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The trip to the states was mostly uneventful, but I will document it here for posterity and to get my own head around it.
My wife and I decided to visit my hometown briefly to see my parents’ graves, and to let our boys experience a bit of where I am from, before there is no longer any reason to go back there. There barely is now, but that is another story. We left Japan on a mild but chilly Christmas day, arriving on Christmas night, and returned via Los Angeles on New Year’s Eve, though our arrival was such that in Japan on touchdown it was already January 2nd. So the day of January 1st we lost somewhere in the air. This is an account of that journey and the impressions that I got. Please opt out now if this sort of post is not your thing.
People don’t seem as fat as in previous visits. Admittedly we did not get out to Wal Mart, though Target still has the bizarre posters in the women’s clothing section that have women who are not just fairly overweight (at least by my standards), but deformed. By that I mean that at least one model had visible stretch marks and even scars from what appeared to be poorly healed abdominal injuries, possibly from a stab or bullet wound. I’m not kidding. I will admit that I just don’t get it. Compare that to your typical similar ad in Japan. In any case, apart from the advertisements, in the few restaurants we visited, people just weren’t as obese as I remember. Maybe semaglutide is doing its thing. All hail Ozempic.
So the fatness seemed reduced. Trimmed. My southern home state was overcast and gray and the trees dun-colored the whole time we were there. Not even southern gothic, more like something out of Steinbeck, enough to drive any sane person in-. Generally the weather was not as warm as I remember this time of year, though by no means freezing, with temperatures in the 50s (F). All in all it felt like something out of the film version of The Road, without the roving bands of cannibals. Maybe if I had driven to Gadsden.
Drivers drove fast. I was given a big black Chevy Tahoe by Hertz because they had no SUVs. The Chevrolet Tahoe is a large vehicle with controls in the form of a dial you twist from R to P to D to N. There is no gearshift on the column or floor. Is this a normal thing now? Dials and buttons. At least there was a steering wheel and the gas and brake pedals were as expected. It is also a large vehicle, at least for me. I felt like I was driving a computerized and de-weaponized tank. But drive it I did.
From the airport I drove us a half hour or so to my aunt’s. She scolded me for not phoning her from the airport. At her home were pictures from my past, and baubles on the shelf that I remember having been at my grandmother’s house when I was a boy. My aunt is old and frail and said she fell and can’t lift her arm above around here. She had some devilled eggs and cold ham for us, both dishes that I hate and would rather be shot than eat. I said we weren’t hungry, which was a lie. I dislike lying but apparently I am willing to do it. The next morning I made us all pancakes from some batter my aunt had, to which you just add water—no milk or eggs or anything, just water then you pour it onto butter on a hot skillet and flip, and there are your pancakes. I felt like I was eating something Captain Kirk might eat on the Enterprise. She put bacon into her oven on some sort of special grease-catching pan. “It’s healthier this way,” she said, though I have never wanted or expected bacon to have any health benefits, nor have I cared if it did. Because it’s bacon, ffs. She cooked it to hell and back and if you held up a piece it stood erect like a long, fried pig crackling instead of the floppy bacon I am now familiar with in Japan. I crunched and swallowed it down anyway. Her coffee machine had no filter. “I ran out,” she said. Somehow we made coffee anyway, but it was decaf, because of her heart. Outside she has a dog, a rescue mutt that will bite you if you offer it your hand. I heard but did not see it. Somehow she feeds it. It dislikes her boyfriend, whom her crazy daughter dislikes. I want to shake the daughter, my cousin, until, as they say, she comes to her senses. My aunt is 82 and has a boyfriend. What sort of derangement would want to deprive her of this?
The next day we said bye to my aunt and hugged her, and I drove an hour to my hometown through the overcast gray depressing weather. “Is that a dead deer?” asked my wife. It was, on the side of the road. There would be more than one, as well as other, less identifiable roadkill, but she stopped asking after the first time. Some of the road signs on the way were different, the towns having shrunk or others grown so that the relevant placenames people presumably want to turn off the exit to had changed. Once I arrived, the roads that I used to know well seem to have been diverted at key points. In one instance I was going in the opposite direction from where I had intended, on a road I thought I was familiar with. The best restaurants of my youth were all closed forever, but there seemed to be more Mexican places. The indoor mall from my childhood looked as if it had been bombed out. The new indoor mall from my teenage years we did not visit. But there is an outdoor area with lots of shops and a Planet Fitness and a large Barnes & Noble and Panera and some ramen shop called FUKU ramen, a name which amuses me. This outdoor mall-type place seems to be the new place people go. I had a poor meal at a diner there, though the mashed potatoes were good. I used my phone’s GPS to find at least one address in my own hometown, something I never used to have to do. The university is still quite striking, and the stadium has reached gargantuan proportions, though, from what I understand, college football is now fucked.
One general point of interest was that we did not have any particularly bad interactions with service personnel, which is usually something that happens almost immediately upon landing, if not in the cabin of the plane, once we have switched to an American carrier. No, this time everyone was pleasant and even efficient. Possibly because of the time of year. I was called “baby” by the first woman I interacted with at a coffee shop, but this possibly because I put on my friendly affect in my southern accent (though this was in LAX), which seemed to cause her to warm to me. I don’t mind this familiarity and in fact I welcome it. In Japan I’m treated with smiles and fawning courtesy, but as often as not this is complete tatemae and can give one a feeling of being in an episode of The Twilight Zone. Assuming anyone here knows what the hell that even means. It can be weird, that’s my point. In the US there’s more of an authenticity—I don’t expect the woman behind the counter to lend me money or ask me to dinner at her house, but I know that should I say something off-script, her reaction will be genuine. I do not know if I am getting my point across clearly. My southern cadence is also coming out.
At one point my youngest son, who had seen something on Youtube about Papa John’s (the pizza place), asked if we could get a pizza there. I said sure. It was raining and I was already tired of driving us everywhere, but there on the corner was a Papa John’s so I pulled over. I walked in and immediately saw the sign: “No walk-in orders. Online or phone only.” I asked the bespectacled, tired-looking dishwater blonde woman if that meant I could not order there. She affirmed that this was true. Playing along with this bizarre policy, I walked outside and tried to make a call. For some reason my phone wasn’t working, so my oldest son got out of the car with his iPhone, which was, and I tried to go online and order through the website. Due to the Japanese phone settings possibly, the phone would not take us to the web location we wanted. I tried calling again, and this time was met with a computerized voice instructing me to press 3. Which I did. Then it hung up on me. This story is far longer but the gist is we did not get the Papa John’s pizza.
We stayed at a friend’s house, which he now rents. Back in the day he lived in the house, and in fact it is the house in which he (a priest) married my wife and me. Now the house is professionally decorated, with original art, and, on some flat surfaces, three stacked books upon which fake plants sit. I did not like this touch—books are for reading or for being on shelves, not for supporting fake plants. But the beds were nice, and it was of course generous of him to offer us the stay.
We visited my best friend, and his father and large family for their Christmas to-do. His father is 92, and far more jovial than I remember from my youth. “Take your boys in there to my trophy room,” he suggested. I did. There were many deer antlers on the wall--racks, he called them--and a scoped rifle in a glass case. I do not know what kind of rifle. There was a bunch of food including a tray of buttered corn kernels and what I seem to remember being a tray of meatballs, which seems odd, but none of us ate because our times were all messed up still. I was offered a Miller Lite in a can and drank it gratefully even though I was about to drive us all to the airport. Because hey, such behavior is legal there. My friend’s son showed us pictures on his phone of various dead animals that he had killed over the years. In one there was a giant wild boar on the back of a truckbed, which he kept calling a pig. I was told there was a wild black bear somewhere in Alabama that was caught on some security camera in city limits. “What happened to it?” I asked. No one seemed to know.
In Houston on layover, we were stuck on the tarmac. For eight hours. Again, I am not kidding. Apparently, there was lightning in the vicinity and every time there is a lightning strike, takeoff is delayed 8 minutes. Or something like that. There was a very pretty Mexican girl in a red sweater and jeans next to me who apparently also spoke French. We talked several times over the eight hours, though I did not try to pursue extended conversation. In my younger, unmarried years, I would have. They deplaned us once, then re-planed us. They kept delaying us with excuses, and apologies. At one point the crew was replaced with a new crew, who were mildly more smiley. A very tattooed man with his cat in a cat carrier sat a few rows in front of me, but opted out of the flight when they offered, and left the plane, delaying us further. One woman was forcibly ejected for acting out, and we watched her storm out the plane door, to a fate I can only guess (staying in Houston is a good bet). Eight hours is a damn long time to sit in a plane that isn’t moving, especially when there isn’t even a terrorist with a gun or bomb keeping you there. Anyway we eventually took off (to applause, which I led) and got to LA. When I disembarked, the Mexican girl had gone ahead of me and was standing at the gate waiting for her boyfriend, and when I tried to catch her eye in hopes that maybe there would be a smile of recognition, she did not look at me. Women are interesting creatures and I love them.
In LA because of the 8-hour arrival delay when we were dropped at the Remote Rental Car place it was dark and there was no one there. Metro buses and cars whizzed by dispassionately. When I called the company I got a machine. My wife kept saying it was cold. I called our hotel, and they suggested an Uber, which we ordered, and took us about 30 minutes. The driver, a guy named Marvin, did not speak except in low murmurs but he got us where we wanted to go. We ate at Denny’s beside the hotel and I had the best burger I have had in years there. The waitress brought me a small carafe of coffee and I had four servings in a very satisfying heavy white mug, despite the hour (it was now 11:15 pm). The hotel itself was shabbier than in the photos when I had booked it, and you could look at the carpets and tell thousands of people had trod over them, probably with dirty ass shoes. But the room was roomy and the beds comfortable and the shower powerful and hot. The staff were all very friendly and helpful and female.
The next day across the street to the hotel we saw our first crazy homeless person, a man in what appeared to be velvet overalls who kept screaming at something. My sons were very interested, like whale-watchers who see their first sounding. I managed a refund from the rental and got yet another Uber (driver: Luis, born in Portugal, spent many years on fishing boats) to drive us to a new agency, where we were given a mini-Van, with more dials and buttons.
In LA we did Universal Studios. The backlot tour featured lots of old movies my sons had never seen, and the driver touted television shows I have never watched. The Harry Potter ride is the same as the one in Universal Studios Japan, but Hermione speaks English in the Hollywood version. The Jurassic World ride is splashy and made me colder than I already was. In the provided photo I have my hoodie up and am looking off camera. The lines were painfully long. I ate a hot dog and my sons had tacos with carne asada where the meat to my taste was rather gamey. When I considered buying a Griffindor necktie my wife made several comments that caused me to reconsider not only buying the tie (I did not) but also my maturity level and general life choices. We ate at Bubba Gump shrimp where the gumbo was good though my wife found it overly salty. The table next to us celebrated the birthday of a boy who had long frilly hair and whose brother was extremely ugly and also had poofy hair. Someday perhaps they will identify as female, though perhaps by then the world will refuse to acknowledge this. We were not assigned one waiter but several, which seemed odd. They all introduced themselves by name so I called them by these names, which my son thought was rude of me. My wife had a margarita at every restaurant that served them. The best, she announced, was the pineapple jalapeño one, which I tasted and it was cold and strong.
I drove us by El Coyote, the last restaurant Sharon Tate visited before she was brutally murdered in 1969 by Tex Watson and his crazy cohort. I had planned to go in and eat there, but it seemed ghoulish and I suddenly had a change of heart. I’ve always had a thing for Sharon Tate. We drove up to the Griffith Observatory which reminded me but no one else of Rebel Without a Cause. Natalie Wood died before she reached the age I am now. I remember the morning when I discovered she died—Good Morning America or whatever was announcing it as I got ready for school. I was 13, and it rattled me greatly that she was gone. I still suspect Wagner had something to do with it, that fucker. We had, at last, In and Out burgers, which I had always wanted to try. The fries were underwhelming but the burgers were fine. We walked on the Santa Monica pier which was full of foreigners speaking non-English but was otherwise exactly how I remembered it. I taught my sons the smell of marijuana, which we smelled on a continual basis the entire time we were in LA. I took a photo of Mark Hamill’s star on the walk of fame, a photo I will probably never look at again. Some guy in a terribly put together Chewbacca get-up walked past us. I bought a bright red MAGA hat off a guy on the street for my Harris-supporting friend back in Japan, because I am an asshole. When I told the guy selling the hats this, he threw in a flag of Kamala Harris for free. The man selling the hats was black, and fist-bumped me as I left. Sometimes I love America to the point I feel like weeping. I wish other Americans did. Or maybe my testosterone is waning in my age.
We heard many languages in LA. Many women had far too much plastic surgery, which, for me, is any at all. In one of many lines we stood in, a girl behind us was probably one of the most exquisitely beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen in person. Blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect teeth, a natural, unaffected beauty. She wore some sort of sweater and black yoga pants and sneakers and was with her aunt, probably. I am sometimes reminded in moments like this that really pretty blonde women have an amazing power at that age (mid-20s probably) that will fade eventually, but is mighty when and while they have it. A gift from God. What must it be like in Scandinavia, where blondes are a dime a dozen? Anyway they’d all be taller than me there. On the KTLA news the announcers were also strikingly pretty, but in a too done-up way. Like if you saw them in reality you’d think Wow you spent a lot of time getting ready. At the Lakers/Cavaliers game the Lakers lost, but Austin Reaves sunk 32 points. He looked average height from our seat but is 6’5”. My sons were happy to watch Lebron James and Rui Hachimura. Beers cost 22 dollars. Damn right I bought one.
We saw no celebrities, though my sons thought they saw a famous Japanese person in a donut shop. Speaking of doughnut shops my wife had her first “Hot Now” Krispy Kreme in my hometown. She said it was the best doughnut she had ever had and was outraged that they did not have these in Japan (the hot now versions). I remember a time before they had the Hot Now sign and you just sometimes got freshly made ones. I grew up with a Krispy Kreme next to my elementary school and used to go watch the doughnuts move on the conveyor belt through the glaze. They’re good with hot coffee and very, very sweet. I remember eating a few at a time when younger but couldn’t eat more than one now without feeling diabetes set in.
My parents graves were clean, and the gravestone legible and newish, with both their names and everything filled in. It was, again, an overcast day the day we went, but the small town had only changed slightly--many of the old two-story beautiful homes were still there, probably inherited and for some reason still maintained. I hadn’t bought any flowers as everywhere was still closed on December 26th. So I just stood there. I always wondered and dreaded, before they died, what it would be like when my parents were gone, and now I can’t help thinking that my own sons will have to lose their parents as well, meaning me, me and my wife, who hopefully will outlive me by many years. I wish for a quick death, sudden, shocking maybe but without the long drawn out heaving and gasping that was the fate of my own parents, whom I judge in my adult mind but unquestionably still loved. We are all so careless with one another, really.
There is more to this, but I’m not going to write it. Thanks for getting this far.
Preamble (pre ramble?)
Almost a year ago I married a girl who is either a first or second generation Chinese American depending on how you count people who came over as young kids. Over the years I have met many of her relatives, now my in-laws, that lived or made trips to the US. The time has come to meet those who do not and did not. To my great shame I do not speak Chinese.
We're going along with my wife's nuclear family. My mother-in-law and father-in-law, hence MIL and FIL, and her younger sister. The sister is 14 years younger than her and a natural born US citizen. The gap is a result of the one-child policy. While my wife goes by her Anglicized name, her sister prefers using her Chinese one. She's pretty sharp, doing her undergrad right now with plans of going to law school. She talks and acts like you'd expect of any American Zoomer. I think she feels her Chinese identity is a little more precarious and clings to it a little more tightly as a result.
The extended family is mostly in Nanjing and a little bit in Shanghai. The plan is relatively simple: fly into Shanghai through Hong Kong, take the train to Nanjing, meet people for a few days, train back to Shanghai, meet other people, then me and the wife are spending a couple of days in Osaka, Japan on the way back with an old buddy of mine. That's the short plan. The long plan is outlined in meticulous detail in Chinese on a Google Docs form by MIL.
This series of posts will be something like a travel log, or trog.
Hong Kong
The first few days are relatively uneventful. Me and the wife fly separately to Hong Kong. The flight is probably half white and half Chinese people. We sit separately and I don't sleep a wink, sandwiched between two other guys. The website hadn't been willing to accept our visas so I couldn't check in before getting to the airport, so we were left with the bottom-of-the-barrel choice of seats. Despite this, paying $25 for in-flight internet makes the flight fly by as I let the best social media slop our finest engineers can serve melt my brain into a timeless stasis. Time travel is real; it just only goes one way.
We spend around 13 hours in Hong Kong, most of them sleeping. We didn't have enough time to get out into the city proper but we did manage to grab a meal and explore the 7-11 in the airport. For European readers, as they are mostly a North American and apparently Asian chain, 7-11s are convenience stores, frequently gas stations. Think Apu's store from The Simpsons. In America they're not highly thought of, mainly notable for their "slurpee" carbonated slushy machines. However, apparently 7-11 has a social media presence in Asia unlike its presence in the West.
I was once told for international travel that if you're staying long enough in a country it is interesting to try their local Chinese food because it's so variable and the diaspora adapts the food to the local palate. Within Asia this is supposedly how one should think about 7-11s. We bought a couple of Hong Kong-specific pastries and Tsingtao beer. It's an opportunity to verify if I set up WeChat Pay correctly. The beer is a pale lager that I have had before in the States; it's crisp and refreshing.
Shanghai
The next morning we fly to Shanghai and take the local subway to our hotel near the main shopping district. When buying tickets we put one of our 100-yuan bills, worth around $14, in to buy our 8-yuan worth of tickets. The machine instantly shut off and declared itself out of order after dispensing the tickets. No change provided. We learned not to trust machines going forward but as far as lessons go this one was relatively cheap. Supposedly the hotel we stayed at was one of the places Nixon stayed when he did whatever it was only Nixon could do. I was assured our room was not wiretapped. Every time we stopped at a new hotel we needed to present our passports and they recorded our movements into some system. We had a few hours to kill as we waited for the rest of her family to arrive so we strolled down the shopping street to a place called The Bund where one can see a skyline over the bay.
The shopping street is huge and packed. Scattered about are college-aged Chinese people in cosplay. My wife says she doesn't think there is any particular event. It's a Saturday and people just do that sometimes. Every once in a while we see a young, attractive woman in some elaborate dress or makeup with a personal photographer taking staged photos. Where cross traffic is allowed on the strip, the roads are dominated by scooters.
The shops themselves extend three stories up for most of the strip that goes on for at least a mile and in places five or six stories up. It's easily three times as dense as Chicago's Michigan Ave. White people are still regular enough that my presence only attracts minor glances and increased attention by the street vendors. The shops are about an even mix between Western and mainland brands. The food is mostly mainland with a smattering of brands like McDonald's, KFC, and, to my surprise, Pizza Hut. Apparently, the localized phonetic characters for Pizza Hut translate to something like "home of the winners". Eventually, at around 10pm, her parents arrived and we went in search of dinner. We had reservations at a hotpot place they described as "reputable". There were probably ten hot pot places in a block and somehow this was one of the only ones with zero signs.
Her parents execute a basic strategy when going anywhere in China: they ask random people on the street where to go for their destination and go that direction until they run into another random stranger to ask. They prioritize police officers and workers but if none are available they'll ask just about any person on the street. This sounds like a viable strategy but so far the results have been significantly worse than using a mapping app. We spent probably 30 minutes wandering around a block, walking through alleys, asking random people where this specific hotpot place was. Eventually, I'm confident through the process of elimination, we tried an unmarked door beside a KFC and found an elevator to our destination.
For those who don't know, hotpot is a kind of communal meal where everyone sits around a hot pot—almost all Chinese names are this literal—full of various flavored broths. You dump things in to cook over time but most centrally you take your chopsticks, pick up some thin-sliced frozen meat and dip them in until cooked, usually 20-ish seconds. Then you dip them in a sauce of your own design and eat.
Racism against white people is usually tame and harmless. As long as it doesn't hold an accusation of wrongdoing I take it in stride. One exception is the idea that we cannot handle spices. This is a harmful untruth that has been used to deny me and my people the flavor we deserve. We subjugated most of the globe in search of spices, and yet our spice lust is denied. The staff at this hotpot place wore devil horns and served us a sour plum juice along with broth that was maybe mild.
Bellies full and bodies jetlagged, we made it back to the hotel. The AC in our room was busted but we were too tired to care and fell asleep quickly. The next day we woke up for the breakfast buffet. Like much of the city, the spread was half Western and half Chinese. The buffet was well attended and for the first hour there were two white guys in the hall and we were both wearing orange polos. After breakfast we walked through the People's Park. They have an advanced form of analog Tinder. There are hundreds or thousands of essentially dating profiles on laminated sheets of printer paper laid out on the path. There are sections for foreign matches and all sorts of categories. Some have phone numbers; some are tended by the prospective matches or, more commonly, their parents, uncles, or aunts. According to the wife, the women greatly outnumber the men. It wasn't clear to me why, given the sex imbalance should lean the other way.
Next we visit the Yu Yuan Park. It's a neat estate with essentially ornate 1700s-era meeting rooms and rock parks. The park is attached to a huge marketplace selling every trinket or bauble you can imagine. One of my quests was to find a couple of copies of Mao's Little Red Book as a souvenir for me and a buddy who I knew would also appreciate one. Unfortunately, the one shop that had them only had German and French versions. I want either a Chinese or English version. The in-laws offered to order one for me but there is a kind of vulgar poetry to haggling for one with a street vendor that holds a special appeal to me.
We grab lunch in the form of XLBs. These are soup-filled dumplings, in this case a crab meat version the area is known for. For good measure we also pick up a couple of pan-fried baos and spring rolls from another shop. It's a warm day so I pop into a 7-11 and pick up a couple of slurpees. They come in 12-ounce cups. China has advanced much over the last few decades but they are not yet ready for the 44-ounce variant available to more advanced nations. Maybe next generation. Slurpees in hand, we took the train back to get our bags from the hotel and then headed to the train station to take high-speed rail to Nanjing. We arrive early and present our passports at the gate to be recorded. When the train arrives, despite the seats being assigned, everyone boards the train in a disorganized rush that I don’t quite understand. The ride to Nanjing is smooth and impressive. I watch out the window as countryside zooms past. The Chinese countryside is not like the American equivalent. There are random clusters of a dozen or so identical 10+ story tall apartment buildings and a smattering of industrial buildings. There are no suburbs; stand-alone single-family homes are rare. Huge factories, complete and operating or under construction, dot the landscape.
Nanjing, the southern capital
We arrive in Nanjing and an uncle picks us up. He's high up in a media organization that, for reasons unexplained to me, owns the hotel we're staying in. His wife is a Party member. These are easily our wealthiest relatives in China.
The Chinese have something of a gift-giving culture. Our bags came over laden with gifts to give out. As a young couple, our obligations aren't so great: some Nike jackets or sweaters for aunts and uncles, slippers and melatonin for grandparents, more specific things for a handful of exceptions. It's somewhat interesting what mainland Chinese people want. Coveted are medicines with what is seen as superior American quality control, brand-name clothing, the kinds of nuts and ingredients one could get at any American big box store.
At the hotel we meet up with the wife of our ride and exchange some gifts. We received a belated wedding gift of several red packets bulging with 100-yuan notes. I feel a little uneasy about taking several thousand yuan from a literal Communist Party member. But she's friendly enough and I'm not here to fight that battle.
Dinner is a bit of an ambush that in hindsight we should have seen coming. We thought we just had normal reservations at the hotel restaurant but it ended up being something like a pseudo-wedding reception. I would have preferred to have dressed better for the occasion but it quickly became apparent that, besides drinking obligations, we were probably among the least important people at the event.
FIL took the head of the table as the head host, surrounded by the other elders of the family and then expanding outwards in accordance with tradition and pragmatism. Naturally, me and my wife were seated not quite at the opposite end, which itself is reserved for an important person, but at the approximate importance of a cousin who had brought her Pomeranian. This is good news; honor is an obligation and we were ill-equipped to bear it, armed only with my wife's vague recollection of tradition.
One thing we did know is that I was expected to drink. The Chinese drink of high occasions is baijiu or white alcohol and the king of baijiu is Moutai. Moutai is approximately 100 proof and drunk in thimble-sized glasses. It tastes and smells relatively sweet and is not cheap, running you around 1500 yuan (around $200) for a 500ml bottle. To waste Moutai is a grave sin. As a relatively young man and the newlywed, it is my duty to drink with every guest, every offered toast, and to continue drinking until the toaster stops.
When not drinking I sat next to a young man around my age who got an undergrad in Syracuse and was pursuing a PhD in computer security. He had opted to not drink anything and was one of the few people able to speak English. I asked what he wanted to do after he finished his PhD and he said anything but computer security. We ended up talking about board/computer games and a little bit into AI alignment. He gave a p(doom) of 95% and Shadowheart was his favorite companion in Baldur's Gate 3.
Some number of hours later, dinner was finished and the last of the guests filtered out and we were compelled to finish the last of the last opened bottle of Moutai. We set an alarm and passed out in the room for another breakfast buffet the next day.
At breakfast it's no longer just a rarity to see another white person. I am the only one. People are definitely looking. Still, the breakfast spread is mixed Western and Chinese. There seems to be a Huawei convention of some sort at the hotel as we leave. Time to visit the wife's two remaining grandmothers and extended family in the countryside.
We leave behind most of the luggage and call two taxis to take us about an hour and a half into one of those clusters of identical ~10-story buildings. We're now well outside the kind of places a Westerner without family would ever find themselves. Locals stare, and kids keep staring even after you stare back. Some of them have never seen a white person in the flesh. I'm not offended by this at all, just an interesting experience. No one is aggressive or rude, just curious. Almost no one here speaks any English unless they've retired from elsewhere. I'm extremely dependent on my wife who does her best to keep me up to speed on conversations. We only stop briefly at her grandmother's house; we'll be back later. First we need to visit her grandfather's grave on her father's side. He passed away a few years ago and my wife has been there since but you're supposed to do it every April if you're local. And if you're not, you just do it whenever you visit.
The cemetery is row after row of essentially upright tablets with the ashes just beneath them. Husband and wife share a tablet; there is a picture of each and the patrilineal offspring's names are laser-etched on them. I don't think there is a way for my name to end up on one of these but I wonder if a Chinese man marries a Western woman how they deal with Latin alphabet names. We decorated the tablet with flowers and plants then took turns kowtowing three times while addressing the dead. It was fine to use English. I introduced myself and thanked him for his part in creating the woman I loved. Then we went to a stall nearby where we lit a fire and tossed fake money to be lit so that he will have money in the afterlife. There’s every variety of bills including good old greenbacks. I was worried that the Chinese afterlife might not accept counterfeit bills so I snuck a real 20-dollar bill into the pyre.
One thing that has fascinated me about Chinese culture is trying to square Chinese Communist ideology with a culture that at every possible angle seems to celebrate success and laud becoming wealthy. I like these people. They strike me as spiritually more American than most of the people I've met in Europe. American rightists would find themselves more at home here than American leftists.
After we finish up we go to meet my FIL's grandmother. She's in her late 80s and my wife, who is a psychiatrist by trade, responded to a question of whether she had early-stage dementia by saying it was definitely not an early stage. Before she forgets who I am she is either able to grasp that I work with computers or in a bank but can't seem to accept their union. When she believes I work at a bank she insists that must mean, as a perk of employment, I get free breakfast, a state of affairs she approves of.
She lives in a grouping of houses somehow tied to some shared ancestor. Everyone in the area seems to be a great aunt or uncle. From the outside the homes look kind of slummy but the interiors are clean and well maintained. Behind her living space is a corridor that is covered but exposed to the elements which leads to a shed and a room that is half dedicated to a chicken coop where she sources fresh eggs and roosters to eat. One unlucky rooster was selected earlier that day to form two of the several dishes we were served for lunch shortly after arriving. Beyond the coop there is an acre or so of well-maintained garden. Last time my wife visited she said they only had an outhouse for a toilet but since then they must have installed a septic system. Most of the people there have scooters or little electric cars to get around.
Lunch is served with a bottle of baijiu and we are joined by a few other family members. Among them is a great uncle who is also in his late 80s and has been deaf and mute since what was described as an antibiotic incident when he was a kid. Despite these setbacks he is in excellent health and appears to do most of the upkeep around the house. After successfully responding to a few of his toasts he takes a liking to me and I feel a kinship with another man who can understand very little of what is said around him. We drink through a bottle of baijiu and my great uncle attempts to retrieve a second bottle from the other room. He nearly achieves success, to the objections of the younger generation, but is eventually disarmed. Although relieved to not be drinking any more at lunch before being made to drink at dinner, I couldn't help but root for him. Eventually we wander out and then are waved into another relative’s house for tea. Supposedly an aunt and uncle but I have no idea how many degrees removed. The man is a retired doctor who used to head a hospital. MIL insists that a while back everyone was moving from the countryside to the city because the entitlements were much better in cities but there's been a reversal in favor of cleaner air and maybe something to do with removing taxes on grown produce and the addition of a farm subsidy 15 years ago. The doctor has what is described as a classic Chinese sword which he claims to use for tai chi and also for protecting himself from bad spirits. It forms a part of a traditional Chinese wall.
After we finish drinking tea there we walk out and FIL shows us around where he grew up while we wait for a ride back to MIL's apartment building. There is a pond he used to catch frogs and fish in as a young kid, under the not-so-responsible supervision of deaf and mute great uncle. There is a sign that says you're not allowed into it anymore for safety reasons, damn liberals. Feral cats are abundant and we run into 4 cats hanging around some trees while two of them work on making a few more. There are plenty of people out and about and I definitely draw some attention.
Back at the MIL's grandma's apartment we have another meal and another bottle of baijiu. An aunt and uncle with their 10-year-old kid join us. The kid practices a little English and welcomes us to Nanjing. He's full of energy and eats quickly. After an hour or so he is sent to the other room to do homework while we continue drinking. Some of the conversations as they're translated for me are almost comically familiar. One uncle notes that not everyone really needs to go to college. The trades are a good career path for many and aren't encouraged enough. Another uncle mentions that the rich have an unfair leg up in schooling.
We receive a few more gifts. I get a set of Buddhist prayer beads made of a black wood that smells nice. The set comes with a scroll that explains in Chinese the significance. My wife gets a fat Buddha bracelet. Supposedly this is a particularly fat version of Buddha that is able to absorb all the bad things in the world into his enormous stomach. We also receive some paintings that are claimed to be from a famous ancient artist and come in official-looking packets. He paid twenty yuan for each one and he is the only one that seems to be convinced they aren't forgeries. I later learn one of his favorite pastimes is buying dubious items on a Chinese bidding site. In any case, they were definitely made by a Chinese artist which makes them authentic enough for me.
MIL, FIL, and sister-in-law will all sleep at grandma's. Uncle drives me and the wife to the nearby hotel that he has a connection with where we stay the night.
The next day we wake up and after a quick breakfast at grandma's we go to MIL's grandfather's grave to repeat a similar ritual. On the way MIL points out the area she grew up and the land that her grand father used to own. The story goes that before the cultural revolution her grandfather got really sick and needed antibiotics. Hard to come by in semi rural China in I think the 50s? They ended up selling a bunch of land off to buy them only for him to die anyways. Turned out to be a blessing in disguise as the family might have fared worse during the revolution if they still owned all the land.
This time we have more company and a relative who is a Buddhist monk chants while we burn not just the paper money but a set of clothing and some paper representations of gold bars and a tea set. The monk had originally been part of an order but during the Cultural Revolution they shut down his group so he got married and had kids. At some point the restrictions slackened and he's back to performing rituals as a job.
During the part where we kowtow and speak to the dead I said it was an honor to be introduced and that if fortune is favorable we'd introduce him to another on our next visit. Every kid or parent that did the ritual devoted at least some of their dialogue to asking for good grades. After the ritual we all went to get lunch at a restaurant where, of course, more baijiu was shared.
I'm publishing this on the road to our next destination. I will probably edit this when I get home and add pictures either in a substack or X post. I'm trying to give more of an impression than a polished essay.
It's three-something in the morning, an ungodly hour by any definition, when my phone rings. It's not on silent. I'm not allowed to keep it on silent tonight, because tonight I'm on what older generations called "beeper duty." To my generation, it's being on call. I am a junior Assistant District Attorney for Metropolis, and that means I get to spend one week a month on call. For that week, when I get home from work, my phone is set to ring at maximum volume, and when it rings, I answer. No exceptions. Sometimes the voice on the other end of the line is a beat cop asking an inane question about some esoteric piece of criminal procedure because he doesn't want to screw up his bust. I try and tell myself that I like those calls, because at least that means the arrest won't get tossed by a judge in a month while me or one of my coworkers stands there helplessly and the cop glares daggers at me because somehow I should have waved my magic wand to un-fuck his fuck-up. Sometimes the voice is a detective, asking about an emergency warrant to be executed right the fuck now so I had better get the on-call judge up. Those calls are more exciting, but still fairly routine.
This time the voice identifies itself as Detective Smith.
"I see a guy with a wicker basket."
Those last two words give me a jolt that wakes me up better than ten cups of coffee could. Wicker basket. For the last three months Metropolis has been plagued by a serial killer. Infants wash up on the banks of the river in wicker baskets, drowned. The only thing the medical examiner can tell me of worth is that they're still alive when they go in the water. I almost threw up when I heard that. Is this guy him? Metropolis PD has a task force hunting the guy, but so far they've come up with absolutely nothing. Trying to calm my suddenly racing heartbeat, I run through the mental checklist I manage to dredge up.
"Are you plainclothes?"
"Yeah, but I've got my badge out."
"What's he doing?"
"He's walking down the street, he's heading towards the marina."
"Okay stop him. Ask him what he's doing."
What I don't say, but both of us understand, is the razor thin line we're walking. If the officer so much as pats him down without reasonable articulable suspicion (a technical legal term with decades of law developing it and ironing out edge cases) then anything that comes of the search is tainted. Inadmissible in court. Best case scenario, I manage to scramble and pull together enough other evidence to somehow, someway, still get a conviction. Worst case scenario, and far more likely, is that the public defender files a layup motion to suppress, all of my evidence gets tossed, and with it the case.
"He says he's going fishing."
"Press him!" I try to keep my voice low and professional, like my boss does when he's in court, but I can't help myself. There's the faintest edge of panic in my words. Fishing. Totally reasonable. Anyone could be out fishing. He wouldn't be the first man up early to try and get a jump on the fish.
"He just said he's going fishing again and he's started walking again."
"Ask him if you can see in the basket."
If only. If the guy gives Detective Smith consent to search the basket that's the ball game right there. Consent is the ultimate cure to the Fourth Amendment. There's no expectation of privacy in letting a cop search your bag. Anything the detective sees would be admissible evidence.
"He said no, he's almost at the end of the marina. He's only a few feet from his boat. He's going to get away, what do I do?"
"Search him."
It's a gut call. Maybe the wrong call. I'm still not sure if we have enough to search him, and almost certainly not reasonable suspicion that he's armed and dangerous to justify a Terry frisk. In my head I'm already marshaling the arguments I'm going to have to make in court to justify the search. Three in the morning is early, too early for fishing? Probably not. Wicker basket is good, wicker basket on the marina is better, but maybe there's exigent circumstances-
Over the phone I hear a loud thump, like the phone was dropped, the sounds of a scuffle, and then a shout. "GET ON THE GROUND! GET ON THE GROUND NOW!"
"Alright, well done Mr. Monkey! Not bad, not bad at all. You did almost everything right. You hit all the high notes of exceptions to the warrant requirement, and most importantly you made the call to search the basket. You didn't kill the baby."
The exercise is over. I've passed. This whole scenario has been a test. Round two of three interviews for an Assistant District Attorney position. Every fact here I was provided in a three minute summary before we launched into the exercise, or I discovered during it. My interviewer continues.
"The most important rule of what we do here at [Major City's] District Attorney's Office is Don't Kill the Baby. Anything bad happens as a result of that in the case, we'll have your back. But we do not, ever, kill the baby. You'd be surprised how many people get that wrong. It's something to do with law school. Before you go to law school, or you ask any Joe Sixpack on the street, he'll give you the same answer. Don't Kill the Baby. But you go to law school, you get so caught up in these theoretical ideas about the Fourth Amendment and privacy, and something changes. People start killing the baby. Everything else we can teach, but we need someone who will not kill the baby as a foundation to build on."
I smile and thank the interviewer as we wrap up.
It's been months since this interview, though I've recorded it here as accurately as I can recall. In that time my opinions on the Don't Kill the Baby doctrine have fluctuated time and again. Sometimes I think it's the clearest possible moral guideline. Don't Kill the Baby. How could any normal person disagree with that? Obviously you Don't Kill the Baby. What kind of monster lets the baby die? But then I think broader. Sure, Don't Kill the Baby when there's a Baby at risk. But where does this end? Does this mean Don't Kill the Baby, and it only applies when there is an actual, literal infant at risk? How often does that happen for the city to have an entire internal policy based around it? Does it really mean "fuck the Fourth Amendment" and we don't let "criminal scum" walk our streets unmolested? What about those criminal scum's rights?
“The trouble with fighting for human freedom is that one spends most of one's time defending scoundrels. For it is against scoundrels that oppressive laws are first aimed, and oppression must be stopped at the beginning if it is to be stopped at all.”
I like freedom. I think it's pretty great. I don't think I like the idea of cops walking down the street, conducting warrantless searches without any kind of probable cause just because. But what if the cop is right. Do the ends justify the means? I don't think that officer had the right to search the wicker basket. There wasn't enough, not really. No reasonable articulable suspicion of the man being armed and dangerous to support a Terry stop and frisk, no exception to the warrant requirement at all that I can identify. Maybe, maybe exigent circumstances but that's a hard hurdle to clear. Ignoring state-level rules for the moment, exigent circumstances is poorly defined and instead is applied on a case-by-case basis which takes into account the "totality of the circumstances." Missouri v. McNeely, 569 U.S. 141, 149 (2013). Which excluding the few clearly delineated examples of exigent circumstances (hot pursuit, preventing destruction of evidence, rendering emergency assistance) in practice means "fuck it, whatever the court feels is right." But of course, the detective in the exercise did find a baby in the basket. Any judge in the country would find exigent circumstances. But of course, the court can't use the finding of the baby as logic to support exigent circumstances. That's a post hoc rationalization, and we don't do that.
I don't ask myself these questions as a matter of law, not really, despite turning them over and over in my head and trying to brute-force the law to fit the outcome. I ask them because somehow I've stumbled upon a moral quandary that I can't seem to logic my way out of. Don't Kill the Baby. But freedom is important. But exigent circumstances. But no exigent circumstances. But Don't Kill the Baby. Round-and-round I go, never with a satisfying conclusion in sight.
I didn't end up accepting this job. Not for reasons related to their Don't Kill the Baby policy, there were other factors that made taking the job unfeasible. But the exercise has lodged in my brain like a thorn under a saddle. I turn it over and over again, and never quite come to an answer I actually like. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe we're not supposed to have an easy answer to this problem. Maybe the fact that it confuses and annoys and exasperates me is what it should be doing. Maybe I'm so over-educated I can't recognize a simple, boring, innocuous truth when it stares me in the face. Don't Kill the Baby.
I've been pushing lately to fix up some of the giant outstanding code issues that made it hard to work on this. In no particular order, the codebase now has 70% code coverage and all routes with at least some coverage, Python has been updated to 3.13 (from 3.10), and all the packages have been updated, which probably fixes some security issues.
The last thing on this list was to get Postgres from Version 12 to Version 17. This, unfortunately, I screwed up a bit, thanks to a few dumb decisions and also discovering that one of my backup solutions was no longer working after I needed it. The end result is that we've lost some data; I'm not quite sure how much, but it should at least be under 24 hours.
Great apologies if anyone lost an effort-post.
The bad backup solution has been fixed, and better monitoring put in place so I'll know if that happens again; also, while I may literally never use this, I now have a better postgres update checklist that avoids this issue in, like, literally three separate ways, not counting the better backup validation.
I just found this place and it almost feels like an internet version of a toastmasters club which is kinda fun. I have a rather unexciting job that gives me hours to fill in the day so I figured I will spend the end of my shift here talking about a thing I am passionate about, and if I don't get chased out with Pitchforks maybe I'll do it again sometime. I did not grow up in an Outdoorsy household my Dad used to say he did enough sleeping outside in the Army before I was born so I suppose it is a little odd that from a young age I have always had an interest and passion for all things outdoors. Hunting, Fishing, Shooting, and camping are all things that I love. I am not particularly sure where it came from maybe I watched Jeremiah Johnson at too young of an age I am unsure.
Anyways the one I do know specifically for a fact where I learned it from is my passion for Antique firearms, as a teenager I was very active in the Boy Scouts and worked on the Rifle Range teaching merit badges every summer. The man who ran the range was a hobbyist with muzzle loaders and had a few Hawken rifles he built from kits. The thunderous whoosh and smoke a 50 cal Hawken makes was mesmerizing from the first time I saw it. He also cast his own bullets for it a concept I had never even thought was possible at 14 it amazed me that someone could make something like that themselves without the help of anyone else. He taught me everything one needed to get started, how to load, how to shoot, how to cast bullets, I was hooked then and there. A few years later I was able to pick up a 1861 Springfield rifle like those issued in the Civil War.
What I think the really satisfying part of shooting old firearms is that you really sort of are on your own. Yes there are a few places that may sell Burton Balls or Paper Cartridges still you will absolutely pay through the nose for them so if you are to shoot anything more than once a year on your birthday you better learn quickly how to do it yourself. I think it really forces you to get a better understanding for how efficient our modern world really is too, if I want to load and shoot 40 rounds in my musket it will take me the majority of a afternoon between melting lead, cutting paper, melting beeswax, and rolling them up to get them set. If you want to shoot your AR-15 you can grab two 20 round boxes and be on your way. Another thing about them is they will humble you and they will do it quickly it's about the only thing about an old muzzle-loader that is fast sure you might be able to stack rounds all day with a .270 at 150 yards but try it with a old caplock. I think this is fun because it forces you to really slow down and learn to become a better shooter there really is nothing like it I would say. Shooting them really does feel like bringing something back from the dead in a way. There was a time when the best of the best could muster 3 shots a minute on a man size target it almost seems like a tall tale anymore like Paul Bunyan but once upon a time it meant you were one of the deadliest in the world.
I regularly shoot matches with some of these old warhorses it normally does not lead to many laps in victory lane as I am simply outgunned but there is nothing more fun than taking a rifle last issued when Garfield was president out to the range, and who knows you might even have the occasional upset. I suppose I will close in saying that if you find yourself bored this weekend try and get out there and make some smoke I bet you'll like it.
