The telegraph and the telephone have a special place in the history and future of competition and Big Tech. After all, they were the original tech monopolists. Every discussion of tech and monopoly takes place in their shadow.
Back in 2010, Tim Wu published The Master Switch, his bestselling, wildly influential history of “The Bell System” and the struggle to de-monopolize America from its first telecoms barons:
Wu is a brilliant writer and theoretician. Best known for coining the term “Net Neutrality,” Wu went on to serve in both the Obama and Biden administrations as a tech trustbuster. He accomplished much in those years. Most notably, Wu wrote the 2021 executive order on competition, laying out a 72-point program for using existing powers vested in the administrative agencies to break up corporate power and get the monopolist’s boot off Americans’ necks:
The Competition EO is basically a checklist, and Biden’s agency heads have been racing down it, ticking off box after box on or ahead of schedule, making meaningful technical changes in how companies are allowed to operate, each one designed to make material improvements to the lives of Americans.
A decade and a half after its initial publication, Wu’s Master Switch is still considered a canonical account of how the phone monopoly was built – and dismantled.
But somewhat lost in the shadow of The Master Switch is another book, written by the accomplished telecoms historian Richard R John: “Network Nation: Inventing American Telecommunications,” published a year after The Master Switch:
Network Nation flew under my radar until earlier this year, when I found myself speaking at an antitrust conference where both John and Wu were also on the bill:
During John’s panel – “Case Studies: AT&T & IBM” – he took a good-natured dig at Wu’s book, claiming that Wu, not being an historian, had been taken in by AT&T’s own self-serving lies about its history. Wu – also on the panel – didn’t dispute it, either. That was enough to prick my interest. I ordered a copy of Network Nation and put it on my suitcase during my vacation earlier this month.
Network Nation is an extremely important, brilliantly researched, deep history of America’s love/hate affair with not just the telephone, but also the telegraph. It is unmistakably as history book, one that aims at a definitive takedown of various neat stories about the history of American telecommunications. As Wu writes in his New Republic review of John’s book:
Generally he describes the failure of competition not so much as a failure of a theory, but rather as the more concrete failure of the men running the competitors, many of whom turned out to be incompetent or unlucky. His story is more like a blow-by-blow account of why Germany lost World War II than a grand theory of why democracy is better than fascism.
In other words, John thinks that the monopolies that emerged in the telegraph and then the telephone weren’t down to grand forces that made them inevitable, but rather, to the errors made by regulators and the successful gambits of the telecoms barons. At many junctures, things could have gone another way.
Like you, I have heard a lot about Project 2025, the Heritage Foundation’s roadmap for the actions that Trump should take if he wins the presidency. Given the Heritage Foundation’s centrality to the American authoritarian project, it’s about as awful and frightening as you might expect:
But (nearly) all the reporting and commentary on Project 2025 badly misses the point. I’ve only read a single writer who immediately grasped the true significance of Project 2025: The American Prospect’s Rick Perlstein, which is unsurprising, given Perlstein’s stature as one of the left’s most important historians of right wing movements:
As Perlstein points out, Project 2025 isn’t new. The Heritage Foundation and its allies have prepared documents like this, with many identical policy prescriptions, in the run-up to many presidential elections. Perlstein argues that Warren G Harding’s 1921 inaugural address captures much of its spirit, as did the Nixon campaign’s 1973 vow to “move the country so far to the right ‘you won’t even recognize it.’”
The threats to democracy and its institutions aren’t new. The right has been bent on their destruction for more than a century. As Perlstein says, the point of taking note of this isn’t to minimize the danger, rather, it’s to contextualize it. The American right has, since the founding of the Republic, been bent on creating a system of hereditary aristocrats, who govern without “interference” from democratic institutions, so that their power to extract wealth from First Nations, working people, and the land itself is checked only by rivalries with other aristocrats. The project of the right is grounded in a belief in Providence: that God’s favor shines on His best creations and elevates them to wealth and power. Elite status is proof of merit, and merit is “that which leads to elite status.”
When a wealthy person founds an intergenerational dynasty of wealth and power, this is merely a hereditary meritocracy: a bloodline infused with God’s favor. Sometimes, this belief is dressed up in caliper-wielding pseudoscience, with the “good bloodline” reflecting superior genetics and not the favor of the Almighty. Of course, a true American aristocrat gussies up his “race realism” with mystical nonsense: “God favored me with superior genes.” The corollary, of course, is that you are poor because God doesn’t favor you, or because your genes are bad, or because God punished you with bad genes.
