's autobiographical essay "Into the War"
This raises the specter of our current Gorgon, but I'll leave him unnamed, for a little while yet.
—p.125, as written in late 2016
I came of age in a country at war and under the shadow of a paranoiac administration, one famous for an enemies list which, if it had been thorough, would certainly have included not only my parents but practically every adult I'd ever met.Lethem was born just one year after I was, so this passage resonates with me (although my own parents were not by any means likely to have been on that infamous list...).
—p.126
Of course the arrangements of home and family were always tenuous, etched in gossamer, tinted in nostalgia even as they occurred, like my parents' worn gatefold copy of Sgt. Pepper, which was missing its cardboard cut-out Beatle dolls. That band you're grooving to? The one that models the perfect gestalt of endearing human types, working in selfless harmony? They already broke up, man.
—p.128
{...} I must now endure explaining to my own children that they're not wrong to judge Donald Trump not only as a bully and a villain but as a cartoon of a bully and a villain, one not nearly as compelling or persuasive as Voldemort or Sauron, and to assure them that, no, we weren't wrong to be laughing at him for a year; we were only wrong to believe that we could laugh him away. In the words of Alfred Polgar, "The situation is hopeless but not serious."
—p.132
A German worker gets a job in Siberia; aware of how all mail will be read by censors, he tells his friends: "Let's establish a code: if a letter you will get from me is written in ordinary blue ink, it is true; if it is written in red ink, it is false."
After a month, his friends get the first letter, written in blue ink:
"Everything is wonderful here: stores are full, food is abundant, apartments are large and properly heated, movie theaters show films from the West, there are many beautiful girls ready for an affair—the only thing unavailable is red ink."
—pp.132-133
The sky above my house was the color of a "404 page not found" error message.
—p.142