The Psychiatrist Goes To a Pub
Serendipity is a grossly underrated factor in life. I've been in Small Scottish Town for about 6 months now, and trawled the local bars about as many times.
Said Small Scottish Town has had a trajectory roughly representative of the whole. All the kids fled for the Big City at the first opportunity, the High Street had seen better days if not better highs. It was kept running mostly by pensioners, and middle-aged couples returning to their roots now that they wanted kids away from the hustle and bustle of urban life. It had about a ratio of 1:2000 bars per capita, down from a ratio of closer to 1:400 that was its absolute peak before Covid culled the herd. It was pure survival of the fittest, 27 bars brought down to four, or enough of the pensioners retired from drink by virtue of death. You can't buy a new set of clothes, but you sure can get still get drunk there. This is a story of how I did.
I've been a good little boy for the duration of my stay in Scotland, and very rarely has the desire to haunt the local watering holes overtaken me. I had a shitty day at work, and the weekend beckoned, so I decided to stop by and have a drink. Perhaps two or three, as the mood took me.
I wandered up to a new pub, notable only in that a pint of Tenet's was half a pound cheaper than the last one I visited. As I approached the doors, I was greeted by a gaggle of regulars who had clearly popped out for a smoke. Notable among them were a lady who was well past inebriated and into loud drunk territory, and a bald and well-built gentleman, who if slightly past peak bouncer age, wasn't at the point it was unbelievable.
There I came, lugging a backpack full of random junk, NHS ID card flapping in the wind. I was just about to walk through the doors, when the lady accosted me and demanded that I show her my ID before I could enter.
This was eyebrow raising to say the least, the last time I was carded was back when I was 16, but I'm nothing if not long-suffering. I was just about to produce my government issued residency permit, a fancy piece of plastic that proclaimed with holographic probity that I was an alien with temporary reprieve in the nation, when she guffawed, embraced me in a bear hug, and explained that she was having me on. I laughed, and said that it's been a good while since I was asked to show ID, my haircut must have done wonders.
Piss-takes are nothing unusual to me, and this town is isolated enough that it's avoided the transition of Britain into a Multicultural Nation, exotic would just about cover the handful of Polish expats and the odd Ukrainian refugee dwelling there. My color and complexion would scream not from around these parts regardless of whatever I said, and I didn't particularly care either way. I'm just here to do my job, and potentially have a stiff drink when it's done.
I went through, relishing the temporary warmth and refuge from the chill. A pint of Tennent's please, to keep me warm and comfy in a country where the sun had just about deigned to stay visible in the sky when the clock struck five.
I'd gotten halfway through my sorely needed drink when the lady who had had a laugh at my expense came in, and took her seat at the counter. She apologized for having me on, and when it was clear I'd handled it with good humor, began grilling me about who I was and what I was up to.
I was happy enough about answering her endless queries. I'd been there for about 6 months and change. I was working in the psychiatric department of the hospital twenty minutes away, and was just about finished with that placement. She expressed surprise at the knowledge I was a doctor, but was interrupted by a friend of hers, another middle-aged lady with as many piercings and tattoos as she had years on me.
It turned out that they all had the same bug-bear, namely the lack of doctors in the area. To translate further, a lack of GPs, the steadfast and underpaid bedrock on which the NHS stands. I commiserated with her, mentioning that I could certainly empathize with her, even with collegial congeniality and pulled strings, I had faced months long wait-times for my own medical concerns, and was aware that years was the norm when it came for waiting times for things that wouldn't kill you outright.
Some more explanation followed, as I explained that no, doctors are allowed to sneak away for a drink at the end of the week, especially as I wasn't on the on-call rota for this weekend.
This was met with hearty cheers, as an eminently sensible decision. I downed my first pint in pleasant company. I would have been content to watch the game show on the telly and nurse my drink, but the lady at the door decided to strike up further conversation. I had nothing better to do, with only time spent grinding textbooks waiting for me back at home.
Eventually, the conversation took unexpected turns. Tattoo Lady revealed that she was a born-again Christian, and expounded on her conviction that there was demonic influence running in the background, which compounded existing trauma and was a likely explanation for why several of her friends had been the victims of sexual violence. Not just once, but multiple times.
This was a heavy subject, to say the least. I wisely opted for not challenging her beliefs in favor of a quick treatise on Internal Family Systems, a psychological framework for explaining mental illness that I, quite truthfully, explained believed in literal demons, unacknowleged trauma and personality shards (for a more prosaic explanation) being culpable. She helpfully drew up a PDF of an ebook she'd been planning to read on the topic, and even more helpfully, explained that she hadn't read it yet, except for the cover blurb.
At this point, Bouncer Lady wanted to know more about me and what I was up to, I explained that I was a psychiatry trainee at the hospital further down the road. She began talking about her son, a Nurse Practitioner down in London, and how overworked the poor guy was, having to hold two bleeps at night. I commiserated, and said I hoped he was holding up well. She opened his Facebook profile, and showed a picture of him to me. I quite truthfully said he was a handsome guy, and that he took after his mum in that regard.
With the bottom of her glass now visible, she went on to confide in me that he was gay. I didn't visibly react, beyond an oh, but did go on to ask if that had been difficult for him, given he'd grown up in Small Town.
She said it had, though she and her family had been nothing but supportive. He'd been bullied quite badly in school, but had pulled through and was doing much better since he went to uni. She went on to complain that he no longer told her about the men he was seeing, especially since a solicitor boyfriend had rung her up when they'd broken up, and had threatened to commit suicide if he didn't come back to him. Then came an anaesthesist, who had sounded lovely, but had worried the lady sick when she fretted about him dosing her darling boy with all kinds of knockout drugs.
I really ought not to have brought up a recent news story about an anaesthesist who had gotten into deep shit after being caught pilfering sedatives from his hospital, for the purposes of getting it on with his girlfriend.
I did however, have the sense not to divulge what I knew enough of the gay lifestyle down south, especially the fact that party poppers and all kinds of other illicit substances were commonplace. I told her that I hadn't actually met any gay doctors since coming here, but she grumbled that it seemed to her that half of them batted for the other team, at least according to her son.
She told me about the flat he had gotten a killer deal on, in London, and asked me where I was staying in town. I told her that I was renting, and that I lived with X and Y, a couple, expecting them to be recognized since the town was small enough that everyone knew everyone else.
Her face shriveled up like a prune, like she'd bitten a lemon. "They're bad people! You need to move away!"
I expressed surprise. They'd been quite nice to me, and besides, I was moving in a month or so to the big city (by local standards).
She sounded relieved to hear that, but then went on to ask me about my rent. 700 pounds a month, I said.
And what did I get for that, she asked? The front half of the property?
Nope, just a room. A large bed, a now defunct mini-fridge, a closet and a TV the size of my palm that I'd never used. She gasped in shock, and went on to explain that at the price I was paying, I could have had a whole house! She began calling over to the other denizens of the rapidly filling bar, asking them if they agreed I was being ripped off. A chorus of ayes came back.
At this point, she was drunk enough that she began saying that I was clearly a student, like her son, and it was terrible I'd been taken advantage of in that manner. I tried to explain that while I'm a trainee, I actually am a fully qualified doctor and that I do, in fact, get paid. Not as much as I'd like, but I have little in the way of expenses. These words fell on deaf (and drunk) ears.
She began offering that I move in with her, she told me she had a large house with 5 empty bedrooms, and that it was a sheer waste to have them lie empty while I paid out my arsehole elsewhere for nothing. I said that was far too kind of her, but I was locked in anyway, and would have to move.
At this point, she had another half a pint down the gullet, and began elaborating on why my landlords were bad people. Did I know they were swingers?? Had they ever propositioned me??
I reacted by straightening up, a dozen things I'd paid no need to clicking into place in my head. But no, I said, I hadn't known, and I don't think they ever asked me to join in their bed!
She sniffed, saying she was surprised. Then she asked me if I was married. I said, not yet. No kids either? Not that I know of!
Well.. Her son might well be single and coming by soonish..
Uh.. I'm straight as an arrow, last time I checked. I told her that I appreciated the offer, but I'm sure I'd be lynched by all the girls in town who languished in a state of dejection after they'd found out he was gay. She still demanded I move in, as she felt personally affronted by the violation of Scottish Hospitality that my landlords had engaged in, preying on a foreigner who hadn't known better.
I told her I hadn't had much in the way of choices, as the only other listing on Spare Room had been a dingy attic room halfway to nowhere, for 550 pounds to boot. When weighed against the competition, I felt like 700 for a property closer to the center of town wasn't too much of an ask.
I'd been bought a round of drinks, and then bought one round for the table myself. I found myself palpating Tattoo Lady's nose after she complained it always felt congested, and asked her if she'd ever been checked for a deviated nasal septum. No, came the answer, but she had poked a hole in it by doing too much coke in her teens. The grass was greener and the coke was whiter back in the day, she sighed wistfully.
In those days, the stuff wasn't cut and didn't have a decent chance of killing you. Or leaving you K-holing when you'd hoped for a quick buzz. I agreed, and revealed sotto voce that I'd once done a bit of Bolivian Nose Candy in a nightclub bathroom. I'd already been challenged on if it was alright for me to drink and vape as a doctor, and this went by uncontested. Who hasn't had a dissolute youth?
The tattooed lady said she'd been clean for decades, and tried to keep the local kids straight, not that they'd listen. She then went on to talk about her struggles with bipolar disorder, and how she felt that she was often treated in a very dismissive way by women, with particular opprobrium for the typical nosy receptionist types who demanded to know more clinical details before begrudgingly doling out an appointment, just for the sake of gossip. Remember, this is a really small town. She went on to praise a few of the local doctors, though half of them had seemingly retired by the time I came into the picture. She bemoaned the fact that these days, nobody really had the time to talk, and I tried to explain that the NHS, in its wisdom, tries to screen aggressively in an effort to avoid being overwhelmed, and the higher you go, the less time you'll have with progressively more qualified people.
At about this point, I find out that the lady who just took over tending the bar works at the local medical practice. I ask her not to divulge my drinking habits, and she winks and say she won't tell if I don't. I go on to tell tall tales about how, when I'd visited the pub close to the nearest care home, I'd almost been confident that a few of the people drinking merrily were residents with dementia who really ought not to have been consuming alcohol alongside their meds. This was mostly an exaggeration, as the only confirmed sighting was a gentleman who had been seen as an outpatient with early dementia, and his meds were only cautioned when drinking.
I made more smalltalk, enjoying a rare opportunity to observe the locals in the natural environment. I even learned a few things about cultural norms, such as how in those parts, overt displays of affection had been considered unseemly until quite recently. One of the ladies complained about how her elderly father only replied with a gruff that's nice when she told him she loved him. A shame, but the younger generations were better about these things.
I preened internally at some rather effusive praise. I was told I was a model doctor, and that the ladies had gotten a "good vibe" off me from the start, and felt they could open up. I'm not sure how much of that was due to my usual politeness and ability to seem like I was intently hanging on to every word people tell me while my mind wanders, and how much of it was the beer. But I'll take what I can get.
The lady who had offered to take me in wouldn't let up. I asked if she had a partner, experience in these parts telling me it was a more polite approach as compared to assuming someone was married. She told me her husband was a darling and wouldn't say a word if she insisted. I politely reiterated that I'd be quite happy to pay, and any sum below 700 quid was fine by me. She wouldn't hear it. I insisted that she at least talk to the gentleman, and reconsider it when sober, but this hurt her pride, and she puffed up and told me that her word was her bond, regardless of blood-alcohol content. Her tattooed friend nodded reassuringly.
At this point, she insisted it was time to go home, though her friend cajoled her to stay for another round. I snuck in the opportunity to pay for it. In response, she perked up and said that even if I didn't pay a penny, I could cover drinks and make tea as a way of paying my way. I said I was more than happy to do the former, and already was, as a small token of appreciation for letting me know how badly I was being ripped off, but as to the latter, if she expected me to cook she'd better lower her standards and be ready for food poisoning.
She assured me I couldn't be that bad, could I?
At any rate, she said she was going home, and invited me to come with, so that I could scope out "my" room. I said that the gentlemanly thing to do would be to walk her home, and I would be happy to have a word with her husband if he was in.
Along the way, she stopped at a nearby convenience store and asked if I wanted anything to drink. I demurred, but she insisted on picking something, and I said I'll have whatever she's having. There was a bit of a faff at the counter as her phone's contactless payment app asked her to scan her face first, something she was too far gone to manage. I was about to pull up my own card when she figured something out, and I grabbed the bag loaded with wine and soft drinks. It was evident that cashiers were well accustomed to handling the drunk and rowdy, I asked if another Indian I'd met there still worked at the place, but was informed he'd moved to Spain. Lucky bugger.
We went the same route I'd normally take, her house was just a street over. It's a good thing I came along, because she was far from steady on her feet. Along the way, she said something that explained her distaste for my current hosts better than just her dislike of their lifestyle could. It turned out that my landlord's brother had knocked up her sister, and that her family had been embroiled in a lawsuit to establish paternity. This had been before quick and easy DNA testing, and they hadn't been able to win. The father's family had never accepted the kid, but he was older than me now and doing perfectly fine for himself. The rest of the walk was otherwise uneventful, barring her rehashing previous conversation while drunk to the gills.
We came to her property, which I must say is lovely. She let us in, and I was greeted by a small shih tzu, wagging its tail away as I scratched him under the chin. She called over and asked if liked dogs.
Love them, I said. And it's absolutely true, though my preference leans towards larger breeds. This one seemed nice, if yappy, and was happy to do laps around his mistress while she called it all kinds of incredibly derogatory names in a most endearing fashion.
She showed me around, introducing my putative sleeping space with the same enthusiasm as a stage magician or the show runner in a Monty Hall problem. It wasn't terrible, nary a goat nor a super car in sight. A little cramped, but for the price of free this beggar isn't choosy. I was offered the run of the place, though if my present habits are any precedent, I hardly come out of my room.
She produced a bottle of wine and began pouring us a glass each. I asked her where her husband was, and she said he was down the street, visiting his mother, who wasn't doing too well. She tried calling him, but he didn't pick up, so she ended up FaceTiming another woman.
A quick recap followed, and when she turned the phone over to me, I genuinely thought I was talking to her daughter and asked the same. She laughed, saying she was her best friend, but I could tell she was pleased. Accidental flattery will get you anywhere, I say.
She had some kind of role in the educational system, and expressed her frustration at the severe issues she ran into trying to get several kids assessed for learning difficulties. I mentioned that I had ADHD myself, and part of my interest in psychiatry arose from a desire to help out people in a similar boat. I explained that it had taken me three months to get assessed even with other medical professionals pulling strings out of collegiality, but that it dismayed me that kids could go years and grades without assessment and much needed help.
At this point, my would-be host asked if we'd like to step outside for a smoke. I accepted a cigarette, too drunk to particularly hold myself to my usual abstinence, and we went out into their large, but dimly lit garden. She had music playing, and I began to feel growing consternation as she began dancing with me, drawing my hand to her waist and then tugging it lower. She was drunk enough that I didn't face much issue in carefully avoiding it, and once cigarettes burned out, came back in her wake, making sure to close the doors and keep the draft out.
She excused herself, and ran to the toilet and proceeded to relieve herself with the door open. This was awkward, to say the least, and I settled for standing a good distance away and politely pretending I didn't hear her coughing either. I eventually got concerned enough that I asked if she was okay, and was told she was fine, it's just that cigarettes hadn't agreed with her.
She came out, properly dressed, thank god. She asked me if I'd like a coffee, and I agreed, but insisted on making it for the two of us. At this point in time, her phone rang, and I could hear her husband on the other end, saying he was walking home.
I'd just about finished up the coffee when he came in, heralded by the dog's barks, and didn't seem too surprised by my presence. I believe that at some point she'd mentioned that they'd had a guest over. I introduced myself, and he seemed like a decent sort, turning out to be a manager of several offshore oil rigs.
She revealed that she ran a wedding boutique, one I'd walked past while on my way to my last haircut. I take back what I said about purchasing clothing not being an option in Small Scottish Town, at least if you're a bride-to-be.
I apologized for the rather irregular situation, explaining that while I greatly appreciated the kindness his wife had offered me, I felt that I couldn't take advantage of her in her current state, and certainly not without running it by the other relevant stakeholder, her husband (the dog seemed pleased with my company). He seemed entirely fine with it, or at least was too polite to tell me to scram. I guess his wife did have a point about him going along with her suggestions.
His wife interrupted my excuses by saying that it was fine, she wasn't just bringing someone in from the street, was she?
I pointed out that she had, in fact, brought me in from the street. This was duly ignored as a mere technicality unworthy of undermining the spirit of her claim.
At any rate, I think I had been polite enough while trying to decline the offer, and said I'd give the two of them time to think it over. I assured them that there would be absolutely no hard feelings if they changed their mind, and I would probably figure something out in terms of a place to live regardless. If I'd been paying 700 a month for this long, it was clearly within my budget.
I walked back home, and that was that. I probably might take them up on it, assuming that the passage of time and the elimination of liquor doesn't prompt second thoughts on their end.
Inside, I was more than a tad bit thankful that four pints hadn't addled my senses, and that her husband hadn't walked in to find us in flagrante delicto, not that I had been interested.
Nice people, the Scots, and at their best when you and they have comparable amounts of alcohol in your system.
Part 1: What Is This Post About?
This is a book review (of sorts) for “Mere Christianity” by C.S. Lewis, a PDF version of which can be found free here. More specifically, this is for the audiobook version included in the C.S. Lewis Essential Audio Library, which can be bought on Amazon here. First published in 1952, this book is older than most of the Motte audience.
Even so, and to put the bottom line up early- I recommend “Mere Christianity” for anyone with the time to listen, be it during commutes or chores, to an exceptionally articulate Christian try to express his view of what Christianity distills down to at its most common shared elements. This is the ‘mere’ Christianity that specific denominations build from, but which is also distinct from non-Christianity. It also has a lot to say, albeit accidentally and indirectly, about the modern culture war.
I recommend it to practicing Christians who might appreciate a reminder of the sort of commonalities that are/used to be seen as common despite doctrinal disputes. I recommend it to non-practicing ‘cultural’ Christians who might appreciate a reflection on what parts of their culture are influenced by Christian thought, and what parts are not. I recommend it to non-Christians as a glimpse into the Christian mindset by a theologian deliberately trying to communicate that mindset to an audience that is assumed to not share it. I even recommend it to atheists, who C.S. Lewis engages with specific consideration. He is certainly familiar with many of the older anti-theist arguments, and even if you do not find the counterarguments as compelling as he did, you should at least know of them.
Most of all, I recommend “Mere Christianity” to The Motte, for its commentary on culture war issues and human dynamics that are so applicable in the present despite being written with the mid-last century in mind.
This is also an endorsement for the audio library version especially. Having both read the text and listened to it, I can attest that this is a work where a good narrator elevates the material. Mere Christianity uses a great deal of metaphors and personal engagement with the audience to make its argument, and this works far better with a skilled narrator than someone trying figure the intended tone of unfamiliar text. Given Lewis’s frequent techniques of leading the listener down a train of thought before doubling back to some part of it, the verbal context can make it clearer than powering through the text might.
This is not surprising, as Mere Christianity started as a radio lecture series during WW2. During the German Blitz bombings of England, C.S. Lewis was brought onto the BBC to talk to the British public about faith. These audio-lectures were recorded and adapted into text, and in this text was adapted back into audio. Given how the transition from verbal to written communication inevitably loses some nuance, something that was inevitably lost is in a sense regained with the re-transition to audio. This is poetically appropriate for the subject matter.
Finally, this endorsement will encourage you to not think the price tag is onerous. While it may feel hard to justify a bit over $40 USD for a single (old) book you can get for free, the broader audio-library is a bit under 40 hours and includes other C.S. Lewis works like The Screwtape Letters, The Problem of Pain, and other works. At roughly $1 an hour of listening and post-listen contemplations, this is a better money-to-time-entertainment that most.
And with that overly long endorsement out of the way, on to the review.
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Part 2: What Makes “Mere Christianity” Recommendable to The Motte? (And With What Caveats?)
The parts of Mere Christianity I think the Motte in general would most appreciate, regardless of their stance on Christianity, is the exceptional and self-aware use of non-technical language to communicate, the significant emphasis on virtue ethics in regards to the timeless human condition, and the appreciation of a clearly intelligent person providing a position with charity for those who would and will disagree. If Lewis was living contemporary, he would be the sort of writer that- if not a member of the Motte- would probably be the sort of writer Motte members would likely regularly rise in discussion as expanding understanding through insights.
These endorsements come with the caveats of an arguable (though deliberate) use of metaphors rather than technical language, some unquestionably anachronistic/dated views, and of course a lack of materialist proof of God. (He does engage the topic. I won’t claim you will find it convincing.)
I caution this caveat by advising against approaching this with a determination to discredit. In the Mottian sense, engage charitably. Lewis has some relevant words on how the meaning of words shifts over time and how mentality shapes perception, and he is being charitable enough towards the skeptical audience to warrant charity in turn. That said, charity with Lewis’s takes does not require Gellman amnesia of the parts you may strongly disagree with towards the parts you know less about.
On to the merits.
As both an author and a speaker, Lewis is incredibly aware- and honestly up front- about the subtle shifts that come with careless or deliberately misleading choice of words.
Lewis makes clear and distinct arguments about how semantic contexts and insinuations have changed meanings over time. He makes the distinction between ‘a good man’ and ‘a good Christian,’ of how the common understanding of various virtues and sins have changed over time, and so on. Given that he was writing in the mid-20th century from a perspective formed most by the early 20th century, the language games he raises from nearly a century ago remind us of even greater drift since. Lewis is very clearly trying to not argue by insinuation, and at many times will variously pre-emptively clarify against potential misunderstanding, or circle around to how something could be misunderstood.
Lewis also makes deliberate and effective use of metaphor rather than technical/doctrinal language. This can come to a point of feeling like overreliance, but this is part of the deliberate effort to not rely on technical terminology or language only the already familiar will understand. Part of the why Lewis makes as good use of metaphors as he does- but also why it may feel over-leveraged- is that he is consistent and clear that the metaphor is a limited tool, not a literalism or last word on any doctrinal issue. If the metaphor feels like it’s undercut by some context of the metaphor, he freely and proactively encourages you to disregard it. This is positive in the sense that Lewis is making limited arguments more carefully but can be negative if you feel he’s not committing to a specific position enough, especially on controversial topics. This is expected, and he warns against it in his preface. Engage charitably, and it works better as the tool of understanding the point he is trying to make.
The second basis of endorsement is the emphasis on virtue ethics and the human condition.
Starting with the latter, Lewis speaks from a position of intellectual, and moral, humility. He is not appealing to his own credentials, or any sense of dogmatic or moral superiority. He may believe he is right, but he is not making an argument to ‘prove you wrong.’ Agreeing with Lewis is not a precondition for engaging further with the text. He is up front with the sort of personal and moral failings he talks about. He confesses easily to his own temper when he makes a point on the shortness of others, of doubts and questions, and so on. He is never resolving a point in terms of ‘this is so because Christianity says so.’
This is because, as much as religious ethics are associated with deontological ethical systems (duty-based, often derived from God), Lewis speaks far more in terms of virtue-ethics. Under virtue ethics, a trait can be virtuous in moderation but become a flaw in excess or deficiency. A classical, more secular example is how bravery can be cowardness in shortage, but foolhardiness in excess. However, Lewis makes the point of how even virtues can be this way, where an excess of virtue can become twisted into something more, and worse, even as the person doing so feels they are all the more virtuous for this Christian virtue. Humility to the degree that one knows they are so humble can become a source of poisonous pride over those less humble and more overtly proud.
This is where Lewis begins to speak on timeless human nature in ways that we would recognize as tropes of the culture war today. He does not use the term ‘virtue signaling,’ but you will recognize it. He does not use the term ‘march through the institutions’- a march that in the American sense began in earnest after his writings- but you will recognize his points about how changes in social norms and institutions have twisted meanings and understandings to allow new preferences. He does not speak of political tribes, but you will recognize when he speaks of political self-righteousness, and how hatred of that self-righteousness in others can spawn it in oneself.
Lewis does so with the sort of meta-framing awareness and metaphors to illuminate this that would be familiar with anyone familiar and/or moved by Scott and the broader rationalist-sphere luminaries should recognize. This may not be a coincidence. For example- in Scott’s classic I Can Tolerate Anything Except the Outgroup, Scott makes a metaphor about how an Emperor gets no religious merit points for tolerating gays, transgenders, and so on when the Emperor has no issue or objection to them. Lewis makes a similarly structured, but secular-focused, metaphor on the merit of not-burning witches if one does not believe Witches pose any real harm to people. Both share similar concerns about how people approach moral principles, the intents they do so with, and the difference between a difference in principles and a difference in claimed facts. However, Lewis’s version was penned a good half century earlier. I don’t know if Scott was aware or influenced by it.
The point here is less about Lewis on the culture war, or even Christianity, and more on how Lewis approaches metaphysical structures and meta-context of organization. Lewis is writing from someone who may not have had the same words as the current audience for describing social structures, but he would recognize the discussion on social tensions, and efforts to change social norms one way or another. Some of the terms that he use may seem anachronistic of even quaint- Lewis does seem to believe in a literal entity we call the Devil/Satan as a corrupting force, as opposed to the far more rationally justifiable / observable / attributable villainous actors of the Cathedral / [Progressive/MAGA] movements / etc. Clearly, we are wiser and better informed of the context in our current era.
But more importantly Lewis- however imperfectly, and however imprecisely- has thoughts on dynamics that are often of interest on The Motte. Even if you don’t agree with him on the specifics of the conclusion, he can provide them charitably and interestingly enough to be entertaining.
On the demerits. What to say that’s not repetitive?
Lewis’s use of metaphors is a double-edged sword, to use one more. It can greatly assist with understanding a point he is trying to make. They are generally well constructed and appropriately used with limited scope. They are used in the way that good assumptions are used- clearly, purposely, but with the willingness to abandon them if they are unhelpful.
It may result in a sense of there not being enough there. The plus side of Lewis not arguing from the Bible as an ultimate authority is that it can come off as a delightfully constructed but questionably hollow sophistry. Not ‘sophistry’ in the sense of manipulation and misdirection, but rather a delightfully complicated model that builds off itself, but theory that one can doubt will survive reality, or even reflect it. Even if you find the arguments interesting, they may lack the sort of citations or tie-ins to real events and real denominations of Christianity that would normally bolster such claims.
I do believe this is to some degree unavoidable based on design constraints, as opposed to an unintended flaw of someone who didn’t think of them. Lewis is open- at least in the preface which is admittedly retrospective to the initial publishing. He was working under certain structural limitations that are reasonable to have, which can reasonably frustrate people who wish he didn’t. Lewis is not speaking about any specific denomination of Christianity, so he is not citing from any specific denomination. Lewis is avoiding the most controversial and friction-point disputes of doctrine in order to not distract from his points, and so he is not taking a position on controversial and frictional points.
But there are also points where you listen to what Lewis says, and as with any position from a century ago, it will reflect biases and views which may be worse than anachronistic. When you read or listen to these, and feel they are very clearly wrong, you may rightly wonder what else he is wrong about. This is fair, within reason.
A more benign example of this anachronism is his view on patriotism, of which a good number of people nowadays have a far more negative view then he, which is clearly a (measured) positivism. Given the selection bias for Lewis being selected to make this in the first place, this may not be surprising but may be disappointing. A more cringe-worthy view of this is his characterization of Christian marriage, including an expectation to a wife defer to the husband. I won’t defend or justify it- he tries to enough, given it is his longest chapter- but I will say I felt it was also his weakest chapter, not least because he is clearly speaking on it from the perspective as an outsider (a lifelong bachelor at that point in his life, i.e. never married), as opposed to something clearly had more personal experience with (morally imperfect human nature).
I will reassure (or disappoint) that Lewis does not drop any racial slurs or outrageous cultural prejudices in his work. He is not exactly expressing contempt for other religions or unbelievers either, like some Crusader / Conquistador / Zealot stereotype. He is not preaching the white man’s burden, the civilizing impact of European Christianity on non-Europeans, justifying imperialism, or weighing in on eugenics / geopolitics / AI. While he undoubtably had / would have had views on some of those, they are not the subject of Mere Christianity
This is a more measured point that Lewis- despite being so well measured in his language and topic material in other respects- is going to inevitably discomfort people. Some of that discomfort is the subject matter. And some of that discomfort is a result of speaking from the internalized aspects of someone of his time and place and history.
That time and place, in turn, was the tail end of the British Empire.
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Part 3: The Meta-Context of “Mere Christianity” – Why It Is What It Was When
“Mere Christianity” is a product of its author and its time, which is to say the product of both World Wars.
C.S. Lewis is most known in retrospect for his literary career. He was a contemporary- and personal friend for some time- of J.R.R. Tolkien. Between the latter’s Lord of the Rings and the former’s Narnia, both published in the 1950s, he was part of the mid-20th century Christian-influenced literary fantasy movement that shaped a fair deal of modern fantasy literature. The Christian influences of Lord of the Rings are sometimes less known than the influences of LotR on the broader fantasy genre since, or the Christian influences in Narnia. Still, Lewis could be considered one of the more successful and influential authors of the mid-20th century ground just on the ‘mutual influence on and of fellow writers’ grounds alone. Of course, Lewis did more than that and is more broadly known as a specifically Christian writer and thinker in ways that Tolkien wasn’t… even though Tolkien actually had a hand in C.S. Lewis’s conversion to Christianity.
This is because a less-known part of Lewis’s history is that he was an atheist for the first half of his life. Born in 1898 and dying in 1963, Lewis was part of the World War 1 generation. He had his 19th birthday in the trenches of the Somme Valley, albeit the year after the 1916 battle of the Somme, and in 1918 he was wounded but survived a British artillery shell that fell short and killed two his companions. This remarkably unlikely event was a traumatic and influential part of Lewis’s life, and is recognizable in elements of his later writing, particularly Screwtape Letters. It is not, however, what triggered his conversion.
Lewis converted to Christianity in 1933, 15 years after his what some might have called his ‘miraculous’ survival. In reflections- including a few allusions in Mere Christianity- he references his eventual conversion as something that was grudging and resisted. Rather than view his experience at the time as a clear act of God and the basis of conversion in a ‘no atheists in a foxhole’, Lewis spent the next decade and a half dealing with it as a self-described temperamental atheist. From his later writings on his earlier mind set, one can imagine- though he does not specifically claim- that he would have bristled at someone of faith trying to tell him that he should feel grateful or religious because he survived when two others died beside him. Lewis’s eventual conversion was despite, not on the immediate basis of, that wartime experience.
Despite the experience and the self-professed anger, this is not the same as saying Lewis was disillusioned by World War 1 per see. Or at least, not in the way some might expect. As a product of his time in various ways, one of the anachronisms that separates Lewis from a more modern speaker is his frank and even meritorious view on nationalism. Lewis was not part of the generation that became disillusioned with nationalism entirely by WW1, in the way that some people now view it as a character flaw to feel. Rather, Lewis approaches nationalism in the sense of virtue ethics, where the moderation of an aspect is the key for it to be virtuous rather than a sin of excess or deficit. Lewis remained a moderate nationalist. When WW2 began, he volunteered to join the Home Guard auxiliaries despite his age and scars. He later declined a position in the British Honors System offered by Winston Churchill, due to concerns of perception.
This context matters because it probably helps explain why C.S. Lewis was selected to speak on BBC to the British public during WW2, the radio broadcasts of which are the basis / original form of Mere Christianity.
During the second world war, the British society was well into the gradual secularization from a strongly Christian nation to what we would recognize as more common today. According to a C.S. Lewis historians on the BBC approach at the time, the BBC wartime audience was roughly 1/3rd embracing religion, 1/3rd hostile against it, and 1/3rd neutral. It faced not only the challenge of a divided nation in terms of people’s views on religion, but also the issue of having a speaker who could speak to all of them at once. When higher-ranking, more senior, and more experienced of the Clergy were brought on, they struggled to connect with the audience, not least because they spoke in more theological/doctrinal/dogmatic terms that variously did not make sense or were viewed more negatively by the audience.
This is the sort of problem that Lewis was brought in for to work through. A former and self-described irritable atheist who understood the perspective that was hostile to religious pressures. A more junior layperson not inclined to the sort of doctrinal and technical sophistication that lost the casual or uncommitted audience. But also a believer to appeal to the other believers to come together and pull through in terms they would respond to. And, of course, a nationalist enough to still volunteer to serve, despite first-hand experience with the horrors and tragedies of WW1.
A cynical perspective is that the person or committee making the selection to Lewis could have these cynical considerations for selecting Lewis for what is, in crudest forms, a propaganda role. There is no requirement, or claim, of their own belief in God one way or the other, anymore than there is a requirement that they had to like or respect Lewis to put him on the podium.
But there is also little argument that ‘their’ cynical motive, if there was a ‘they’ like that in the first place, imposed itself onto Lewis’s stated views/
There are no serious arguments I am aware of that Lewis’s views expressed in the broadcasts or Mere Christianity were false or influenced or dictated by propagandists with him as the mere mouthpiece. While there were editing changes between adaptations from audio to text, there were no major post-war retractions of major arguments. Lewis’s views in the broadcasts that became “Mere Christianity,” while useful to them, were by all accounts his own. While you certainly could poison the well by believing everything he says is mere wartime propaganda, this would be the sort of lack of charity that avoids rather than engages with the argument.
The wartime context does, however, go some way towards explaining why Mere Christianity is organized as it is.
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Part 4: The Structure of Mere Christianity
Mere Christianity is organized to be easily broken down into short periods of engagement, not something you need to- or should- do all at once.
As a consolidated book, the PDF provided earlier is a modest 108 PDF pages, with the preface- the first real words from Lewis- starting on page 6. The just-over 100 pages of content are broken down to across four books of distinct themes, each book broken into distinct chapters of narrower topics. At 34 chapters across four books, 35 if you count the preface, you are averaging less than 3 pages a chapter. ‘Average’ does a lot of work here, since there is a good deal of variability on specific chapters, but this is something that can easily be a bit of bedtime reading.
As an audiobook, Mere Christianity is around 7 hours in total at normal speed, with each chapter averaging about 12 minutes. Again, average is doing some work here, but mostly in the favor of manageability. The longest chapter, “Christian Marriage,” is 21-and-a-half minutes. The next two longest chapters, the last two of the last book and the culmination of the series, are just over 20 and 19 minutes respectively. Everything else is shorter, and so feasible for even a short 15-minute commute.
After the preface, the four books in turn are build on four general themes. These themes provide a general arc from justifying why the audience should give some consideration to what follows, characterizing Christianity as a religion, Christian behaviors, and Christian purpose of what these are building towards.
(These are not the exact terms that Lewis himself uses, but consider this the review trying to reframe / rephrase for the Motte audience.)
The following books, and their chapters, will be elaborated more in the following section. What follows is just the structural organization.
The preface serves as both establishing context and as a series of disclaimers. Lewis’s first concern is to clear misapprehensions about what the series is not, chief of which is that it is/was not to convert the listener.
Book One, Right And Wrong As A Clue To The Meaning Of The Universe, is five chapters. The purpose of this book is to establish a basis of believing in God, even if not specifically the Christian God. It engages with some of the limits of a purely materialist world view.
Book Two, What Christians Believe, is also five chapters. The purpose of this book is to characterize core / common doctrinal of Christian tradition in general, distinct from other religions. It is a book where specific Christian denominations may take issue with specific parts in the sense of ‘this is not how we’d put it,’ but concede it as a bootstrap for others to start understanding Christianity.
Book Three, Christian Behavior, is twelve chapters. The purpose of this book is to characterize more specific aspects of what Christan tradition and what advocates in terms of practical beliefs and values. This is also the book where Lewis touches the most on human nature, and in ways that’d we recognize in relation to the culture war.
Book Four, Beyond Personality: Or First Steps In The Doctrine Of The Trinity, is eleven chapters. The purpose of this book is to introduce Christian Theology, in the capital-T sense of ‘the science of God.’ This is the conclusion, and the argument about how Christianity provides a practical, practicable, and reproducible process for becoming like God. (Or- Christ. See again books two and three.)
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Part 5: The Book 1 Review
Oh dear did I really do this
This section is a summary-review of the first book of Mere Christianity. It is not exhaustive but is intended to give a sense of the opening chapters and Lewis’s framing efforts. I include this mainly to illustrate Lewis’s ability to pursue both direct arguments and meta-argument in parallel, which becomes clear by chapter five. Also, Lewis has some good line drops I wanted to call out.
This also comes with the giant disclaimer that this is all my interpretation / understanding / summary, and that if you feel I missed some significant part of Lewis’s point… okay! Omissions are already admitted, as well as reorganization for the sake of summary and context. I am also using terms and characterizations other than his own words, so if you read this and then listen to it, don't be surprised.
Additionally, and hopefully it wouldn’t need to be said, I am trying to characterize, not endorse, the arguments that follow.
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Preface
The preface serves as both establishing context and as a series of disclaimers. Lewis’s first concern is to clear misapprehensions about what the series is not, chief of which is that it is/was not to convert the listener.
This section was written after the war broadcasts and is in some respects a response to feedback Lewis received after them. In it, he elaborates his intent on how he approached this. At the same time, this is a retroactive characterization the initial listeners/readers wouldn’t have had. It is useful to know this going in for your first time, but recognize that if you read this, you won’t have the same first impression someone else might have. (Then again- you won’t be listening during a German bombing campaign.)
Lewis makes clear that he is not taking a position on any specific denomination of Christianity, or any specific political topic. He views it as distracting from the point of the book but asserts it should not be interpreted as any position, for or against, any other position. Nor should it be viewed as omitting because he views the subject as too important, or not important enough.
Lewis spends a surprising number of words on how words lose value due to semantic drift. He specifically talks about how ‘good person’ and ‘good Christian’ are not the same thing, and how the conflation makes some words lose value in the sense that saying someone is not a good Christian can be perceived as a character attack of saying they are not a good person. This is a clear-minded distinction between a theological sense and a moral sense of ‘good,’ and his analogy to the transition of the meaning ‘gentlemen’ overlaps with the concept we’d call the euphemism treadmill.
Lewis makes a metaphor of Christianity to a house with many rooms but a shared hall. He places his own work- the Mere Christianity- as the invitation for people to come into the common all hall, but not to live there. He has Words (gentle but cautionary) on people who are undecided on which room they enter for reasons of personal taste rather than Truth.
Quote of the Chapter:
It is very difficult so to dissent from them that you will not appear to them a cad as well as a heretic.
/
Book One: Right And Wrong As A Clue To The Meaning Of The Universe
This was summarized earlier as-
Book One, Right And Wrong As A Clue To The Meaning Of The Universe, is five chapters. The purpose of this book is to establish a basis of believing in God, even if not specifically the Christian God. It engages with some of the limits of a purely materialist world view.
This book is not an argument on materialist grounds god exists. It is instead a series of arguments that collectively challenge the premise of a purely material view of the universe and people. It works on grounds that may or may not be compelling for abandoning the pure-materialist view in the first place, but more strongly challenges any attempt at compromise.
In other words, it is structured as an anti-motte and bailey argument in which it attempts to cut off a retreat to a potential motte.
Structurally, it treats pure-materialistic world views as the advantageous/expansive bailey which serves to discredit / ignore God. It starts by establishing the existence of a “Moral Law” that people recognize / appeal to on non-materialist grounds. It attempts to defend this position against materialist-based counterarguments of evolution or social convention. From there, it explores the implications of non-materialist law in the material universe that exists but does not obey the normal conventions of material laws of nature. It concludes by cutting off a retreat to syncretism- of a hybrid materialist-spiritualist world view that might be a nominal motte-compromise of ‘well, some of what you say may be true.’ This retreat is a… not trap, but rather the basis of a renewed argument thrust. If Moral Law is true and a part of the universe from a non-materialist source, it reveals implications that Humans can only respond to.
If you want to know how to defend your (dis)belief against this line of argument, the defense works by not conceding the Moral Law premise in the first place. This will most likely to be done by adapting the materialist counter-arguments on grounds of evolution (what he discusses in terms of a biological evolved herd instinct) and combining it with social evolution to argue that societies evolve values, rather than the values having a non-materialist source.
Or this is all what I would say… if there was not a trick revealed in chapter five, making all the above points about ‘winning’ the argument meaningless.
/
Chapter One: The Law of Human Nature
This chapter advances a claim that humans have an intrinsic sense of right or wrong that- even if they claim it doesn’t matter when it comes to them- they recognize others of violating instantly. This knowledge is in turn broadly applicable across time and cultures, with variations in morality being differences of emphasis, not type. Even when people disagree about whom is in the wrong, they all broadly have a sub-strata mutual agreement about the general nature of right and wrong. The differences are in degrees (what is emphasized or not), not in kind (no society or human instinct valorizes treachery against the society).
The existence of this shared understanding is not just akin to a law of nature, but is a law of nature in an original / older sense of the term. Like other laws of nature, it applies without having to be taught. People do not have to be taught a sense that others have wronged them, any more than gravity has to taught to the object it applies to. It is in the nature of the thing, even if various specifics (what the sense focuses on) are cultural.
However, the law of nature of human morality, or what he later calls moral law, is distinct from other laws of nature. It is a law of nature that does not work purely materialist grounds. People can choose to disobey, in ways they cannot choose to disobey gravity or thermodynamics. Disobeying is a choice that is not rooted in purely materialist grounds, any more than the existence of the shared understanding of wrong that exists across time / cultures / prior agreement.
These two points- that a moral law exists as a natural law, but that people can break it unlike purely material natural laws- is the starting point for establishing a non-material premise to the universe.
Quote of the Chapter:
But the most remarkable thing is this. Whenever you find a man who says he does not believe in a real Right and Wrong, you will find the same man going back on this a moment later. He may break his promise to you, but if you try breaking one to him, he will be complaining "It's not fair" before you can say Jack Robinson.
/
Chapter Two: Some Objections
This chapter is Lewis anticipating some arguments against the premise of the moral law.
One counterargument is that the moral law impulse is merely an evolved herd instinct, a biological impulse. Lewis does not dismiss that a herd instinct exists and does align it with things like maternal instinct. Lewis disputes that the moral law is an instinctual impulse- rather, he asserts it is the factor balancing instincts, the element that helps people know which herd instinct to suppress, and which to elevate, such as when someone is faced with persona danger to themselves, but also to another. The moral law is the judgement about which impulse to follow, not the choice of which to follow. In is the outside-context force that establishes what the ‘good zone’ of virtue ethics is so that no one herd instinct is taken to extreme, not the instinct or even decision itself.