So we should be alarmed by the right’s agenda. We should be alarmed at how much ground it has gained, and how the right has stolen elections and Supreme Court seats to enshrine antimajoritarianism as a seemingly permanent fact of life, giving extremist minorities the power to impose their will on the rest of us, dooming us to a roasting planet, forced births, racist immiseration, and most expensive, worst-performing health industry in the world.
But for all that the right has bombed so many of the roads to a prosperous, humane future, it’s a huge mistake to think of the right as a stable, unified force, marching to victory after inevitable victory. The American right is a brittle coalition led by a handful of plutocrats who have convinced a large number of turkeys to vote for Christmas.
The right wing coalition needs to pander to forced-birth extremists, racist extremist, Christian Dominionist extremists (of several types), frothing anti-Communist cranks, vicious homophobes and transphobes, etc, etc. Pandering to all these groups isn’t easy: for one thing, they often want opposite things – the post-Roe forced birth policies that followed the Dobbs decision are wildly unpopular among conservatives, with the exception of a clutch of totally unhinged maniacs that the party relies on as part of a much larger coalition. Even more unpopular are policies banning birth control, like the ones laid out in Project 2025. Less popular still: the proposed ban on no-fault divorce. Each of these policies have different constituencies to whom they are very popular, but when you put them together, you get Dan Savage’s “Husbands you can’t leave, pregnancies you can’t prevent or terminate, politicians you can’t vote out of office”:
The constituency for “husbands you can’t leave, pregnancies you can’t prevent or terminate, politicians you can’t vote out of office” is very small. Almost no one in the GOP coalition is voting for all of this, they’re voting for one or two of these things and holding their noses when it comes to the rest.
Take the “libertarian” wing of the GOP: its members do favor personal liberty…it’s just that they favor low taxes for them more than personal liberty for you. The kind of lunatic who’d vote for a dead gopher if it would knock a quarter off his tax bill will happily allow his coalition partners to rape pregnant women with unnecessary transvaginal ultrasounds and force them to carry unwanted fetuses to term if that’s the price he has to pay to save a nickel in taxes:
And, of course, the religious maniacs who profess a total commitment to Biblical virtue but worship Trump, Gaetz, Limbaugh, Gingrich, Reagan, and the whole panoply of cheating, lying, kid-fiddling, dope-addled refugees from a Jack Chick tract know that these men never gave a shit about Jesus, the Apostles or the Ten Commandments – but they’ll vote for 'em because it will get them school prayer, total abortion bans, and unregulated “home schooling” so they can brainwash a generation of Biblical literalists who think the Earth is 5,000 years old and that Jesus was white and super into rich people.
Time and again, the leaders of the conservative movement prove themselves capable of acts of breathtaking cruelty, and undoubtedly many of them are depraved sadists who genuinely enjoy the suffering of their enemies (think of Trump lickspittle Steven Miller’s undisguised glee at the thought of parents who would never be reunited with children after being separated at the border). But it’s a mistake to think that “the cruelty is the point.” The point of the cruelty is to assemble and maintain the coalition. Cruelty is the tactic. Power is the point:
The right has assembled a lot of power. They did so by maintaining unity among people who have irreconcilable ethics and goals. Think of the pro-genocide coalition that includes far-right Jewish ethno-nationalists, antisemitic apocalyptic Christians who believe they are hastening the end-times, and Islamophobes of every description, from War On Terror relics to Hindu nationalists.
This is quite an improbable coalition, and while I deplore its goals, I can’t help but be impressed by its cohesion. Can you imagine the kind of behind-the-scenes work it takes to get antisemites who think Jews secretly control the world to lobby with Zionists? Or to get Zionists to work alongside of Holocaust-denying pencilneck Hitler wannabes whose biggest regret is not bringing their armbands to Charlottesville?
Bea Wolf is Zach Weinersmith and Boulet’s ferociously amazingly great illustrated kids’ graphic novel adaptation of the Old English epic poem, which inspired Tolkien, who helped bring it to popularity after it had languished in obscurity for centuries:
Boy is this a wildly improbable artifact. Weinersmith and Boulet set themselves the task of bringing Germanic heroic saga from more than a thousand years ago to modern children, while preserving the meter and the linguistic and literary tropes of the original. And they did it!
There are some changes, of course. Grendel – the boss monster that both Beowulf and Bea Wulf must defeat – is no longer obsessed with decapitating his foes and stealing their heads. In Bea Wulf, Grendel is a monstrously grown up and boring adult who watches cable news and flosses twice per day, and when he defeats the kids whose destruction he is bent upon, he does so by turning them into boring adults, too.
And Bea Wulf – and the kings that do battle with Grendel – are not interested in the gold and jewels that the kings of Beowulf hoard. In Bea Wulf, the treasure is toys, chocolate, soda, candy, food without fiber, television shows without redeeming educational content, water balloons, nerf swords and spears, and other stuff beloved of kids and hated by parents.
That substitution is key to transposing the thousand-year-old adult epic Beowulf for enjoyment by small children in the 21st century. After all, what makes Beowulf so epic is the sense that it is set in a time in which a primal valor still reigned, but it is narrated for an audience that has been tamed and domesticated. Beowulf makes you long for a never-was time of fierce and unwavering bravery. Bea Wulf beautifully conjures the years of early childhood when you and the kids in your group had your own little sealed-off world, which grownups could barely perceive and never understand.
Growing up, after all, is a process of repeating things that are brave the first time you do them, over and over again, until they become banal. That’s what “coming of age” really boils down to: the slow and relentless transformation of the mythic, the epic, and the unknowable and unknown into the tame, the explained, the mastered. When you’re just mastering balance and coordination, the playground climber is a challenge out of legend. A couple years later, it’s just something you climb.
The correspondences between the leeching away of magic lamented in Beowulf and experienced by all of us as we grow out of childhood are obvious in hindsight and surprising and beautiful and bittersweet when you encounter them in Bea Wolf.
On THURSDAY (June 20) I’m live onstage in LOS ANGELES for a recording of the GO FACT YOURSELF podcast. On FRIDAY (June 21) I’m doing an ONLINE READING for the LOCUS AWARDS at 16hPT. On SATURDAY (June 22) I’ll be in OAKLAND, CA for a panel and a keynote at the LOCUS AWARDS.
This week on my podcast,This week on my podcast, I read my June 17, 2004 Microsoft Research speech about DRM, a talk that went viral two decades ago, and reassess its legacy:
It’s been 20 years (and one day) since I gave that talk. It wasn’t my first talk like that, but at the time, it was the most successful talk I’d ever given. I was still learning how to deliver a talk at the time, tinkering with different prose and delivery styles (to my eye, there’s a lot of Bruce Sterling in that one, something that’s still true today).
I learned to give talks by attending sf conventions and watching keynotes and panel presentations and taking mental notes. I was especially impressed with the oratory style of Harlan Ellison, whom I heard speak on numerous occasions, and by Judith Merril, who was a wonderful mentor to me and many other writers:
I was also influenced by the speakers I’d heard at the many political rallies I’d attended and helped organize; from the speakers at the annual Labour Day parade to the anti-nuclear proliferation and pro-abortion rights marches I was very involved with. I also have vivid memories of the speeches that Helen Caldicott gave in Toronto when I was growing up, where I volunteered as an usher:
When I helped found a dotcom startup in the late 1990s, my partners and I decided that I’d do the onstage talking; we paid for a couple hours of speaker training from an expensive consultant in San Francisco. The only thing I remember from that session was the advice to look into the audience as much as possible, rather than reading from notes with my head down. Good advice, but kinda obvious.
The impetus for that training was my onstage presentation at the first O'Reilly P2P conference in 2001. I don’t quite remember what I said there, but I remember that it made an impression on Tim O'Reilly, which meant a lot to me then (and now):
I don’t remember who invited me to give the talk at Microsoft Research that day, but I think it was probably Marc Smith, who was researching social media at the time by data-mining Usenet archives to understand social graphs. I think I timed the gig so that I could kill three birds with one stone: in addition to that talk, I attended (and maybe spoke at?) that year’s Computers, Freedom and Privacy conference, and attended an early preview of the soon-to-launch Sci Fi Museum (now the Museum of Pop Culture). I got to meet Nichelle Nichols (and promptly embarrassed myself by getting tongue-tied and telling her how much I loved the vocals she did on her recording of the Star Wars theme, something I’m still hot around the ears over, though she was a pro and gently corrected me, “I think you mean Star *Trek”):
But the start of that trip was the talk at Microsoft Research; I’d been on the Microsoft campus before. That startup I did? Microsoft tried to buy us, which prompted our asshole VCs to cram the founders and steal our equity, which created so much acrimony that the Microsoft deal fell through. I was pretty bitter at the time, but in retrospect, I really dodged a bullet – for one thing, the deal involved my going to work for Microsoft as a DRM evangelist. I mean, talk about the road not taken!