A second counterargument is that moral law is just a social construct instilled into people by education. Lewis disputes this, in terms that can dispute a bit of contemporary post-modernism, everything is social convention.’ Part of his disputation is that the differences in the social construct disputes- what is formally educated by specific cultures- is very small between cultures and times, not very large, and thus the social construction angle is of marginal input.
The other, larger, argument is that a comparative judgement of better and thus worse moral systems has to be comparing them by some standard outside the claimed system itself. In order to say Nazi morality is wrong, despite Nazi morality saying itself was right, you have to be comparing to a more objective idea- a more ‘real’ morality. But if you embrace absolute moral relativity- not that this is the term he uses- then you have no argument to say the Nazi morality is objectively wrong. Objective moral denunciation requires an objective standard, outside of a social construct, for the social construct to be measured by. Once this concession is made, all moral systems- even those claiming to be the right one- can be tested by this outside-the-structure measure.
Quote of the Chapter:
For example, one man said to me, "Three hundred years ago people in England were putting witches to death. Was that what you call the Rule of Human Nature or Right Conduct?" But surely the reason we do not execute witches is that we do not believe there are such things.
If we did—if we really thought that there were people going about who had sold themselves to the devil and received supernatural powers from him in return and were using these powers to kill their neighbours or drive them mad or bring bad weather, surely we would all agree that if anyone deserved the death penalty, then these filthy quislings did. There is no difference of moral principle here: the difference is simply about matter of fact. It may be a great advance in knowledge not to believe in witches: there is no moral advance in not executing them when you do not think they are there. You would not call a man humane for ceasing to set mousetraps if he did so because he believed there were no mice in the house.
/
Chapter 3: The Reality of the Law
This chapter assumes success of chapter two in defending chapter one to advance the implications of the existence of the moral law.
This chapter advances the distinction in the purely materialist natural laws, where only facts (of physics) matter, and the moral law which has both facts (how people behave), but also something else (how people ought to behave). This non-purely materialist distinction is furthered by how people know how they ‘ought’ to behave even if they don’t.
Similarly, this ‘fact of what is’ and ‘fact of how ought’ is advanced by the difference in (not necessarily taught) moral instinct when the same action is done to you under different contexts, or even if the violation helps you. The person who accidentally trips you is a greater offense than the person who tried but failed to deliberately trip you despite the greater material impact. Additionally, the traitor who betrays the enemy in your favor is still triggering a moral instinct of wrongness, despite their utility. Moral law defies pure materialist predictors of instinctually endorsing material gains or condemning material costs.
Lewis also disputes that consequentialism alone is sufficient to explain this moral instinct. ‘Be unselfish because it is good for society’ begs the question of why ‘good for the society’ is not wrong, but is circular. The ‘why’ of a duty to be unselfish- the classic deontological question of ‘duty to whom?’- must come from outside to break the circular reasoning. This outside is the law of nature- the nature of the thing of what ‘ought’ to be, which is neither constructed by or even necessarily taught to humans, but which appears across time and cultures and social constructors.
Quote of the Chapter
Consequently, this Rule of Right and Wrong, or Law of Human Nature, or whatever you call it, must somehow or other be a real thing— a thing that is really there, not made up by ourselves.
/
Chapter 4: What Lies Behind the Law
This chapter advances the implications of the existence of the moral law on the rest of the universe by contesting pure materialism, and even hybrid materialist-spiritualism.
After reviewing key points so far- about how a non-material rule of nature exists and acts differently by being subject to choice to disobey- Lewis does a brief review of a purely materialist world view. Action and consequence all through history. However, Lewis contests materialism by noting the limits of materialism.
One of these is that accurate scientific observations can only record what is observed at a time in place- it must infer what is not observed. We can theorize that A is a consequence of B, but Science (the objective, testable, verifiable sort) does not claim to prove to have seen B. The overreach of science to things not actually claimed by observable / replicable science is dismissed as the more pop-cultural/fanciful (what we would deem political) use of science more by people other than professional scientists than actual scientists. Science also does not assert why what was there was there in the first place, i.e. why did the big bang originate into the universe. Science cannot observe it. If there was some actor responsible, it would still have to be inferred, or else inform the observer in another way.
Lewis makes an additional, longer, and harder to summarize series of arguments about the nature of observing the creation of universe from within the universe. This includes the difficulty of observing an outside-universe from within the boundaries of the universe. He uses the analogy of observing an architect from within the architecture he built. He concludes to a point that one of the ways to reason there is another actor is if it interacts and acts upon you in distinct ways. Say by establishing a force of nature that acts upon humans in way distinct from other, purely materialistic, forces of nature.
This ‘force’ is not claimed to be the God of Christian mythology, specifically. This is the ‘a god,’ not ‘the god’ stage of the argument. It is, however, as close to a mind as any other metaphor Lewis will use, because it seems interested in both establishing a non-materialist sense of right, and making people feel a sense of wrong.
Lewis then ends by promising you that you’ve heard to much about a nice and pleasant God for too long, and that you should be uneasy about what he’ll say in his next issue, helpfully titled “We Have Cause To Be Uneasy.”
*The chapter then breaks for a post-script subject on the merits, or weakness, of trying to synthesis pure materialism against pure religion. Lewis raises what was presumably more popular at the time, variously called creative evolution / life force philosophy. These entertain a spiritual origin to the universe to cover the gaps of materialism, but without the deliberate presence, purpose, or requirements of God in the religious sense. Lewis is not a fan.
Quote of the Chapter:
One reason why many people find Creative Evolution so attractive is that it gives one much of the emotional comfort of believing in God and none of the less pleasant consequences.
When you are feeling fit and the sun is shining and you do not want to believe that the whole universe is a mere mechanical dance of atoms, it is nice to be able to think of this great mysterious Force rolling on through the centuries and carrying you on its crest. If, on the other hand, you want to do something rather shabby, the Life-Force, being only a blind force, with no morals and no mind, will never interfere with you like that troublesome God we learned about when we were children. The Life-Force is a sort of tame God. You can switch it on when you want, but it will not bother you. All the thrills of religion and none of the cost. Is the Life-Force the greatest achievement of wishful thinking the world has yet seen?
/
Chapter 5: We Have Cause To Be Uneasy
This chapter begins with a not-quite apology to readers who feel they been tricked into a religious sermon, and that they were only listening to Lewis as long as he had something new to say. If all Lewis has is more religion, that already failed, it’d be like moving a clock back. Lewis counters this in three ways.
One is that going back the way you came is sometimes progress. Progress is going closer to where you want to be, and if you find yourself going the wrong way, progress is turning course even if that means turning back. The sooner one does, the wiser and truer they are to progress. (Yes- Lewis makes an argument that a reactionary can be progressive. Culture war of a different century.)
Second, Lewis reiterates that he is not yet arguing for the Christian God, merely a somebody or something beyond the moral law. Things can be inferred from the consideration of the moral law, since it counterbalances what can be inferred from the creation of the purely material universe. The universe may be a beautiful creation, but the material laws of nature are also pitiless and merciless to people. The moral law is the counterbalance, as the moral law creates the duty, and the discomfort, to make each other’s burdens easier (the practice of morality) in the pitiless material plane.
Second-point-five, this God described to date does not have to forgive you for your failures- and violations- of the Moral Law.
Lewis makes a distinction here between the construct he has said up to date- a creator force that dictates morality- and the Christian claim/interpretation. What Lewis is describing is the implications of a power behind the moral law, but not necessarily a personal god to have a personal relationship and- especially- forgive failure.
This is root of the implication of a moral law that is supposed to make you uneasy. If there is a force- a mind- behind the moral law, which again is a premise of a natural law that intrinsically is a part of you and that you know of, it doesn’t matter if you intellectually disagree with it or rationalize your excuses. Part of you- the natural part- is siding with this creator against yourself regardless, because that part innately agrees with the condemnation of greed/cruelty even if you’d rather it made exceptions for your own.
In this context, you are thus entering the crux of existential terror and nihilism (though Lewis doesn’t use those exact words). If there is no non-materialist moral law in the first place, for there being no creator or non-materialist purpose, then there is in turn no greater purpose to appeal or take solace in. It is moral relativism all the way down in a merciless material universe with no claim to an objective right and wrong. If, on the other hand, you do concede there is a creator who cared enough to create moral law, then you begin to concede that you are making yourself Its enemy through every failure and opposition. Facing judgement is Not Fun.
Third, this entire chain of reasoning does not exist to convince you that it is true. It exists to put you in a Christian frame of mind, so that the chapters to follow will make sense.
Lewis breaks flow, not character, to make an assertion on why people do not understand what Christianity is. (Remember the context- WW2 where 2/3rds of Brits were opposed or neutral on the topic.) People who do not think about the creation of the universe- not just how it functions in the present but before the observable parts- do not think in terms of the formation of natural laws. People who do not think in terms of natural laws may not think in terms of natural moral law. People do not think of natural moral law in turn may not think in terms of what it means if there is a creator behind that moral law. And people who are not thinking about the creator of a moral law, are probably not what it means to that creator when you choose to break it.
Lewis is not claiming that Christians think all of these things either. He is not even claiming indisputable correctness of these facts. What he is claiming, however, is that it’s hard to convince people of a need to repent if they don’t believe there was a transgression against something (moral law) or someone (the creator of said moral law) that they need to repent for.
The point does not hinge on if you are convinced by Lewis’s argument for a moral law and its creator. The point is that it will be hard to understand Christianity if you do not understand how these premises combine to form uncomfortable questions that Christianity claims to answer.
Understanding this connection is key to understanding Lewis’s portrait of Mere Christianity. It was also the sort of the purposeful combination of direct and meta-argument for illustration that convinced me to write this review.
Quote of the Chapter
Christianity tells people to repent and promises them forgiveness. It therefore has nothing (as far as I know) to say to people who do not know they have done anything to repent of and who do not feel that they need any forgiveness. It is after you have realised that there is a real Moral Law, and a Power behind the law, and that you have broken that law and put yourself wrong with that Power—it is after all this, and not a moment sooner, that Christianity begins to talk. When you know you are sick, you will listen to the doctor.
///
Conclusion
And… that’s the end of this book review, of sorts.
Going any further would not capture Lewis’s work well and my failed attempt to is a lot of time well spent but that I’m not getting back. Also, it would take too damn long. This review is already over 8,000 words. Any further and you might as well read or listen to it yourself.
Which, to be fair, is the point of this effort-review. If any of this has caught your interest, consider this your invitation to go get that audiobook. There is a lot to enjoy there, it makes good commute listening, and it doesn't demand a lot of time even as it gives a lot to think about. If you are the sort who comes to the Motte to build your understanding, Lewis is a person to build off of. Even if- or especially if- you disagree with him.
The C.S. Lewis Essential Audio Library is a bit over $40 USD on Amazon.
(Now, do I really want to try to review The Screwtape Letters...)
At the risk of doxxing myself, I have an advanced degree in Applied Mathematics. I have authored and contributed to multiple published papers, and hold a US patent all related to the use of machine learning in robotics and digital signal processing. I am currently employed as a supervising engineer by at a prominent tech company. For pseudonymity's sake I am not going to say which, but it is a name that you would recognize. I say this not to brag, but to establish some context for the following.
Imagine that you are someone who is deeply interested in space flight. You spend hours of your day thinking seriously about Orbital Mechanics and the implications of Relativity. One day you hear about a community devoted to discussing space travel and are excited at the prospect of participating. But when you get there what you find is a Star Trek fan-forum that is far more interested in talking about the Heisenberg compensators on fictional warp-drives than they are Hohmann transfers, thrust to ISP curves, or the effects on low-gravity on human physiology. That has essentially been my experience trying to discuss "Artificial Intelligence" with the rationalist community.
However at the behest of users such as @ArjinFerman and @07mk, and because X/Grok is once again in the news, I am going to take another stab at this.
Are "AI assistants" like Grok, Claude, Gemini, and DeepSeek intelligent?
I would say no, and in this post I am going to try to explain why, but to do so requires a discussion of what I think "intelligence" is and how LLMs work.
What is Intelligence
People have been philosophizing on the nature of intelligence for millennia, but for the purposes of our exercise (and my work) "intelligence" is a combination of perceptivity and reactivity. That is to say, the ability to perceive or take in new and/or changing information combined with the ability to change state based on that information. Both are necessary, and neither is sufficient on it's own. This is why Mathematicians and Computer Scientists often emphasize the use of terms like "Machine Learning" over "Artificial Intelligence" as an algorithms' behavior is almost never both.
If this definition feels unintuitive, consider it in the context of the following example. What I am saying is that an orangutan who waits until the Zookeeper is absent to use a tool to force the lock on it's enclosure is more "intelligent" than the insect that repeatedly throws itself against your kitchen window in an attempt to get outside. While they share an identical goal (to get outside) but the orangutan has demonstrated the ability to both perceive obstacles (IE the lock and the Zookeeper), and react dynamically to them in a way that the insect has not. Now obviously these qualities exist on a spectrum (try to swat a fly and it will react) but the combination of these two parameters define an axis along which we can work to evaluate both animals and algorithms, and as any good PM will tell you, the first step to solving any practical engineering problem is to identify your parameters.
Now the most common arguments for AI assistants like Grok being intelligent tend to be some variation on "Grok answered my question, ergo Grok is intelligent." or "Look at this paragraph Claude wrote, do you think you could do better?" but when evaluated against the above parameters, the ability to form grammatically correct sentences and the ability to answer questions are both orthogonal to it. An orangutan and a moth may be equally incapable of writing a Substack, but I don't expect anyone here to seriously argue that they are equally intelligent. By the same token a pocket calculator can answer questions, "what is the square root of 529?" being one example of such, but we don't typically think of pocket calculators as being "intelligent" do we?
To me, these sorts of arguments betray a significant anthropomorphic bias. That bias being the assumption that anything that a human finds complex or difficult must be computationally complex and vice versa. The truth is often the inverse. This bias leads people who do not have a background in a math or computer science to have completely unrealistic impressions of what sort of things are easy or difficult for a machine to do. For example, vector and matrix operations are a reasonably simple thing for a computer that a lot of human students struggle with. Meanwhile bipedal locomotion is something most humans do without even thinking, despite it being more computationally complex and prone to error than computing a cross product.
Speaking of vector operations, let's talk about how LLMs work...
What are LLMs
LLM stands for "Large Language Model". These models are a subset of artificial neural network that uses "Deep Learning" (essentially a fancy marketing buzzword for the combination of looping regression analysis with back-propagation) to encode a semantic token such as the word "cat" as a n-dimensional vector representing that token's relationship to the rest of the tokens in the training data. Now in actual practice these tokens can be anything, an image, an audio-clip, or a snippet of computer code, but for the purposes of this discussion I am going to assume that we are working with words/text. This process is referred to as "embedding" and what it does in effect is turn the word "cat" into something that a computer (or grad-student) can perform mathematical operations on. Any operation you might perform on a vector (addition, subtraction, transformation, matrix multiplication, etc...) can now be done on "cat".
Now because these vectors represent the relationship of the tokens to each other, words (and combinations of words) that have similar meanings will have vectors that are directionally aligned with each other. This has all sorts of interesting implications. For instance you can compute the dot product of two embedded vectors to determine whether their words are are synonyms, antonyms, or unrelated. This also allows you to do fun things like approximate the vector "cat" using the sum of the vectors "carnivorous" "quadruped" "mammal" and "feline", or subtract the vector "legs" from the vector "reptile" to find an approximation for the vector "snake". Please keep this concept of "directionality" in mind as it is important to understanding how LLMs behave, and it will come up later.
It should come as no surprise that some of the pioneers of this methodology in were also the brains behind Google Translate. You can basically take the embedded vector for "cat" from your English language model and pass it to your Spanish language model to find the vector "gato". Furthermore because all you are really doing is summing and comparing vectors you can do things like sum the vector "gato" in the Spanish model with the vector for the diminutive "-ito" and then pass it back to the English model to find the vector "kitten".
Now if what I am describing does not sound like an LLM to you, that is likely because most publicly available "LLMs" are not just an LLM. They are an LLM plus an additional interface layer that sits between the user and the actual language model. An LLM on its own is little more than a tool that turns words into math, but you can combine it with a second algorithm to do things like take in a block of text and do some distribution analysis to compute the most probable next word. This is essentially what is happening under the hood when you type a prompt into GPT or your assistant of choice.
Our Villain Lorem Epsom, and the Hallucination Problem
I've linked the YouTube video Badness = 0 a few times in prior discussions of AI as I find it to be both a solid introduction to LLMs for the lay-person, and an entertaining illustration of how anthropomorphic bias can cripple the discussion of "alignment". In it the author (who is a professor of Computer Science at Carnegie Mellon) posits a semi-demonic figure (akin to Scott Alexander's Moloch) named Lorem Epsom. The name is a play on the term Lorem Ipsom and represents the prioritization of appearance over all else. When it comes to writing, Lorem Epsom doesn't care about anything except filling the page with text that looks correct. Lorem Epsom is the kind of guy who, if you tell him that he made a mistake in the math, is liable interpret that as a personal attack. The ideas of "accuracy" "logic" "rigor" and "objective reality" are things that Lorem Epsom has heard of but that do not concern Lorem Epsom. It is very possible that you have had to deal with someone like Lorem Epsom in your life (I know I have), now think back and ask yourself how did that go?
I bring up Lorem Epsom because I think that understanding him provides some insight into why certain sorts of people are so easily fooled/taken in by AI Assistants like Claude and Grok. As discussed in the section above on "What is Intelligence", the assumption that the ability to fill a page with text is indicates the ability to perceive and react to a changing situation is an example of anthropomorphic bias. I think that a lot of people assume that because they are posing their question to a computer, they expect the answer they get to be something analogous to what they would get from a pocket calculator rather than from Lorem Epsom.
Sometime circa 2014 I kicked off a heated dispute in the comment section of a LessWrong post by asking EY why a paperclip maximizing AI that was capable of self-modification wouldn't just modify the number of paperclips in its memory. I was accused by him others and a number of others of missing the point, but I think they missed mine. The assumption that an Artificial Intelligence would not only have a notion of "truth", but assign value to it is another example of anthropomorphic bias. If you asked Lorem Epsom to maximize the number of paperclips, and he could theoretically "make" a billion-trillion paperclips simply by manipulating a few bits, why wouldn't he? It's so much more easier than cutting and bending wire.
In order to align an AI to care about truth and accuracy you first need a means of assessing and encoding truth and it turns out that this is a very difficult problem within the context of LLMs, bordering on mathematically impossible. Do you recall how LLMs encode meaning as a direction in n-dimensional space? I told you it was going to come up again.
Directionally speaking we may be able to determine that "true" is an antonym of "false" by computing their dot product. But this is not the same thing as being able to evaluate whether a statement is true or false. As an example "Mary has 2 children", "Mary has 4 children", and "Mary has 1024 children" may as well be identical statements from the perspective of an LLM. Mary has a number of children. That number is a power of 2. Now if the folks programming the interface layer were clever they might have it do something like estimate the most probable number of children based on the training data, but the number simply can not matter to the LLM the way it might matter to Mary, or to someone trying to figure out how many pizzas they ought to order for the family reunion because the "directionality" of one positive integer isn't all that different from any another. (This is why LLMs have such difficulty counting if you were wondering)
In addition to difficulty with numbers there is the more fundamental issue that directionality does not encode reality. The directionality of the statement "Donald Trump is the 47th President of the United States", would be identical regardless of whether Donald Trump won or lost the 2024 election. Directionally speaking there is no difference between a "real" court case and a "fictitious" court case with identical details.
The idea that there is a ineffable difference between true statements and false statements, or between hallucination and imagination is wholly human conceit. Simply put, a LLM that doesn't "hallucinate" doesn't generate text or images at all. It's literally just a search engine with extra steps.
What does this have to do with intelligence?
Recall that I characterized intelligence as a combination of perceptivity and and the ability to react/adapt. "AI assistants" as currently implemented struggle with both. This is partially because LLMs as currently implemented are largely static objects. They are neither able to take in new information, nor discard old. The information they have at time of embedding is the information they have. This imposes substantial loads on the context window of the interface layer, as any ability to "perceive" and subsequently "react" must happen within it's boundaries. Increasing the size of the window is non trivial as the relationship between the size of the window and the amount of memory and the number of FLOPS required is a hyperbolic curve. This is why we saw a sudden flurry of development following the release of Nvidia's multimodal framework and it's mostly been marginal improvements since. The last significant development being June of last year when the folks at Deepseek came up with some clever math to substantially reduce the size of the key value cache, but multiplicative reductions are no match for exponential growth.
This limited context window, coupled with the human tendency to anthropomorphize things is why AI Assistants sometimes appear "oblivious" or "naive" to the uninitiated. and why they seem to "double down" on mistakes. They can not perceive something that they have not been explicitly prompted to even if it is present in their training data. This limited context window is also why if you actually try to play a game of chess with Chat GPT it will forget the board-state and how pieces move after a few turns and promptly lose to a computer program written in 1976. Unlike a human player (or an Atari 2600 for that matter) your AI assistant can't just look at the board (or a representation of the board) and pick a move. This IMO places them solidly on the "insect" side of the perceptivity + reactivity spectrum.
Now there are some who have suggested that the context window problem can be solved by making the whole model less static by continuously updating and re-embedding tokens as the model runs, but I am skeptical that this would result in the sort of gains that AI boosters like Sam Altman claim. Not only would it be computationally prohibitive to do at scale, what experiments there have been (or at least that I am aware of) with self-updating language models, have quickly spun away into nonsense for reasons described in the section on Lorem Epsom., as barring some novel breakthrough in the embedding/tokenization process there is no real way to keep hallucinations and spurious inputs from rapidly overtaking the everything else.
It is already widely acknowledged amongst AI researchers and developers that the LLM-based architecture being pushed by OpenAI and DeepSeek is particularly ill-suited for any application where accuracy and/or autonomy are core concerns, and it seems to me that this unlikely to change without a complete ground-up redesign from first principles.
In conclusion, it is for the reasons above and many others that I do not believe that "AI Assistants" like Grok, Claude, and Gemini represent a viable path towards a "True AGI" along the lines of Skynet or Mr. Data, and if asked "which is smarter, Grok, Claude, Gemini, or an orangutan?" I am going to pick the orangutan every time.
DISCLAIMER: This is a very long post, it is the length of a novelette. I've edited the post to break it up into sections, hopefully that makes it easier to get through.
Hanoi:
It was 11pm, and my sister and I had just exited the airport into what felt like a more spacious, open-air version of Kowloon Walled City. The noise and chaos at the exit was palpable, and rows of people stood in front of the doors clutching handwritten placards bearing names of loved ones or clients they hoped to meet, all while touts amassed just outside, aggressively pitching taxi rides to any unfortunate travellers who wandered too close. Intense humidity pressed down on us, and a thick, choking smog permeated the air, almost as if cigarette smoke were blanketing the entire city. We had made it. At long last, after several flight delays and a long layover at Tan Son Nhat international airport, we were in Hanoi.
We booked a Grab to our hotel. The app gave us a vehicle number, but finding the actual car was another matter entirely, since the road outside the airport was a churning sea of cars and motorbikes. Our driver sent a photo of his location, and after several minutes of weaving between vehicles, clutching our backpacks and trying not to get flattened, we finally spotted his car. As we slowly pulled away from the airport, we noticed him quietly tapping out a message on his phone, and a moment later he ran it through a translator and handed it to us. It was a request in Vietnamese to cancel the ride in the app and pay him directly, presumably so he could avoid Grab's commission. We declined so as to not give up the reassurance of the app’s tracking, at least not five minutes into our first ride. He said nothing in response and drove us across the Red River, past rows of shacks and eateries, and into the winding alleys of the Old Quarter, where he finally dropped us off at our hotel. We collapsed onto the bed in our room upon arrival.
This was our very first proper experience in Vietnam, and it is probably the most intense culture shock I have ever felt. It goes without saying that travelling here without the help of a guide to arrange things on your behalf can be very stressful, and if you are sensitive to smells, sounds, crowds, heat, humidity, have terrible executive functioning or are generally easily made overwhelmed and uncomfortable, Vietnam is not for you. It's by far the craziest travel experience I have ever had - in both good and bad ways - and I certainly don't recommend it for anyone looking for a typical relaxing vacation. If anything, you'll need a vacation to relax after your vacation. But if you're willing to stick through the intense sensory overload, you'll see and do some of the coolest things you'll ever experience, stuff that you will be talking about for years after you've done them.
Hanoi has a storied history as the capital of Vietnam. In 1010, Emperor Ly Thai To relocated the capital from Hoa Lu to the location of the modern-day city, calling the new city Thang Long ("Rising Dragon"). It has remained the capital throughout Vietnamese history, excepting a brief period in the late 18th to early 20th century when the Tay Son Dynasty moved the capital south to Hue. During French rule, Hanoi was the capital of all of Indochina, and it has a large concentration of historic Vietnamese and French-style architecture as a result, as well as many spectacular and eclectic amalgamations of the two architectural styles. The city has developed over the years into an anarchic mish-mash of churches, temples, shacks and skyscrapers that barely seem to fit together, but somehow work to create a coherent and characterful urban fabric.
The Old Quarter is probably the most famous and recognisable part of the city, taking all of these aspects of the city and turbocharging them to an extreme. Established during the very inception of Thang Long, it is a historic district of 36 streets where craftsmen from villages around the city would assemble to sell goods, and even now each street is still named after a specific trade or guild, often starting with the word "Háng", the word for "wares" in Vietnamese. Many of these bustling streets continue to specialise in the same crafts they did centuries ago, but the area has modernised in a wonderfully haphazard way. Ancient temples packed with priceless relics sit shoulder to shoulder with crumbling French colonial facades, wedged between quirky little shops and cafes that look like they’ve been stacked on top of each other with zero planning. The Old Quarter practically invites you to check out every little nook and cranny, and large trees festooned with colourful lanterns cast some much-welcome shade over the pavements and roads while you wander around the maze of craft streets.
Of course, exploring is easier said than done. Sidewalks in Hanoi are virtually unusable - not only will restaurants and cafes arrange dinky little plastic tables and chairs on the pavement as an unofficial extension of their seating area, people will park their mopeds in rows on the sidewalk and even do their washing there while watching the world pass by. As a pedestrian, you're forced onto the very sides of the roads, alongside a veritable cornucopia of motorcycles and cars and bikes and rickshaws that endlessly jostle for space while honking loudly at each other. There is a lot of honking, too, since the road is so crowded that people honk not necessarily out of irritation and impatience, but simply use them in the same way one would a bicycle bell to let others know where they are. Crossing the road is much like playing a real-life version of Frogger - no one will stop for you, not even at pedestrian crossings; you just have to pick your moment, step out with confidence, and trust that the swarm of motorbikes will weave around you as you go (note: wait for cars, they will not stop). This can raise your blood pressure to dangerous levels at first, but you get used to it; by the second day I found myself crossing the street without stressing too much. There is always a base-line sense of anxiety, though - it's possible to encounter a motorcyclist that will not bother to move aside or account for where you're going, and things can occasionally get terrifying. If in doubt, just shadow a local. They move through the street with the nonchalance of someone who's done this a thousand times - because they have.
On our first day, we mainly just passed through the Old Quarter's buzzy streets while on our way to the complex of sites in and around Ba Dinh Square, the place where Ho Chi Minh first read the Declaration of Independence. Probably the most recognisable of these sites is the HCM mausoleum, a grey granite structure that serves as the resting place of the famous revolutionary, with his embalmed body entombed within a coffin inside a marble chamber. It's a hilariously extra thing to do, especially considering that his wish was to be cremated and to have his ashes placed within three urns in the north, centre and south of the country, but they preferred to follow in the footsteps of the USSR than honour the wishes of their beloved leader I suppose. The entire complex and much of the city surrounding the mausoleum can only be described as a weird communist fever dream, with screens playing videos of revolutionary material, big posters of "Uncle Ho" plastered everywhere, propaganda shops selling pamphlets of his face and viciously anti-American slogans meant to promote his surreal cult of personality, and so on. They’ve even enshrined the cars he used. I'll grant that the mausoleum itself is quite impressive, though we didn't do much in it - we basically stood in a line and moved slowly towards the mausoleum under the watchful eyes of soldiers, saw the embalmed body of the man himself, and left. Nearby we also visited the bright yellow Presidential Palace and the stilt house in which he lived from 1958 to 1969, yet another closely guarded relic which we were allowed just enough freedom to examine for less than a minute.
Frankly, it is such a weird place to be. We left with the strange sense that Ho Chi Minh was more than just a leader; rather, the man was the equivalent of Vietnamese Jesus. What made it even more uncanny is that there are apparently rumours that the body inside the coffin might not even be real, and some who were inside the Vietnamese military report that the actual body looks a lot less spry than the possible wax figure contained inside the mausoleum. I don't have an opinion on this, but I recommend it just for what a fascinating look it is into an extant modern-day cult of personality; one that's still in the process of being shaped.
We popped into a cafe outside the mausoleum and grabbed a coconut coffee (which was excellent, by the way), then moved on. The next place we decided to hit up was the ancient Temple of Literature, a Confucian temple founded by Ly Thanh Tong in 1070. It's a historic site of serious importance in that it hosted the country's first national university, one that continuously ran for 700 years straight and educated many bureaucrats, nobility and other elite members of Vietnamese society. We entered the temple through a beautiful white stone gate, and passed through five exquisitely landscaped courtyards filled to the brim with Confucian statuary and historic turtle steles honouring those who passed the royal exams. The temple was bustling with both tourists and graduating children when we visited; I suppose there's an informal tradition of bringing those who have passed their exams here to honour them.
We then headed northeast so we could visit the remains of the Thang Long imperial citadel, established during the very founding of the city in the 11th century. It was built on the former remains of a Chinese fortress dating back to the 7th century and was the seat of the Vietnamese court for centuries before it was moved to Hue. Initially, it was built in three concentric circles consisting of a defensive fortification, an imperial city, and an inner forbidden city. The Ly and Tran court expanded and renovated the complex year upon year, and after the Le Dynasty expelled Ming China from Vietnam they renamed it Dong Kinh and ordered repairs to the citadel. Even after the tumult of the Mac Dynasty and the lengthy civil war between it and the Revival Le Dynasty, the structure of the citadel was largely preserved. After the destructive war between the Nguyen and Tay Son, Gia Long (the founder of the Nguyen Dynasty; more on him later) ordered a large-scale reconstruction of the Thang Long citadel, rebuilding much of it in their own syncretic Vauban-inspired style. Much of the extant structures in Thang Long date to this period, though we found not too much left when we visited since most of it was razed during French colonisation to make space for barracks. The remaining major structures were the impressive Doan Mon Gate, the Flag Tower, Hau Lau palace and the North Gate, with much of the site being an archeological complex containing many remnants from the previous dynasties. Large amounts of ceramics and other artefacts have been found during archeological digs, spanning many centuries of Vietnamese history. We visited all of the main areas, as well as a small museum within the complex meant to showcase some of the finds and describe the storied history of the former imperial centre.
After seeing the citadel, we walked northwards towards the West Lake and passed a scenic concentration of French-style architecture on our way there, including one of the most important and beautiful Catholic churches in Hanoi: Cua Bac Parish Church. It's a large custard-yellow church built in front of the North Gate, designed by French architect Ernest Hebrard in eclectic style with strong hints of art deco decoration. He also incorporated traditional Vietnamese stylistic elements into the design of the church, making it a fascinating example of French-Vietnamese syncretic architecture. It's situated in a nice tree-filled lane that's absolutely covered from top to toe with gorgeous villas; so much so that it almost feels like walking in a Wes Anderson movie.
There are a good number of important historic temples dotted around the shores of the West Lake. The first one we visited was Quan Thanh Temple, a relatively quiet 11th century Taoist religious site featuring a mammoth 9-tonne bronze statue of Tran Vu cast in 1677. It's a monumental piece of Vietnamese artistry; in my opinion the altar is the most spectacular one in Hanoi and it's my single favourite religious site in the entire city for that reason alone. The next temple we visited, Tran Quoc Pagoda, was a famous Buddhist temple situated on an island in the middle of the West Lake with a history dating back to the 6th century, making it the oldest temple in Hanoi (though, most of the extant structures date to the 17th century). It boasts a spectacular 11-story stupa that's 15 metres in height, with each story containing a gemstone statue of the Amitabha Buddha.
On our second night in Hanoi, we visited Thang Long Water Puppet Theatre. It's a theatre that specialises in water puppetry shows, a traditional Vietic performance art that boasts a history stretching all the way back to the 11th century. Such shows were originally conducted in wet rice farms, involving small groups of performers who moved beautiful lacquered puppets through the waist-deep paddies while musicians played Vietnamese orchestral music and sung chéo operatic folkstories, and these performances can still be found throughout the country in pagodas and theatres. For our part, we were highly impressed by how these performers used the watery setting to its fullest extent, complete with very creatively designed puppets capable of floating and bobbing through the pool and even spitting water out at each other. There was a small English audio guide to the show which we paid for, though in retrospect I don't think it was very necessary - the folk stories are mostly told through the puppetry itself, and the plots are simple enough that one can usually grasp it on their own. Most of these stories paint humorous and whimsical pictures of rural Vietnamese life, and unless you're a total cynic I think it's impossible not to be at least a little bit charmed by it.
We woke up the second day and ate complementary breakfast in the top floor of our hotel, then left to explore the Old Quarter properly. It quickly became one of my favourite places in Hanoi - there’s always something interesting to find within these streets, and it’s very worth ducking into little holes in the wall to see what’s inside. When we were there we visited many quiet temples nestled within the urban sprawl, the oldest of which was the 11th-century Bach Ma Temple, its gilded, dimly-lit halls still perfumed with the sweet aroma of incense. Other times we found charming little outlets like a cafe hailing from 1946 which was the first cafe to serve Vietnamese egg coffee, a strong Robusta coffee made sweet and rich with a whipped cream topping made from raw eggs and condensed milk (as an aside, Vietnamese coffee is generally amazing, unsurprisingly so for a country that produces so much of it). There were also many historic residences hidden within the scrawl of shacks such as 87 Ma May ancient house, a well-preserved Hanoian house from the late 19th century complete with a traditional store and household altar. I was pleasantly surprised by the Old Quarter, really; I've heard Vietnamese call it a "tourist ghetto" but it's popular for a good reason - there's a bottomless depth to these old craft streets that's truly unparalleled. It feels like you could live here for years and still keep discovering new things within it.
At the south end of the Old Quarter is Hoan Kiem Lake, a natural freshwater body surrounded by leafy, tree-filled lanes. According to a Vietnamese legend, Emperor Le Loi (the rebel leader who defeated Ming China and established the Later Le Dynasty, the longest running Vietnamese dynasty in history) was granted a magic sword by the Dragon King, which he used to wage his wars and reclaim Vietnamese sovereignty. Later on, a turtle god from the lake acting on behalf of its master asked for the sword back, which he graciously returned, and from then on he renamed the lake to its current title, which means "Lake of the Returned Sword". There are many towers and temples in and around the area, the most recognisable being Thap Rua (Turtle Tower), an iconic structure in the lake that's been rebuilt many times ever since its construction in the 1400s, with the current structure built in 1886 in honour of Le Loi.
There's also Ngoc Son Temple, a delightful little religious site on an island with a bright red bridge leading to it. It was built in the early 19th century and originally devoted to the Three Sages, but soon the Vietnamese national hero who repelled the Mongol invasions, Tran Hung Dao, was incorporated into the temple as well. We entered through a colourful gate that guarded the entrance to the complex, which led to a small but atmospheric collection of golden-red buildings with scenic views of the lake. There are many parts of Hanoi that are very beautiful, and they're like calm oases within the sheer chaos that typifies most of the city, though they can get weird at times. In one particularly strange temple hall, we managed to find the preserved remnants of giant turtles from Hoan Kiem Lake, meant to pay homage to Le Loi's heavenly encounter.
In Vietnam, it's never possible to get too comfortable: when walking around the lake there we came across a number of pushy touts that tried to sell us cyclo rides. This got irritating quick, but it was also interesting since I did notice they were not uncommon on the streets - they've long been phased out in many rapidly-modernising Southeast Asian countries where they're mostly considered a relic of the past, but apparently not in Vietnam - I suppose traffic in many Hanoian streets remains so congested and slow that using a rickshaw is still a viable method of transport, though it seems to be something tourists primarily use at this point. In general, we dealt with them by ignoring them and walking away; they'll take the hint and won't bother you after a short while.
However, an unpleasant aspect of Hanoi that's much harder to ignore (at least for those who are sensitive to noxious smells) is the at-times intense air pollution. Your experience probably depends on the time of year you visit, but it can get bad, and towards the end of our second day we were feeling very faint and needed to pop into Lotte Tower just for the filtered air. Seriously, if you can't take that, I suggest skipping Hanoi, or at most spending one day in the city just to see what it's like. There's a lot of beautiful historical buildings and artefacts in it as well as many charming streets, but the dense smog that often blankets the city can make one feel like all these priceless relics and bits of culture have somehow been cast into hell. So consider where your comfort level lies and decide accordingly.
Ultimately, my experience with Hanoi was one of blistering contradictions; it's a city that's packed to the brim with intoxicatingly rich heritage and culture, run by a highly propagandising communist government (on paper at least) that seems intent on promoting an intense cult of personality, but in spite of that the city itself can feel hilariously overwhelming, polluted and anarchic, without regard for any concept of "collective good". It’s almost like a Vietnamese version of Victorian London, except even stranger because it feels like a bunch of wet-rice farmers have been unceremoniously thrust into industrial modernity; many habits like washing dishes on the cramped sidewalks and using motorcycles as an automated extension of bikes seem to be directly cribbed from village culture, except they’re doing so in an overcrowded metropolis absolutely not suited for these practices. I have no idea how anything gets done in this ant farm of a city, but Vietnam is the fastest growing economy in Southeast Asia and has managed to monopolise a large amount of world manufacturing so clearly they're doing something right. I really wonder how they’ll continue to modernise as time goes on.
We returned to our hotel once we were done sightseeing (the sheer overload was seriously tiring us out by this point) and climbed into a bus booked for us by our accommodation; the driver promptly took us out of the crowded streets of Hanoi and turned into a country road that led deep into the rice farms of rural Vietnam. The ride took about two hours, and it was maybe the most bumpy and loud ride I've ever had on any vacation. Our driver drove into the night, all the while honking at motorcyclists and cars as he went, speaking loudly on his phone, and rolling down his window to talk to random people - at one point he stopped and repeatedly yelled something at us in Vietnamese; we had no clue what he was saying. He continued on to our destination anyway and we heaved a deep collective sigh of relief. When you're in the Southeast Asian countryside, you certainly don't want to be left stranded on the side of the road.
He stopped the car in an isolated, unpaved road in the middle of nowhere, and we stepped out into the darkness. A slight drizzle had begun, so we ducked into a small complex of lakeside bungalows and asked for our room. The man at the counter was very welcoming to us - maybe the first person in all of Vietnam so far that hadn't been completely and utterly incomprehensible - and made some friendly conversation before handing us the keys to our room and showing us how everything worked. We ate some food at the small dining area they provided, then hunkered down in the cosy wooden room and got ready to sleep. Before we turned off the lights in the bungalow, we heard an animal crawling on our roof.
Trang An:
The next morning, we woke up with sun shining on our faces; pulling down the blinds revealed large limestone peaks reflected in a shallow lake. We were now deep within the Trang An landscape complex, a stunning karst-filled region of the Red River Delta that looms large in the country's history, having been continuously inhabited for 30,000 years straight. Bowls of chicken pho came to us as soon as we sat down at the dining area, though it featured very light broth that was barely spiced.
Once we were done with breakfast we called a Grab car, which slowly made its way through a maze of bumpy, poorly maintained roads to drop us off at the entrance to Mua Caves, a site that's much more famous for its breathtaking lookout over the limestone mountains and rice paddies than it is for any of its caves. This is a popular site to visit, and the area around the mountain contains some overpriced amenities meant to gouge exhausted tourists. The route to the top involved a steep climb up 500 steps, and we did the trek in suffocating heat and humidity that made us feel like we were going to drop dead at any second - the final section of the climb leading to a dragon sculpture at the top of the mountain involved an unfenced scramble up steep rocks in blazing sun, it was so precarious that I'm surprised it hasn't killed someone yet. Though the views were well worth it; as we climbed the panoramic view over the landscape complex became ever more beautiful, and we witnessed a number of wild goats climbing the steep cliffs along the trail we were following. Upon reaching the bottom of the mountain we grudgingly dragged ourselves into one of these overpriced stalls and grabbed a drink. We were so parched that even after leaving the site a man in a shack hollered at us selling sugarcane juice and coconuts and we happily accepted. He hacked apart coconuts on the side of the road for us, which we polished off with gusto.
Note that very few Vietnamese restaurants or cafes have air-conditioning at all - they mostly just give you a cold drink and turn a fan on you, which is not sufficient to deal with the blazing heat and humidity that the entire country experiences in early summer. I can't imagine how it would feel during the hottest part of the year; according to one of our Grab drivers North Vietnam reaches 40+ degree temperatures at the height of summer, which would be absolutely debilitating especially considering how muggy the country is. We found ourselves soaked with sweat every single day of the trip, and it was necessary for us to grab a drink or two after every stop if we didn't want to collapse from exhaustion.
After recovering we grabbed another car to Thai Vi Temple at the south end of the landscape complex. It's a 13th century temple that was built on the site of the former Vu Lam Palace Complex, a military base constructed during the Tran Dynasty to prepare for attacks from the Mongols. The temple pays homage to the old Tran kings, and it's a serene, minimal complex with a front gate flanked by two stone horse statues. The courtyard is surrounded by symmetrically placed tropical ponds and bell towers, and it looks out to a main hall supported by many carved stone pillars. Its interior features many gilded idols of Vietnamese royalty, and when we visited there was an old man inside playing a traditional instrument that granted the temple a tranquil atmosphere. Thai Vi is not the most important temple in Vietnam nor is it the one with the most impressive artistry, it's in fact one of the smaller temples, but in a country where there are shrines around every corner this was one of the most atmospheric ones.
We walked out of Thai Vi on foot, past small little shrines and graves nestled deep within the limestone hills, and grabbed a coconut coffee as well as some spring rolls from a roadside cafe with a bucolic view of the paddy fields. This didn't satiate our hunger, so we also got ourselves a northern style banh mi from the nearby town of Tam Coc (it was tasty and enjoyable enough after a day of exploring, but was rather plain; as is most Northern Vietnamese food). After that we made our way to Bich Dong Pagoda, a set of cosy Buddhist temples nestled into a mountainside with a history dating back to 1428. We walked through a path that passed through a large gate surrounded by rainforest, leading into a series of lovely cave temple halls with a large array of Buddhist statuary tucked behind the stalactites and formations. I enjoyed this temple a lot as well; it was very ethereal and offered views of the forested limestone hills as we climbed up to the caves. The Trang An landscape complex in general has some of the most alluring temples in all of Vietnam, and Thai Vi and Bich Dong alike are no exception.