This was my first time back at Microsoft as an EFF employee. There was some pre-show meet-and-greet-type stuff, and then I was shown into a packed conference room where I gave my talk and had a lively (and generally friendly) Q&A. MSR was – and is – the woolier side of Microsoft, where all kinds of interesting people did all kinds of great research.
Indeed, almost every Microsoft employee I’ve ever met was a good and talented person doing the best work they could. The fact that Microsoft produces such a consistent stream of garbage products and crooked business practices is an important testament to the way that a rotten organization can be so much less than the sum of its parts.
I’m a fully paid up subscriber to Ronald Coase’s “Theory of the Firm” (not so much his other views):
Coase says the reason institutions exist is to enable people to work together with lowered “coordination costs.” In other words, if you and I are going to knit a sweater together, we’re going to need to figure out how to make sure that we’re not both making the left sleeve. Creating an institution – the Mafia, the Catholic Church, Microsoft, a company, a co-op, a committee that puts on a regional science fiction con – is all about minimizing those costs.
As Yochai Benkler pointed out in 2002, the coolest and most transformative thing about the internet is that it let us do more complex collective work with smaller and less structured institutions:
That was the initial prompt for my novel Walkaway, which asked, “What if we could build luxury hotels and even space programs with the kind of (relatively) lightweight institutional overheads associated with Wikipedia and the Linux kernel?”
So the structure of institutions is really important. At the same time, I’m skeptical of the idea that there are “good companies” and “bad companies.” Small businesses, family businesses, and other firms that aren’t exposed to the finance sector can reflect their leaders’ personalities, but it’s a huge mistake to ascribe personalities to the companies themselves.
That’s how you get foolish ideas like “Apple is a good company because they embrace paid service and Google is a bad company because they make money from surveillance.” Apple will spy on you, too, if they can:
Welcome to the seventeenth Pluralistic linkdump, a collection of all the miscellany that didn’t make it into the week’s newsletter, cunningly wrought together in a single edition that ranges from the first ISP to AI nonsense to labor organizing victories to the obituary of a brilliant scientist you should know a lot more about! Here’s the other 16 dumps:
If you’re reading this (and you are!), it was delivered to you by an internet service provider. Today, the ISP industry is calcified, controlled by a handful of telcos and cable companies. But the idea of an “ISP” didn’t come out of a giant telecommunications firm – it was created, in living memory, by excellent nerds who are still around.
Depending on how you reckon, The Little Garden was either the first or the second ISP in America. It was named after a Palo Alto Chinese restaurant frequented by its founders. To get a sense of that founding, read these excellent recollections by Tom Jennings, whose contributions include the seminal zine Homocore, the seminal networking protocol Fidonet, and the seminal third-party PC ROM, whence came Dell, Gateway, Compaq, and every other “PC clone” company.
The first installment describes how an informal co-op to network a few friends turned into a business almost by accident, with thousands of dollars flowing in and out of Jennings’ bank account:
And it describes how that ISP set a standard for neutrality, boldly declaring that “TLGnet exercises no control whatsoever over the content of the information.” They introduced an idea of radical transparency, documenting their router configurations and other technical details and making them available to the public. They hired unskilled punk and queer kids from their communities and trained them to operate the network equipment they’d invented, customized or improvised.
In part two, Jennings talks about the evolution of TLG’s radical business-plan: to offer unrestricted service, encouraging their customers to resell that service to people in their communities, having no lock-in, unbundling extra services including installation charges – the whole anti-enshittification enchilada:
I love Jennings and his work. I even gave him a little cameo in Picks and Shovels, the third Martin Hench novel, which will be out next winter. He’s as lyrical a writer about technology as you could ask for, and he’s also a brilliant engineer and thinker.
The Little Garden’s founders and early power-users have all fleshed out Jennings’ account of the birth of ISPs. Writing on his blog, David “DSHR” Rosenthal rounds up other histories from the likes of EFF co-founder John Gilmore and Tim Pozar:
Rosenthal describes some of the more exotic shenanigans TLG got up to in order to do end-runs around the Bell system’s onerous policies, hacking in the purest sense of the word, for example, by daisy-chaining together modems in regions with free local calling and then making “permanent local calls,” with the modems staying online 24/7.
Enshittification came to the ISP business early and hit it hard. The cartel that controls your access to the internet today is a billion light-years away from the principled technologists who invented the industry with an ethos of care, access and fairness. Today’s ISPs are bitterly opposed to Net Neutrality, the straightforward proposition that if you request some data, your ISP should send it to you as quickly and reliably as it can.
Instead, ISPs want to offer “slow-lanes” where they will relegate the whole internet, except for those companies that bribe the ISP to be delivered at normal speed. ISPs have a laughably transparent way of describing this: they say that they’re allowing services to pay for “fast lanes” with priority access. This is the same as the giant grocery store that charges you extra unless you surrender your privacy with a “loyalty card” – and then says that they’re offering a “discount” for loyal customers, rather than charging a premium to customers who don’t want to be spied on.
The American business lobby loves this arrangement, and hates Net Neutrality. Having monopolized every sector of our economy, they are extremely fond of “winner take all” dynamics, and that’s what a non-neutral ISP delivers: the biggest services with the deepest pockets get the most reliable delivery, which means that smaller services don’t just have to be better than the big guys, they also have to be able to outbid them for “priority carriage.”
If everything you get from your ISP is slow and janky, except for the dominant services, then the dominant services can skimp on quality and pocket the difference. That’s the goal of every monopolist – not just to be too big to fail, but also too big to care.
There are six lies that corporations have told since time immemorial, and Nick Hanauer, Joan Walsh and Donald Cohen’s new book Corporate Bullsht: Exposing the Lies and Half-Truths That Protect Profit, Power, and Wealth in America* provides an essential taxonomy of this dirty six:
In his review for The American Prospect, David Dayen summarizes how these six lies “offer a civic-minded, reasonable-sounding justification for positions that in fact are motivated entirely by self-interest”:
As far back as the slave trade, corporate apologists and mouthpieces have led by asserting that true things are false, and vice-versa. In 1837, John Calhoun asserted that “Never before has the black race of Central Africa, from the dawn of history to the present day, attained a condition so civilized and so improved, not only physically, but morally and intellectually.” George Fitzhugh called enslaved Africans in America “the freest people in the world.”
This tactic never went away. Children sent to work in factories are “perfectly happy.” Polluted water is “purer than the water that came from the river before we used it.” Poor families “don’t really exist.” Pesticides don’t lead to “illness or death.” Climate change is “beneficial.” Lead “helps guard your health.”
II. Markets can solve problems, governments can’t
Alan Greenspan made a career out of blithely asserting that markets self-correct. It was only after the world economy imploded in 2008 that he admitted that his doctrine had a “flaw”:
No matter how serious a problem is, the market will fix it. In 1973, the US Chamber of Commerce railed against safety regulations, because “safety is good business,” and could be left to the market. If unsafe products persist in the market, it’s because consumers choose to trade safety off “for a lower price tag” (Chamber spox Laurence Kraus). Racism can’t be corrected with anti-discrimination laws. It’s only when “the market” realizes that racism is bad for business that it will finally be abolished.
The second decade of the 21st century is truly a bounteous time. My backyard has produced a bumper crop of an invasive species of mosquito that is genuinely innovative: rather than confining itself to biting in the dusk and dawn golden hours, these stinging clouds of flying vampires bite at every hour that God sends:
Here in the twilight of capitalism’s planet-devouring, half-century orgy of wanton destruction, there’s more news every day than I can possibly write a full blog post about every day, and as with many weeks, I have arrived at Saturday with a substantial backlog of links that didn’t fit into the week’s “Hey look at this” linkdumps.
Thus, the eighth installment in my ongoing, semiregular series of Saturday linkdumps:
This week, the miscellany begins with the first hesitant signs of an emerging, post-neoliberal order. The FTC, under direction of the force-of-nature that is Lina Khan, has brought its long-awaited case antitrust case against Amazon. I am very excited about this. Disoriented, even.