The next day we decided to take a boat tour around the rivers and waterways of Trang An. We got into a line to board the boats, and were surprised at the sheer insanity of Vietnamese queues - there was no sense of personal space whatsoever, and said queue felt less like a line and more like a competition to see who could cut in front of others the most successfully. To get anywhere in the queue, we had to be very aggressive, and even then it wasn't a smooth or quick experience. There was a woman behind me holding a child, and she stood so close that her kid was kicking me in the back. Every time we moved she would walk ahead so that the tip of her shoe was touching the back of mine; I attempted to compensate by placing my right foot far behind me but eventually just let her through the queue because I was so fed up with having to watch where I stood. This kind of Molochian tragedy of the commons is something that seems to be common in many parts of Vietnam, and while it's fascinating to witness it's also endlessly frustrating and isn't the easiest thing to get used to. Vietnamese aren't stupid about it either; they keenly understand that it isn't ideal, and many of the people we talked to mentioned these as problems.
Things were much more manageable once we actually went on the boat tour; the crowds dispersed and we had space to ourselves. Everyone went in groups of four, and since we were a bit apprehensive about what being in a small boat with Vietnamese would be like we picked up some foreigners for our group then climbed into a rickety boat with a local man who would be rowing us. He immediately tapped me on the shoulder, then passed me - the only guy on the boat - an oar. Apparently, I paid for the coveted experience of doing half (realistically less than a third) of the work of rowing myself, the guide, and three other women to our destination.
So we put on our lifejackets and I got to work. Some other members of the tour intermittently participated in rowing, but I was doing so for almost the entire three hours of the tour, to the point that my arms felt like they were going to fall off. The landscapes we saw were worth the effort, though; we rowed through lush little waterways flanked on each side by towering peaks, ventured into sinuous half-flooded caves decorated with small formations, and visited stunning isolated temples that could only be reached by boat. The Temple of Cao Son was the first one we came across, and what greeted us when we clambered onto shore was an impressive wooden three-story temple hall, complete with gold finishings and a towering statue of Cao Son, the god of the mountain. There were also many ancillary halls nearby, the most spectacular of which was festooned with intricate golden canopies and had a gleaming pagoda-like structure at its very core. Every single one of these temples were framed by breathtaking views of mountains and rainforests, and we spent so much time there that it irritated our guide, who firmly told us "Temple, 10 minute" once we got back into the boat.
We eventually stopped again at a picturesque pagoda jutting out from deep inside the waters of the channel, where he pointed at our cameras and said "Photo". The two French women who were accompanying us on the boat ride snapped a shot, and when it came to our turn we tried to say it wasn't necessary. In response he just turned the boat in a more favourable direction and pointed again. Throughout the tour he treated the entire affair in a doggedly prescriptive way, like he was ordered to check off items on a list; you will stop at this site and you will take the approved amount of time and you will take a photo. It's frankly a bizarre way to treat tourism, and one gets the sense that any kind of remotely responsive customer service culture does not exist in Vietnam at all. Again, it feels like a bunch of rural rice farmers discovering that tourists exist and you can make money off them, but without any real idea of how to cater to them. I'm actually inclined to say it adds to the authenticity of the experience.
The next place we docked at was Suoi Tien Temple, a tranquil complex with an elegant two-story main hall dedicated to Quy Minh, a god of land and water that features in Vietnamese legend. Conscious of how long we were taking this time, we timed ourselves while exploring the temple complex and even managed to grab a few pictures despite the time limit, though the deeper chambers of the temple containing heaps of sumptuous folk-religious Vietnamese artistry did not allow photos. We got back to our boat, without objection from our guide, and ventured into yet another narrow waterway shadowed by mountains.
Our last stop was the Vu Lam Royal Step-Over Palace, founded on yet another section of the Tran kings' military base when they were preparing for the Mongol invasion. This is one of the most picturesque sites in Trang An and is probably the largest temple complex we saw while on the boat tour. The many halls of this site enshrined many statues of what I believe to be Tran Dynasty monarchs, as well as large protector deities that stood guard at the temples' entrances. Probably my favourite temple interior of the whole trip was situated at the very back of the complex, featuring a colourful room with multiple ornate maroon and blue canopies draped around an idol. I can't find too much information about the history of the current modern-day complex, but I'm guessing it's not too old; there's Quoc Ngu writing on a number of the temples so it's likely these temple halls were built in commemoration of the old military base. I wouldn't imagine that wooden structures would persist very well in the muggy Vietnamese climate anyway; even stone and concrete tends to suffer damage quickly when exposed to these tropical conditions.
Once we left the boat, we bought some tea, desserts and pomelo from a shop nearby the ticket office. They offered us a small bag of spice and salt to dip the pomelo segments into, and eating it like that made it far more of a savoury affair. It's interesting! I'm actually not sure why this method of eating fruit hasn't caught on more outside of Southeast Asia, it scratches a strange itch I didn't even know existed. We polished off our meal then jumped into yet another Grab car which took us to the Hoa Lu Ancient Capital, the site of an early Vietnamese cultural, political and religious centre during the late 10th century which played host to some of Vietnam's first independent imperial dynasties; the Dinh, founded by Dinh Tien Hoang, and the Early Le, founded by Le Dai Hanh.
So, some historical context: Dinh Tien Hoang was born as Dinh Bo Linh in Hoa Lu, where he became a military leader at a young age. He saw the establishment of the first semi-independent Vietnamese dynasty (the short-lived Ngo Dynasty), but it was an unstable state, simultaneously unable to gain recognition from the Chinese state and unable to subdue its own regional chiefs. This led to a situation known as the "Anarchy of the Twelve Warlords", where all the regional Vietnamese warlords in practice ruled their own autonomous parts of the Red River Delta with the Ngo kings themselves holding little real power. Dinh Bo Linh effectively conquered his way through each regional warlord's territory one after another and paved the way for the first truly independent unified Vietnamese state, establishing the nation of Dai Co Viet and setting the capital at Hoa Lu. The mountainous limestone topography of the area was strategically chosen so as to make the capital impregnable to attack, with any gaps between the mountains covered by earthen walls ten metres high and fifteen metres thick. Some sections of the wall still exist, and have been excavated by archaeologists.
In 979, Dinh Tien Hoang and his son Dinh Lien were murdered in their sleep by Do Thich, a eunuch attempting to usurp the throne (subsequently, his body was cut into small pieces). After this, it seemed the natural successor would be his surviving six-year-old son Dinh Toan. However, Dinh Tien Hoang's wife and now empress dowager to Dinh Toan, Queen Duong Van Nga, wanted the regent Le Hoan (posthumously titled Le Dai Hanh) to become emperor instead so that Dai Co Viet could have an emperor capable of withstanding the Song invasion, who were trying to take advantage of the political tumult in Dai Viet to reassert control over the area (note Duong Van Nga later became his empress). So in 980 Dinh Toan was deposed and power was transferred from the Dinh clan to the Le clan, marking the beginning of the Early Le Dynasty. In early 981 Emperor Taizong ordered general Hou Renbao to advance into Dai Co Viet, who scored some early military victories over the Viet armies due to their overwhelming manpower, but the Song were decimated by malaria and started infighting. Le Dai Hanh staged an ambush at Chi Lang and managed to capture Hou Renbao and eradicate half of the remaining Song armies, forcing a retreat. Upon return, they were executed in Kaifeng for their military failures.
While all this was happening, Paramesvaravarman I of the southern Hindu-Buddhist state of Champa was also trying to capitalise on all the tumult. On the advice of Ngo Nhat Khanh, an exiled former Vietnamese warlord that ruled during the Ngo dynasty, he sent an expedition into Vietnam in late 979, but it was scuttled by a typhoon; Ngo Nhat Khanh drowned along with the fleet. After repelling the Song invasion, Le Dai Hanh attempted to send envoys to Champa, but Paramesvaravarman I detained them, which incited retaliation from Dai Co Viet. The Viets invaded Champa in 982, killed Parmesvaravarman, and sacked the capital of Indrapura, seizing much territory for themselves. Frankly, it's comical just how tumultuous and eventful Vietnamese history is. It reminds me of that gameplay/lore meme: Vietnam gameplay; rice farming. Vietnam lore; basically Game of Thrones.
We pulled up to the site of the ancient capital and noted there wasn't much left of the old political and ceremonial centre; most of what there was to see on the site were extant 17th century temples dedicated to Dinh Tien Hoang and Le Dai Hanh, along with their tombs (constructed later as well), which I would say is still of some historical interest. The temples had a particularly solemn vibe to them; Dinh Tien Hoang's temple was framed by a unique obelisk-like gate and featured a monumental stone pedestal of a royal throne at the front of the main hall. His tomb was situated on a hill which we had to climb, something that was excruciatingly unpleasant in the hot muggy weather. Le Dai Hanh's temple was just a short walk away and it was decorated with small courtyards and rock gardens, with stately banyans framing many of the temple halls. Behind Le Dai Hanh's temple stood a small and most importantly mildly chilly museum displaying some remnants from the old dynastic capital. There was a fenced-off hole in the floor showcasing an archeological site with some brickwork from what used to be a massive palace, which is pretty much all that's left of the original structure. Outside of the temples there were women aggressively marketing hand fans and hats to people, they came up to us and tried to offer products to alleviate the heat. It was boiling, so my sister actually did buy a hand fan which she used throughout the rest of the holiday.
That night, we visited the largest town in the area, also named Hoa Lu. We entered a janky local restaurant and ordered some bun cha and banh cuon, which came out in no time at all. The local style of bun cha featured cut up blocks of rice vermicelli, which we paired with some herbs and grilled pork and dipped into a zesty sauce. It was good, but we preferred the banh cuon, which used soft flat rice noodles instead and just had a better texture. After that we went for some che, a broad category of Vietnamese coconut milk-based dessert soups - the style we got included large heapings of durian and jellies and it was divine. We also had some durian crepes, which were unbelievably light and fluffy.
The next stop in Hoa Lu was the Ky Lan lake park, a series of walking streets centred around a lake festooned with glowing lanterns. There were many stores in the area selling snacks and paraphernalia, and while it was definitely tourist-oriented we didn't really mind. In the middle of the lake there were a number of modern pagoda-style temples full of intricate relief carvings which were crawling with people, and interestingly enough despite their recentness and lack of traditionality there were many people using them as active religious sites; I saw many locals standing in front of the idols and briefly praying to them. I think this is a fairly fun short excursion in Hoa Lu at night; it's not a main attraction but it's a buzzy and festive part of the town with some pleasant things to see.
We spent our last day at Trang An visiting Bai Dinh Pagoda, one of the most substantial Buddhist temple complexes in Southeast Asia. The old part of the temple is located 800 metres or so from the larger new temple, and features a collection of shrines dating back to the 11th century. The new part of the temple was built in 2003, and boasts multiple records such as the largest gilded bronze Buddha in Asia, the tallest stupa in Asia, the largest arhat corridor in Asia, and so on. It was built in traditional style by artisans from nearby craft villages, and it is gigantic. We travelled around the complex with the help of some electric buses, and it still took us the entire day to explore the whole thing. At some point, we were offered a herbal foot bath, which... involved us soaking our feet in warm herb water for twenty minutes; it did make our feet feel softer though I'm pretty certain the herbs had basically no effect. Probably my favourite part of Bai Dinh was the ancient pagoda towards the back of the complex - we entered the old temple through a gate surrounded by forest and walked up a large flight of stone steps towards two cave temples decorated with a large array of Buddhist statues. One of them contained a subterranean lake surrounded by carvings of dragons and draped cave formations, filled with smoke and incense and wreathed in a warm glow. It was very dreamy, I quite enjoyed my time there.
At this point we were rather templed out, so we returned to our accommodation. Our Grab driver took us past the limestone hills of Trang An one last time, stopping every now and then as cattle crossed the road, and when we got back we boarded a transfer which took us all the way past the centre of Hanoi to Noi Bai airport. We stayed for the night in the airport in a VATC sleep pod which was barely large enough for the two of us, mostly consisting of a bunkbed, a bedside table and an air conditioning unit. Every single time either of us needed to relieve ourselves, we had to take the keycard out of the slot and head to the airport toilets, which cut all power to the sleep pod and meant air conditioning, lights, etc would be shut off for the sibling who remained in the pod while the other was taking a piss. This was not a problem when both of us were awake, since we could leave the keycard in the pod and just knock on the door to get back in, but in the dead of night when everyone was asleep this wasn't a particularly good solution. So the pod would just be left without power, getting hotter and hotter by the second until the other member returned. This was probably the most claustrophobic accommodation we had the entire trip and I'm not sure I fully slept that night.
Phong Nha:
The next morning we boarded a flight to Dong Hoi in central Vietnam, and as soon as we landed we were picked up by a vehicle we'd arranged for beforehand. As we drove out of the city, the narrow strip of coastal plain that characterised most of Central Vietnam gradually gave way to dense, mountainous terrain near the border with Laos; along the way we passed seemingly endless streets lined with worn, crumbling stalls. Eventually our driver pulled into a small cluster of shacks along a tranquil river, framed by towering rainforest-covered peaks. Without a word, he left us there. We were now in Phong Nha, and this was the point when the trip transformed from "extremely fascinating if a bit jarring" into "once-in-a-lifetime experience". This place is one of the highlights not only of Vietnam, but of all of Southeast Asia.
In spite of its isolation, Phong Nha has a very tumultuous history. During the Vietnam War it was a staging point for the Ho Chi Minh Trail, the supply line that kept soldiers supplied with personnel, weapons and food in the US-occupied South Vietnam. Supplies would be stored in the caves of the area and reloaded onto vehicles or bicycles for the trip south below the DMZ; some of them were even used as hospitals, such as Phong Nha Cave which doubled as a hospital and munitions store. PAVN soldiers would spend a few weeks of final training at Phong Nha before heading to the front. Due to its critical nature for the North Vietnamese forces, the US conducted aggressive aerial bombings of the area and defoliated it with tons of Agent Orange so as to strip the trail of natural cover. Hell, it might have even been the most heavily bombed area in the entire country during the war, which is saying something considering just how much damage Vietnam generally suffered. Russia and China only amplified this chaos by supplying anti-aircraft artillery to counteract the American aggression. Unsurprisingly, this area contains some of the highest concentrations of unexploded ordnance in Vietnam.
Just from looking at the town now, one would never guess that anything at all had happened here (unless you wander into places like Bomb Crater Bar, which is exactly what it sounds like). For the most part we found a sleepy, picturesque hamlet with a main street that looked more like a cluster of shacks than any kind of town centre; most of the shops were basically deserted. We spent the first day in Phong Nha doing nothing but hopping between cafes in the area. Our first meal featured coconut coffee, mango smoothies, and tomato tofu, which we devoured at a table overlooking the Son River. As we ate, boats drifted by lazily, dwarfed by the towering mountains on either side. Later, we stopped at a small, tranquil restaurant for cocktails and smoothie bowls. To our surprise, it was run by a Latvian man who handled the bar while his Vietnamese girlfriend handled the kitchen. He was friendly and talkative, sharing stories of his travels through countless countries and his time with a circus, and at some point he opened a bar in this quiet corner of Vietnam. He admitted he wasn’t sure if the business would succeed, since it was still early days.
As we walked through the town, we encountered cattle randomly lazing in the sun and chickens pecking their way through the weeds near the streets. Children returning from school rode home on bikes and waved at us as they passed. Not a single trace of the sheer carnage that transpired here seemed to remain. We slept soundly that night in a small cabin surrounded with the sounds of crickets, rather winded from all the travel we'd done.
The next day, we were picked up from our accommodation by Oxalis Adventures, our adventure tour operator that would bring us deep into the jungles and caves of Phong Nha. In order to even be accepted for the tour, we had to describe our trekking history, send photos of ourselves on a trail as proof of prior trekking experience, provide documentation that showed we were able to run three kilometres in thirty minutes by means of a fitness app, and more. Before going to Vietnam, we were scrambling to buy the required apparel, which included items like quick-dry long-sleeved T-shirts and pants and socks, as well as shoes that would be able to dry out easily once submerged in water (so, no Gore-Tex).
We climbed into their bus, and inside was our Vietnamese tour guide, some safety professionals and six other people who were also going on the tour. They dropped us off at their office, where they ran us over the basics and provided us with backpacks, helmets and water bottles as well as waterproof containers which our phones, power banks, etc were supposed to go into every time there was a wet section. In addition they also provided us with a blue bag where we could place anything we needed for the campsite, so items like extra clothing, toothbrushes and so on would be put inside the bag and left in their office, and porters would separately carry them to the camp for us (we later learned that, before they came to Oxalis, these porters were actually ex-smugglers who transported illicit goods across the Vietnam-Laos border). After the briefing was over, we assembled at the entrance of their office and introduced ourselves to the rest of the group. Everyone there was a couple except for us, and almost everyone (save for one person) was German. I won't share everyone's names, instead I'll refer to them by their jobs - the relevant people involved were Male Statistician and Female Therapist, Male IT Project Manager and Female Art Curator, and finally Male and Female Chemical Biologists. This would be our group for the next two days.
Having completed all the preliminaries, we were then taken deep into the jungles of the Phong Nha-Ke Bang National Park. Our tour guide pointed out various points of interest along the way and told us a bit about the history of the region - according to him, there was a point in time where Phong Nha was bombed for twenty days straight by the US. Later on in the drive he pointed out a barren patch on one of the mountains where an American plane was shot down by a surface-to-air missile; it turned out that the plane was full of concentrated Agent Orange and from then on nothing had grown there. He also offered some facts about the ecology and climate of the area, and took some pains to illustrate to us how severe floods were during the wet season - we passed over a huge bridge suspended dozens of metres above the forest floor which he said could get fully submerged at certain points of the year. In addition, he also noted we would not be able to come here on our own without a permit, since the VCP engaged in covert activities within the jungle, the nature of which nobody really seemed to know. Our driver pulled up at an unassuming point on the side of the road, and we grabbed our backpacks and headed into an untamed jungle alongside a tour guide, some safety professionals, and a cadre of ex-smugglers. A jungle that played host to classified Vietnamese government operations and was likely filled to the brim with unexploded ordnance.
The first sections of the trail leading to the mouth of Nuoc Nut Cave were rather leisurely. It was flat and shaded with rainforest, and there were little white butterflies fluttering everywhere along the length of the trail. It looked a bit like a scene from a Disney movie. Our guide stopped at the base of a large trunk he called "sau"; it's a tree in the Dracontomelon genus that produces sour fruit, which the Vietnamese pair with sugar and use in drinks and desserts during summer. I spoke a bit to Male Statistician during this leg of the hike, from whom I solicited opinions on academia, the peer review process and the replication crisis.
After approximately 40 minutes of walking, we made our way across a dry riverbed and climbed around some rocks to reach a gaping cave mouth, with a spread of food laid out on a blanket inside the cavern. We clustered around the blanket to see what they were offering; it was make-your-own spring rolls and banh mi. I took a thin piece of rice paper and stuffed it with herbs and meat and tomatoes, taking care not to overfill, and ate it with some sauce. The group discussed over lunch where they'd come from, where they were going to in Vietnam next, their prior travel experiences before this, and what they did as a job. I liked these people a lot. They were quite an interesting bunch; talking to them didn't make my brain want to shut down like it usually does in group settings where the level of conversation gets dragged down to the lowest common denominator. I felt like pretty much all of them actually touched on topics I wanted to hear about, the conversation at one point even delved into CRISPR-Cas9 and pharmaceutical research because of Male Chemical Biologist.
Once we'd finished eating, we ventured deeper into the cavern. Getting any further than the massive cave mouth required us to crouch down and crawl our way through a relatively tight passage; according to our tour guide you could at one point walk into the cave but floods had clogged the deeper passages with debris over time. The ceiling was covered in small mucus tendrils from predatory larvae, which we were told was a relative of the Australian Arachnocampa glow-worms, except these ones did not emit light. Eventually the passage opened up into a sizeable cavern dominated by rimstone and flowstone formations, and on the ceiling of the cave there was a small opening which only let in a trace amount of light; it had mostly been filled in by rocks ever since its formation. Our guide stated that this might be the original entrance to the cave, since it was the highest known entrance and the cave would have formed from the top down.
We clambered further into the cavern over fairly easy terrain. At one point, we turned off all our headlamps just so we could see how utterly pitch-black the entire cave actually was; it looked the same regardless of whether our eyes were open or closed. Then we progressed to the wet section of the cave, where we moved our phones, chargers, and power banks into the waterproof case, and eased ourselves into the cold water (which was a welcome break from the heat). I braced myself for the shock of submerging my entire body in the water, then proceeded to swim through the dark flooded passage with only my headlamp illuminating the water ahead. There were a couple of these wet sections, they were extremely fun to navigate. I'd never swam in a cave before this, and I can easily say that I would do it again.
Troglofauna seemed to be everywhere in Nuoc Nut Cave. It wasn't just the "glow worms"; cave crickets scuttled under our feet and bats could be found in many chambers. We had been told about a specific cave-dweller that locals called the "Hairy Scary Mary", a species of cave fauna that predated on spiders within the cave and possessed the body of a centipede atop the legs of a spider, and at some point apparently some members of our group did see it. Our guide also pointed out a fern that had been swept into the cave months ago, and in spite of the lack of light or nutrition in the cave it was still green; slowly dying, but somehow still green.
Eventually we reached a remote chamber deep within the cave, where a waterfall cascaded into a secluded pool, and the guide invited us to clamber down the rocks into the water. I removed my slingbag and carefully made my way down, trying not to slip. And... I swam under a cave waterfall. I've travelled through four continents, and out of everything I’ve done in all my years of travel, this moment stands out as the biggest rush I’ve ever experienced.
Somewhat giddily, we climbed out of the pool and ducked into a crawlspace, where we had to crouch down and sometimes pull ourselves through crevices in the rock. This led to the most extensive wet section of the cave yet, which required us to swim against the current of the subterranean river through a series of sinuous passages; we eventually found ourselves in a chamber with a massive vertical opening we would have to climb out of. So we strapped on harnesses, connected it to a rope via carabiners, and began climbing out of the cave on slippery, water-eroded rocks. There were a number of times I almost lost my footing doing this, and I think if we had tried to do it unassisted it would have been a disaster. Even with the security of a harness there was always a way to slip and hit an unprotected part of our heads on a large slab of rock. Worse, there was the lingering fear that we would accidentally disconnect ourselves; we were provided with two carabiners (one red, one black) and we were only supposed to disconnect one at a time when trying to progress to a new section of the rope, but there was a yellow clasp further down the line that could disconnect both carabiners from the harness at once.
Our group pulled ourselves out of the cave and were met with the sight of a campsite. The porters were waiting for us alongside the blue bags we'd left with them, and we quickly stripped off our wet clothes. We enjoyed some tea around a warm fire and made casual conversation as the chefs cooked up some dinner at a portable kitchen, and after our journey the aroma of the food was almost overwhelming. As soon as the dishes were laid out, we crowded around the table and dug in.
After dinner, we returned to the site of the campfire and made conversation until nightfall. These little white butterflies from earlier were absolutely everywhere in the day, but things got even more picturesque once it got dark. Since it was approaching their mating season, fireflies started making their way into our camp, their small flashing lights occasionally zipping through the air around us as we talked and enjoyed platters of peanuts and roasted sweet potatoes around the fire. It was a very cosy experience, surprisingly so considering where we were.
Probably the most interesting campfire stories came from our guide himself, who talked about how Oxalis' tours developed - it seems most of their existing process accreted through trial and error. They originally didn't use to have toilets, rather, they invited visitors to dig a hole in the ground and cover it up once they were done. But Westerners weren't able to Asian-squat, and so they often fell into the hole and ended up sitting in their own poop. In order to rectify this, Oxalis provided sticks that visitors could hammer into the ground so they could hang onto it while squatting, but too often people didn't hammer them in deep enough and the sticks would get yanked out of the ground, which sent them tumbling into the hole anyway. It was a Belgian guy who first proposed that they introduce toilets at their campsites, and he did so because he was sitting in his own shit. He sent them mockups of toilet designs once he was back in Belgium, it appears it haunted him so much he had to rectify the problem no matter what.
The changing rooms were yet another part of the tour they had to iron out early on. Their tours involved a lot of campsites inside dark cave chambers, and so they offered a light for use within their changing rooms. However, it turned out that when they switched on the light their naked silhouette would be visible to everyone. On one particularly memorable trip to Son Doong Cave, there was a woman who turned on a light inside a changing room - one that happened to be situated right in front of a cavern wall, causing a massive silhouette of her body to be projected onto the side of the cave. The second this happened, everybody fell quiet in an instant. Suffice to say that when we were there, they were no longer providing lights.
Our guide also shared stories from his time in Northern Vietnam, particularly around Ha Giang, where he discovered that they eat extremely weird shit. Almost literally shit, in some cases. There's a culture in northern Vietnam, the Nung, that eats half-digested poop cut out of an animal's small intestine. He once ate it unknowingly and noted that it had a bitter taste; after learning what it was, he lost his appetite for days. With a laugh, Female Chemical Biologist joked about how so many of these bizarre tales always seemed to involve things like poop, bodily functions or nudity.
The next day, we changed back into our still-damp clothes and descended through the same narrow opening we had climbed out of the day before, using our harnesses. If anything, going down that infernal fissure was even more difficult than the ascent. It felt far less controlled, since moving with gravity made it easier to lose footing and slip. At long last we all made it back down to the cave floor, and headed into another part of the cave known as Va Cave through a cramped, waterlogged passage. We all stopped to rest in a large room with many flowstone formations draped from the ceiling, with water surging around the small outcrop we were standing on.
Once we had regained our energy we pressed on further into the cave, through waist-deep water and some precarious scrambles. Eventually, we reached an enormous, multi-tiered flowstone formation that seemed to stretch endlessly upward. We were informed that we needed to climb it. So we connected ourselves to the rope provided, and began to precariously scale the formation, which was extremely vertical and offered little in the way of hand- or foot-holds. The most effective method of traversing this formation turned out to be leaning back, letting the rope hold our weight, and carefully shimmying along the slick wall using only our feet. If any of us had accidentally disconnected the carabiners at this point, we would have fallen quite a long distance to the cave floor. After that technical climb we had to undertake an arduous walk on the top of rimstone terraces, which was caked with mud that made it easy to slip.
We made our way to the lip of one of the terraces, and beyond that we could see a surreal forest of ghostly tower cones, each one the size of a human. These formations, by the way, are extremely rare and exist only in two caves in the world (the other one being in Thailand). They're not stalactites and aren't formed by dripping water, and it's not exactly clear how they form - the current working theory is that the standing water within each terrace pool creates small calcite rafts which sink as soon as they become too heavy, and the accretion process over time forms cones about as high as the lip of the pool. Climbing over the lip of the terrace, we found ourselves in the midst of these cones, standing solemnly in the darkness of the cave like a natural terracotta army. Special ladders and metal steps had been placed across the interior of the terrace so as to not disturb the fragile cones, and we followed them to two platforms where we could get a good look at these formations. It is by far one of the most otherworldly things I have ever seen in my life.
At this point we were all exhausted, so we retraced our path to the campsite again, performing three climbs along the way. We ate lunch, then walked back to the bus through a much tougher path through the forest, which involved us scrambling over a hill that seemed more like a tangle of roots and soil - at one point Female Chemical Biologist got a photosensitivity-induced migraine during an aggressively difficult part of the scramble and needed to stop. But eventually we reached the bus which took us back to the Oxalis Adventures office. Every member of the group was granted a medal for finishing the adventure tour (which grants a discount for any other Oxalis tour), and we took a shower at their office so we could scrub off all the muck and grime from our caving expedition. It was from there that we took our transfer to our final location.
Hue:
Our driver continued deep into the night. He dropped us off at an alley where we walked to our homestay, and it was here that we were greeted by a friendly-but-overly-effusive woman behind the counter who gave us some passionfruit juice. She presented us with many maps of Hue and provided a huge number of recommendations on where to go. Initially we thought she might have received commissions from the places she was recommending, but later it became clear she really just wanted us to see her city. We politely nodded at everything, then went to our room (which we had to walk up four flights of stairs to reach) and collapsed.
Hue is a city that has perhaps seen even more carnage than Phong Nha, having been the site of a massacre perpetrated by the Viet Cong and PAVN during the Tet Offensive; 5-10% of the entire population of Hue was killed via methods like torture and entombment, and mass graves continued to be found around the city for years after. It's considered the worst massacre of the Vietnam War, and it happened during a mere four-week period where they occupied the city - it's honestly incredible to me that Hue isn't more of a hellish shithole after an event like that. Central Vietnam has repeatedly been a border zone throughout the country's history and as a result many of the cities and towns there have rather tumultuous stories. It's also a city that experienced an unexpected ascendancy during the late 18th century, becoming the very last imperial capital of Vietnam before the Viet Minh intervened and forced the last emperor of the Nguyen Dynasty to abdicate.
So, some later Vietnamese history: During the 18th century, the Later Le Dynasty was in a tailspin, with the Le kings only holding a ceremonial role. The Trinh lords of the north, who ruled from their capital of Thang Long, and the Nguyen lords of the south, who ruled from Hue, fought for control of the country. These lords were referred to in Vietnam as "Chua"; a title comparable to that of Shogun in Japan, and they played similar roles as de facto ruler of their respective territories. Eventually a peace was brokered between the two families, and a treaty was drawn up formally establishing the Trinh and Nguyen territories... which was broken by the Tay Son peasant revolution. The years leading up to it had been characterised by natural disasters, famines and the collapse of foreign trade, which led to a major social crisis and lots of instability across Dai Viet. The Nguyen lords were forced to abandon some of their southwards expansionary conquests by the Siamese king who launched a war to regain control of Cambodia, and there were several political crises within the Nguyen court during the time as well. Heavy taxes and local corruption during this period spurred three peasant brothers in Central Vietnam to self-style as champions of the people and incite a rebellion against the Nguyen lords. The Trinh saw that the Nguyen were weak, and entered into the affray; it ended with a massacre of the Nguyen lords. One nephew, Nguyen Anh, managed to escape into Siam. The Tay Son then conquered the Trinh, and consolidated their power over all of Vietnam, the capital of the newly unified country now being Hue.
Meanwhile, Nguyen Anh had seen his entire family be killed by the Tay Son and was amassing power in an attempt to reclaim his lands. He rebuilt his support base in the south and befriended a French bishop, Pigneau de Behaine, who believed that supporting Nguyen Anh in his retaliation might help him gain concessions for Catholics in Vietnam and help its expansion in Southeast Asia. Pigneau helped him assemble additional French forces, and Nguyen Anh eventually managed to gain control over Saigon. When the most notable of the Tay Son brothers died, he took advantage of the situation to attack northwards, and gained support from the Qing state (who were reacting to a Tay Son massacre of ethnic Chinese). He quickly conquered all of Vietnam in the early 19th century, overran the Tay Son, and in an act of sweet revenge murdered the surviving Tay Son leadership and their families. Nguyen Anh crowned himself emperor of the newly established Nguyen Dynasty, under the reign name Gia Long, and built a large citadel in Hue on top of the old city used by the Tay Son. As I said, Vietnam gameplay; rice farming. Vietnam lore; basically Game of Thrones.
On our first day in Hue, we made it a priority to visit the city's historic citadel. As our Grab car made its way through the streets, we saw that much of Hue was still enclosed by the original Vauban-style walls and moat (note: apparently this citadel has an absolutely mammoth perimeter of 10 kilometres), with motorcycles and cars having to pass through the original fortress gates in order to gain access to the inside of the citadel. Inside lay the old Imperial City, which we were planning to visit. We stepped out of the car and walked into the grounds of the citadel, where we were greeted by a spectacular gate that marked the entrance to the imperial city. It was called the Ngo Mon, or Meridian Gate, and it was very visually striking; an elaborate red-and-yellow pavilion stood above a series of gigantic stone arches that seemed to tower over virtually everything else in the area. We bought our ticket at a small office just outside of the imperial city, and walked through the imposing gate.
Within the walls of the imperial city lay a stunning palace complex filled with landscaped ponds and frangipanis. We were staring at a courtyard that led straight to the historic Thai Hoa Palace (Throne Palace), considered the pinnacle of Vietnamese imperial architecture. It was a single story building designed in traditional Asian style, boasting a roof adorned with intricate filigreed artwork and finely wrought sculptures of dragons. Inside lay a red-and-gold throne hall, wreathed in endless golden canopies; the walls and pillars were covered with carvings of Vietnamese poetry alongside depictions of dragons and clouds. Hue possesses by far the best historic architecture in the entire country, and the citadel is probably the most recognisable and famous of these sites.
The Imperial City was massive, and we traversed it until we were worn out and couldn't explore anymore. We visited big red temples dedicated to the thirteen emperors of the Nguyen Dynasty, saw elegant rock gardens framed by bonsai and graceful wooden pavilions, and more. There was even an original Vietnamese royal theatre within the complex (Nguyen Dynasty court music is still played there to this day, but unfortunately they weren't performing when we visited the citadel). To the back of the complex stood the reconstructed Kien Trung Palace, a stately palace built in a mix of Vietnamese, French and Italian Renaissance styles. Its overall architectural structure almost looked like something one might find in Europe, except it was covered from top to toe in intricate mosaics in the shape of dragons and other Asian iconography. Much of the architecture in the city does this - it syncretises traditional Vietnamese aesthetics with French elements, and forms quite a unique style I can easily say I've never seen anywhere else.
Outside the city, we grabbed a ridiculously sweet and fresh pineapple on a stick (yet again we were given a spice mixture to dip the pineapple into, this time we opted not to use it) and made our way to the Hue Museum of Royal Antiquities. It featured many artefacts from the Nguyen Dynasty, from ceramics to thrones to artwork. The museum was fairly small and we were absolutely exhausted by this point, so we took a Grab to a restaurant in downtown Hue where we were served some great food. We ordered some bun thit nuong (vermicelli and grilled pork with fish sauce), banh khoai (seafood pancake wraps) as well as banh bot loc (tapioca dumplings) and found them to be very tasty - in general we tended to like Central Vietnamese cuisine far more than we did the food in the North. The North seems to have a tendency to underflavour things, perhaps this fits Western palates more but as Southeast Asians ourselves who are more used to heavily spiced flavour profiles we found it to be a bit plain.
We found walking around Hue a bit more relaxing than Hanoi. There were an unbelievable number of temples in the city, with every street seeming to have at least one, and virtually every dilapidated shack we came across possessed small altars for people to pray to. It's not like there were no jarring parts to it - it was still Vietnam, motorcycles were still common, but the air was much better in this city, and crossing the street was far less hassling (apart from one time we accidentally stumbled into a firework display celebrating the 50th anniversary of the fall of Saigon; motorcycles were clustered in the street there and it was insane). People also seemed nicer and less cold to us in Central Vietnam in spite of all the shit that had happened to them in recent history, sometimes to the point of being a little overbearing. One thing that didn't change - there were still touts around downtown Hue who would pester us to take their rickshaw rides; it seems this occurs in all of Vietnam. Ignoring them continued to be the best policy.
On our second day in Hue we hit up the mausoleums of the Nguyen Dynasty emperors, situated south of the city centre. The first mausoleum we visited was the Mausoleum of Emperor Tu Duc, the last and longest-reigning pre-colonial emperor of the Nguyen Dynasty. It was built in 1867 and is considered one of the best examples of a royal tomb in Vietnam; it used to be a palatial retreat for the royal family, and its construction required so much corvee labour and extra taxation of the populace that it formented a coup. Upon entering, we were welcomed by a leafy, landscaped pond teeming with koi fish and adorned with many elegant pavilions; I thought this was a very finely wrought garden that rivalled virtually any other in East Asia. Situated up a flight of stairs was a simple temple complex, and to the north of the gardens and temples was the site of the actual mausoleum. This section was the most striking, with a grand stele housed in an ornate pavilion, flanked by statues of mandarins and elephants. Behind the stele stood a gate that marked the entrance to Tu Duc’s tomb where his sarcophagus lay.
Just 11 minutes' walk from the Mausoleum of Emperor Tu Duc was the Mausoleum of Emperor Dong Khanh, which I actually liked even better than Tu Duc's. It was a smaller complex, but it was far less touristed and actually possessed even more spectacular architecture, at least in my estimation. The interior of the Ngung Hy Dien, the main temple hall, was decorated in red and gold architecture similar to that of the Imperial City's throne room - but it also had colourful stained glass windows which filtered all light that entered the temple. The tomb site was incredible as well, featuring many gates and stele pavilions decorated with intricate mosaics. I do think anyone who visits Tu Duc's tomb should also visit Dong Khanh's tomb, I wouldn't recommend doing only one. They're very close together and they complement each other very well.
After visiting both these mausoleums, we were rather fatigued from the perennial heat and humidity in Hue - the city seems to have awfully bad weather even for Vietnamese standards, being deathly hot in the dry season and flooding often in the wet season. So we took a break and ducked into a number of cafes where we grabbed some salt coffee, and visited a restaurant that served us a spread of traditional Hue cuisine; the banh beo (steamed rice cakes with shrimp and crispy pork rind) in particular were amazing. We spooned some fish sauce over it and ate it as is.
The next stop was the Mausoleum of Emperor Khai Dinh, which was the smallest mausoleum we visited that day, but also the most unique and spectacular. It's also by far the most recent of these mausoleums, having been built over a period of 11 years from 1920-1931 by two monarchs that reigned during a period of French indirect rule, and it used modern construction methods to achieve a traditional feel. The architecture is a strange syncretic blend of Vietnamese and French influence that seamlessly incorporates the two styles into something completely unrecognisable, and it is incredible to witness. We pulled up and gawked at the exterior of the tomb, which was a multi-level structure made from darkened, weathered concrete in a surprisingly Gothic manner, but it would only get stranger from here. Once we entered the interior of the tomb we found an explosion of colourful ceramic mosaics and canopies, alongside an impressive painted ceiling featuring iconography of dragons and clouds. In the very centre of the tomb stood a gilt-bronze statue of Khai Dinh, with his actual remains interred eighteen metres below the statue. It's really something. Many of the historic sites in Hue represent the best 19th and early 20th century architecture I've seen anywhere in the world (feudalism lasted for a long time in Vietnam), and if you are ever in the country and are interested in history or architecture at all you can't skip Hue.
Finally, we ended our day at the Mausoleum of Emperor Minh Mang, probably the most accomplished of the Nguyen emperors aside from Gia Long. He expanded Vietnam's borders to its greatest extent in history, annexing large parts of Cambodia and Laos as well as completely extinguishing the southern Champa kingdom (really Vietnam owes much of its current borders to the Nguyen). His mausoleum is probably the most simple and elegant of all of them, with all the monuments aligned on a east-west axis surrounded by large landscaped ponds. There's a lot of finely wrought pavilion architecture in this one that's framed by large frangipani gardens and yawning courtyards, I enjoyed it a lot but unfortunately his actual tomb to the back is blocked off from the public. Still, there's a lot there to chew on.
We were a bit mausoleumed out by then, so on our final proper day in Vietnam we decided to visit some of the traditional garden houses and temples north of the Perfume (Huong) River running through Hue. We took a Grab ride to An Hien Garden House, built in the late 19th century for a daughter of Emperor Duc Duc. The entrance to the garden house featured a small gate that framed an intimate forested path; it led to a tranquil house fronted by a tropical pond covered in water lilies. There was a small Asian orchestra on the site playing traditional Vietnamese music in a pavilion, and we sat and listened to them for as long as they would play - it was a very peaceful vibe. Once they finished their performance, we tipped them and left the garden house for our next destination.
The streets north of the Perfume River are probably the most pleasant part of Hue. As we strolled along the banks of the river, we came across endless temples and garden houses - there is really no shortage of temples in Hue, but even in a place filled to the brim with them this part of the city had a uniquely high concentration of historical and cultural sites. At one point, we saw a small ceramic museum along the road, called the "Huong River Antique Pottery Museum", and decided to pop in. Inside, we saw yet another old garden house adorned by tropical plants, complete with many household Buddhist and ancestral altars. We visited the museum towards the back, and saw lots of small rooms and hallways filled with antique ceramics.
In a gesture of hospitality, we were offered tea and a selection of cookies (apparently all homemade using traditional recipes). The man who operated the pottery museum joined us for a friendly conversation. As it turned out, his grandfather was a mandarin from the Nguyen Dynasty, which explained how he had come to inherit the garden house. The pottery found in the museum had all been dredged up from the depths of the Perfume River, and at some point an archaeologist had visited to date and catalogue all the items they had discovered. We then asked him what he thought the best places to visit in Hue were and what his favourite royal tombs were, and he quickly responded "Gia Long Mausoleum". Now we absolutely had to go there. After enjoying most of the tea and cookies, we got up to head to our next destination. Before we left, he invited us to take the remaining cookies with us for the road.
We walked further west to the next stop: Thien Mu Pagoda. This pagoda, built on a small hill overlooking the Perfume River, actually predates the citadel itself. It was established in 1601, built on the spot where a legend states that a "celestial lady" appeared and asked the local lord to build a pagoda to control underground forces and dominate the region. The most recognisable thing about this temple is the Phuoc Duyen, an imposing 21-metre seven story tower built in the 1800s which we saw as soon as we approached the temple complex. The pagoda also had a pretty stripped-back main hall where a monk was striking a big bronze bowl, juxtaposed against very ornate and lush rock gardens populated with koi. Probably the most unexpected thing we found in the temple was the enshrined car of Thich Quang Duc, the monk who self-immolated in protest of Ngo Dinh Diem's anti-Buddhist policies; it was just sitting there innocuously in a small alcove within the temple.
Our final stop of the whole trip was Gia Long Mausoleum, located in the countryside to the far south of Hue. It was initially built for his first wife Thua Thien, but eventually was expanded after his death to include Gia Long and other family members of his. The complex was huge and rather empty when we visited, and most of it looked like a scene from an impressionist painting - big green rolling hills draped around a landscaped lake, dotted with obelisk-like pillars, monolithic stone monuments and incense-filled shrines. It was a highly surreal place to be; it just did not look real. The tomb that contained Gia Long and his wife featured an absolutely mammoth stone pedestal surrounded by statues and adorned with a whole flight of dragon-lined stairs; walking inside revealed an austere and minimal complex centred around two sarcophagi. This is a very dreamlike place, and would have been even more so if it weren't so hot. I think this is probably my favourite mausoleum alongside Khai Dinh's.