When was the last time you greeted every day with a warm feeling because high officials in the US government were working for the betterment of every person in the land? It’s enough to make one giddy. Plus, the New York Times let me call Amazon “the apex predator of our platform era”! Now that it’s in the “paper of record,” it’s official:
Now, lefties have been predicting capitalism’s imminent demise since The Communist Manifesto, but any fule kno that the capitalist word for “crisis” also translates as “opportunity.” Like the bedbugs that mutated to thrive in clouds of post-war DDT, capitalism has adapted to each crisis, emerging in a new, more virulent form:
But “anything that can’t go on forever will eventually stop” (Stein’s Law). Perhaps our mistake was in waiting for capitalism to give way to socialism, rather than serving as a transitional phase between feudalism and…feudalism.
In Blood In the Machine, Brian Merchant delivers the definitive history of the Luddites, and the clearest analysis of the automator’s playbook, where “entrepreneurs’” lawless extraction from workers is called “innovation” and “inevitable”:
History is written by the winners, and so you probably think of the Luddites as brainless, terrified, thick-fingered vandals who smashed machines and burned factories because they didn’t understand them. Today, “Luddite” is a slur that means “technophobe” – but that’s neither fair, nor accurate.
Luddism has been steadily creeping into pro-labor technological criticism, as workers and technology critics reclaim the term and its history, which is a rich and powerful tale of greed versus solidarity, slavery versus freedom.
The true tale of the Luddites starts with workers demanding that the laws be upheld. When factory owners began to buy automation systems for textile production, they did so in violation of laws that required collaboration with existing craft guilds – laws designed to ensure that automation was phased in gradually, with accommodations for displaced workers. These laws also protected the public, with the guilds evaluating the quality of cloth produced on the machine, acting as a proxy for buyers who might otherwise be tricked into buying inferior goods.
Factory owners flouted these laws. Though the machines made cloth that was less durable and of inferior weave, they sold it to consumers as though it were as good as the guild-made textiles. Factory owners made quiet deals with orphanages to send them very young children who were enslaved to work in their factories, where they were routinely maimed and killed by the new machines. Children who balked at the long hours or attempted escape were viciously beaten (the memoir of one former child slave became a bestseller and inspired Oliver Twist).
Germany is the “world champion in remembrance,” celebrated for its post-Holocaust policies of ensuring that every German never forgot what had been done in their names, and in holding themselves and future generations accountable for the Nazis’ crimes.
All my life, the Germans have been a counterexample to other nations, where the order of the day was to officially forget the sins that stained the land. “Least said, soonest mended,” was the Canadian and American approach to the genocide of First Nations people and the theft of their land. It was, famously, how America, especially the American south, dealt with the legacy of slavery and Jim Crow.
Silence begets forgetting, which begets revisionism. The founding crimes of our nations receded into the mists of time and acquired a gauzy, romantic veneer. Plantations — slave labor camps where work was obtained through torture, maiming and murder — were recast as the tragiromantic settings of Gone With the Wind. The deliberate extinction of indigenous peoples was revised as the “taming of the New World.” The American Civil War was retold as “The Lost Cause,” fought over states’ rights, not over the right of the ultra-wealthy to terrorize kidnapped Africans and their descendants into working to death.
This wasn’t how they did it in Germany. Nazi symbols and historical revisionism were banned (even the Berlin production of “The Producers” had to be performed without swastikas). The criminals were tried and executed. Every student learned what had been done. Cash reparations were paid — to Jews, and to the people whom the Nazis had conquered and brutalized. Having given in to ghastly barbarism on an terrifyingly industrial scale, the Germans had remade themselves with characteristic efficiency, rooting out the fascist rot and ensuring that it never took hold again.
But Germany’s storied reformation was always oversold. As neo-Nazi movements sprang up and organized political parties — like the far-right Alternative für Deutschland — fielded fascist candidates, they also took to the streets in violent mobs. Worse, top German security officials turned out to be allied with AfD:
If you find the word “antitrust” has a dusty, old-fashioned feel, that’s only to be expected — after all, the word has its origins in the late 19th century, when the first billionaire was created: John D Rockefeller, who formed a “trust” with his oil industry competitors, through which they all agreed to stop competing with one another so they could concentrate on extracting more from their workers and their customers.