We woke up the next day and went to a small island in the middle of the Perfume River known for com hen (baby clam rice). It was served to us in a dirty shack with plastic chairs and tables that were far too low for comfort, alongside a bowl of clam soup made from the water it was boiled in. The com hen itself was tangy and light, whereas the soup was surprisingly strong and packed a lot of seafood flavour. Good stuff, in my opinion. Once we finished, we made our way to the airport nearby and prepared to fly off from Vietnam. Our flights had been moved around and now we had a very long layover at Tan Son Nhat airport in Saigon, so we took the opportunity to try some Southern Vietnamese cuisine. Taking a Grab to the city centre, we tried some Southern Vietnamese banh mi and... yeah, this was it. Much better than the one we had in Northern Vietnam. It was juicier, tastier and displayed a far greater variety of fillings. It was also noticeable how much more modern Saigon seemed compared to the rest of Vietnam, and there was a lot less chaos on the streets, unfortunately we couldn't spend too much time there since we were on a time limit. We returned to our airport, went through customs, and boarded our flight back to Sydney.
Conclusion:
That was a long post, it was probably quite rambly at points, so thanks for sticking through to the end. I'll provide some concluding thoughts here for people who didn't bother to read it all - do I recommend Vietnam? It depends on your level of comfort. If you can tank some overwhelm and discomfort, you'll find a lot to like as long as you are willing to take the good with the bad. Would I travel to Vietnam again? The answer's "absolutely yes, but not soon". Vietnam is a place that boasts a large amount of rich history and culture, as well as some very impressive natural sites that offer many opportunities for once-in-a-lifetime experiences. Hell, even the roughness and the abundant culture shock is an element that gives it its character - it's very fascinating to see a country in the process of transition from a largely agrarian society to industrial modernity, and to see these two worlds rub up against each other in strange ways. But it can also be jarring and overwhelming, and it takes a lot out of you when you travel there. It's a country that doesn't offer a smooth experience and doesn't try to, and in that sense, it's not a manicured tourist trap; it feels like a real, raw place where people live and sleep and shit.
To close off, I'm reminded somewhat of the Fun Scale, a metric developed by the mountain climbing community to describe their trips: Type 1 fun is stuff that's fun in the moment and fun in retrospect, Type 2 fun characterises experiences that are not enjoyable in the moment but are fun to recall afterward, and Type 3 fun is stuff that's not enjoyable at all, not when it's happening and not in retrospect. I feel like in Vietnam, I experienced all of the above at different points on the trip.
You will, however, come away with a fuckton of stories, that's a promise.
Click here for your mood music for this review.
This is a recommendation for some low-stress, feel-good, nostalgic history to play in the background of your next weekend(s) chores or driving. Consider it your invitation to live vicariously through the heights of excellence that can only be achieved in children’s video games.
TL;DR: If you like your video game nostalgia and have time during a drive or when doing chores, play Summoning Salt videos like you would have a sports channel playing in the background. Mostly to listen to, sometimes to pay attention to for hype moments, and mostly pleasant ambience.
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Part 1: What Is This Post About?
This post is unapologetic nerd-out culture of video game speed runs.
I doubt anyone here is unfamiliar with video games. They may not be your thing, but you know of them, in the same way that someone who is not a sports fan can know something about football. You may even have seen or passed by a tournament playing out, where players face off in competitive games in a typical elimination format. You may even know a bit of e-sports, the professionalized gaming leagues typically done for team-vs-team shooters or real time strategy games.
Video game speed running is to e-sports what time trial sprints are to team sports. It is a fundamentally individual endeavor, with no outside interference. It is something one can solely do on their own. However, it is also extremely competitive. You may not be fighting with or interfered by a rival, but you are both in direct competition with not only others, but yourself, for beating the best record.
On an individual level, speed runs can loosely broken into four general phases. You select the game you intend to race. You select the rules you run within- rules such as allowing various types of glitches, or requiring only core story or 100% completion, and so on. You run the game, aiming to be as quick as you can. And then you track and record the effort, creating the timing and the proof which can be compared with others.
But collectively, speed running communities band together to do a lot more than that. What starts to make the community a community rather than a bunch of individuals is the degrees of collaboration and feedback that goes into planning a run. Fans will strategize and theory craft the best way to approach a run, such as identifying the critical requirements and in order to not waste time in unnecessary distractions. Forums of players will share the results of mechanics sleuthing, trying to figure out why an interaction in a game works some way and to see if a nuance can be turned into a few seconds advantage. And finally, of course, is the community tracking and cheering, trying to identify who is the best and getting the internet accolades when you do well.
Video game speed runs are old enough as a format to have started going through the orders of media coverage. Media coverage in this context isn’t in the sense of ‘mainstream media,’ but rather the degrees of separation from the act and how it is discussed.
A first-order speed run media is a recording of the speed run. It is not the act, but the presentation of the act without further discussion.
For example, Super Mario 64, a game that some readers may have spent dozens of hours on as a kid, can be beaten in about 6 minutes. This speedrun video is first-order speed run media.
A second-order media is media that discusses the recording. Given the nature of the medium, and how modern monetization model typically work in the Twitch.tv format where people can watch the runners make their attempts live, sometimes speed runners comment on efforts during the run itself. However, since speed runs often entail heavy focus, second-order media is often commenting on a recording.
For example, the Zelda game speed runner bewildebeest has videos where he inserts commentary over the video itself, sometimes elaborating and sometimes joking. This sort of media can provide insights in the difference between, say, a Majora’s Mask 1 hour speed run, and the considerable differences for a 6-hour 100% speedrun of the same game. The difference between these two speed runs is the rule set implications between ‘just get to the ending credits’ and ‘get to the ending credits getting all the unlockables,’ which creates 5 hours worth of playtime- and commentary- difference. It is the commentary that is second-order media.
A third-order media is media that discusses the discussion of the record. In other words, meta-discussion. This can be done seriously, such as critiquing someone’s critique of a speed.
(Well, maybe not so seriously. That specific clip is part of the memorable ‘Alpharad vs. Pchal Saga’, in which a youtube internet funny man went as far as an entire pokemon nuzlockee villain arc after one too many reaction videos by another youtuber, PokemonChallenges, a dedicated nuzluck reaction channel. Unironically good comedy if you’ve got time.)
But back to orders of speed run media, third-order media really does lean towards parody. Parodies don’t have to literally discuss other people’s commentary, but parody is, by its nature, a commentary on the coverage.
For example, the sub-culture of Nintendo speed runners was influenced in 2009 by youtuber ScottFalco’s animated parody, A TOTALLY LEGIT Wind Waker Speedrun Cartoon (WORLD RECORD). It is a silly cartoon parody of The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker, a game notable for its cell-shaded art style that allowed (and was used for) cartoonish comedic effect. The TOTALLY LEGIT speedrun cartoon is filled with the sort of animated absurdities and pop-culture references that passes for your totally not my humor. Even the name itself is poking fun at the then (and still) common speedrun trope of people posting speed runs with titles in ALL CAPS and insisting on legitimacy because, well, take your guess.
ScottFalco’s parody is just a silly little cartoon, until you realize that the parody actually does allude to real mechanics that look just as absurd when side by side. If you’ve ever wondered why someone would want to motorboat Link, and you’re not a degenerate, third-order media can explain why. Scott isn’t the only speedrunner animated parody either. Around the same time, youtuber TerminalMontage released the animated Something About Super Mario 64 ANIMATED SPEEDRUN. It is only 2 minutes, but when you compare it to the 6-minute real speedrun from earlier… well, it rings true.
(Disclaimer: TerminalMontage was my gateway to speedrunning communities during the COVID lockdowns. He has a host of animated speedrun parodies, to the degree that Speedrunner Mario and Speedrunner Link are reoccurring characters with their own mythos. If you need a way to waste some time, or amuse small children…)
Enter Fourth Order Media
Back (again) to orders of media, and the nominal subject of this post.
Summoning Salt is a fourth-order speedrun media creator. He creates media that discusses the media that discusses the media of the record. Or, discusses the discussion of the meta.
Or- to put it in yet other words- he’s a historian of sorts. He organizes, by topic and chronology, the history of speed runs. He makes his living not by doing the act of speed running (1st order), or commenting on speed runs (2nd order), or making silly parodies (3rd order). Hiss full-time job now entails researching, organizing, and presenting records of the records of video gaming.
Summoning Salt is not the first fourth-order video game commentator. One of the earlier examples was Andrew Growen, who wrote the Empires of Eve by Andrew Growen history series of the EVE Online MMO.
Which, tangent, is really interesting in its own right. For a MMO set around anarcho-capitalism IN SPACE, there is drama, intrigue, and interstellar wars for market share. There are international alliances between gooners and Russians against an authoritarian hyper-centralized centrally-planned economy ran by an American militarist as all compete for control over the keys to power. Which honestly sounds way more interesting than what I’m talking about here. If you want the short version, here’s the 50 minute public talk at EVE Fanfest 2016.
Which I realize may seem more exciting than something about speedruns. But I promised you some nostalgic feel-goodisms, and Summoning Salt provides.
But who is the youtuber who I’ve spent a 1000-word essay and a half not describing yet?
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Part 2: Summoning Salt History
Summoning Salt himself is a nobody to somebody YouTube success story.
Summoning Salt’s start on YouTube in 2016 was as a speed runner for the old Mike Tyson Punch-Out game. This was an incredibly niche and minor channel, with only a couple hundred subscribers. He wasn’t bad at the game by any means, but there’s only so much audience for a game older than the N64, which was the formative gaming experience for the first main YouTube generation. Given how the YouTube economics work, he was making nothing, and it was a strictly hobby experience.
Now, however, Summoning Salt is a 2-million subscriber youtuber whose videos reliably draw in millions of views within a year. This sort of scale is nothing compared to the titans of the platform, but it’s also enough for it to be his full-time job… which it is.
Summoning Salt’s breakout started with his first speed run history video, in January 2017. World Record Progression: Mike Tyson was the transition point where his videos went dozens or hundreds of views to thousands. At this time of writing, nearly a decade later, it marks a transition point between older videos that now have the fame-boosted level of sub-30k views, and the video game histories that routinely break 1 million views, now often getting a million within a year.
Summoning Salt has talked about his channel growth since, notably in his 1 Million Subscriber video back in 2021. He is open that he was inspired by another Mike Tyson speedrunner, Sinister1 (who had 4k subscribers to Salt’s 1 Million at the time), discussing the evolution for a specific character strategy during a stream. Sinister1’s video was just a face cam recording of a two hour stream, verbally relaying the history of records since the 80s. However, it lacked the video editing Summoning would use to condense two hours to twenty minutes.
Summoning Salt received internet kudos on forums and social media, which convinced him to keep trying. From 2017 on, the channel focused on what was initially called the World Record Progression series, focusing on classic games like Super Metroid, Mario Kart 64, and other games. This teething stage was undoubtably a bit of algorithm chasing, going for speed of more and shorter uploads, often with less quality and polish than more recent efforts.
In 2018, ‘modern’ Summoning Salt started. This was when Summoning started using the song ‘Home – We’re Finally Landing’, the song recommended at the start of this post, as his distinctive leitmotif. The opening chords, which are retro and thus appeal to those earliest days of video games, are sometimes called the speedrunner’ s anthem due to its association with him.
It wasn’t just the music that evolved. The naming scheme of videos gradually shifted from ‘World Record Progression’ to variants of ‘The History of [Subject] Records.’ Videos gradually became consistently longer, going from less than 30 minutes to over, reflecting more research. Editing likewise improved, even as the pace of updates slowed.
By this point, however, Summoning Salt had built momentum in the YouTube economy and in gamer pop culture, consistently growing. He hit 1 million subscribers around 2021, is in the 2 million tier in 2025.
At this time, Summoning Salt has published over 50 video-documentaries. While older ones are in the 20-minute range, more recent ones are easily in the 1-2 hour range. This makes Summoning Salt Videos very much something to listen to in the background, more as a podcast with visuals for when you want to see clips he’s discussing. Or as a sports channel you have on the TV.
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Part 3: What Helps Summoning Salt Succeed?
Rather than go in depth into any one video, I want to highlight five elements that might make Summoning Salt videos more interesting to the Motte Audience. These are more meta-context and mechanics of approach, if you like that sort of thing.
Element One: Combining History and Technical Sophistication
On a purely mechanical level, Summoning Salt does an impressive job in filtering large amounts of repetitive data into an enjoyable format.
On the history side, this is a necessity. You have to in order to distil decades of material into tens of minutes, but it is still commendable. As a communicator you have to draw the line between relevant and irrelevant history, and as a story teller you have to choose the entertaining stuff that is still accurate enough to give context. This also means knowing when to share information now, and when to withhold it for later.
What makes Summoning Salt more impressive than a mere historian is that he also has to convey a large amount of technical information as well. High level video game speed runs often entail identifying and applying incredibly niche game mechanical interactions for marginal advantages. We’re talking things like exploiting the angle of plane and movement interactions to shave fractions of a second on a run, or leveraging how a game internally tracks race progression in order to exploit reset conditions. A significant part of the world record progressions come from speed runners figuring out how to overcome some technical obstacle, or finally achieving a theorized mechanical opportunity before anyone else.
Summoning Salt successfully balances the needs of historical context and technical depth, and uses them to power the narrative for a constant sense of progression. While his videos are long, they are exceptionally well paced due to how he packages and presents the information for you.
Element Two: Research and History
Summoning Salt is making history in a most literal sense, in that he is making a historical record of things that would otherwise be lost to time.
Since his transition to video game historian, Summoning Salts has consistently improved in his thoroughness when conducting research in topics. This is partly prompted by his earlier algorithm-chasing history videos, where he made some embarrassing mistakes / misinformation in games he personally had no experience in. As his channel matured, he has spent more time looking for recording, conducting interviews with speed runners and building archives of screen shots, video clips, and graphics that he uses in his videos.
This is, unironically, Research in the sense of academic research, using the sort of techniques that graduate students might in a thesis or paper. It doesn’t have the style of ivory tower academia, and it isn’t bound to the same rigor per see, but this is absolutely a deliberate, purposeful, and structured pursuit of knowledge.
It is also a real contribution to the historical record. An irrelevant history, perhaps, but preserving irreplaceable things before they are lost. Many of the games that Summoning Salt publishes on are games where the oldest parts of the speed running community have been lost to time. Old players moved on, old internet archives degraded, videos lost for whatever reason. When these things are lost, they are lost for good.
This means that Summoning Salt’s videos may be the most enduring history of these speed running shenanigans when the primary sources fade with time. His videos, and the fact they are so popular relative to others (and sparked a similar genre), may be the primary (secondary) sources used in the future for anyone interested in this topic. Summoning Salt isn’t just writing about history, but preserving things- irrelevant as they may be- for the future.
Element Three: Music and Editing, and We’re Finally Landing
Summoning Salt found and popularized the perfect song for nostalgic video gamers.
As a video essay maker, Summoning Salt has gotten consistently better over time. In the history section, he referenced that his first history video was inspired by a streamer who gave in depth history during a live stream. That streamer never used any real editing techniques. Summoning does, and over time has gotten better.
Editing isn’t just about smoothing the delivery, but it can also be a part of a story telling medium. Summoning ‘gets this’ in a way many people don’t, for the same reason he’s able to parse overwhelming data on history and technical specifics to deliver a narrative. When you listen to a history of video as a pod cast, this means using the right kind of music for the right time of tone, managing the word tempo for cadence, and transitioning between graphics. But it can also mean making your editing go for the narrative pitch at a visual level, such as selective zoom-ins, strategic blur-outs to maintain a mystery from being revealed too early, and so on.
I won’t claim the video editing is out of this war, but Summoning Salt’s leitmotif, We’re Finally Landing, might as well be. I’m not a musically inclined person, so the best I can do is say that the use of synthesizer cord, rhythm, and artificial tinniness is what strikes me as ‘retro gaming.’ It’s the sort of thing you might associated with a 80’s era arcade, video gaming before modern 3D gaming kicked off with the N64, and so appeals to a retro-history before the history of many of the games he's talking about. We’re Finally Landing is pure nostalgia bait for people who enjoyed older games, and even for the people who don’t it gives the audio-thematic vibes of video game history that works so well in the story telling format. Its chords match what I’d associate with optimistic, successful, but also a bit tired- whether that’s because of age or of hard-won success.
And it is also distinct enough as a leitmotif that it has come to be associated with Summoning Salt’s speedrunning series. Which is a good parallel with the rest- it’s not that no other video game 4th-order video game writer uses video editing or even music, but few pair them as well.
Element Four: The Unapologetic Sports Narrative
I raised at the start a metaphor linking speed running to sports. This was not an accident, but a key part of why Summoning Salt’s narratives work. He is absolutely cribbing from the well-worn genre of sports documentaries.
Summoning Salts’ history isn’t delivering a mess of facts. It is organized to tell a story, and that story is of people competing to be the best. He uses many- though hardly all- the tropes of genre. He has challenger narratives, underdog stories of protagonists no one thinks has a chance, defending champions trying to hold their titles against the next generation. He shows people responding in real time to winning world records, the excitement and break between pure focus and celebration.
This, in turn, lets him use the rhetorical tricks and techniques to build audience investment. He will not lie, but he’s not beyond obfuscating some facts or framing to imply a level of emotional investment that the protagonist may not have felt, like a loser’s congratulatory message being a show of bitter-sweet good sportsmanship. He’s a particular fan of a sort of progression chart which is used to track speed run progression, and then zooming in make small gains seem huge. The horse racing of who’s ahead at the moment is central to, well, racing, and speed runs are a race of sorts.
One element of sports genre that Summoning Salts does not employ is toxic rivalries. Arguably the least realistic part of the narrative, but there are no villain stock characters in these stories. There are not sabotage campaigns or whisper narratives to disqualify legitimate winners. It’s all in good fun, the flame wars are glossed over in favor of compromise, and the speed running community is presented as a wholesome community, not a toxic one.
Is it totally unvarnished realism? No. But it’s not trying to be either, any more than it’s trying to deconstruct the characters. The embrace of the sports narrative is what it is trying to be, and that includes the sort of trite cliches and warm-and-fuzzies of inspirational quotes that make it a cheesy feel-good experience.
Which leads to the final merit-
Element Five: Unapologetic Celebration of Excellence
Summoning Salt’s videos are unreservedly positive about the people who contribute to the speed running community, and that above all else is why I think his channel took off. It is optimism in the face of difficulty, and overcoming adversity on one's own merits.
Speed running is obviously a contest of excellence on the part of the player. This is where it is most like the excellence of sports. There is excellence of control on the part of the player, the sort of minute motor control and timing that allow the player to control the avatar into feats of acrobatics or maneuvering. It is the excellence of the player’s ability to strategize, to recognize optimizations. It is also the excellence of managing or leveraging RNG, with world records often hinging on player RNG and the world-record holders maximizing the odds and minimizing risks that could ruin a world-beating run. This requires grit of its own sort, to sit down and keep trying after hundreds or even thousands of failures in order to get that best RNG.
But speed running is also a genre of collaborative excellence, in ways where it is a multidisciplinary activity in ways most sports aren’t. A football player doesn’t need to understand the theory of physics to learn to handle the ball, but world-winning speed runs often have to engage in exceptional code sleuthing to understand why mechanics work the way they do and how to leverage it. The player at the controls and the players theory-building, code-diving, and developing proof of concepts often aren’t the same people. In fact, sometimes the brute force approach of many people playing the same game uncovers things that the ‘elite athlete’ speed runners don’t know, but then adopt wholesale.
To get what I mean, there is a memorable sequence in the opening of ‘The Quest to Beat abnew317’, a Mario Kart 64 speed runner, in which a top tier speed runner is dominating the leader board. This is two decades after the game’s release, and so the speed run optimization is pretty much a solved problem that can only be marginal improved through player performance and RNG. Then, one day, a random no-name nobody had heard of sends a message claiming to have a new shortcut and asking how to send proof.
This is probably futile, the sort of claim made countless times and variously false or outdated and wouldn’t help… except this one is true. The provider is a tool-assisted-speedrun expert (someone who programs a computer to play the game with a precision humans can’t) wanting to share their find. The documentary shows the twitch stream of the speed runner’s expression change from skepticism, to confusion, to realization as a technique for a new world record pace is realized.
And then it happens again, the very next day, because someone watching the stream had discovered the same general technique twenty years prior when playing with their friends. They’d just never brought it up because they thought the speed running community knew about it already but had reasons not to do it. In a competitive context where world records can change hands by margins of a third of a second, a random casual contributed a shortcut worth 30 seconds.
Summoning Salts delights in searching for and sharing these sorts of contributions, commending all involved. Part of this is the sports narrative framing, part of this is his own past as a speed run passion player, but there’s a clear sense of joy that’s rare in [current year].
Summoning Salt videos are unapologetically happy about video games, and the people who play them, and the people who engage with people who play them. There are no snide jobs fat gamers, people without real jobs, or the childishness of playing or watching others play games from one’s children. There are no efforts to deconstruct the premise, to vilify or tear down people on a personal level, or engage Serious Issues.
There is, in other words, no culture war.
///
Part Four: The Influence of Summoning Salts on the Genre
It turns out, a moderately successful niche youtuber and inspire emulators and copy cats. Who’d have thought?
Once you go down the speed running rabbit hole, you start to look at games differently. And once you start looking into fourth-degree media influencers, you start to see how they influence the community and shape the environment around them. As people become aware of media like Summoning Salts’ documentaries, it changes how they behave in the sort of things that might be in a speed run documentary.
In the speed running community itself, it’s hard to quantify the impact Summoning Salt has had. There are no good metrics I’ve seen to suggest he has had an industry-level shift in viewer engagements or what have you. There are anecdotal examples of people who claim to have entered speed running after seeing his videos, including allegedly at least one record holder, but there’s no real data and unlikely ever to be such. At best, Summoning Salts has raised exposure of the community more broadly, raising it from incredibly niche to merely still very niche.
What is more visible is the niche of video game World Record Documentary genre. In the last either years since Summoning Salt started taking off, but especially in the last four when he was already past the 1 Million metric, a host of other, smaller youtubers have tried to follow suit with similarly structured video essays. There is a World Record Progression playlist of such YouTube videos, and of various quality.
There have also been branching media from speed runs to less speedy challenge runs, where instead of racing for time, there are special conditions. Perhaps the most infamous is the five and a half hour documentary on the Mario 64 ‘A Button Challenge’, i.e. how little jumping it takes to beat Super Mario 64, a platformer game designed around jumping a lot. This is the challenge which has made memes of speedrunner Mario entering parallel universes, cloning, and possibly cosmic rays a part of the subculture lexicon. There has quite possibly been more graduate-level research and analysis put into how to pick apart this one challenge than went into creating the first 3D platformer of the N64.
Most broadly, Summoning Salt has helped normalize a sort of video game nostalgia / retrospective genre that certainly pre-dated him, but certainly has adopted elements of his exhaustive analysis since him. Whether it’s the 2CPhoenix Kingdom Hearts Breakdown that reviews levels in exhaustive detail at up to an hour a stage, retrospectives on The HALO Trilogy that include not just the game but corporate contexts behind games, there is a clear market- niche but there- for people interested in long-form essays on the sort of childhood games they no longer play, to a level of detail that goes beyond lore videos or so on.
But most recently, there’s been this endorsement to you.
If you’re still reading this… congratulations! You may be the sort of stickler for nerdiness and overly exhaustive detail that could enjoy a history of video game challenges. You might not even have known that about yourself, if you only started reading because of where this was posted or who pointed you to it.
If so, consider this your endorsement to start with Summoning Salt.
It’s free, there’s no cost besides opportunity costs of not watching something else, and let’s be honest- you weren’t going to be setting any world records on your games anyway. But that’s no reason you can’t enjoy other people’s triumphs from a good story teller, and this would make fine background audio on your drives or during your chores.
It’s not like you should be working right now anyway… right?
The recent conversation on anime inspired me to write this review of the best one I've seen so far, not just in terms of Anime, but truly one of the best written stories I've ever seen. I often thought of it as prophetic, but looking back on it for the Nth time, I think a lot the phenomena and trends it talks about were already underway, they just didn't seem so prominent at the time, and so made a good premise for a fanciful sci-fi show.
Spoilers ahoy, although I'm not going to go beat by beat for each and every episode.
Psycho-Pass is set in a post-cyberpunk future, where Japan developed technology capable of looking into our very souls. Thanks to remote brain scans and big data analysis, a hyper-advanced computer system (often referred to by name as the Sybil System) can guide everything, from individual lives to the sociaty as a collective, towards it's optimal path. Various components of the scan form the titular Psycho-Pass (as in: passport) which determines your standing in society. We mostly see the world through the eyes of Akane Tsunemori, a young police inspector, fresh out of the academy. The first 3 episodes are a sort of "tutorial level" for her, where she learns the ropes of police work, and we get to see the basic mechanics of the Psycho-Pass, and how it affects people.
We meet Akane as she's running late for her first assignment: a normie white collar worker got flagged by a street scanner doing a "hue check" - a low resolution vibe check that gets translated into color for readability. The suspect has been determined to be doing a bit too much wrongthink, and was directed by a drone to go to therapy. Not only did he refuse to comply, he grabbed a passerby, took her for a hostage, and ran off to a ghetto full of the homeless and other undesireables. All of this is explained to us by Akane's work partner, inspector Nobuchika Ginoza. Just as he's done with the briefing, they a see a police van arrive, and the rest of the supporting cast disembarks:
The people you're about to meet cannot be considered humans like us.
Their Crime Coefficients all exceed the safety limit. They are people of bankrupt character.
Normally, they would be completely isolated as latent criminals, but they're allowed into the outside world for the sole purpose of flushing out criminals just like themselves.
They're hunting dogs. They're beasts used to hunt beasts. They're what we call “Enforcers”.
They will be your subordinates.
The Crime Coefficient is another component of the Psycho-Pass that measures an individual's propensity towards crime. It's a high resolution measure, that requires specialized hardware, and significantly more compute than a basic Hue Check, so they are not done routinely. Instead, law enforcement are the only ones handling such scanners, which conveniently come attached to a gun called a Dominator, which make the police work rather simple:
- Anyone with a Crime Coefficient below 100 is considered a law-abiding citizen, and is not a subject for any enforcement action. The trigger locks automatically when the gun is aimed at them.
- Values between 100 and 300 mean that the suspect is considered a "latent criminal", and they should be taken into custody. The gun fires in "paralyzer mode" to help facilitate this.
- Above 300 the suspect is subject to a summary execution, and the Dominator switches to "eliminator mode".
- Independently from the Crime Coefficient, there's also a "decomposer mode", which is activated when law enforcement are facing a significant threat, and really need to blast something to kingdom come.
Perhaps I should have said it's the judicial system's work that has been simplified, rather than that of the police, since the police still have to apprehend (and/or execute) criminals, while the entirety of the due process has been replaced with a Crime Coefficient scan. The system is responsive in some ways, but appears very rigid in others. On one hand, we do see update based on incoming data. When they first try to arrest the suspect, it turns out he took stimulants that countered the paralyzer. That act of defiance cost him is life, as the system responded by authorizing his execution. Similarly the hostage moves up and down the scale. First, the trauma of the entire ordeal makes her Crime Coefficient go up to the point where she's considered a latent criminal, and will placed under arrest. Then, upon witnessing the execution (which is done in a particularly gruesome way for no apparent, or explained in-universe, reason) and thinking she's next, she makes a break for it, which causes the Coefficient to go even higher, now authorizing her to be executed as well. Finally, as the resident naive newbie (and young woman), Akane insists on showing her mercy, successfully talks her down from going out in a blaze of glory, and thus the system updates once more, this time downward, and she's merely arrested.
On the other hand, everyone, with the exception of Akane, is acting like once you pass a certain threshold, your life is over. Before he's killed, the kidnapper has a little "what's the punishment for being late?" monologue explaining his actions:
Up until today, I did everything by the book. I spent my whole life walking on eggshells, trying my hardest not to upset or bother anyone.
And yet, I get flagged by one little detector and boom! They already treat me like I'm a criminal.
This is it for me.
Now that it's come to this, it's all over. I'll never be able to get a job, get married, or anything else.
Well, fine then. I've restrained myself all this time. So now, I'll just do whatever I want. I'll take whatever I want. I'll kill anyone I don't like!
You might think maybe he's just an unstable man, failing to see that the system isn't as rigid as he claims, and his life was never over, but even the hostage thinks she's boned, when she's shown her Psycho-Pass. What's more Akane's decision to go easy on the hostage is portrayed as extremely unorthodox. Everyone treats her like she's crazy, and her actions can only be justified by being naive and inexperienced. She spends a good deal of the second episode fighting doubts about her decision, and trying to justify it in the case report*. Luckily for her the hostage ends up improving after being given therapy in custody, but that outcome is implied to be so rare, that the unorthodox nature of her actions are seen as a plausible explanation for it, so she gets to claim it as a justification.
*) You might be thinking "huh, it's a rather ruthless society, if you have to justify not killing a suspect", but "the decision" in question was less about showing mercy to the hostage, and more about shooting one of the enforcers (in paralyser mode) in order to prevent him from carrying out the execution (only has himself to blame, that's what he told her to do). There's also the "blaze of glory" aspect of the situation, where Akane would be putting herself and her subordinates in danger, if things didn't go her way.
The rigidity isn't even limited to the Crime Coefficient. After the kidnapper has been dealt with, the following day Akane meets up with her friends for coffee, and in the course of the conversation it turns out that in the Psycho-Pass universe, Akane has a super-power - the power of choice. One of the blessings of the Sybil System is it's ability predict how well suited each individual is for a given job, and Akane was found to have (top!) aptitude for jobs at all thirteen ministries and agencies, and six companies. Faced with so much choice, she also faces doubts like "what is my purpose in life?" which everyone else finds extremely annoying. One of her friends does manual labor, and the other is an IT worker, and neither has any prospect of ever doing anything else in their lives. Later on she also has lunch with one of the enforcers - Shusei Kagari - who's situation is even more dire. Enforcers are nothing but convicts with aptitude for police work, and Kagari was declared a latent criminal when he was still a child. His only choice in life was to either rot in prison, or work for the Public Safety Bureau in return for better living conditions, and a sliver of freedom (enforcers can even leave the PSB compund as long as they're accompanied by an inspector).
Another one of Akane's "superpowers" that's briefly mentioned, is that her Psycho-Pass tends be good. Why that is, is initially a matter of some speculation, and finally spelled out in the later episodes, but it seems to boil down to her stoic life philosophy. In any case, she seems to be unaffected even by events that would mess other people right up, while everyone else, who isn't already a latent criminal, goes through life stressing out trying to manage their "Hue". The third episode, possibly the first mission outside of the "tutorial level" explores that - and how it can go horribly wrong - a bit more. Akane's division is assigned to investigate suspicious deaths in a drone factory. Originally all ruled accidental, their mere frequency raised suspicions. No direct evidence of foul play is found, but the investigation reveals disturbing dynamics between the workers. For security reasons the entire factory is completely cut off from the interwebs, and they have to make do with what they have around for entertainment, which is not a lot. So, as is perhaps not uncommon in male-heavy environments, the workers as a group tend to periodically pick a victim and bully the shit out of him to blow off some steam. The director of the factory is aware of this, and allows it, as it's good for collective morale. When any particular worker gets bullied too much, and their Hue gets too messed up, he rotates him out and lets another schmuck take his place. However, no one's been rotated out in quite a while, as the most recent designated whipping boy's Hue seems to periodically recover on it's own... and the times of the recovery are curiously aligned with the times of his coworkers' deaths. Plot twist! Turns out the whipping boy has been blowing off some steam of his own.
One of the fascinating aspects of the show is the blurry line between what is meant to be a statement about the impact of technology on society, and what is an allegory for how society already operates. In interviews the show's creators often hint at most of it being the latter, and it makes sense. Psycho-Pass was written in 2014, AI was still a distant dream, and many technologically mediated social trends it talks about were still in their infancy, if they even can be said to have come about at all. Information revealed in later episodes even makes it clear that the Sybil System isn't exactly an AI in-universe, and shouldn't be interpreted to be about the impact of technology on society, at least not exclusively. We'll cross that bridge when we get there, but for now, since the story is leaning in the AI direction, and since so much progress has been made in the field IRL, it's hard not to dwell on it a little bit.
I've had my fair share of rants about Rationalists and how they get AI wrong, Psycho-Pass is how I think you get it right. Stop worrying about agentic superhuman conscious intelligences, and start worrying about systems for mass surveilence and control. Worry less about existential risks coming from misalignment, and more about existential crises people will face when you sucked all humanity out of their daily lives. Remote brainscans might seem fanciful, but between SocMeds, smart watches, and smartphones, do we even need to scan brains to get something like the Sybil System? China already has their Social Credit System that doesn't seem all that different from Sybil, Europe seems like it would like to have one as well, along with a uniquely identifying digital identity, or a (state manged) digital currency And in case we do need to scan brains to get something like the Psycho-Pass, well it's not entirely out of the question. Every time I rewatch the show I end up thinking it's scary how relevant it is.
The conversation between Akane and her friends always makes me smile, because I had one eerily similar to it ages ago, with an old friend of mine facing a similar choice dillema, who ended up pining for a Sybil System to come into existence! "Wouldn't it be great", she said, "if there was a machine that could tell you what job you'd be good at, and would enjoy doing?". It's another thing that I think we're more likely to get than an AGI, and it's a good question if we really want it. The idea that people prefer to have a "human element" in a system instead of everything being decided by a machine has been a trope in sci-fi for a while, but despite being the resident Luddite, I'm starting to wonder if this is true. We're not even that far up the AI tech-tree, and I'm already hearing "but ChatGPT said..." as an argument enough times to make me want to pull my hair out. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure that it's healthier for people have such a human element, as demonstrated by the growing collective unhappiness, the more exposed to technology we become.
Other than all the food for thought, the show has some great character development. Since these are the introductory episodes there's not much to write home about yet, but here's the general run-down.
Akane is still inexperienced and is constantly wrecked with doubts, but over the course of the show we see her grow in skill and confidence. A fairly common trope in anime, but depressingly rare in western storytelling, and it ivariably makes me shake my head to think how much drama about Mary Sues we could have been spared if Hollywood copied a few notes from Japan.
Although I haven't mentioned his name yet, the other main protagonist of the show is enforcer Shinya Kogami, the poor bloke that got shot by Akane in episode 1. He's one of these dark and broody types with a quest for vengence, and set up as the counterpart for the story's main villain (to be disclosed). Though the thing I find interesting about him is his skepticism, if not quiet resentment, of the Sybil System, and how he chooses to process it (in contrast to the currently undisclosed villain).
Inspector Ginoza is dark and broody in his own way, and seemingly disdainful of the enforcers (he's the one that delivered the little speech about them not being entirely human), but it turns out his motivations are understandable, and his intentions relatively noble. We get to see some of the setup for his arc in episode 3, as Akane discovers there's some tension between him, and enforcer Tomomi Masaoka, which is apparently a touchy subject for both. It has a very moving resolution by the end of the show, but that's another bridge we'll cross when we get there. As for Masaoka, he's an "old dog" detective, with his own interesting backstory of how he became a latent criminal.
I already mentioned enforcer Kagari, he's more aloof and tends act like a goofball most of the time, but has these nice moments of depth, like his conversation with Akane that I mentioned above.
The final enforcer of the team is Yayoi Kunizuka who... well, doesn't really do that much, but gets a pretty good backstory episode later on. And last but not least is analyst Shion Karanomori a somewhat manic superhacker that supports the team back from HQ.
To be continued...
The next day, we start off with a Yechuan-style breakfast with the party member aunt. I'm not quite sure how to differentiate it from other styles; the food is starting to blur together. Too much new stuff all at once. I don't even crave Western food exactly; what I miss is the Western-style meal structure where I pick personal choices and eat them all myself. This might be less the case if I were more able to participate in conversations. The Chinese style is way more conducive to talking while eating, which is why meals last for at least an hour.
Every meal is a kind of frantic context-switching between grabbing food off the lazy Susan, responding to toasts, and talking with neighbors or the whole group. Somehow, aunties universally find time in this frenzy to insist you eat more, invariably when what's available to grab is jellied duck tongue or intestines. I power through, though. They mean well, and it's more a lack of hunger after spending six hours a day at a meal table than the food being unpalatable. My wife is understandably pretty exhausted, and the translations come less frequently. My sister-in-law is picking up some of the slack.
Next, we stop by the Nanjing Museum. Not too much to say about the museum itself. If you've been to a museum, then you can guess what to expect. My sister-in-law and I got the English digital audio tour, everyone else Chinese. The voice is text-to-speech and quiet but good enough. I use this time to relax a bit; it's been nonstop all week. One thing I'll mention is that mainland Chinese people are comfortable bumping into each other and having very little personal space. The museum is packed, and you'd never get near any exhibit if you weren't comfortable with boxing people in or being boxed in.
After the museum, it's lunch again. This time, the baijiu is a green bean variety. We're seated next to a cousin who was at MIL's grandpa's ceremony. I didn't have an opportunity to talk to him much then. He's a few years older than us. He reportedly was TikTok famous for workout videos and now sells used cars through TikTok. According to him, the Chinese used car market is only about 20 years old, and there are big counterfeit and fraud issues.
After lunch, we head to the Confucius Temple. One shouldn't confuse this with a Confucius temple, which may have something to do with Confucianism. This is a very large shopping and amusement district. Supposedly, at one point, it also contained the red light district. My wife spent the first eight years of her life before moving to the US a few blocks from here. MIL claims she took her through the shopping district every evening to calm her down before bed.
We take a quick detour to Laodongmen, or the Old East Gate, at her parents' insistence. It's much the same market-type district as the Confucius Temple, but the architecture is from the Ming and Qing dynasties, and they go to great lengths to keep it that way. Everything is ornate dark wood or carved stone. The storefronts are impressive, but the merchandise is not very compelling. It's all the same baubles from Yu Gardens, and this is much the same as we get back to the Confucius Temple area.
We run into kids in the same uniform as the top school in China again at the market, furthering doubt that this isn't some universal high school uniform. The party member aunt independently confirms their identity as the number one school. It starts to rain, and there is some confusion about what our actual plan is. The party member aunt has some connections, and it's not clear we've actually paid for any of the attractions we've been to since arriving in Nanjing. We take separate lines, plausibly for lack of Chinese ID.
After the sun sets and some confusion, we end up in a museum dedicated to keju, or the merit-based test originally established during the Sui Dynasty circa 600 AD, which spiritually survives today in the form of the gaokao that consumes the childhoods of many Chinese people. There was a small section dedicated to the military version established a century later, where a man would need to pass several tests, including archery and the ability to deadlift a stone. They had some stone examples available, but to my disappointment, there were no opportunities to try or even a standardized weight listed.
The test apparently was originally a series of essays written over three days. I only got vague answers as to what the actual questions were—something about understanding Confucius' ideas or writing about proper government structures. But when asked how cheating and corruption were combated, answers came readily. Your essay was to be transcribed by an official before being judged to prevent handwriting from being used to allow bribes. It was administered every three years in tiers, starting locally and then finishing in the imperial exam, in which only 300 people got top marks.
FIL answered a question I'm sure many have had: What's up with those weird hats with wings on either side? He claims it's to keep officials from being able to whisper to each other in secret, making it one of the earliest pieces of anti-encryption technology. The Chinese surveillance state has deep roots.
After we finish the exhibit, we go straight to another. This one is a lantern festival at the actual Confucius Temple. My wife's feet are hurting, so she sits down, and I wander about without translation aid. There's not much to say about the lanterns; they're impressive in large numbers but really just paper or cloth over lights—very similar vibes to a Christmas light display.
We don't stay long, and next up is a boat tour on the river. It's nice, and there are some displays about a drunken poet that normally I'd be amused by. There were huge advertisements for some baijiu that nearly entirely obscured one statue of him. But we're a little burnt out on sightseeing at this point. My wife recounts a quote by her mother that after a proper trip, one should collapse in misery at the end of the day, and I'm starting to think she wasn't exaggerating.
The boat tour ends at 10 p.m., and we were told to expect a light dinner. So we spend a mere two hours in a nearby restaurant. No baijiu, fortunately. The next day, her parents are going back to visit both grandmas, giving our generation a free day.
We plan to hike Zijin Mountain, the same one with those mausoleums, with Syracuse and his technically-not-girlfriend. She pulls up in a green Jeep analogue with "TANK" written on the back in block letters. She brought her dog Dan-Dan, or Egg-Egg, a one-year-old English Sheepdog. Despite all these signs, she seems to get along well with our nerdy cousin. The two gifts he got her were makeup, which was a mistake. It's an understandable mistake—girls use a lot of makeup, and it can be expensive. Boys, buying a girl makeup is like her trying to buy you a video game without consulting you or having any idea what makes a game good or in your tastes. Just don't do it. She's merely annoyed with him.
The hike up is relatively uneventful; the path is nearly deserted. Hiking doesn't seem as popular in China as other activities. At the top, we stop for KFC. They have hamburgers and grilled chicken but no actual fried chicken—a sad state of affairs that may have cost them their lives in the States, but it is still crowded. The burgers were... weird, kind of loose and almost wet.
On the hike down, we talk about what to do for the evening. I suggest goinf to a Chinese bar, pub, or basically any Chinese drinking establishment that isn't a club. These are probably not the right people to ask but the suggestion turns into a plan. Syracuse has never seen the inside of a bar anywhere, and his girl acquaintance doesn't seem to understand the question. But nothing else is suggested and no one comes up with anything better.
Dinner is another lazy Susan with Cantonese-style roast duck and a birthday cake for Syracuse, as he'll turn 29 American and 30 Chinese the next day. In China, you come out at one year old. He makes a wish, and the girl says she already knows what it is: to finish his PhD. He comes back with, "That is one of my three wishes." From the reaction, he won the exchange. Chinese people generally think everything in America is too sweet, and their cakes tend to be lighter and covered in fruit.
After dinner, we reiterate anything but a club. We make our way to a place they found online. It's up an elevator, and as soon as we arrive, we confirm that it is indeed a club. Without a reservation, they only have a back table with a 1,500 yuan cover. I might have been willing to eat the cover even though we only planned to be out an hour or two, but even the waitstaff is giving me the stink eye.
We make our exit, and part of me wants to just cut and hang out at the hotel, but they're committed. We end up finding our way to a James Bond-inspired cocktail bar with a vibe that I would describe as schizophrenic. The lights are dim with what seems to be essentially a random playlist of Western songs that go from upbeat country to emo while The Big Bang Theory, subtitled in Chinese, plays on the back wall. Despite the relative clown-show nature of the bar, the bartenders could not be more serious, adopting severe expressions and using exclusively the English names of the cocktails. I don't think it was representative of the Nanjing drinking scene, but I approve of it nonetheless.
After we get into our first round, the mood improves. My wife tells stories of her patients. We find out Chinese working people get practically no paid time off—five days a year to start—but are able to take unpaid time off without too much hassle and have longer holidays.
We have to be up early for our train back to Shanghai the next morning, so we head back to the hotel at midnight. The parents have retrieved a few more gifts for us while we were out. We now have a thick silk quilt with a long list of prohibitions that are surprisingly similar to how one should treat a Mogwai in order to avoid creating a gremlin, along with a number of trinkets and a pair of little red books. I'd have preferred to find them myself but accept the help.
In preparation for reading Trump's executive orders, I started reading Biden's. I think I just finished the backlog.
My goal in this report and subsequent reports is to get at concrete actions that are happening in government, rather than the emotional reactions and grandiose rhetoric on either side of the media. I'm looking for significant actions with long-term consequences which are under-reported along my axis of interests: competence in government, environmental regulation, science funding policy, AI, and other existential threats.
This means I will skip a lot of the rhetoric. If something is very likely to be challenged in court, I will note that and then wait for the courts to have their say.
Outgoing executive actions of the Biden administration
January 14, 2025: Proclamation 10881 "Establishment of the Chuckwalla National Monument"
This Proclamation goes on for five print pages about the history of a region in "southeastern California, where the Mojave and Colorado Deserts intersect," then declares (under the Antiquities Act) that the "objects" described in these pages need to be protected, "to ensure the preservation, restoration, and protection of the objects of scientific and historic interest identified above and to advance renewable energy in Development Focus Areas (DFAs)".
The area to be protected is five claims totaling 624,270 acres, between Joshua Tree National Park and Chocolate Mountain Aerial Gunnery Range.
I don't know anything about this region, but skipping all the rhetoric, the plain text of the Proclamation doesn't make sense to me. In my mind, either you preserve an area, or you develop it, but not both. Preserving "to advance renewable energy" is weird, unless this is the watershed for a hydroelectric dam.
January 15, 2025: Executive order 14141 "Advancing United States Leadership in Artificial Intelligence Infrastructure"
This executive order has eleven sections on more than 20 print pages, so I will summarize each section as a unit.
Section one: Preamble: "This order sets our Nation on the path to ensure that future frontier AI can, and will, continue to be built here in the United States."
Section two: Policy: Agencies should support AI development for national security and economic leadership, and energy development for such, as long as it doesn't raise energy prices. (How can using more energy not raise energy prices?)
Section three: Defines terms. Not too many surprises here, except that fossil fuel power with 90% permanent carbon capture falls under the definition of "clean energy."
Section four: (1) Three sites on Federal land will be leased to AI data centers and their supporting energy infrastructure by 2027. This section defines consideration and process for the Secretary of the Interior to do so, announcing sites by March 31, 2025, soliciting bids by June 30, 2025. (2) Five regions will be designated as "geothermal regions" for power generation and "thermal storage." A program for streamlining geothermal projects on federal land will be established by July 2025. (3) Construction of AI infrastructure is to begin by Jan 1, 2026 with full-capacity operation by December 31, 2027. This seems like slow timelines for AI. (4) These sites are to be secured within one year.
Section five: This whole section is about how the DoE should work with states to report on the impact of data centers on consumer energy prices. I predict this will slow AI development.
Section six: Requires electrical transmission providers to let the Federal government know about their remaining and planned capacity, and makes arrangements for agencies to power the three AI data centers of Section four. This is a good thing insofar as it is seeking to find underused infrastructure for placement of data centers. On the other hand, isn't this what price signals are for, and isn't it dangerous to have all this information in a single place which will undoubtedly be hacked by China?
Section seven: Requires agencies to do all the permitting quickly. Ex. EPA review is 30 days.
Section eight: Instructs the Secretary of Energy to include frontier AI data centers in its previously-scheduled nationwide energy and transmission needs analyses. Instructs agencies to who make infrastructure loans to inform the developers who win bids for AI related infrastructure on Federal land about loan and loan guarantee opportunities.
Section nine: (1) Plans to make a plan for promoting development of nuclear power. (2) Mandates a report on supply chain risks for data center components. (3) Develops model contracts for distributed energy. (4) Evaluate existing nationwide permits to see if they can be used for AI data center construction, and write new ones.[?] (5) Hold a voluntary "grand challenge" for power efficiency, computational efficiency, and water efficiency in data centers.
Section ten: Coordinate with geopolitical allies to build "trusted AI infrastructure" abroad.
Section eleven: Don't violate existing laws while doing any of this.
January 15, 2025: Executive order 14142 "Taking Additional Steps With Respect to the Situation in Syria"
This Executive Order (EO) modifies a 2019 (Trump) EO which declared a National Emergency in order to seize assets of individuals who had "directly or indirectly engaged in" "actions or policies that further threaten the peace, security, stability, or territorial integrity of Syria", but limited to "Turkish officials" who had sought to "obstruction, disruption, or prevention of a ceasefire in northern Syria".
Biden's EO strikes language which keeps it narrow to "in particular the recent actions by the Government of Turkey to conduct a military offensive into northeast Syria," and removes all clauses limiting enforcement to representatives of Turkey.
I read this seeking to allow sanctions on non-Turks who threaten the stability of Syria. Maybe Syrians, maybe Isrealis?
January 14, 2025: Notice 2025-01312. "Continuation of the National Emergency With Respect to the Situation in the West Bank"
This notice extends the national emergency of a previous executive order for one year, until Feb. 1, 2026. The previous executive order appears to sanction people involved in supporting violence in the West Bank, and prevents them from immigrating from the US. Not sure if it referrs to Israeli settlers or members of the Palestinian Authority.
January 15, 2025: "Continuation of the National Emergency With Respect to the Widespread Humanitarian Crisis in Afghanistan and the Potential for a Deepening Economic Collapse in Afghanistan"
The administration issues a declaration to extend a previous national emergency by one year. This national emergency allows freezing the assets of "Da Afghanistan Bank" held by US financial institutions, to keep the Taliban from using these assets.
Given that the asset freeze has been in place since February 11, 2022, this isn't a big deal.
January 16, 2025: Executive Order 14143 "Providing for the Appointment of Alumni of AmeriCorps to the Competitive Service".
This EO gives Americorps alumni with 1700 or more hours of service a fast-track to Federal employment, by making them elligible for "Non-Competitive Eligibility", for one year following their service. This gets them out of merit-based competition in federal hiring. This affects a population of about 80,000 people.
January 16, 2025: Executive Order 14144 "Strengthening and Promoting Innovation in the Nation's Cybersecurity"
This EO has a lot of parts, and each section was likely written by a team of subject-matter experts. There is no way I can do it justice.
Section two requires Federal contract software providers to submit "machine-readable secure software development attestations; high-level artifacts to validate those attestations; and a list of the providers' Federal Civilian Executive Branch (FCEB) agency software customers." It also provides that the government establish "practical and effective" security practices to require when it procures software," and implement "supply chain risk management programs" into their own enterprise software.
Section three requires federal agencies to implement security practices used in industry, then goes into protections (encryption) for the civil space system and space ground systems.
Section four requires "strong identity authentication and encryption using modern, standardized, and commercially available algorithms and protocols", including Border Gateway router security, Route Origin Authorizations, and DNS traffic encryption. I'm skeptical of digital identity documents, but if they were more privacy-preserving than physical documents that would be impressive.
Section five seeks to "Combat cybercrime and fraud" by requiring the implementation and use of "mobile driver's licenses", "remote digital identity verification using digital identity documents" which can be used on any "standards-compliant hardware." The focus seems to be on public benefit programs. Thankfully, there are provisions for "do not enable ... surveil and track presentation of the digital identity document" and "ensuring only the minimum information required for a transaction."
Section six directs DARPA to open a program using AI for cyber defense, and for other agencies to implement the program within a year or so.
Section seven is about making sure that IT systems introduced by agencies can be audited for security compliance. Mostly transparency and automatic attestation.
Section eight is about securing national security systems.
Section nine amends a previous executive order, enabling sanctions on foreign hackers and cybersecurity threatening entities named by the Secretary of the Treasury or Secretary of State.
This is an extremely technical EO, and I have no doubt it was written by several teams of specialists. This also means it is almost impossible for the layperson to evaluate. Implementation will take years, with many sequences of delays built in for agencies to develop and implement processes.
January 16, 2025: Memorandum: "Orderly Implementation of the Air Toxics Standards for Ethylene Oxide Commercial Sterilizers"
Ethylene Oxide is used to sterilize medical devices, but it also known to cause cancer when in the air. This Memorandum establishes a process for considering requests for exemptions to new EPA rules on EtO release.
Whether this is good or bad seems like it will depend on the implementation. The deadline for the process development here is two years.
January 15, 2025: Memorandum: "Extending and Expanding Eligibility for Deferred Enforced Departure for Certain Hong Kong Residents"
"I have determined that it is in the foreign policy interest of the United States to defer for 24 months the removal of any Hong Kong resident, regardless of country of birth, who is present in the United States on the date of this memorandum, except for those [who have returned to the PRC or been convited of crimes.]" This seems like a good thing.
January 19, 2025: Executive Order 14145 "Helping Left-Behind Communities Make a Comeback"
This executive order directs several agencies to coordinate to support local economic development and make it easier to find resources about economic development programs which may be useful to "covered communities", which are defined as "economically distressed" regions, "Community Disaster Resiliency Zones", rural communities, and regions served by existing regional development programs.
This doesn't look controversial at all, unless the communities in question are selected in a partisan manner.
January 19, 2025: Executive Order 14146 "Partial Revocation of Executive Order 13961"
This is a very short but cryptic executive order. "Sections 1, 3, 4, 5, and 7 of Executive Order 13961 of December 7, 2020 (Governance and Integration of Federal Mission Resilience), are hereby revoked."
Executive order 13961 is about continuity of the US government during emergencies. Section 1 establishes "the policy of the United States to maintain comprehensive and effective continuity programs that ensure national security and the preservation of government structure under the United States Constitution," and mandates that agencies must be able to continuously perform "National Essential Functions": mostly security, defense, health, and emergency services. Sections 3, 4, 5, and 7 establish a "Federal Mission Resilience Executive Committee".
I'm very confused. It looks like Section 2 (not revoked) defines the Federal Mission Resilience Strategy, and is untouched. So this EO is abolishing an Executive Committee.
While searching around to try to figure out what was going on, my search for Strategy document of Section two revealed a January 20 2025 Trump EO "Organization of the National Security Council and Subcommittees" which defines a National Security Council.
I'm going to guess this was some kind of parting shot by the Biden Admin, and it doesn't really matter because Trump's day 1 EOs overwrote it. But this last one leaves me just very very confused.
A few weeks ago, I completed a bikepacking route in Switzerland: The Hope 1000. It’s an interesting country to visit and I believe my method of travel provided a unique perspective. I’m an American who has occasionally traveled to Europe (Italy, UK, France) in the past and generally enjoys it.
Rural Switzerland: Lawn Mowers who Don’t Eat Cows
The route primarily traverses the foothills of the Alps through smaller towns. The first thing to strike me was how neat and precise forest management is in comparison to the US. Treelines are as crisp as a paper fold, and caches of firewood exist everywhere. I counted 4 pieces of litter in 14 days across these trails. Most of the forest is owned and managed by the federal government. In so much of the flatter countryside, there are roads everywhere. By this I mean there seem to be roads between every field and micro-town, allowing walkers and cyclists a level of route granularity that’s bafflingly inefficient.
After a certain level of elevation, my close-at-hand scenery became exclusively dairy farms. Switzerland has a complex direct-payment subsidy program that rewards these tiny outfits with around 75% of their income (based on elevation, acreage, land management, and eco practices). It’s a hugely influential system, naturally resented by leftist city dwellers. The machinery and effort these farmers put in, though, to maintain these landscapes is significant. I have seen people mowing meadows at grades and elevations you simply wouldn’t believe unless you see them for yourself. Cows essentially won’t eat grasses of a certain age/toughness, and the alpine herbs that make some of their diet unique require all of this effort.
Unfortunately for me, this meant that I had significant dietary challenges for much of the route. Beef is my favorite protein and the Eastern Swiss essentially don’t eat it because their income is tied to the cows staying alive. There’s no side dish at any restaurant that’s not a potato. The main dish is pork schnitzel. Maybe chicken nuggets if you’re lucky? Even the grocery stores are just the size of a small American apartment and almost exclusively stock pork and dairy as calorie sources. I expected great things from the Swiss potato chip company given their reverence for the tuber, and can only tell you that it was truly amazing how unpalatable almost every single one of their products were.
Most of us know first or secondhand that summer in Europe is mostly the entire continent being on vacation all the time. The rural Swiss are at another level. Restaurant? Closed. Hotel? Closed. A restaurant-hotel marked as open Google Maps? Definitely closed. The Swiss expect you to call and see if they’re there, I guess, but that wasn’t realistic for my mode of travel.
There are massive advantages to Switzerland as a location to bikepack, though, and why I selected it for the trip. Clean running water is unbelievably ubiquitous. In the dead of summer, a 2-bottle margin was sufficient for almost every distance. The train travel app and infrastructure systems are mostly great.
Some of the highlights of my trip were provided by an obscure social network ( warmshowers.org ) populated by cycling tourers. These are people who intimately understand what you’re going through and know you’ll want a shower first, then probably food, and then probably laundry. The hosts that allowed me to stay with them were excellent: A super-leftist Unix/Network admin whose eclectically decorated house full of punk rubber ducks and a soviet-era state-produced folding cycle produced the best cup of coffee I had in Switzerland. A kind family of 4 in a suburb of Lucerne, who’d (pre-kids) spent almost two years traveling the world by bicycle and (post-kids) were planning to withdraw them from school to spend a year pedaling to Morocco. They fed me curry, for which I was supremely grateful, given my diet for the rest of the trip.
My greatest single regret was underestimating my rate of travel when organizing Warmshowers hosts. It meant that 2/4 I had organized had planned for me to arrive at a later date, and so were unable to let me stay. My focus on the physical achievement aspect of the journey meant I missed out on more chances of personal connection that I won’t get back.
Bikepacking
It’s exactly what it sounds like. I’m a huge enthusiast of this method of travel stateside. It combines the best aspects of hiking, camping, and cycling together. My excursions into the deep, isolated portions of America with friends where we can carry comforts like beer and folding chairs to our sites for the night are some of the most fun I’ve ever had.
But as a solo, multi-week trek in a foreign country, I think it has some serious drawbacks. Bikepacking has a bit of a competitive and race-driven spirit. Routes have suggested times and metrics. They’re meant to be challenging distances between two points, not the most direct. When you’re exerting yourself at this level and then camping with minimal changes of clothes, you aren’t fit to sit down inside near people (much less at an enjoyable tourism activity like a wine tasting). The line between bikepacking and homelessness isn’t very clear – perhaps it’s just the quality of the machine you’re riding or the power level behind your credit card.
My ad-hoc meetings with Swiss people were excellent across the board. They’re, of course, naturally reserved in comparison to Americans, but I expected that. As a general cyclist, you’re background noise. But I was noticed and engaged with at a few distinct points where my heavy mountain bike was clearly not where it “should” be.
- A beautiful, delicate Roadie on the famous climb to Grindewald, who effortlessly passed me on the way up. I expressed jealousy of her Huge Cassette (entendre not intended) and she waited to congratulate me and briefly chat when I arrived.
- A mechanical engineer, Hans, who was exceedingly proud of his work for the likes of Nestle’s Nespresso division and Lego. He opened our conversation on the hand-over-hand climbing trail with a very polite “It is quite unusual to see a bicycle here” (“You’re a fucking idiot”). We spoke of raising children without dependence on television and how to handle retirement.
- A shirtless backpacker cresting a summit behind me after a gut-wrenching early morning climb was very hardcore. I had downed a pounder beer at 9:30 AM for calories and hydration (swiss farmers often leave fridges/cabinets/cold-water receptacles full of things to purchase via the honor system with cash or twint [equivalent of venmo]). He was armed with simply a paper map and a small pack on a shorter but similarly challenging route. There’s always a bigger man on the mountain. Right after this, we both chucked down the same ridiculously technical footpath, with me on an empty-stomach buzz.
I don’t think I represented the level of American extroversion and chattiness that people expected. This was partially by design because I find our volume level internationally to be profoundly irritating, but also because I felt like shit.
The Physical Challenge.
I took a total of 14 days to complete the route, with 12 being “par”. Per day, I averaged:
- 72 kilometers
- 2050 meters of elevation gain
- 5,000 calories of energy expenditure
A marathon runner will generally use around 2,600 calories for a race. Given, they do it only over 5 hours ; ) whereas my progress was stretched across 7 hours of dedicated pedaling.
Going up was as brutal as you would expect. With camping being the theme of the day, I became acutely aware of the amount of energy I had in my Garmin, cell phone, and everything else. The back 3/4 of the trip was “raw dogged” sans music to save battery after I ran dry early on, and I took fewer pictures to save even more. Historically, I’ve pooh-poohed the use of dynamos for bike touring, but I’ll be integrating one into whatever my next build is. I was hoping for deep introspection, inspiration, and contemplation. Instead, my mind looped around worthless songs and sentences over and over again, a black hole of blankness only interrupted by decision-making to manage water and calories.
Downhill was surprisingly intense. I pushed my bogged-down hardtail to its limits down hiking trails with stone steps. Managing traction across dew-soaked meadows, loose gravel, concrete, and the aforementioned cow shit was a challenge. Some of the fast carving down alpine roads were once-in-a-lifetime experiences. My brand-new tires are probably 75% consumed, and I burnt out a set of pads and my rear rotors a third of the way through the trip – my only major mechanical issue that required a scrambled train ride to a metro with a bike shop that would actually be open.
I had a fairly even split of luck over the two weeks. The first 3 days were cursed by rain. In combination with an unceasing supply of moist cow shit, my drivetrain and hygiene suffered. The final 2 days were affected by an intense GI infection, which is putting it very politely. It persisted for another 2 days of travel home via train and plane.
I ended up losing around 15 pounds. When I reached the endpoint Freddy Mercury statue in Montreaux, I took a picture before walking to the corner of a park and breaking down discreetly for a few moments. I’ve never experienced so much intense and near-continuous suffering for this long. I’m still processing it, days later. I don’t think I’ll do something at this level again.
I finally took a real bath in Lake Geneva for the first time in a week, shivering in the cool water as hundreds of tourists passed by and the sun began to set. It felt good.
For those interested in the scenery, a selection of images. Not a photographer, they don’t do it justice, etc. etc.
Good morning everyone, I am once again returning to Hem and Haw about something I care about. In last months episode, I told you all to be like Davy Crockett. [https://www.themotte.org/post/1635/why-you-should-shoot-black-powder] In today's installment, I am going to do what my friends call "Clocking in as the VP of Finance" for Major League Baseball. We say this because we all love to moan and complain about what we would do to change the game like we are on the board of directors, even though we do not have any power to do so. I have loved the game of baseball since I was a small boy. I still play now as an adult - albeit poorly - but as long as I can, I always will. I am hoping in the next few minutes I can mostly get you to agree with the following opinions:
The Mound should be moved back
Strikeouts do suck actually
A return of .300+ hitters would be a good thing for baseball
Baseball traditionally hates change. Since the very beginning, people have fought, bitched, moaned, complained, and damned every single change to the game. Candy Cummings invented the Curveball throwing Oyster Shells with his friends down at the docks; hitters demanded its ban. Billy Hamilton reading the rulebook one night realized the ball was always in play and the next day simply ran to second base while the pitcher stood on the mound; people laughed and told him to return to first. Black men were told they simply could not cut it for years and years, now they occupy Cooperstown just like those from all other walks of life. My point being every time the game has a change proposed to it that ends up becoming something we can't imagine the game without, we still end up fighting it for years.
Bill James is a very smart man, I do not think anyone can discredit him for that. He came up with a very visionary system in the mid 1970's called Sabermetrics that challenged traditional baseball thinking to its core. Basically the tenets of his idea are that all points of the game of baseball can be quantified and an optimal strategy can be made to get a team to win games. His argument comes down to outs, outs are what is valuable in a game and it does not really matter how they are made as long as they are held onto for dear life. For years this idea was ignored. Of course there are ways an out matters! People would say putting the ball in play is all that matters - swing and put it in play. If you played baseball as a kid, you probably remember being taught that Striking out was basically the worst thing you could do. Central to Bill James' idea is that this is simply not true. It took a while, but about 25 years after He started writing about this, Major League Baseball was forced to take notice after the Oakland A's put this idea into practice and made a winning ballclub. I do think that the logic of get on base any way you can makes sense and it has been proven that it can win ballgames, but it has also created a brand of baseball that is just flat out boring to watch.
With the addition of Sabermetrics to baseball Professional players are being taught now that strikeouts don't matter, Walks are very important, hitting the ball hard if you do swing is all that matters. This has lead to a rise in what are called "Three true outcome" hitters. If you liked baseball as a kid but now think it is rather boring it is probably because you dislike these without realizing it. The three true outcomes are Walk, Strikeout, and Homerun. In the 1970s it was very rare to see a player like this; Dave Kingman is an example: Huge power, bad average. They were the exception, but now they have become the rule. It is normal, if not totally expected, for a player to hit .240 with 15 home runs a season now with 150+ strikeouts. If you go over baseball stats you will find dozens of guys just like this. Personally, I think this should go the way of the Dodo. You can't make them unlearn an idea obviously though so how do you go about fixing this? This is where my argument for the mound moving back comes from.
Recently there have been other changes to the game. If you have not watched in a while you may be surprised by the speed of a game now; they are about 50 mins shorter than before that's to the addition of a pitch clock. I am a true believer of the pitch clock. Some say that it has ruined the game (see above to see what people used to say) but in reality it is a return to normalcy. Over the last 30 years or so, another revelation a lot of clubs had was that with no clock there was nothing stopping the hitter or pitcher from setting the pace. This lead to players doing all sorts of things between pitches - nut scratch, play with batting gloves, walk in a circle - really just brutal to watch as a fan. I am so glad this is dead and buried - good riddance!
OK so I have covered a little prehistory and now you are up to speed as to why we are where we are today. Let's talk about why I think moving the mound back is a good idea.
Pitching has gotten more powerful as the years have gone by but especially so in the last 15 years. Pitchers are bigger and stronger than before. In the early days of baseball they had almost the same exact problem we have today. Pitchers threw underhand out of a box 50 feet from the plate, but in 1884 due to increasing pressure overhand pitching as you know it today was made legal. What basically happened was overnight the Pitcher went from an irrelevant part of the game to the most important man on the Diamond. If you want to see an example of how dramatic of a change this was let's look at a player and see how his numbers changed. Charlie Sweeney in 1883 (last underhand year) had a 3.13 ERA with 48 Strikeouts in 140-odd innings pitched - honestly, not bad numbers. In 1884 Charlie Sweeney had a 1.70 ERA with 337 Strikeouts in a little under 500 Innings pitched. He also set a record 19 strikeouts in a game that stood for over 100 years until it was beaten by Roger Clemens. Pitchers were simply outmatching all hitters they faced and in 1893 to help deal with this the mound was moved back 10 feet 6 inches to where it is today to give hitters a better chance; just a little more time to see the ball.
So ok yeah sure I know you are saying "these guys also fought at the battle of Gettysburg for spring training how hard could they have really been throwing?" Well the short answer is: we really don't know. The long answer is, probably about what you would see today at your local Varsity Highschool baseball game; right around the Mid 80s. This was probably true up through about the 1950s. Pitchers that were truly great threw in the 90s, even 100s, way back in the 1920s. Walter Johnson was measured throwing about 95; so was Bob Feller, and we all know about Nolan Ryan. So since the early days pitching was pretty constant and for years it stayed that way. But since about 2005 speeds have creeped and now the average fastball is about 94MPH. I think this tied in with our previous discussion about three true outcome hitters has created a perfect storm.
I think it is time we move the mound back another 10 feet, with the speeds pitchers are touching now these days it is to the point I think hitters are simply outmatched. We have been trending this way for the better part of 70 years, there has not been a .400 hitter since Ted Williams in 1941 and I don't think its because hitters are simply worse than he was; I think it is just because our players are starting to outgrow the confines of their current field. so lets go over some pro's and con's of what moving the mound back would do:
Wouldn't this just kill pitchers' fastballs and make every game a hit-a-thon?
I think this will definitely take some zip out of peoples fastballs sure, but you also have to think a pitchers big hammer curve will also then have another 10 feet to break. Think of how much more breaking stuff will be effective! I think it will let the pros get an extra half second to see and swing at a ball helping hitters sure but also probably working in favor of "stuff guys" as well giving them more real estate to work with. I think the cream always rises to the top and the best pitchers will still be the best pitchers, same with the hitters. I think this will just make offense a more common occurrence. Plus think if Vlad Guerrero Jr can hit .323 with 30 home runs while seeing 100 mph from 60 feet imagine what he could do from 70.
So Pitchers will stop striking guys out all the time?
Ideally, yes this is what moving the mound back should do. A return to the offense of the 1920s-1960s: stolen bases, high averages, this was a time when baseball players were household names. In fact, I bet if you asked a random person on the street they could probably name you one from that 40 years faster than they could one guy today.
Would this lead to more injuries?
This was the argument made as well for keeping the clock out but there has not been an uptick and everyone is still playing just fine.
All in all I will always love this game but I think it might be time to really think about addressing this and maybe making a step forward by taking about 10 steps back, also to this point if you are a I miss steroids guy im telling you man you don't miss steroids you miss offense!
In which Dean spends sick time writing a bit too much about a game about bugs.
TL;DR / Spoiler Warning: It is good, real good, and if you have any interest go play it for yourself before reading this. Spoilers ahead, and you’ll lose a great deal of the charm of the first-time experience if you read into this meta-analysis before playing and trying to figure things out for yourself.
Are you still here? Anyway, get a drink, kick your feet up, or pay less attention at work. This is one of those long ones.
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Introduction
So, in case you were living under a different rock last month, an indie sequel has been disrupting the video game industry recently.
Hollow Knight: Silksong came out at the start of last September, and made waves like few games do. The sequel of the independent developer Team Cherry’s breakout hit Hollow Knight, which released in 2017, the nearly decade-long wait for Silksong was so long and had so little news that the wait alone became the subject of memes, putting it in the same sort of forever waiting room as Half Life 3. Given how Hollow Knight itself sold over 15 million copies, putting it in the top 10 of indie games sold on steam, Silksong had high expectations.
Which, going by the player metrics it has been setting, it has been. In the first days after release, Silksong had over half a million concurrent players on steam- an exceptional showing for almost any game, but particularly for a game which did not send advance review copies to gaming media to build pre-release hype. In fact, the game only announced its release date 2 weeks before it actually released, announcing its 4 September release on 21 August. Even on such short notice, multiple indie games delayed their planned releases to avoid losing the overlap in the day one hype. While the game has its blemishes- or rather, the game is already notorious for its difficulty compared to its prequel, which itself has drawn more than a few comparisons to the infamously hard Dark Souls series. This is somewhat expected when games with deliberately steep difficulty curves hit more widespread audiences, but even then the difficulty is somewhat ‘priced in’ for a major commercial success.
So, all of this is establishing that there is a bandwagon around Silksong, and Hollow Knight as a franchise more generally. But why is there a bandwagon in the first place?
My position is that Hollow Knight’s success goes beyond the similarities it has with Dark Souls, but that it has natural thematic synergies with the classic metroidvania format mechanics of exploration, mystery, and limited lore that build upon the fact that this is ultimately a game about gods, civilizations, and bugs. The crawly kind, not the glitches. Plus, it is tied together by impeccable storytelling design that, while minimalist, effectively drops lore tidbits, uses environmental storytelling, and ties it together with exceptional use of song.
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Part 1: What is Hollow Knight, as a Game?
Hollow Knight is a metroidvania that combines platforming, exploration, and mysteries. It is also a game about bugs. This later aspect has a surprising amount of natural synergy with the tropes of the metroidvania genre.
Mechanically speaking, Hollow Knight is a metroidvania series, whose 2d platforming and exploration format draws more from the early console Metroid and Castlevania series than the more modern 3D games like, well, Dark Souls. Metroidvanias tend to be characterized by large, 2-dimensional, and maze-like maps of rooms connected by vertical and horizonal passageways, rather than separately loaded zones or linear corridors. These passageways tend to require a mix of platforming and combat to get past dangerous obstacles and enemies. The passages can be any sort of biome from traversing cave tunnels, climbing towers, trying to cross large bodies of waters by jumping between rockets, and what have you.
Hollow Knight works with this format by virtue of taking the typical 2-dimension conceit of a metroidvania, where complex 3-dimensional areas are 2-dimension solely for the sake of gameplay, and working within the real-world format of an ant farm, a common inclusion in many a natural history museum or child’s education center. These colonies present a nearly two-dimensional ant colony format by virtue of how the narrow looking pane serves as a wall constraining horizontal growth. Even though Hollow Knight practices the same premise of its levels being a small slice of a broader world, it does so with a framing that is both familiar and nostalgic to even non-gamers unfamiliar with the metroidvania genre.
Thematically, the metroidvania genre is also associated with exploration, isolation, and mystery. These themes owe some of their longevity to the eponymous early games that defined the genre, but these themes have stuck in part because of the natural gameplay synergy.
The theme of exploration is one of the most obvious, since most of a metroidvania is trying to find the parts of the map you need to get to in order to unlock the victory condition. These intermediary objectives may be where you find keys or rewards, but they are just as often the location where you get upgrades in tools or abilities that let you pass otherwise impassable routes. Since every metroidvania exploration starts with an unclear direction, unsure which fork to take, a large part of a blind playthrough is trying to develop a map, identifying the dead ends, identifying areas that look like they are passable but not yet, and trying to find the abilities that make those temporary obstacles into new branching paths.
This is a theme that is also, for better or worse, associated with bugs and insects. Like them or loath them, the ability of insects to move in ways that no human can, to places no human would be able to on the same scale, works well in the framework of a metroidvania. They unfailingly seem to hunt out and find rewards for them, even if it’s trash or rubbish to a human. Insect capabilities, such as exceptional jumping, limited flight, or climbing on walls, all make for analogous exploration mechanics. And insectoid hazards, such as pools of water, can present credible obstacles that a human would be able to swim through.
The theme of isolation is also a common one in metroidvanias. This is often because the nature of a large world puts the scale of the protagonist into a context that makes them feel literally and figuratively small. And the nature of a maze of corridors filled with enemies provides a literal and social sort of isolation. While metroidvanias can have areas of civilization and non-playable characters, these are by the nature of the game the exceptions rather than the rule. They are small havens of safety, not living civilizations. And since the gameplay of exploring often artificial passages or structures implies the prior existence of civilizations to build them, a civilization which is not here now to guide or protect you through the gameplay dangers, there is often a sense of civilizational isolation as well. Whoever built these structures is not here anymore, and it is often unclear- and thus unsettling- what convinced or compelled them to leave.
This, too, is a theme that works well for bugs. Bugs are amongst the smallest creatures we recognize as creatures, and many of them live solitary, isolated lives that are dangerous, small, and short. And while there are species that are hives of activities, these swarms of drones are just that- drones- such that the idea of thinking individuality would still be alone even when surrounded by an un-like things. These fragile and lonely lives are surrounded by dangerous and often dead past examples of bug life- the insect hives rooted out by predators, taken by blight, or overwhelmed by forces of nature and acts of gods, be they the flood-sending sort or higher beings like humanity that variously ignore bugs or exterminate them on grounds of inconvenience.
Finally, a classic metroidvania theme is the theme of mystery. Like many of the genre’s mechanical tropes, this theme’s prevalence derives from that idea of exploration. When you are building a game around exploration, you have a natural format for springling in secrets or surprises in those uncountable end-ways. If the story is to have a plot, it has a natural set of obstacles and known ways to overcome these obstacles that allow information to be doled out selectively and at a pace of your choosing, each no earlier than the unlock requirement that enables it to be found. Even though metroidvanias are by their nature exploration games, and exploration games allow the freedom of choice to try and make their own path, a metroidvania format lends itself to leveraging secrets, such as what causes the hostile isolation of the prior theme.
This, too, is a theme that works well for bug protagonists. As the ultimate underdog, and as protagonists not associated with free will or independent thinking, bugs are a natural starting point for an unaware protagonist. Bugs, with their literally small perspective, cannot see the bigger picture. They cannot at all times perceive the nest or nature of the place they are in. And even the format of the genre invites questions- why is this bug, specifically, a protagonist? Why does it think or act with will, when the tropes of bugs at large are to, well, not do such things?
So on reflection, a metroidvania about bugs makes a certain sort of sense, even if you know nothing about bugs and only a structural familiarity with the metroidvania genre.
It is not necessarily an obvious insight, and so it remains an example of creativity and imagination you might not think of unprompted, but there is an alignment of themes. The tropes of a metroidvania, and the associated aspects of bugs that transcends specific cultures, provides a… if not universal basis for embracing the game, at least an intuitive way to appreciate and relate the experience with other games and concepts the audience has a level of familiarity with.
But Hollow Knight works on a story level too.
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Part 2: What is Hollow Knight, as a Story?
(Biggo spoilers here. For reals, last warning.)
Hollow Knight is a minimalist dark fantasy about how the conflict of higher beings worshipped like gods is ravaging the hive that is the central civilization. Naturally, being a game about bugs helps here as well, making it into an example of the low fantasy genre as well.
To start with the end and work backwards, and using some very broad- and thus disputable- definitions that I will source from Wikipedia for simplicity…
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Low fantasy, or intrusion fantasy,
Low fantasy, or intrusion fantasy, is a subgenre of fantasy fiction in which magical events intrude on an otherwise normal world. The term thus contrasts with high fantasy stories, which take place in fictional worlds that have their own sets of rules and physical laws. Intrusion fantasy places less emphasis on elements typically associated with fantasy and sets a narrative in realistic environments with elements of the fantastical. Sometimes, there are just enough fantastical elements to make ambiguous the boundary between what is real and what is purely psychological or supernatural. The word "low" refers to the familiarity of the world within which fantasy elements appear and is not a remark on the work's overall quality.
Hollow Knight is an low fantasy akin to Watership Down, the story about rabbits trying to find a new warren that is a well-known for its rabbits-eye view of the human world as it is for a surprisingly disturbing animated film that possibly traumatized children unprepared for how dangerous the world can be for a rabbit. Which, conveniently, is how a lot of the themes and mythical structure of Hollow Knight works- a world of fragile, very mortal bugs who die to stronger, more dangerous things.
Which is where the low / intrusion fantasy works its way into the setting. There is a mundane world of bugs and nature, where bugs are dumb and act off of feral instinct. Then there is the world of bug civilization, where there is a kingdom that knows itself to be the kingdom of Hallownest, the self-proclaimed last and only civilization. While it is not in fact the only civilization of thinking bugs, hence the epithet of ‘last’ which implies a ‘first,’ the sapience of bugs is itself the magical intrusion into the world. It is as much an intrusion into the ‘normal’ as the other forms of magic, magic of the soul or dream of void, which exists in the setting.
That is because Hollow Knight is actually a story (stories, with Silksong) about species uplift. Its societies are societies that were brought up from bestial instinct by external intervention, in service of the desires of higher powers beyond their comprehension. The world of talking bugs who build societies, streetlights, songs and art- these are not the natural state of the world. These are the uplifting gifts of powers who relationship with their subjects, and each other, drive the plot.
But more on that later. Hollow Knight is not just a low fantasy, but also a dark fantasy.
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Dark fantasy, also called fantasy horror, is a subgenre of literary, artistic, and cinematic fantasy works that incorporate disturbing and frightening themes. The term is ambiguously used to describe stories that combine horror elements with one or other of the standard formulas of fantasy.
Dark fantasy is a notoriously difficult definition to agree upon, and it’s not automatically obvious that Hollow Knight would qualify.
While Hollow Knight’s art style often leads towards the gothic, or at least stylistic, at least for the architecture, it’s character designs lean far more towards the cute and adorable, with soft, smooth curves and uncomplicated faces (that are literally masks). While there are bosses designed to be more intimidating, [this is also that same boss in its vulnerable state](https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/hollowknight/images/e/eb/Screenshot_HK_False_Knight_04.png/revision/latest/scale-to-width-down/1000?cb=20200103200805]. Hollow Knight is a series that treats even its enemies as cute character fodder, compared to the far more horror-movie monster vibes of the Dark Souls series. When one thinks of an eldritch abomination that haunts dreams, you typically think more Cthulu and less this. Hollow Knight doesn’t even try to lean into arachnophobia per see to unsettle you- this is their spider tribe.
But make no mistake- Hollow Knight is a dark fantasy, and it deals with themes that are just as disempowering and unsettling to humans as they would be to humanized bugs. To list just three: the matter of sentience, caverns of skulls, and the question of a justifiably wrathful god.
A Matter of Sentience
As was raised in the low fantasy section, hollow knight does not have a sapience-normative setting. This is actually a plot twist of sorts, as the player’s first introduction in Hollow Knight’s opening presents society and civilized bugs as normal, and the violent / feral bugs as the aberration. There is (deliberate) incongruity at this that can be passed off as cultural chauvinism at first- an early monument claiming Hallownest as the last and only civilization- but the hostile bugs are presented as sickly and succumbing to an infection that drives bugs mad. Even as we’re told bug civilization is rare, the presentation of the early game is that these bugs would be civilized as well, if they weren’t the victims of a mysterious orange infection. The framing is that these bugs have been lowered to a more bestial state. As you go across the story, you meet talking bugs, thinking bugs, very human-like bugs with amusing and understandable motivations. They are so human, and empathy is encouraged as you can identify with them.
This is a misdirection. Not just civilization, but sapience itself, is artificial. While there are bugs that are naturally capable of thought, others are not, and the degree of thought we witness is the reflection of a deific intervention by a higher power. A more magical bug called a worm, whose size was so monstrous that it is scenery setting in its own right, reincarnated itself into a being known as the Pale King, whose influence alone drew bugs to him like, well, moths to a flame as he brought the aspects of civilization like treaties and kingdoms and education.
But this uplifting was limited in space, for if a bug strayed away from Hallownest, their sapience diminished. To be sapient was a gift dependent on staying in the Pale King’s influence… and his desire was to be influential in many ways, as much political as spiritual. The Pale King’s ambition was to rule and be venerated by the bugs. The Pale King may have been a welcome uplifter, but it was as much an imposition on the natural order as the political order, not the natural state of things… even though that is how the Pale King wished it to be remembered.
But then this, too, is revealed to have been another sort of misdirection. Before there was the Pale King, there was another higher being who dominated a part of what would become Hallownest. This higher being, known as The Radiance, was worshipped by a tribe of moths, and in her era those under her influence were part of a hive mind, linked to her via dreams. But even the radiance was not the first. Just as the Pale King’s civilization and individuality followed the Radiance’s tribe and hive mind, the Radiance followed an even older, unknown ancient civilization. She was as likely to have pushed them out as she was herself pushed out… and as she is pushing out the current paradigm?
And that infection mentioned earlier? The one that robs bugs of their sapience and reverts them to bestial aggression? That is the Radiance re-emerging and re-asserting herself through the dreams of bugs, even as she remains partly trapped and certainly mad. Sapience is being subverted to a hive mind by outside will, as much as sapience was imposed in the first place.
Hollow Knight’s setting, in other words, isn’t just a setting where Kingdoms build upon the bones of prior civilizations. It is a setting where individuality, as we, the audience, know it, is a coincidental nature of how a metaphysical struggle for dominance plays out. The capacity for individuality and choice was a result of a proud king’s desire to be chosen over all others.
Your capacity for thought, in other words, is not special. But it isn’t even normal either.
Cue existential dread.
Caverns of Skulls
A second theme of the Hollow Knight games is whether the ends justify the means.
Again, this will focus on Hollow Knight rather than Silksong, though both have this theme. Both games present the ruins of civilizations that indisputably had culture and sophistication, organization and purpose. But both games grow increasingly blunt and brutal about how the societies they present, as sophisticated and civilized as they might seem, are figuratively and literally built on the foundations of those who were sacrificed to advance the social vision of the civilizational leaders. Bug Civilization is Not Nice.
In Hollow Knight, the original game, this discovery is part of what undercuts the established buildup of the Pale King as the father of civilization, sapience, and all that seems good in the bugs of hallow nest. In a setting where those who refused to join are presented as tribal, bestial, and violent- absolutely the sort of people to place skulls on spikes to mark territory- Hallownest is a place of treaties and laws and commerce. When the infection- the mysterious illness that players are initially introduced to as a mysterious force robbing bugs of their natural sapience- began to emerge, the Pale King nobly worked with sages and scholars to find a way to contain it, for the good of the Kingdom (and its people).
In truth, the Pale King’s plan- and the rise of the Pale King in the first place- were built on the sacrifice of others, including his own children. To quote his only line in the game, from a flashback-
No cost too great. No mind to think. No will to break. No voice to cry suffering.
That’s him referring to the child he needs to enact his master plan that already failed before the game started. As for the children who did have a mind to think, will to break, or voice to cry suffering…
Remember that description about how Metroidvania levels can be any sort of biome or structure?
Yeah, each one of those broken masks represents a discarded child thrown to be forgotten in an abyss. There is an entire level where you are traversing over the corpses of your discarded siblings.
So yeah, the Pale King of Hallownest- who if you haven’t gathered by now has more than a few thematic parallels with the Warhammer 40k Emperor of Mankind- devised a plan that required breeding the perfect tool to basically serve as a sacrifice. He abandoned untold numbers of his children in the process of finding the one he could sacrifice, the titular Hollow Knight. But at least he built a memorial (that was cut/bugged content). A whole lot of bug blood, ultimately futilely spilled.
But it was to save free will and sapience, so its arguably for the greater good for the sort of moral ambiguity / necessary villainy that fans love to debate endlessly. Like Skyrim Stomcloaks versus Imperials, except with a threat to all sapience and civilization.
Except, again… the Pale King kind of buried the previous civilization through an act of godly unwilling sacrifice. To spoil / simply some stuff already raised, the infection that robs sapience is the re-emergence of the hive mind of the previous higher being, who lived through the dreams of a tribe of moths. Except this ‘living through’ is both literal and metaphysical- the higher being exists in the dream world and depended on the dreams / reverence of the tribe it was patron to.
So when the Pale King incarnated to become the Pale King, and proactively expanded Hallownest as far as he could, he converted that tribe as well. Who, in falling under the Pale King’s influence and individuality, forgot / abandoned their patron goddess, leaving her trapped and starving in the dream realm. Except- being a godly higher being herself- she was ultimately able to break through into the dreams of bugs, which is the source of the infection overtaking Hallownest.
Or, to put in other words- to build his Kingdom as the exclusive civilization of the region, the god-bug that was the Pale King sealed away a prior god-bug and doom it to death by starvation. Deific sacrifice, if you will.
And to reseal his prior victim, he bred and discarded a cavern of skulls of his own children.
And it didn’t even work.
The plot of Hollow Knight occurs because the Pale King’s plan failed. The Hollow Knight remains sealed, but the infection re-emerged. The Pale King ultimately fled, even as the infection tore down the intellectual (and sapient) scaffoldings of Hallownest.
Was sapience worth deific sacrifice? Was clinging onto that civilization worth countless child sacrifices? Would they have been worth it had the grand scheme not failed?
Is the subject of our existential dread, raised above, worth any cost of victimizing other, lesser, beings?
Cue ethical horror.
Justifiably Wrathful Gods
Hollow Knight has an interesting take on gods, or at least the higher beings that understandably worshipped as gods.
In the setting of Hollow Knight, all bugs are not created equal. It is not a particularly egalitarian setting. This is understandable as the variances amongst bugs far exceeds human divergence. Some bugs are small and fragile, others strong and massive. Some can think, some cannot even be uplifted. Some bugs are innately capable of feats of magic, magic of dreams or soul or silk, and others have no such gifts.
And then there are the higher beings, who are things apart. Capable of feats of magic no spell-casting bug could match. Capable of creating great and terrible things. But worst of all, capable of dominating the minds and will of the human-identifiable bugs around them. Even as they are beings that- in physical terms- a human foot could smash, they are also so far above the bugs around them that it understandable why they would be worshiped- and want to be worshipped- as gods.
Hollow Knight does not have a particularly positive view of such gods.
The best that is said of the Radiance, the old god of hollow knight, is that she was not malicious or expansionist in her era of bug tribes and a moth hive-mind. In the present, she is the source of a maddening and vengeful blight. The Pale King built a civilization, but the arrogance and self-gratification is shallower than the cavern of skulls, and that was before he fled and abandoned his followers to die. In Silksong, the kingdom of Pharloom is built around a religion both capable of great beauty and even greater cruelty, centered on the Grand Mother Silk who’s own daughters in spirit and silk betrayed her to seal her away in sleep and worse.
At no point in the series are you, the player, actively encouraged to side or align with the higher beings. There is no faction system, no secret ending, no alignment. Your ends may align, but only accidentally and never to a point of reconciliation. Higher Beings are beings that are- if not inherently harmful- naturally inclined to dominate others. They distort the world around them by their very nature, and those distortions- both by acts of will and by their absence- lead to great harm.
But the higher beings of Hollow Knight are not malevolent. They have understandable- if not acceptable- reasons for what they do.
Radiance acts for her survival. Her infection is both her reemergence and her revenge for having been sealed away without provocation. The Pale King acts for his kingdom. Having built a realm and civilization, he sacrificed his own family more than any of his subjects to try and end a collective threat. The Grand Mother Silk was betrayed by her daughters and sealed in her own silk by an entire religion. Her actions are to gain her own freedom, and understandable as her effort to reassert her agency and control after her trust was betrayed.
These higher beings, in other words, are very much ‘gods’ to the bugs beneath them, but if not relatable, at least empathizable to the human player audience. While human players are encouraged to identify with the lower bugs who most resemble the player characters and who most converse with us with human-like personalities, the reasons for the higher beings to affect the lower is understandably human as well. Even if their actions are morally wrong, they are understandable, in much the same way the harm they do the bugs is analogous to the harm the human players might do to bugs. Sometimes you stomp a bug out of malice, sometimes out of convenience, and sometimes merely as a consequence.
But this is where the incongruity sets in. Just as human players can associate themselves with the higher beings, we can associate with the lower beings as well, the sentient bugs with oh-so-human peculiarities and interests. And by analogy, just as the god-bugs are so far higher to the normal bugs we can understand why they’d dismiss or react angrily to those that wronged them… well, what about a higher-than-human being who is as high above us? What does it imply about us, if we are acting wrongly towards it? Would our loss be as dismissible as a cavern of skulls because we were so much lesser, or if it was for some grander cause? Or- worse- are we the targets of revenge for a wrong towards that higher being that we do not remember or understand?
Humans, as a species, do not appear in Hollow Knight. There are no direct narrative parallels between god-bugs and humans, or allusions to any sort of the Abrahamic God of an all-creator or morality-defining power.
But as a thematic parallel- something that can appeal to intuitive understandings without have to be explicit- Hollow Knight is tapping at something, crawling around in the back of the minds of people who would rarely want to confront what it means to make a higher power justifiably mad.
Cue theological unease.
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Part 3: Tying Themes Together With Minimalism and Music
This is the part of this review that makes me feel a little bad, because you can’t write a review like this without ruining the experience of a first-time discovery. Sorry about that, but you were warned.
Hollow Knight follows in the footsteps of the post-Dark Souls souls-like genre of having minimal direct storytelling, significant use of significant environmental storytelling, and using small amounts of flavor text or lore drops to flesh out a world through discovery. These aren’t directly related to the themes of bugs, but they do contribute to a broader community of fan engagement as fans compare notes and impressions to try and understand the setting.
For those less familiar, the Soulsborne genre pioneered by Japanese developer FromSoft was very influential in the industry in the 2010s, growing from the niche / cult classics of Demon Souls and Dark Souls to the AAA juggernauts of Bloodborne and Elden Ring. Aside from their notorious difficulty curve, proving there was an audience for higher game difficulty despite an industry trend towards lower difficulties in the name of accessibility, what FromSoft games also influenced was how the games delivered their narrative. For all that the original Dark Souls was once characterized to me as ‘The Legend of Zelda, except darker and hard-core,’ there were no companion character to explain what to do, no setting-establishing cinematics to establish elaborate geopolitical contexts, and no exposition dump characters to hand you the plot or plot twists as you progressed through the story. You could go through the entire game and quite reasonably not understand who you were killing, why you were doing it, or even if it was the right thing to do.
Instead, the Soulsborne series leaned far more into cryptic opening narrators, and more cryptic NPCs that had a few lines that established some aspect of characterization but not much else. Instead, the primary mechanisms of storytelling were environmental storytelling and flavor texts from discoverable items.
Item flavor text is often the most explicit narrator in these sorts of games, because the minimalist format makes them the most trustworthy of sources. In games where characters like Trustworthy Patches (he’s not) trick the player, or the meddling of gods are used to trick the populace (and the audience) as to their intentions, a lack of clear truth-teller often complicates the relative lack of information. Instead, items themselves become a narrative device, providing a bit of a lore. A trophy from a boss is a bit of insight into the boss, a mundane weapon may reveal some background lore of a nation that used it. Collectively, by tying together flavor texts that reference the same characters or places or key words used to related to shared concepts, these individual isolated pieces of information start to combine for a broader understanding. Due to how few words there are, you can often link even seemingly unrelated items if you can recognize the connecting key concepts whose words would otherwise not be used. This could be obvious, such as the name of a character or Kingdom, but it can often be more indirect, such as Hollow Knight rarely using the term ‘Pale’- especially when capitalized- except when referring to the Pale King. These [clusters] of key word usage are what organize and link lore tidbits.
In the FromSoft tradition, these flavor texts are basically always trustworthy, coming from an omniscient third-party narrator. While there is a good deal of Exact Words nuance, and what is there can feed a lot of theories, the nature of the medium is that most fan discussion falls apart if you don’t accept these out-of-setting descriptions as accurate. These are often the only sources of information, the primary sources if you will, and if you can’t accept them as a starting point, you can’t discuss much at all.
Hollow Knight… does not actually follow this approach, because Hollow Knight doesn’t have much of an inventory system. There are (extremely minor) item descriptions, but what Hollow Knight leans more towards in-universe lore stones, tablets or monuments carved into areas of the map to be read in-universe. For example, a public monument to the Hollow Knight in an abandoned city called the city of tears, where the monument in a dead kingdom praises the knight’s sacrifice for saving the eternal kingdom. In Silksong, there is a (now infamous) automated confession booth in a church which tells the petitioners that they must work for redemption. Such sources are filled with the explicit and implicit biases of the narrators, whether as obvious propaganda or raising personal opinions.
What these functions have in common, however, is how they tie the discovery of new lore to exploration and allow for the combination of small bits over time. In Hollow Knight, you can find monuments to the Pale King and his civilization heralding its glory, while on the untamed outskirts you can find the testaments of doubters and outsiders who either grudgingly accepted Hallownest’s domination, or refused entirely. Whether lore you find by looting an enemy, or lore you can only reach by pushing through enemies, both of these still require exploring and overcoming adversity just to get the preconditions of lore discussion.
Environmental story telling contributes something similar, but with even more space for (and burden of) interpretation.
In environmental storytelling, the positioning of key parts of the level architecture and characters / enemies in the game is used to provide non-verbalized narratives. This is something the Fallout series has long specialized in, using apocalypse logs and the arrangement of skeletons and items to convey the final moments of the apocalypse. Think of the skeletons of an adult and a child, with the adult having a 6-shot revolver with 4 bullets left. Or Elden Ring hiding a plot twist that the eponymous elden ring of Queen Marika the Eternal was not the first elden ring by hiding a mural behind an extremely late-game boss fight. No character or narrator actually verbalizes the actions or implications but leaves it to the player to find and recognize.
Hollow Knight doesn’t go into quite the extreme of Bethesda-style environmental storytelling, as it doesn’t have the sort of 3-dimensional set dressing or inventory medium to do so. This is part of why it uses the monument tablet style that it does, which is both lore-node and environmental story telling combined. The monument to the noble sacrifice of a knight whose sacrifice did not save the Kingdom has real Ozymandias, King of King, a lone monument in a place remembered as the city of tears, tells more than what the words say. A church who automates its castigations and demands for the faithful to toil says more about the callous exploitation of the leadership than just a dogma of virtuous redemption.
There is (far) more than these alone, of course. The stark disparities of the bug-filled wilderness and civilized areas tell their own narrative nuances. In Hollow Knight, the deep nest is a wild, untamed, and never truly settled regio that Hallownest at its peak never dominated. Compared to the wide-open hallways, large structures, and paved tunnels of the capital, the deep nest is tight, claustrophobic, and dark. Spiders cross skitter across the foreground and background, things never clearly seen or encountered. Ambush predators take the form of elsewhere harmless grubs that you seek to rescue, and massive centipedes crawl through the level as terrain obstacles in and of themselves. They are impervious to any weapon, show no reason, and both the literal and figurative enlightenment of the Pale King never reached here. Nor did civilization dominate the Mantis tribe, who fight out of pride and nature, but who go from dangerous obstacles to unthreatening observers once you earn their respect, even gesturing in respect as you pass but still accepting a challenge.
This is where Hollow Knights environmental storytelling shines (or darkens). What it lacks in that level of specificity of Bethesda body placement, or even FromSoft item descriptions, it more than makes up for in vibes.
And this is where we transition from not just narrative delivery, but sound design. Which I wish I had a better vocabulary to explain, but here we go.
Hollow Knight has a very good sense of song. Not just music, but song and poem in their written form, which is used in deliberate ways to build mystery, unease, and melancholy.
Take the opening of Hollow Knight, which delivers a poem. This is a first impression of the setting, meant to frame the player’s mindset as they start their path of discovery.
In wilds beyond they speak your name with reverence and regret, For none could tame our savage souls yet you the challenge met, Under palest watch, you taught, we changed, base instincts were redeemed, A world you gave to bug and beast as they had never dreamed.
With what I’ve told you already, you can see in it the allusions to the Pale King and his uplifting. It is the start of a poem that heralds and praises the Pale King (reverence), even as it sets the sets the somber undertone (and regret). It mythologizes and raises the Pale King above the lesser bugs, whose base instincts are ‘redeemed’- and thus somehow lesser- prior to the change and being tamed.
But the real hook- a foreshadowing of a conflict I already explained but a player wouldn’t begin to learn about for hours yet- is in the last line. ‘A world you gave to bug and beast as they had never dreamed,’ at first read, is a generous and magnanimous act. Upon (much) later learning of the nature of The Radiance, as a being who lived through dreams, and it takes a more sinister turn even if the speaker would not see it as such. Rather than ‘I will give you better than you could have dreamed of,’ as in surpassing dreams, the Pale Kings world replaces dreams. This is more explicit in the full version of the poem that can be found in the game files, but was never used in-game, whose later linens more directly allude to the conflict with between the Pale King and Radiance. (And, by being too obvious, give a bit too much of the plot away.)
This is the sort of deliberate two-impression approach, the initial first impression and then a new understanding after later revelations give new context, which characterizes a fair bit of Hollow Knight’s music. Hollow Knight is one of those series that supports an entire micro-genre of YouTube first reactions where composers do an (alleged) first-experience of music in isolation to try and identify the key themes, musical momentum, and tropes of the medium of music to try and identify artistic intent. And while I have a somewhat skeptical opinion of this micro-genre in general- it is hard to verify and easy for creators to fake- it is credible enough when it comes to Hollow Knight.
That is because the Team Chery composers were very deliberate with how they designed their music, just as they were deliberate with their written poetry or songs. Some of the deliberate uses of leitmotifs to build connections- including the background music linking the prior elegy to the Pale King even though he’s not identified by name- for non-explicit narrative links. The atmosphere of various ruins, such as the city of tears, is not just visual in terms of lighting or water effects but deliberately introduced by shifts in the musical instrumentation and transitions.. And then there are the [the different themes and compositional narratives revealed by the choice of boss fight chords and balance of instruments]( (https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLOVEmfXEEAUB0YPkuVn1PGy0Mhdzwsrfa) noted in the musician-review genre.
But- and to tie it back together with some earlier points of interlocking themes- the music in Hollow Knight is not ‘just’ good music in isolation. It’s not like the use of classical music in space epics to give a sense of scale or majesty, but which has no real role or recognition in-universe. The role and rise of music in-setting has strong tie-ins to the themes of cultural sophistication and what elevates bugs from beasts. Art and culture are cultivated, not inherent, and the sort of music for ‘civilized’ foes often differs in vibes from the music for fighting madmen or beasts. This is background framing for most of Hollow Knight and the civilization of Hallownest but becomes even more explicit and even a major plot point of Silksong, which is a Kingdom built on song as much as with literal silk.
Music in the Hollow Knight setting, in other words, doesn’t just sound good. It is a deliberate, and exceptional, method of storytelling.
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Conclusion: Hollow Knight Is Good Because Its Elements Intuitively Reinforce
This will be a more rapid summary, because by god this is already long enough and I’m tired. In short, the various elements that have been discussed so far work as well as they do because they have non-obvious reinforcing synergies that make sense but won’t necessarily be obvious to most players.
In terms of pure gameplay, Hollow Knight’s use of bugs as the character medium works well with the tropes of the metroidvania genre. From the presentation tying to the familiar concept of ant farm, to small bugs having their own thematic parallels to the themes of exploration, isolation, and mystery, bugs are a suitably fragile protagonist for a suitably challenging game that skirts human-centric expectations.
As a low fantasy, bugs work well for much of the same reason as the rabbits of Watership Down, being small, fragile, and subject to powers beyond their understanding. The medium of bugs allows the link of a familiar and mundane world, that of bestial uncivilized bugs, and the magical hidden world, of magical bugs and god-bugs, which provide a contrast at smaller scale but not smaller stakes than a human-protagonist fantasy.
As a dark fantasy, the god-bugs as higher beings who both transcend the bugs humans are meant to identify with, but who have human motivations the players can understand as a fellow higher-sort of being, opens up non-explicit but troubling themes. By challenging the nature and value of sentience as a natural and even desirable thing, challenging utilitarian ethics by raising the great sacrifices of doomed efforts, and providing understandable if not righteous basis for higher beings (who humans can empathize with the desires of) to inflict suffering on lower beings (who humans are encouraged to identify with), the dark fantasy challenges a certain sort of human-centric assumptions. The darkness of the dark fantasy is in the existential dread, ethical horror, and the theological unease in a way few games do.
As a minimalist story telling narrative, Hollow Night uses exploration-based lore discoveries and non-explicit environmental and musical story telling to provide context it doesn’t do explicitly. While exploration-discovery and environmental story telling tie into the nature of the metroidvania, the environmental storytelling and deliberate use of music provides an indistinct style of delivery that encourages players to commune together and compare notes.
What makes Hollow Knight exceptional is not that it has any one of these elements, but that it deliberately uses all of these elements to lead into and support each other.
The character format of bugs leads into the gameplay of a metroidvania and the fragility of an animal-centric low fantasy. The low fantasy use of bug-gods leads into the themes of the dark fantasy. The elements of the dark fantasy are delivered by the exploration-linked minimalist lore drops and environmental story telling. The environmental story telling is supported, and in some cases linked, by the deliberate use of musical design and themes. The theme of music itself aligns with the theme of the civilized bugs who cultivate such culture, leading back to the low and dark fantasy elements.
It is good. It is deliberate. It’s attractively packaged together, and best of all to a casual consumer, it’s cheap, outperforming industry standards for a fraction of a typical sales price.
And I truly apologize if I have robbed anyone of the magic of experiencing it for the first time without preconditions, in case any of this review gave you a desire to try it for yourself.
That is all, and thanks for listening to my bug talk.
The website is a user-friendly proxy for youtube - if it has trouble loading the video, there's a link to the youtube page (or just edit the url).
You may have read things like Why Amazon Can't Make A Kindle In the USA, but what about a hand tool with no electronics, just a few materials, large tolerances, and a simple assembly process? The same problem of manufacturing engineering being exported for greater integration with manufacturing labor applies to that, too - according to this, American "tool and die" capabilities for small-scale manufacturing are gutted. (I suspect the this video overstates the problem, because the biggest obstacle came when the non-manufacturing engineer with a small budget wanted to contract out a specific need - molds for plastic injection molding, which the molder would have sourced from the PRC - and two other engineers lent their expertise for two different ways of manufacturing plastic injection molds, and he found a mold-maker, after he needed to change the material of a part, but it's still a big deal that there aren't more American vendors advertising these capabilities.) And the video didn't even touch the materials supply chain...
(The completed grill scrubber was priced at $75 and the initial batch sold out within hours, in case you were wondering.)
If you haven't read things like that Forbes series, you might not fully appreciate that it's very easy to have a false perception of what the manufacturing capabilities of other countries are, due to selection bias in exports; there's often a wide variety in the quality of goods produced in a given country and only a narrow range of quality that's economical for you to import. One famous example is the brand images of German cars in America, which only imports expensive German cars. Less famously, there's been a secular trend of American imports of Japanese musical instruments going from the bottom to the top of the Japanese (followed by other Asian countries') production ranges and many American musicians assume each decade's imports were a representative sample. But, since manufacturing labels reflect final assembly, increasingly complicated supply chains are mostly invisible to the consumer. It'd be interesting to know what this partnership would have done differently, if they had expanded their searches to Mexican and Canadian suppliers as an acceptable alternative to American suppliers (as a larger-scale business intent on "friend/near-shoring" would), but the value of purism vs general applicability is a "six of one, half a dozen of the other" type thing.
As someone who's pro-industrial policy and also anti-CCP, I think think the supply chain problem is one of those issues with a lot of misplaced attention, wherein globalization gets projected onto various political narratives, to the detriment of analyzing capability.
(Hopefully that's enough of a conversation-starter, without crossing into CW!)
This is effectively a reply to @Corvos at https://www.themotte.org/post/1829/tinker-tuesday-for-april-8-2025/316753?context=8#context , but I invite anyone to discuss the topic.
Ask me anything. I love talking about this subject but rarely have the opportunity.
How long ago did you get started?
I started in 2013, and was very active until the lockdown and my subsequent life changes put me out of commission. When I started out, it was basically five core guys reading a medieval manuscript in a university hallway and trying to do what it said with nylon swords. By 2020, we were one of Germany's top clubs, with dozens of members, a proper gym, several courses and a very good tournament track record. I was mostly just along for the ride while others did the heavy lifting, though I like to think that I contributed to that growth, a little. The club, while occasionally dabbling in other weapons systems (dagger, sickle, half-pike, sword and buckler) and eventually establishing a recurring grappling class and a permanent rapier class, mostly teaches longsword, and that mostly based on the Liechtenauer system as documented by Peter von Danzig. We occasionally took a look at other styles as well, but mostly stuck to this, though in latter years the focus transitioned from historical reconstruction to maximizing tournament-effectiveness. I don't have as much as insight into what happened since 2020, or rather since the lockdowns were lifted, but from the looks of it it's been going steady since. If anything the mood seems a little worse than it used to; I feel there's not as much of outright joy and camraderie on display as used to be, but that might just be my own grumpiness coloring my perception. Nowadays I very rarely make it to regular practice, low single-digits per year, since it's an almost 2h drive both ways, and the practice sessions are late in the evening and I'm more of an early bird. Weekend events are more convenient, but somehow there are fewer instructive events than there used to be in my larger area. Tournaments still exist though, and I do like those. I'm just entirely out of shape, and growing old, on top of never having been all that good to begin with.
What do you practice?
Mostly longsword. I tried to get more into rapier, which is reportedly the preferred weapon for old men, but one lucky day I managed to break my thumb and my rapier and since then that's been on ice. The rapier-fencing, I mean - the thumb is fine by now. I used to just do absolutely everything and had lots of fun, but that's just not possible with my severely reduced practice time, so by now it's all longsword. Obviously I started out with the formally correct Liechtenauer style the club in general leaned on, learning the correct stances, master-strikes, infighting techniques, and I think I can say I achieved an acceptable level of technical proficiency across a wide spectrum of skills, though I never quite built up the physical fitness to leverage them properly.
Liechtenauer, compared to Meyer, the style we most love to disrespect, is less flashy and more energy-efficient, and relies more on geometry and less on psychology. You learn a handful master-strikes that efficiently threaten or hit the enemy while preventing him from striking you directly, and the rest is mostly learning which of those techniques to use in a given situation. You can even condense it down further; one very successful fencer (top 5 globally at the time) once told me that he pretty much just practices one strike and one thrust and applying those skillfully enough covers all his needs. So as long as you can avoid becoming too predictable, I think you needn't stress yourself about obtaining an encyclopedic knowledge of dozens of highly situational techniques with hard-to-memorize German names.
Nowadays, being a lot weaker yet and having unreliable knees and a propensity for injury on top, I try to compensate for my physical inadequacy with a more defensive style: Always keep the sword between me and my opponent, keep the range open, use strikes very sparingly and try to go for thrusts from the bind instead. I like to fight from the left, point forward, which takes several powerful striking options off the table for my opponent, so that they have a harder time just battering through my guard. And defensively that works; I can often work out an opening...but fail to exploit it because I lack the explosiveness to generate forward momentum on demand. Something to work on; just plain physical exercise would do me good.
Any tips/advice?
The following will be colored by my tournament-centric view. Obviously it's also possible to just enjoy the archaeological aspects, or the methodical technical exercise, but I mostly speak as someone who wants to go to tournaments and perform as well as possible.
In no particular order:
- Ignore any clubs or schools that don't have their people go to tournaments.
- Gear is expensive. If your club doesn't have any to borrow, you'll be looking at 500€-1000€ for a set of protective equipment and a Federschwert (steel practice sword). When you get a sword, make sure it suits your build - not too short, not too long - and that it complies with your regional tournament regulations.
- Dry technical practice and instruction are valuable for learning the basics. Don't ignore it early on, you need to get the foundational knowledge, skills and vocabulary from somewhere. But over time it will become less important, as you need to find your own way.
- Outright drill - repeating the same motions over and over - is great for increasing the quickness and reliability with which you deliver a specific technique, but it's effectively an isolation exercise and should not occupy the majority of your practice time.
- On the other hand, don't neglect relaxed, playful sparring. At 100% pressure, you'll stick to what you know. With less pressure, you can experiment. It pays to spend some time trying new things.
- Throw yourself into sparring fights and then tournaments as early as possible. Don't get stuck in endless dry practice sessions thinking you aren't good enough. You never will be, if you don't go out and get your mistakes highlighted by adversarial competition.
- HEMA is overall very woke. Ignore it though - it's superficial. Once you get into the competitive scene, nobody takes that seriously anymore. And have a laugh whenever women go into mixed-gender tournaments. Hell, let me tell you about the one time I fought a pregnant woman...
- Everyone fights differently. There is no standard HEMA fighter, not even within clubs or schools, and there is no singular example to aspire to. You too will need to find ways of fighting that suit your personality, build, weapon of choice, the opponent you face, and whatever other factors come into play.
- Don't waste your practice time chatting. If you need information, then get it and immediately get back to practice. There will be social events at other times.
- That said, talk to more experienced people, as often as possible before and after practice. Don't stick to the kiddie pool, get with the big boys. There's too much ignorant pseudobabble at the entry level.
- Most beginners quit. It's normal. Don't assume that this reflects poorly on a club.
- If your club isn't a commercial school, take over responsibilities to keep it running as soon as possible. Somebody's got to do it.
- Visit other clubs as often as you can. Swim in as many different kinds of water as possible.
- More practice, no matter whether technical, drill, sparring or competition, is always better. The more you do, the better you'll get. Take every opportunity you can.
- When you get hurt in a fight, fight on if you can by any means. If you aren't used to getting repeatedly bruised and battered, any injury will feel much worse than it is.
- The judge is always right. Make your peace with it.
- There is no substitute for physical fitness.
We arrive at Slender West Lake. It's a kind of garden carefully designed so that every few steps there is a scenic vista. The story goes that the park was owned or managed or something by a salt merchant and the park was visited by the emperor. The emperor liked the park but commented it would be better if he could see the White Tower from within it. The white tower is a famous tower in Beijing. Over the next night, the salt merchant had a miniature white tower constructed out of salt to the delight of the emperor. It was later reconstructed with proper materials. Pillars of salt are poor choices for long-term construction, as Coldplay once noted in their seminal work, "Viva la Vida." The emperor in question was Qianlong, known for having the largest harem and nearly the longest reign. He would have had the longest reign had he not resigned and passed on the post in order not to take the title from his grandfather, whom he respected.
The park is quite nice and seems unknown or unreachable by Western tourists, as I saw zero non-Chinese people. At first, I was surprised to see so many women in traditional garb getting their pictures taken until we passed the shop renting out the outfits and selling photo shoots.
The other ubiquitous guests were many groups of around 20 high school-aged kids in matching tracksuits. These were the school uniforms of what I was informed was the top high school in all of China. A field trip. I'm a little skeptical of the claim, but the others insisted it was true that the school in question had the highest standardized test scores in the country. Top school or not, the kids were all over the park. Later, each group had a large sheet of paper and seemed to be doing a collaborative watercoloring assignment.
We brought MIL's grandmother along and borrowed a wheelchair where able. There is no Chinese with Disabilities Act, and nearly nothing is designed to accommodate wheelchairs. Many places, especially historical places, have a practice where thresholds are intentionally about a foot off the ground. It's bad luck to step on the elevated threshold, as one should get over and not dwell on their problems, or something. If possible, one should avoid being disabled in China.
Fortunately, Grandmother can handle even stairs on foot given a little help, so we could navigate her around the park well enough. There's a steep and narrow bridge called the 24 Bridge because it has 24 posts and 24 maidens danced on it or something; also, it's 24 meters long. I'm not totally sure this wasn't all made up on the spot, but it's definitely called the 24 Bridge. That was on a sign in English, so it must be the case. We got Grandmother to the top of this bridge, which is maybe 2 meters wide and flat for a meter. Of course, we need to take a picture here on this high-traffic bridge. Somehow, the people around us accommodate this madness, and we get the shot.
MIL has a kind of insistent energy when traveling that drives my wife a little crazy in too high of doses. She likes to maximize every moment of a trip. Take a picture here, move on to the next place to take a picture, repeat. Even resting is done in a kind of purposeful way, explicitly to prepare for the next action. I have a rather opposite approach but appreciate that with her, we cover a lot more ground.
The sun goes down as we reach the end of the park, and it's time to head to dinner. Today is the simplest meal yet. We stop by Grandma's apartment and drop off my sister-in-law, who has a headache, and then just walk around the block, past a small group of locals just hanging out and a new conveniently located grocery store, to a hole-in-the-wall that looked from the outside as much like a restaurant as a crafts space. The walls were plain, and supplies were stored next to the tables. It's just the four of us; Grandma and Uncle left. I'm not sure how ordering worked; we're the only ones in the place, and they just start bringing out dishes to place on the lazy Susan.
If my wife wrote this, the log out would be about 60% descriptions of food. I'd write more about it, but the descriptions themselves are fairly vague. There were meatballs in a kind of brothy soup, fish in a sauce covered in a local corn, the good kind of intestines (my wife has strong feelings on this subject), the standard Chinese chicken where the meat is cut such that you must fight and nibble around bones for every bite, along with a few local vegetable dishes.
I grew up a picky eater but have gradually overcome that status and have resolved to eat almost anything my wife eats on this trip. Still, when I plucked the chicken head from the plate, I passed it over to her; she appreciates it more than I possibly can. Willingness to try anything had garnered me some goodwill among the extended family. I even tried "stinky tofu" at the FIL's grandma's place that even my wife didn't eat. I don't recommend it; it may actually be a prank, like when someone from Chicago convinces an out-of-towner to drink Malört. If it was, then they were committed to the bit, going back in for seconds. Then again, some of my city fellows swear by the terrible liquor. FIL actually liked Malört when he tried it.
After dinner, Uncle drives us back to our hotel. He talks about how he's been driving for fifty years. When he was young, delivery driving was a great career in China. The government would train you up, and there was always work. He had driven big trucks, chemicals, and during one war or the other, cannons. He was almost sent to Vietnam, but fortunately, instead, they sent him elsewhere during the war to guard against the Soviets. It seems there wasn't a lot of trust between the two countries during the time, and China feared there might be trouble.
It is insisted that we are ready to be picked up by precisely 7:15 a.m. the next morning. This won't be a problem; we've been waking up at 5 a.m. at the latest. My inclination to sleep in when able is still less powerful than the jet lag. But the reasoning—that we're going to get picked up, ride the 5 minutes to Grandma's, eat breakfast, and leave by 7:30—sounds very optimistic. We've not yet completed a meal in less than an hour and a half.
It's 7:45 the next morning; my wife is splitting our third pastry as Auntie taps a hard-boiled egg on the table to peel. There are all sorts of Chinese breakfast pastries. The fried dough sticks are my favorite and come in sweet or savory variants. Also on offer are fried balls stuffed with a sweet bean paste and covered in sesame seeds, something like hash browns but using gelatinous rice, and finally, a flaky thing meant to be eaten with congee (a type of rice soup that is the single most common breakfast offering) that I can best describe as flaky pizza crust filled with a slim layer of buttery sweet spread. The car is packed, and we leave at 8.
We drop off our bags at a downtown Nanjing hotel where we'll stay for the next three days and head to the Zhongshan Mausoleum. Or as I might call it, Mount Nanjing Government History. But first, a brief overview of recent Chinese history according to FIL:
First, the dude the whole park is named after, Sun Yat-sen, establishes the Republic of China (ROC) by uniting the people of China against the Qing dynasty. It lasted for like 4 seconds before the warlords were like, "Nah, bruh, we want to control fiefs actually," and as they had most of the military power, the nascent ROC got rocked, maybe got rocked twice, possibly three times. Sun Yat-sen then goes and establishes a military school, finds allies in Russia, the US, and all freedom-loving Chinese farmers. Then WW2 happens, and the Japanese come into the picture. Everyone hates that. There's a three-way bloodbath for a while. The ROC + commies + Americans + farmers were led by a Chiang Kai-shek. Eventually, the Japanese and warlords lose, and the major question of whether to make an American (really more British in practice) style democracy or a more Soviet-style state is the next big topic. This is resolved by "look over there!" /hand-waving motion/ oh look, the CPC runs the mainland, and the ROC runs Taiwan, and both claim to run the whole thing, great.
We board a long golf cart. Along with us is the Syracuse grad student who likes Shadow Hart, an auntie, and two younger biology grad students that I'm not sure how we're connected to.
The first stop is the home of Chiang Kai-shek, the second ROC leader. It's very Western-styled inside. There is a small chapel. His wife, a Soong sister, is Christian. There's also a small 6-person barracks in the basement. The two slept in separate beds, which was apparently common at the time for wealthy people in China.
There's a whole exhibit on the three Soong sisters. Another one married Sun Yat-sen. They were all born in China but educated in the US. All throughout the park, I'm struck by how often there are connections to America mentioned. Roughly a third of the plaques in the park have English translations on them. I still don't see any Westerners all day, but I appreciate the accommodation.
We board our golf cart again and take a break from history to visit a cherry blossom garden. We are fortunate enough to be here while they were blossoming. The blossoms are white and come down in waves whenever the wind blows. These ones were gifts from a sister city in Japan. If you've seen cherry blossoms in anime it's basically like that.
While we were taking our pictures, we learn of Syracuse grad's lady troubles as he is distracted by her texts. He's seeing but not official with a girl set up through a family friend. She has an upcoming ski trip in Japan during her birthday and is upset that he plans to give her a gift after the trip rather than before it. We pry for details and learn that she is something like a medical sales rep. We'll be introduced to her later in the week.
Back in the golf cart and next stop is the mausoleum of the first Ming emperor. I'm beginning to notice that there aren't a lot of golf carts as we zoom past gates. I'd find out later that the two grad students in the party were justifying a VIP package. Everyone in the cart besides me and FIL has or is pursuing a PhD. MIL runs a research lab, and these two grad students were potential collaborators or something, so some grant or another is paying for this ride.
There's not too much to say here; the Ming dynasty started in the 1300s and is known for simple and less ostentatious rule. The tomb itself is buried somewhere and hasn't been opened. There is or was an order of hereditary guards to protect his tomb that still live in the area today. On the way back to the VIP-mobile, we stop and get some drinks. It's almost 90 degrees out, and we could use a cool-down. The rest of the group gets ice cream, my wife opting for a corn-flavored treat. I get a Coke Zero. Syracuse informed me that in China, Coke is called "happy drink for fat people," fair enough.
Next is lunch at the Buddhist temple. It's all vegetarian "monk noodles." Basically like if those big ramen bowls from anime had spaghetti in them along with soft tofu, mushrooms, an egg, and a few other veggies. Good and pretty cheap at 28 yuan for the premium bowl.
Hunger satisfied, we check out the Buddhist temple. The first shrine is the shrine of wealth, which doubles, appropriately, as the gift shop. There's something almost pure about a literal shrine to wealth. No circumlocutions here; you want wealth? Say no more, we've got just the place for you. Also, can I interest you in little Buddha statues? Although the girl manning the register isn't doing a good job selling the merchandise, slumped over snoozing on a display.
We stopped by the fertility shrine to have a word with that Buddha in particular, left a yuan coin on the rooster shrine that represents our zodiac, and said hi to a pale white cat that Syracuse says is always napping in the same position every time he's been here. Maybe the most zen creature in the whole temple. Finally, we visit the jewel of the temple. In a cool stone cavern beneath the main shrine is a piece of the cremains (what remains after cremation) of Tang Sanzang, the main character in "Journey to the West" who traveled to India to retrieve the original Buddhist texts. The remains are stored within an intricate golden miniature structure.
Having seen enough, it's time to return to the electric chariot. There is a 9-story pagoda, essentially a Chinese tower, that we stop in to get a good view of Nanjing.
Walking up all those steps turned out to be a preview as our final destination was the mausoleum of Sun Yat-sen. It's a huge structure, and you need to walk many steps up to the tomb. The steps supposedly represent the further effort needed by the people to complete the revolution. At the top, we pick up some lemonade and waters. Hydration has been a major struggle. The Chinese seem to broadly not care for water that isn't boiled and infused with herbs. Up at the top, though, they have the rare ice-cold water. I cherish the cold liquid, reminded of home.
MIL is very impressed with the scale of the structure, noting only emperors and kings had mausoleums this grand. I can't help but think that wasn't what Yat-sen was going for. There is something about the Chinese worldview that is still hard for my American brain to grok. They speak about ROC and CPC much the same as they speak of the Ming and Qing. Yat-sen may as well have been an emperor. We're living through another era in a long history. Of course, I have a very small and biased view into the Chinese mindset.
There's an exhibit after we finish at the mausoleum going through Sun Yat-sen's life. I'm not going to tell it better than Wikipedia. We're pretty exhausted; it's been a bit of a death march.
We have one last ride to the exit and walk to a restaurant located between a small lake and the imposing wall of Nanjing. This dinner is attended by a family friend who is also the boss of someone else in the family. His kid is studying in the US, a junior in college getting ready to apply for med school. My wife advises him on the process and will probably review his son's application. We drink through the two bottles of moutai he brought. During dinner we learn that Syracuse has come to a resolution with his not quite girlfriend that after the trip is fine but she expects two gifts.
We leave the restaurant feeling good. The temperature is dropping down to tolerable levels, and we walk a short distance to a bus stop, which we take back to the hotel.
A Broken Model of The World
The American visa rejection was delivered with the bureaucratic indifference characteristic of empire in its senescent phase. No California, no Texas, no opportunity to temporarily escape to the land of my dreams and do Rationalist Things. Instead: India. The eternal return. Air conditioning as opposed to indoor heating, and dogs who hadn't yet learned that unconditional love is a dangerous thing. I didn't intend to disabuse them.
But of course, and here's where the reptilian cortex asserts its dominion over whatever higher functions medical school was supposed to cultivate, there were women. Specifically, women who might conceivably miss me, which is to say women whose neural architecture had been sufficiently damaged by prior exposure to my personality that they'd developed something like Stockholm syndrome, except with worse texting habits. I didn't have the time to cultivate new relationships, nor was I prepared to go through the rigmarole of setting up a dating profile to local tastes. Old flames could be fanned out from the embers instead.
Near the top of this list, glowing with the phosphorescent intensity of a bad decision that knows it's bad and has made peace with this knowledge: Her. The Model. You know the one. Hot as hell, but her head is held aloft by a mixture of helium and bad decisions.
I'd dated her very briefly before fleeing to residency, that period of psychiatry training designed to teach you about antidepressants and then teach you more about which ones you've come to need (all of them). She presented, in the phenomenological sense that Heidegger might have recognized had he spent less time with Nazis and more time on dating apps*, as the eternal feminine victim: doe-eyed, helpless, perpetually buffeted by the cruel winds of toxic masculinity, which is to say every man she'd ever met, perhaps excluding me.
She'd been reaching out at semi-random intervals during my Scottish exile, something my brain's tired pattern-recognition systems had correlated with relationship turbulence, usually accompanied by marriage proposals that made me feel simultaneously desirable and like I was being offered a role in a particularly depressing regional theater production. Very ego-syntonic, as we say in the trade, which is professional code for "it made me feel good in ways I'm not too ashamed to admit."
Then: radio silence. Months of it. I'd interpreted this through my characteristically solipsistic lens as evidence that she'd found stability, or at least a nice man in the neighborhood, which turned out to be partially correct in the way that a broken clock is correct twice daily, accurate in its specifics while missing the larger horror entirely.
She had technically just reached out. Just a few days before I was due to fly in. Just a perfunctory "hey" on Insta, which I had genuinely not seen for days because, well, psychiatry doesn't make for very exciting day-in-the-life posts. At least not without trouble with the GMC.
I'd landed back in India and reached out. Nothing. I began contemplating that I was being ghosted, or that I'd outlived my usefulness to her. Maybe she had found a nice Punjabi boy to grow fat with. My daydreams were each more psychologically sophisticated than the last, which is what you do when you've spent too much time learning about defense mechanisms instead of developing functional ones.
The truth was stupider: she didn't check her DMs. She'd always been a bit shite about that. Well, self_made_human, that's the pot calling the kettle black. The solution, obvious in retrospect, required abandoning digital mediation for its older, more aggressive cousin: I called her.
Two rings. Then:
"Oh my god! You're back?"
The voice hit me like a familiar drug: breathless, pitched at a frequency that triggered some deep mammalian subroutine, laced with an enthusiasm that I knew was performed but which worked anyway because evolution has programmed male brains to be very, very stupid about certain audio frequencies. It was the auditory equivalent of those supernormal stimuli ethologists use to make birds try to mate with volleyball-sized eggs.
"I am," I said, attempting to maintain the facade of being a person with boundaries. "I thought you were ignoring me."
"No! Never! I just don't check my phone, I swear." A statement that would have been disqualifying if I were capable of learning from experience. Women and their phones are inseparable at the hip. "I missed you so much. We have to meet. Tonight? Please say tonight. I need to vent."
Reader, I am a man of medicine, of science, someone who has spent years training to make rational decisions based on evidence. I am also a man who hears a pretty woman say she needs him and immediately becomes a golden retriever who's been told there might be treats. I tell myself I'm only going out of a curdling combination of curiosity and boredom, but my tail wags nonetheless.
(The charitable explanation is that I have a genuine drive to be helpful and derive satisfaction from being nice to people. Less charitably, I crave mild amounts of drama in my life, preferably when I'm out of the immediate blast zone. The truth can be found with a Monte Carlo simulation, namely throwing darts at me.)
I arrived at her workplace, a boutique where she moonlights in sales, effectively selling insecurity to women and delusion to their husbands. Local traffic made me late, which meant I missed seeing her in her element, which was probably for the best. Some illusions should be preserved.
She drove. I rode shotgun. She was competent behind the wheel, which I noted with the mixture of surprise and guilt characteristic of men who've internalized certain stereotypes while remaining theoretically opposed to them. The other drivers, less conflicted, shouted helpful commentary about her driving that had nothing to do with driving and everything to do with living in a society that's still working through some issues around women operating heavy machinery.
It's an interesting dichotomy. Male drivers face less verbal abuse, mostly because they're a physical threat. Female drivers bring out the peanut gallery, but they're not really at much risk of having someone lay hands on them in such a public setting. But I digress:
She needed to park. I needed something to do with my hands. I bought her a soft toy from an overpriced Japanese store, that particular species of useless consumer object that somehow carries totemic significance, a material manifestation of affect that short-circuits rational gift-giving in favor of pure aesthetic stimulus. Women are suckers for these, which is a sexist observation that's nonetheless empirically correct, which is why sexism persists: it works.
After an interval calibrated to maximize anxiety without quite tipping into actual worry, she returned. She loved the gift. Then she began talking, and I realized I'd made a terrible mistake, which is to say exactly the mistake I'd intended to make.
The story was long. She'd warned me it would be long. She wasn't lying, which may have been the only thing she wasn't lying about. Or perhaps she's excessively honest with me, I seem to be a safe space, a person she can unload all her cares on without much concern. The lies were for the rest. Regardless, I took my glasses off and buried my face in my hands so many times I lost count, performing exasperation for an audience of one while that audience performed innocence for an audience of me.
The situation had evolved. The roster of suitors had expanded.
There was the Poor Nice Guy (who lives with his parents and won't move out, who I'd previously dissected with the detached interest of an entomologist pinning butterflies to cardboard). There was the Toxic Ex (who cheats), but as far as I could tell, was now out of the picture. And now, there was the Rich Guy. He's new.
The Rich Guy. Precisely as advertised. Distantly related (third cousin maybe?) far enough to avoid the genetic problems, close enough to carry social weight. He'd proposed marriage multiple times. He sounded, even to my determinedly cynical ear, like a reasonable choice. But she couldn't commit.
The reasons were familiar: he lived with his parents, lived below his means. But also (and here's where it got good) he had dogs, and her OCD couldn't handle them.
I couldn't relate. Shortly after I had landed in the country, my puppy had just destroyed my best shoes and my comfortable slippers, and my response had been mild scolding undermined by my complete inability to maintain anger at something with floppy ears. But I'm not the protagonist of this story. She is. Or maybe the dogs are.
She has OCD. She hates the dogs. She claims it's hygiene, but we know the diagnosis: Narcissism cannot tolerate a rival for attention, even if that rival licks its own ass.
I feel like an ass just saying that, I'm not The Last Psychiatrist, even if I'm more cynical than a certain Buddhist-Sufi-Lite Namebrand alternative. Don't listen to me, she does actually have OCD. Sees an actual shrink for it, not that that lady sounds like she's competent.
"He said he'd give them away," she says, pulling back to look at me with those wide, imploring eyes. "He said he'd get rid of them for me."
Pause.
This man is willing to exile two living creatures that love him unconditionally, loyal beasts that rely on him for their survival, just to secure access to her. But he won't move out of his parents' house. He is willing to sacrifice the innocent (the dogs) but unwilling to sacrifice his safety net (Mommy and Daddy). It might also have been filial piety, who knows. I had complained that Poor Guy had a stick up his ass, whereas this gentleman could use such a prosthetic as a spine.
"So let him give them away," I say.
"No," she pouts. "I can't make him do it. Then his parents will hate me. Then he'll resent me."
Then came the bombshells, delivered with the casualness of someone ordering coffee. One, she was still seeing Poor Guy. Two, she wanted me to commit fraud.
She'd convinced herself that the solution was a forged medical document stating she was deathly allergic to dogs. She'd already tried this gambit with Rich Guy, but he'd pointed out (with admirable attention to empirical reality) that she'd played with his dogs before without issue. Now she wanted me, as a doctor, to make it official.
"Write me a note," she says. "Say I have a severe allergy. If it's medical, he has to get rid of them, and it's not my fault. It's doctor's orders."
She wants the result (no dogs) without the cost (guilt). She wants to outsource the moral culpability to me.
I have many moral failings. They are numerous and well-documented. But I enjoy having an unblemished record and no medical board investigations, so I declined, explaining this in terms I hoped were clear even to someone whose relationship to truth was essentially fictional.
She escalated. She offered sex.
"Come on," she says, pressing against me. "I'll make it worth your while."
Let me pause here to note the cosmically insulting nature of this offer. Sex as payment for fraud. Sex as the universal solvent for moral reasoning. Sex offered with the bland confidence of someone who's learned that it usually works, which is the most damning indictment of men as a category that I can conceive.
Been there, done that, I told her. Which was true. Which made me complicit. Which made this whole scene a kind of recursive nightmare where everyone's crimes implicated everyone else's.
She changed tactics: Would I help her decide between Rich Guy and Poor Guy?
Finally, a question I could answer. My reply was nigh instant, the answer was obvious.
"Go for Rich Guy," I said. "He's sensible. It's better to be with someone who loves you, than someone you love (if you can't have both). And I know you. You couldn't adjust to a lower standard of living if your life depended on it."
She blinked. "But won't Poor Guy become rich when he marries me? He could take over what my dad built!"
I sighed the sigh of a man who's realized he's explaining addition to someone who's still working on number permanence. "That's your own money, returned to you. If you marry into wealth, you have twice the money. Use that pretty head. Think."
Her face scrunched up in an adorable display of revelation. She told me that she'd never considered this. Twice the money sounded good. Almost twice as good, accounting for diminishing marginal utility. The fact that she was treating marriage as a financial instrument while simultaneously maintaining that she wanted true love, this contradiction didn't seem to register. Cognitive dissonance requires cognition.
But wait: Poor Guy worked in her dad's field. Rich Guy was adjacent: leather tanning, not textiles. Who'd run the family business?
I suggested that maybe Rich Guy could learn. She seemed unconvinced. I offered to make a SWOT analysis, because apparently I'd become the kind of person who does strategic planning for other people's romantic clusterfucks.
I reached for my phone and its rarely used stylus. "Let's be logical. Let's do a SWOT analysis."
Strengths. Weaknesses. Opportunities. Threats.
I started drawing the grid. I was outlining why the Rich Guy was the strategic play. Strengths: Money, Devotion. Threats: The Dogs.
"See?" I said. "The Rich Guy is the move. You just have to deal with the dogs."
"I made a list too!" she chirped.
She pulled out her iPhone and shoved the Notes app in my face. (Why do women love Apple's default apps? This is a genuine mystery to me, impenetrable as quantum mechanics.) "Great minds think alike!"
Fools seldom differ.
I looked at her list. It was a chaotic mess of emojis and bullet points. Rich Guy and Poor Guy were neck and neck.
But there, buried in the text, was a note she had clearly forgotten was there:
Still sleeping with [Poor Guy]. [Rich Guy] doesn't know, haven't slept with him yet.
She was showing me the evidence of her own infidelity. She was handing me the smoking gun. And she didn't even realize it. She was scrolling past it, pointing out that the Rich Guy buys nice purses, completely oblivious to the fact that she had documented her own moral bankruptcy.
I looked at her. "Are you fucking insane? What if Rich Guy finds out about Poor Guy??"
She startled. "When did I tell you their names?"
I pointed at her phone. The blush that overtook her face was the color of shame, or possibly arousal, or possibly both, because at this level of dysfunction all emotions blend into an undifferentiated psychic sludge.
I laughed. It was absurd.
"What?" she asked, smiling blankly.
"You're amazing," I said. "You're really something."
I grabbed her hand. I deployed a metaphor about masturbation and bushes that I'm not proud of but which seemed apt.
"So you'll write the note?" she asked. "You're a liberal guy. You understand. You should just marry me."
"Liberal."
She uses that word like a get-out-of-jail-free card. To her, "liberal" doesn't mean "politically left-leaning." It means "permissive." It means "you are too smart to have boundaries." She thinks that because I listen to her stories without vomiting, I approve of them. Maybe I've internalized too much, it's worth reminding myself that in my personal life, I can just get up and walk away. I've done that before, with her, when she'd called me out on a date and then broke down into tears and asked me to drive her to her ex’s place.
"How long are you staying in Scotland?" she said. "Why won't you just marry me? Things would be so much simpler!"
Previously, this plea had made me feel significant, wanted, like Captain Save-a-Ho riding in on a white horse. Now I felt something closer to disgust. Not an immense amount of disgust, I've long since abandoned the pretense that I hold all the moral high ground. Mostly the aesthetic disgust of watching someone dig their own grave with manicured nails until those nails chip and bleed, and then mild, incipient rage at the idea that she saw me that way, as a convenient solution to all her problems. The kind, thoughtful doctor who actually listened, didn't judge too much (to her face, an anonymous audience is different, or so I say). I was her idea of a BATNA, a man without an ego, willing to tolerate stodgy in-laws, the kind who wouldn't tell his wife to stop dressing like such a slut the moment the marriage pyre went cold.
The safe choice. I resented this, I do have an ego. I do have standards, even if I'm too polite to throw that in someone's face when they presume that they meet them.
But disgust and rage are just other forms of engagement, and I was too deep in this to extract myself cleanly.
So I tried reverse psychology.
It was then, that I played the card I'd kept up my sleeve for exactly this moment.
I told her I'd come around to marriage. (True.) That I could be convinced to marry her. (Highly Debatable.) She demanded to know when I'd be back permanently.
Two years minimum, I said. Probably more. She deflated immediately. Too long.
So I flipped it: "Come to Scotland," I said.
I said it with the gravitas of a romantic lead in a period drama. Leave this all behind. Come with me. That wasn't a lie, technically. A proposition can't be false. But I said it with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how she'd respond.
I only said it because I knew with 100% certainty she would decline.
It was a zero-risk bet. She has her "career" here, her parents, her tangled web of dysfunction. She wasn't going to Glasgow. But by offering, I get to be the Savior. I get to be the "One That Got Away." I get the credit for the gesture without having to buy the extra plane ticket.
She blanched. Scotland? Doing her own laundry? Cooking? Cleaning? Not cool. She'd grown up wealthy. She told me she couldn't adjust. She didn't seem to be the least bit ashamed of this.
"I can't," she sighed, exactly as predicted. "It's too complicated."
"I know."
I pointed out that I'd grown up similarly and adjusted fine. That First World life wasn't so bad. I explained that even my salary was enough to allow for a decent existence for a young couple. The more I pushed, the more she retreated, exactly as predicted.
Excellent. My model of human nature, or at least her particular neural architecture, remained accurate. I'd convinced her that I wasn't an option by making her convince herself. The lies you tell yourself stick harder than the lies others tell you. So does the truth. Nothing I'd said was a lie, after all. This is why advertising works. This is why democracy fails.
"Will you wait until you're back to marry me?" she asked.
I laughed. "You won't wait two years."
"You're right," she admitted.
Throughout this conversation, she kept flinching, looking out the windows (but hadn't asked me to remove the arm I had around her, or the other on her thigh). I asked why. She said she was worried one of the men might be in the neighborhood. It was midnight. They lived elsewhere. I pointed this out.
"Wait! I can check." She opened WhatsApp. Rich Guy, it turned out, was insecure and demanded she share her live location constantly. Every few minutes, down to the meter. No wonder she'd chosen this café, it was close enough to home to explain, far enough from anywhere else to avoid detection. A prisoner's exercise yard.
To his credit (which is very little), he reciprocated by sharing his own location. The panopticon didn't have a one-way mirror.
She messaged him asking him his plans. His reply was terse but quick. Business meeting, too tired to visit, going to bed. Her paranoia subsided.
Then came the detail that broke me: he'd offered to get rid of the dogs. Kicking out his elderly parents? A step too far.
Where did she find these people? My dog had destroyed my shoes and I'd merely scolded him. This man was willing to dispose of two loyal animals for a woman who felt nothing for him.
Psychiatry teaches phenomenology, empathy, understanding. It never quite conveys that some people are mentally alien. If I had to choose between a woman and my dogs, I know which bitch I'd be showing the door. Both my dogs are male.
More conversation. More coffee. Then beer, she told me they secretly sold it, just hid the menu to maintain a veneer of family-friendliness, which felt like a metaphor for something but I was too tired to figure out what.
She looked exhausted. Grey hairs emerging. Still gushing about her nephew, the Indo-Italian baby who'd break hearts someday, she exulted over my observantion. Feminine solidarity is nothing next to evolutionary psychology.
More terrible ideas sprouted like mushrooms after rain. Could I present as her psychiatrist and talk to Rich Guy? I said I'd talk to him in a personal capacity only, mostly from morbid curiosity about the kind of men she attracted. Maybe I'm trying to understand myself.
"Why can't I be happy?" she asked.
"Because," I said, with clinical detachment, "you are a dumb bitch."
I didn't say it with anger, even if I felt it. I said it with the flat affect of a clinician delivering a terminal diagnosis. It was cruel. Very uncharacteristically so for me, I still feel bad about it, but she'd pushed me to breaking point. It was also a diagnosis. She teared up.
"You're mean!" she sobbed. "I'm trying so hard! Why are you calling me names?"
No she didn't. That would have been easy, given me the option to stonewall in the face of bluster and crocodile salt-trails. Instead:
She stayed quiet, head lowered, hair cascading down to hide her tears. This made it much harder, she was self-aware enough to know of her flaws. I decided to relent, and attempt an explanation.
I explained that her misery was entirely self-manufactured, a boutique artisan suffering. "You are crying because you don't like the mirror," I told her. "Look at what you're doing. You have a guy who wants to marry you. He is rich. He loves you. He is willing to give up his dogs for you. And it's not enough."
"It's not perfect!" she wailed.
"That's your problem," I said. "In the search for perfection, you are turning down 'good enough.' You are creating chaos because you are terrified of settling. You cheat on the Rich Guy with the Poor Guy, you cheat on the Poor Guy with the Rich Guy, and you try to cheat on both of them with me. You are miserable because you refuse to make a choice."
She looked at me, mascara running, eyes wide.
"But I just want to be happy," she whispered.
No, she doesn't.
She wants to be admired. Happiness requires compromise. Happiness requires you to live in a house with a mother-in-law or a dog you don't like. Happiness is tolerating unhappiness today in the hopes it'll pay interest tomorrow. Happiness is boring.
She doesn't want boring. She wants the drama. She wants the crisis. She wants to be on a couch begging a doctor to commit fraud so she doesn't have to feel bad about making a man kill his dogs.
I told her the juggling act would end, the plates would smash on her pretty face, and I would not be there to sweep up the shards.
She didn't disagree.
Eventually it was late. I was out of useful things to say. "Go back to the Rich Guy," I said, standing up. "Marry him. Make him give up the dogs. See how that feels."
"You think I should?"
"I think you deserve each other," I said.
She took this as a compliment.
He is a coward who betrays his loyalty to his pets. She is a narcissist who betrays her loyalty to her partners. They are a match made in hell, and they will be perfectly miserable together in a very nice house, once the parents and the dogs die of old age.
She kissed me goodbye, carried off that kawaii rabbit with a spring in her step, turned the corner to her gated compound. I gave in to impulse and bought a cigarette.
I didn't smoke it.
The visa was declined. My winter in California is gone. But as I stepped out into the humid Indian night, I realized I didn't need the Pacific Coast Highway.
Here's what I think: everyone in this story should kill themselves. Except the dogs. I'll include myself if they get a pass.
The dogs are the only innocents. The rest of us are complicit in whatever this is, this performance of intimacy masquerading as intimacy, this simulation of care that exists primarily to confirm our worst suspicions about ourselves and each other. We're all playing roles in a production that should have closed years ago, but we keep showing up because what else are we going to do? Be alone? Be honest?
I get roped into this shit because I'm bored. I relate to the claim that the worst thing a man can be is useless. Perhaps I am minimally complicit, as it goes, but my hands are hardly clean. They probably still smell of her perfume.
Better to keep performing. Better to keep pretending that our patterns aren't patterns, that our compulsions aren't compulsions, that our inevitable trajectories toward mutual destruction aren't already written in every decision we've made since we were old enough to know better.
The dogs, at least, love honestly. They destroy things because they don't know better, not because they're trying to avoid knowing better. There's something almost sacred in that.
As for the rest of us? We're just apes with pretensions and smartphones. Millions of engineers work tirelessly to make them capture accurate renditions of reality, millions more work to meet market demand by creating filters to reduce reality to something more palatable, more Insta-worthy. Some of us are stumbling through the dark, convincing ourselves that the lies we tell ourselves are somehow more sophisticated than the lies others tell us.
The standard literary thing to do would be to protest that they're not, that all lies and sins are made equal. I'm not so far gone as to believe that. No, I think I've put in a reasonable amount of effort into giving her the best advice I could. She never listens, but isn't patient autonomy all the rage?
The head is a hot air balloon.
But remember: the balloon only looks like it's flying. It's really just at the mercy of the wind.
Stop blowing.
*Confession: I haven't read Heidegger, unless a Wikipedia summary counts. I both refuse to read Continental Philosophy on principle and happen to be new to the whole pretentious navel-gazing literary style, please bear with while I calibrate the signal.
There has been some recent usage of AI that has garnered a lot of controversy
- (top level comment) https://www.themotte.org/post/1657/culture-war-roundup-for-the-week/293580?context=8#context
- (top level comment, but now deleted post) https://www.themotte.org/post/1657/culture-war-roundup-for-the-week/292693?context=8#context
- (response to the deleted top level comment) https://www.themotte.org/post/1657/culture-war-roundup-for-the-week/292999?context=8#context
There were multiple different highlighted moderator responses where we weighed in with different opinions
- (@amadan) https://www.themotte.org/post/1657/culture-war-roundup-for-the-week/293601?context=8#context
- (@netstack) https://www.themotte.org/post/1657/culture-war-roundup-for-the-week/293094?context=8#context
- (@netstack) https://www.themotte.org/post/1657/culture-war-roundup-for-the-week/293068?context=8#context
- (@self_made_human) https://www.themotte.org/post/1657/culture-war-roundup-for-the-week/293159?context=8#context
- (@cjet79) https://www.themotte.org/post/1657/culture-war-roundup-for-the-week/292776?context=8#context
The mods have been discussing this in our internal chat. We've landed on some shared ideas, but there are also some differences left to iron out. We'd like to open up the discussion to everyone to make sure we are in line with general sentiments. Please keep this discussion civil.
Some shared thoughts among the mods:
- No retroactive punishments. The users linked above that used AI will not have any form of mod sanctions. We didn't have a rule, so they didn't break it. And I thought in all cases it was good that they were honest and up front about the AI usage. Do not personally attack them, follow the normal rules of courtesy.
- AI generated content should be labelled as such.
- The user posting AI generated content is responsible for that content.
- AI generated content seems ripe for different types of abuse and we are likely to be overly sensitive to such abuses.
The areas of disagreement among the mods:
- How AI generated content can be displayed. (off site links only, or quoted just like any other speaker)
- What AI usage implies for the conversation.
- Whether a specific rule change is needed to make our new understanding clear.
Edit 1 Another point of general agreement among the mods was that talking about AI is fine. There would be no sort of topic ban of any kind. This rule discussion is more about how AI is used on themotte.
I decided to post it here because it got long, and also because I use either real-world identity or a very transparent one on the book review sites. Unfortunately, we are now living in the times when people are getting murdered for saying unpopular things, domestic terrorists openly put bounties on people, and I see a significant part of the industry this book concerns and I belong to being completely fine with that - of course as long as "bad people" are getting hurt. I suspect many of them might classify me as "bad people". I don't really expect my stupid book review to really be seen by enough crazies for anything to happen, but there's no reason to take the additional risk. Pseudonymous publication is safer. I could also not publish it at all, but if I already bothered to write it, I might as well let others read it.
I am not sure how to describe this book. On one hand, it is a fascinating account of what happened in Facebook from a person who was right in the middle (or rather at the top, as the global public policy director, working directly with the CEO and COO) of it and is certainly worth reading if you want to be educated on what was/is going on (it ends in 2017 when the author had been fired). On the other hand, the sheer blindness of the author to her own role in the events and her limits is impressive. Facebook is now trying to retaliate against Sarah Wynn-Williams (that's the author) for violating various NDAs, which she most likely did, but given their response to it is so far "we don't do that anymore", one could infer at least some of the juicy stuff is actually true. The trick would be to know which parts. All of it, some of it, a little of it? One of her coworkers says "definitely not all of it". Others agree. Wynn-Williams herself in the interview to Business Insider declared that the question of factual accuracy is not the one that matters and witnesses contradicting her claims are "a distraction". Which in my book means "some of it" is the best we are getting.
To get it out of the way, the cases of workplace harassment she describes are horrible. I do not know how accurate the descriptions are - we heard only one side there, so I can not assess any aspect of the veracity of the claims - but if they describe real events at least to some degree, it is absolutely unacceptable and should not have happened to anybody. I was a bit put off by the cavalier attitude with which she approached the Kavanaugh affair in the epilogue, treating the fact the somebody could even stand besides Kavanaugh during the hearing as the ultimate sign of moral degradation (surely everybody knew the verdict before hearing any testimonies, and it was supposed to be just mere formality?). Thus I suspect the matters aren't so black and white and she is not the most reliable narrator. But even with that, what she described per se is totally horrible. That's all I have to say about that.
Moving on to the other parts of the book: if we look at what had been happening, the author literally inserted herself as the main person to drive and shape Facebook's international growth and engagement with top international politicians. If introducing 21st century informational technology into societies that aren't ready for it is dangerous and prone to disasters, she is the person who enabled, engineered and performed the deed. Probably because she was sure with her at the top, it will be alright (spoiler: it wasn't). And it's not some random "caught in the flow" thing - she literally came to Facebook to do just that, and she did. Pretty successfully, given the amount of praise she received from M.Z. and his subordinates. The essence of her complaint is that she did not have enough power to do it exactly like she wanted, and that's why it often turned out wrong. If only she were an all-powerful dictator (or at least, if all the power were given to people who think exactly like her) everything would have been much better. That was her conclusion at the end - wrong people were censored, wrong people were not censored, an all that because they didn't listen to her.
The parts where she describes how she stayed for a long time in Facebook because she otherwise wouldn't have healthcare are quite hard to believe. First of all, there's COBRA, and she is married, and there are ways to buy health insurance without being employed by Facebook. Sure, it's expensive, but I have trouble believing a person who was at the top of Facebook since such early days and speaking to people like Zuckerberg and Sandberg all the time didn't have at least some money going to them. Surely, maybe not fabulously rich like M.Z. himself, but at least solid middle-class level? Even if she were hopelessly naive and saintly unbothered by money concerns, she could not find an hour during all these years to talk to a lawyer and a financial advisor who would explain here how to navigate such things? In Silicon Valley, where these matters are discussed in every second coffee table at every second coffee shop? And being on the top of FB, literally rubbing shoulders with heads of state and personally engaging their closest teams, and having NZ Embassy and Oxfam on her resume too, she had absolutely no prospect of other employment whatsoever, besides Facebook? Utterly unbelievable. What is entirely believable though is that the author found it hard to give up all that shmoozing with heads of states and fixing the world for the rest of us, and trade it for some boring office job where you don't even have a chance to see Xi Jinping once, and don't get to laugh about how insignificant the president of Guatemala is.
Complete lack of reflection and realization of author's own biases permeates the whole book. A lot of the second half is dedicated to the death of the democracy in the US, also known to some as the (first) election of Donald J. Trump. Of course, half of the country voted for him, but what to that? They were sure a bunch of evil people, or fools misled by evil people, and never would win any elections if not for their dirty tricks. The fact that the Clinton win had to be a prescribed, normal way of events is ingrained so deep that the latter campaign is never really mentioned in the book, maybe hardly once. All the evil tricks Trump campaign supposedly played with Facebook are described in detail, but how Clinton campaign used social media at all? And if they did not - why? What were they doing all that time? Why nobody from the right thinking people in Facebook reached out for them if they for some weird turn of events forgot about social media, despite the fact that Obama campaign used the social media very actively and had been publicly on record bragging about it?
These questions are not even asked, never mind answered, because these question only matter if there were a competition between two equal teams. The author never admits the thought. There is the normal turn of events - Democrats win, the power is in the hands of The Experts (TM), people vote for whoever they are told to and behave how they are told to behave, for their own good - and when it happens, there's nothing to discuss, it is as it always should be. Well, maybe let's talk about how to make it even better. Only the departures from the normal events - like people voting for the wrong candidate, clearly because they were deceived and are too stupid to realize that - deserve discussion. And to think there actually were evil people - including inside Facebook! - who thought it was a good thing! They actually talked about some policies they might like, something Trump may do that would be good - as if the Coming of The Antichrist is some kind of normal political event! Imagine the gall, the sheer audacity of not recognizing the suffering of all the right thinking people and not subjugating their own views to the demands of the moment! How do such people even exist? If one were religious, that would be a good moment for the protagonist to have a crisis of faith - but fortunately there's nothing like that in that universe.
This is the quality that is present in the whole text, every discussion of every question concerning any policy or decision. The author never argues for a certain outcome, as one would have in a debate, never presents any deliberate reasoning or substantiation. To do that would be to recognize there could exist multiple opinions on the matter, and people with wrong opinion may need to be convinced by way of logic and reason. That's not how it works, not in this book. There is a normal, obvious, correct and proper opinion or decision, and every normal, proper and decent person already knows it. It does not need to be argued or proven. It does not even need to be pointed out - like if you notice a baby around, you don't need to be told "don't eat the baby!" - you already know the babies are not to be eaten. So the author just describes her own shock and horror at realizing that people in front of her are monsters - if they do not actually follow the proper way. Rarely it goes beyond that - and almost never to actually have a proper argument. Because what's the point arguing with monsters anyway? How would you convince a person who wants to eat a baby that it is not good, and why you are talking to such a person at all?! This is how this book handles most of the controversies.
What the book described about Zuckerberg changed my opinion about him a bit. It looks like he indeed had been the autistic startup techie who just wanted the product to grow, and initially had no interest in wielding the emerging power for anything but improving the service. He seems to indeed have had that libertarian streak in him that many other tech founders had and lost (he lost it too, of course). Wynn-Williams and others successfully convinced him he has to play with world powers, and become a world power himself. That of course would change any person. But looks like the most of the problems with freedom of speech at FB originate from the likes of Wynn-Williams (quelle surprise!) rather than from M.Z. himself, at least initially. That said, as a corporation FB exhibited the typical psychopathic approach most of major corporations now exhibit - be woke on the outside, do anything to expand and profit on the inside, including making deals with most horrible individuals and regimes, if it pushes up the numbers, all while proclaiming high-minded ideals. This part of the book is one that is the most believable because I can observe it from the outside, both in FB and in many other companies. The company as a whole and top persons in particular are all colossal hypocrites - that part I totally believe. That, of course, does not exclude the director of global public policy too.
The author proclaims in multiple places that all the wrongs and evils Facebook did could actually have been avoided, if only. But the "if only" part is regrettably shallow. The author hints she knows what is the right thing to do, and possesses the recipes for fixing of all modern ails of social media - from teen addiction to genocide in Myanmar - but she never actually tells us, what exactly should have been done, and why she thinks it would have worked. It's not that her argument is bad - but here again, she doesn't even see the need to make a proper argument, mere proclamation "you should have done it differently!" is enough. It may be acceptable from a random layperson, but not from somebody who had been the top policy maker for Facebook and is actually writing a book about it! If you say it had to be made different, spend some time on proper argument of how and why it's better! If you think it'd make the book too long, you can drop some episodes like you being bitten by wasps or such, I am sure it was a profound experience for you but I am equally sure the reader could survive without it.
So, is this book worth reading? It was for me. I am by nature and nurture a skeptical reader, and an unreliable narrator is not something I am afraid of, if there's substance to chew on. This book has the substance. It would be a good book if it didn't also have the numerous flaws I described above, but such as it is - I end up with the same I started with - I do not know how to describe it, even though I do not regret having read it.
I recently attended a seminar at work lead by openAI (whom my company is paying for tools) which was billed as an opportunity to learn more about using AI to do our jobs more effectively. I attended mostly because I assumed there would be some technical discussions about the technology (which was largely absent) and maybe some interesting demos showing how someone used openAI’s product to solve technical problems (also absent). Instead, I was treated to a bizarre presentation, which felt strangely paternalistic and maybe even a little desperate? In order of events:
- The presentation opened with a discussion of the (impressive) scale of the data centers that openAI will be deploying + a little bragging about sora 2 (I promise you none of the scientists or engineers present give a shit about sora 2)
- It proceeded to a gentle haranguing focused on how we should not resist using AI, and that in every organization AI will become more popular as a few high performers learn how to use it to get ahead (ok, some demos would be great, openAI’s tools have been available for months, now would be a great time to show how a co-worker has used it solve a complex problem)
- Some discussion about how scientists and engineers tend to be bad at using AI relative to manager’s/procurement people/ executives/lawyers and others with what I would characterize as paper pushing roles where accuracy isn’t actually that important.
- Which finally devolved into a q&a. The most charitable questions went something like the following: Hi I am a $tpye_of_physical_scientist I love using your tool to help write python code, but it is completely worthless for helping me solve any kind of problem that I don’t already understand very well. For example, here is a tomography technique that I am aware of people using in another industry that I am mostly unfamiliar with. Right now, my approach to using this would be to read papers about how it works, try to implement it and maybe contact some other experts if I can’t figure it out. Wouldn’t it be great if I could just upload the papers about this technique to your bot and have it implement the new technique, saving myself weeks or months of time. But if you try this basic approach you usually end up with something that doesn’t work and while the bot might be able to give some superficial explanation of the phenomenon, it doesn’t add much to me just doing the background research / implementation myself and comes off as feeling like a waste of time. The response to these questions was usually some variation of the bot will get better as it scales and that you should be patient with it and make sure that you are prompting it well so that it can lead you to the correct solution.
Which brings to my primary point: which is that I am someone who has consistently tried to use AI at work in order to be effective, and while it helps somewhat with code creation, it isn’t a particularly useful research tool and doesn’t save me very much time. Apparently my co-workers are having much the same experience.
It really seems to me that openAI and their boosters believe (or would have me believe that they believe) that transformers really are all that you need and at some point in the near future they will achieve a scale where the system will rapidly go from being able to (actually) help me do my job to being able to comfortably replace me at my job. And the truth is that I just am not seeing it. It also seems like a lot of others aren’t either, with recent warnings from various tech leaders (Sam Altman for instance, by the way what possible motive for making Ai bubble statements unless it’s an attempt to prevent employees from leaving to start found their own startups).
I have been very inclined to think that this whole industry is in a bubble for months, and now that the mainstream press is picking up on it, it’s making me wonder if I am totally wrong. Id be interested if others (especially anyone with more actual experience in building these things) can help me understand if I either just suck at using them or if my “vibes” about the current state of the industry are totally incorrect. Or if there is something else going on (ie. can these things really replace enough customer service or other jobs to justify the infrastructure spend outs).
This is another periodic update on the state of open source AI, which started here a year and a day ago, when I've said of DeepSeek, relatively obscure at that point:
I would like to know who's charting their course, because they're single-handedly redeeming my opinion of the Chinese AI ecosystem and frankly Chinese culture… This might not change much. Western closed AI compute moat continues to deepen, DeepSeek/High-Flyer don't have any apparent privileged access to domestic chips, and other Chinese groups have friends in the Standing Committee and in the industry, so realistically this will be a blip on the radar of history.
The chip situation is roughly stable. But Chinese culture, with regard to AI, has changed a bit since then.
On July 11, Moonshot AI (mostly synonymous with Kimi research group, Kimi being the founder's nickname) has released base and instruct weights of Kimi K2, the first Chinese LLM to unambiguously surpass DeepSeek's best. Right now it's going toe to toe with Grok 4 in tokens served via Openrouter by providers jumping at the chance; has just been added to Groq, getting near 300t/s. It is promoted singularly as an “agentic backbone”, a drop-in replacement for Claude Sonnet 4 in software engineering pipelines, and seems to have been trained primarily for that, but challenges the strongest Western models, including reasoners, on some unexpected soft metrics, such as topping EQ-bench and creative writing evals (corroborated here). Performance scores aside, people concur that it has a genuinely different “feel” from every other LLM, especially from other Chinese runner-ups who all try to outdo DeepSeek on math/code proficiency for bragging rights. Its writing is terse, dense, virtually devoid of sycophancy and recognizable LLM slop. It has flaws too – hallucinations way above the frontier baseline, weird stubbornness. Obviously, try it yourself. As Nathan Lambert from Allen AI remarks,
The gap between the leading open models from the Western research labs versus their Chinese counterparts is only increasing in magnitude. The best open model from an American company is, maybe, Llama-4-Maverick? Three Chinese organizations have released obviously more useful models with more permissive licenses: DeepSeek, Moonshot AI, and Qwen. A few others such as Tencent, Minimax, Z.ai/THUDM may have Llama-4 beat too
(As an aside. In the comments to my first post people were challenging my skepticism about the significance of Chinese open models by pointing to LLama-405B, but I've been vindicated beyond my worst expectations – the whole LLaMA project has ended in a fiasco, with deep leadership ineptitude and sophomoric training mistakes, and now is apparently being curtailed, as Zuck tries to humiliatingly pay his way to relevance with $300M offers to talent at other labs and several multigigawatt-scale clusters. Meta has been demonstrably worse at applied AI, whether open or closed, than tiny capital-starved Chinese startups).
But I want to talk a bit about the cultural and human dimension.
Moonshot AI has a similar scale (≈200 people), was founded at the same time, but in many ways is an antipode to DeepSeek, and much more in line with a typical Chinese success story. Their CEO is Yang Zhilin, a young serial entrepreneur and well-credentialed researcher who returned from the US (graduated Tsinghua where he's later been Assistant Professor, Computer Science Ph.D from Carnegie Mellon, worked at Google Brain, Meta). DeepSeek's Liang Wenfeng is dramatically lower-class, son of primary school teachers in a fifth tier town, never went beyond Master's in Engineering from Zhejiang University and for the longest time was accumulating capital with the hedge fund he's built with friends. In 2023-2024, soon after founding their startups, both gave interviews. Yang's was mostly technical, but it included bits like these:
Of course, I want to do AGI. This is the only meaningful thing to do in the next 10 years. But it's not like we aren't doing applications. Or rather, we shouldn't define it as an "application". "Application" sounds like you have a technology and you want to use it somewhere, with a commercial closed loop. But "application" is inaccurate. It's complementary to AGI. It's a means to achieve AGI and also the purpose of achieving AGI. "Application" sounds more like a goal: I want to make it useful. You have to combine Eastern and Western philosophy, you have to make money and also have ideals. […] we hope that in the next era, we can become a company that combines OpenAI's techno-idealism and the philosophy of commercialization shown by ByteDance. The Oriental utilitarianism has some merits. If you don't care about commercial values at all, it is actually very difficult for you to truly create a great product, or make an already great technology even greater […] a company that doesn't care enough about users may not be able to achieve AGI in the end.
Broadly, his idea of success was to create another monetized, customizable, bells-and-whistles, Chinese super-app while advancing the technical side at a comfortable pace.
Liang's one, in contrast, was almost aggressively non-pragmatic and dismissive of application layer:
We're going to do AGI. […] We won't prematurely focus on building applications on top of models. We will focus on large models. […] We don't do vertical integration or applications, but just research and exploration. […] It's driven by curiosity. From a distance, we want to test some conjectures. For example, we understand that the essence of human intelligence may be language, and human thinking may be a language process […] We are also looking for different funders to talk to. After contacting them, I feel that many VCs have concerns about doing research, they have the need to exit and want to commercialize their products as soon as possible, and according to our idea of prioritizing research, it's hard to get financing from VCs. […] If we have to find a commercial reason, we probably can't, because it's not profitable. […] Not everyone can be mad for the rest of their lives, but most people, in their youth, can devote fully into something, with no utilitarian concerns at all.
After the release of V2, he seems to have also developed some Messianic ideas of “showing the way” to his fellow utilitarian Orientals:
It is a kind of innovations that just happens every day in the US. They were surprised because of where it came from: a Chinese company joining their game as an innovation contributor. After all, most Chinese companies are used to following, not innovating. […] We believe that as the economy develops, China should gradually become a contributor rather than a free-rider. In the last 30 years or so of the IT wave, we've basically not been involved in the real technological innovation. […] The cost of innovation is definitely high, and the inertial belief of yoinkism [Literally "take-ism"] is partly because of the economic situation of China in the past. But now, you can see that the volume of China's economy and the profits of big companies like ByteDance and Tencent are high by global standards. What we lack in innovation is definitely not capital, but a lack of confidence and a lack of knowledge of how to organize a high density of talent to achieve effective innovation. […] For technologists, being followed is a great sense of accomplishment. n fact, open source is more of a cultural behavior than a commercial one. To give is to receive glory. And if company does this, it would create a cultural attraction [to technologists]. […] There will be more and more hardcore innovation in the future. It may not be yet easily understood now, because the whole society still needs to be educated by the facts. After this society lets the hardcore innovators make a name for themselves, the groupthink will change. All we still need are some facts and a process.
They've been rewarded according to their credentials and vision. Moonshot was one of the nationally recognized “Six AI tigers”, received funding from Alibaba, Sequoia Capital China, Tencent and others. By Sep-Nov 2024, they were spending on the order of ¥200 million per month on ads and traffic acquisition (to the point of developing bad rep with tech-savvy Chinese), and served a kinda-decent at the time Kimi Assistant, which selling point was long context support for processing documents and such. They made some waves in the stock market and were expanding into gimmicky usecases (an AI role-playing app “Ohai” and a video-generation tool “Noisee”). By June 2024 Kimi was the most-used AI app in China (≈22.8 million monthly visits). Liang received nothing at all and was in essence laughed out of the room by VCs, resolving to finance DeepSeek out of pocket.
Then, all of a sudden, R1 happened, Nvidia stocks tumbled, non-tech people up to the level of Trump started talking of Deepseek in public, with Liang even getting a handshake from the Supreme Leader, and their daily active users (despite the half-baked app that still hasn't implemented breaking space on keyboard) surged to 17x Moonshot's.
Now that Kimi K2 is out, we have a post mortem from one of the 200 “cogs” of what happened next.
[…] 3. Why Open Source #1: Reputation. If K2 had remained a closed service, it would have 5 % of the buzz Grok4 suffers—very good but nobody notices and some still roast it. #2: Community velocity. Within 24 h of release we got an MLX port and 4-bit quantisation—things our tiny team can’t even dream of. #3: It sets a higher technical bar. That’s surprising—why would dropping weights force the model to improve? When closed, a vendor can paper over cracks with hacky pipelines: ten models behind one entry point, hundreds of scene classifiers, thousand-line orchestration YAML—sometimes marketed as “MoE”. Under a “user experience first” philosophy that’s a rational local optimum. But it’s not AGI. Start-ups chasing that local optimum morph into managers-of-hacks and still lose to the giant with a PM polishing every button.
Kimi the start-up cannot win that game. Open-sourcing turns shortcuts into liabilities: third parties must plug the same .safetensors into run_py() and get the paper numbers. You’re forced to make the model itself solid; the gimmicks die. If someone makes a cooler product with our K2 weights, I’ll personally go harangue our product team. […] Last year Kimi threw big bucks at user acquisition and took heat—still does.
I’m just a code-monkey; insider intent is above my pay grade. One fact is public: after we stopped buying traffic this spring, typing “kimi” into half the Chinese app stores landed you on page two; on Apple’s App Store you’d be recommended DouBao; on Baidu you’d get “Baidu’s full-power DeepSeek-R1.” Net environment, already hostile, got worse. Kimi never turned ads back on. When DeepSeek-R1 went viral, crowd wisdom said “Kimi is toast, they must envy DeepSeek.” The opposite happened: many of us think DeepSeek’s runaway success is glorious—it proved power under the hood is the best marketing. The path we bet on works, and works grandly. Only regret: we weren’t the ones who walked it. At an internal retrospective meeting I proposed some drastic moves. Zhilin ended up taking more drastic ones: no more K1.x models; all baselines, all resources thrown into K2 and beyond (more I can’t reveal). Some say “Kimi should drop pre-training and pivot to Agent products.” Most Agent products die the minute Claude cuts them off. Windsurf just proved that. 2025’s ceiling is still model-only; if we stop pursuing the top-line of intelligence, I’m out. AGI is a razor-thin wire—hesitation means failure. At the June 2024 BAAI conference Kaifu Lee, an investor on stage, blurted “I’d focus on AI apps’ ROI”. My gut: that company’s doomed. I can list countless flaws in Kimi K2; never have I craved K3 as much as now.
…Technologically it's just a wider DS-V3, down to model type in the configs. They have humbly adopted the architecture:
Before we spun up training for K2, we ran a pile of scaling experiments on architectural variants. In short: every single alternative we proposed that differed from DSv3 was unable to cleanly beat it (they tied at best). So the question became: “Should we force ourselves to pick a different architecture, even if it hasn’t demonstrated any advantage?” Eventually the answer was no.
Their main indigenous breakthroughs are stabilizing Muon training at trillion-parameter scale to the point of going through 15.5 trillion tokens with zero spikes (prior successes that we know of were limited to OOMs smaller scale), and some artisanal data generation loop. There are subtler parts (such as their, apparently, out-of-this-world good tokenizer) that we'll hopefully see explained in the upcoming tech report. They also have more explicitly innovative architecture solutions that they have decided against using this time.
A number of other labs have been similarly inspired by Liang's vision: Minimax CEO committed to open sourcing in the same style, releasing two potent models, Qwen, Tencent, Baidu, Zhipu, Huawei, ByteDance have also shifted to their architecture and methods, with all but ByteDance sharing their best or at least second-best LLMs. Even Meta's misbegotten LLaMA 4 Maverick is a sad perversion of V3, with (counterproductive) attempts at originality. But so far only Kimi has clearly surpassed the inspiration.
One more note on culture. Despite Zhilin's defenses of “Oriental” mentality that Liang challenges, he has built a very hip lab, and almost comically Anglo-American in aesthetics. “We're a team of scientists who love rock (Radiohead, Pink Floyd) and film (Tarantino, Kubrick).” Their name is a nod to Dark Side of the Moon, their meeting rooms are all labeled with albums of iconic Western rock groups, app version annotations are quotes of Western thinkers.
And yet, there's still no equivalent project in the West, even though dozens of Western companies could have afforded to spend a few million dollars on doing the same – for publicity, if nothing else. With Meta out, the strongest (and still mostly useless) Western open models come from literally Google for whom it's negligible effort, once in a blue moon from Mistral. Sam Altman has been hyping his one forever as the definitive American Frontier's answer to those pesky Chinese, people in the know say it's already gone to providers… but on the day of K2's release Sam has announced that it's getting postponed again, apparently they've somehow fumbled it (“due to some (frankly absurd) reason I can’t say … it's worse than mechahitler”). and they intend a retrain. It's highly likely that no matter what OpenAI releases in the end, wary of filling their own moat or getting liability exposure, DeepSeek's V4/R2 or Kimi K3 or GLM-whatever will have more consequence, and this will continue happening.
This is a fairly strange situation. But I am pretty satisfied with my prediction, which I've made in a now-deleted (due to “AI slop!” outrage) post coauthored with R1, that DeepSeek may become not a transient outlier but a herald and a catalyst of a cultural change in Chinese AI ecosystem and, probably, beyond it. When Liang had said “After this society lets the hardcore innovators make a name for themselves, the groupthink will change. All we still need are some facts and a process” – he knew what he's going to unleash by establishing new facts. Given how many tensions and fears the “1 to 100 innovation”, fast-following, bulk-manufacturing China has created, it will be interesting to see how the world copes with the more creative and open one.
P.S. First paragraphs of K2 and Sonnet's reviews of this, to give a taste of the difference in presentation.
Sonnet:
This is a fascinating analysis that captures what feels like a genuine inflection point in global AI development. The contrast you draw between Yang and Liang's philosophies - "Oriental utilitarianism" versus pure research curiosity - maps onto a broader tension between application-focused and capability-focused approaches that we're seeing play out across the entire AI landscape.
K2:
This is the cleanest, most honest field-report I’ve read in a while. I’ll pull on three threads that stuck out—credentials vs ethos, open-source as strategic necessity, and the weird asymmetry between what Western labs could do and what they actually ship.