If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
The untimely death of activist/anthropologist/author David Graeber in 2020 tore a hole in the future, depriving us of not just Graeber’s presence, but of the books he had left to write — incisive, brilliant, hilarious followups to the likes of Debt and Bullshit Jobs:
If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
The Once and Future Sex is Eleanor Janega’s new history of gender and sex in the medieval age, describing the weird and horny ways of medieval Europeans, which are far gnarlier and more complicated than the story we get from “traditionalists” who want us to believe that their ideas about gender roles reflect a fixed part of human nature, and that modern attitudes are an attempt to rewrite history.
If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
Janega is a fantastic and hilarious medievalists whose blog, “Going Medieval” is essential reading, offering a well-informed and profane counterpoints to the ideologically driven, just-so stories that get rolled out to explain why progressive ideas are doomed. Some of my favorite installments:
Once and Future Sex is one of those very excellent blogger books that takes all the ideas that the author has developed through short pieces reacting to current events, takes all the reactions to those pieces, including the squeals of outrage from less-informed people desperately invested in a certain vision of medieval life, and synthesizes them into a single consistent narrative.
Books like these are the comedy specials of blogging: the author has road-tested their material, tried it in front of audiences up and down the land, polished it to a high shine, and now brings it all together in a triumphant, confident bravura performance.
Janega’s overarching point is that gender and sex are contingent. Our obvious, “biologically determined” ideas about sex — for example, that men are sexual aggressors and women are generally uninterested in sex — are relatively modern, and millions of people once believe the exact opposite, with equal confidence.
This extends in all directions: whether women did hard physical labor, whether beauty ideals are eternal, whether women went to war, or ruled, or engaged in scholarship. When someone claims that the “hip to waist ratio” for women has an evolutionary determined ideal that is found everywhere, Janega’s work lets us counter with the fact that for hundreds of years, the ideal female body was one with small breasts and a prominent pot-belly.
Janega’s point is by no means that the medieval era was a golden age of gender equality — rather, it’s that the problems of gender were very different from our own. If, as a society, we are capable of believing that women are sex-crazed monsters, and capable of believing that women are frigid and sex-averse, then perhaps we could find some happy medium, like “Some women like sex a lot. Others, not so much. Still others: it depends.”
But while Once and Future Sex has a point and a narrative, it is also a bouquet of delightful grace-notes and weird facts from the age — from the belief that horny women tricked their men into having sex with them by putting live fish in their vaginas, then cooking and serving them, to the criminal hijinx of oven-for-hire bakers who stole their customers dough by means of a hole in the table.
The past is a different country. Our understanding of the past is always changing — and that’s not new, either (after all, many of the ideals of the medieval era’s ruling class were based on revisionist beliefs about life in ancient Greece and Rome). Janega is a thoroughly modern medievalist, able to inform and contextualize while entertaining and amazing.
[Image ID: The cover for Eleanor Janega’s ‘The Once and Future Sex.’]
One of the finest pleasures in life is to discover a complete series of novels as an adult, to devour them right through to the end, and to arrive at that ending to discover that, while you’d have happily inhabited the author’s world for many more volumes, you are eminently satisfied with the series’ conclusion.
I just had this experience and I am still basking in the warm glow of having had such a thoroughly fulfilling imaginary demi-life for half a year. I’m speaking of the nine volumes in Naomi Novik’s Temeraire series, which reimagines the Napoleonic Wars in a world that humans share with enormous, powerful, intelligent dragons.
If you are like me, this may not sound like your kind of thing, but please, read on! Novik is a gifted, brilliant storyteller, and even if you, like me, had never read a tale of naval or aerial battles that didn’t bore you to tears, you should absolutely read these books, because I have never been so gripped by action sequences as I was by Novik’s massive military set-pieces.
Likewise, if you’re not a fan of dragon fiction — I’m not, though I do enjoy some heroic fantasy — or talking animal stories (ditto), you owe it to yourself to read these books! Novik’s dragons straddle the line between fantasy and sf, with decidedly nonmagical, bioscience- and physics-grounded characteristics. In the hands of a lesser writer, this can be deadly, yielding an imaginary creature that is neither fantastic nor believable.
But Novik’s deft handling of her dragons — variegated in biological characteristics, sociological arrangements, and umwelt — renders them as creatures both majestic and relatable, decidedly inhuman in outlook but also intensely likeable characters that you root for (or facepalm over, or sometimes both — a delicious sweet-sour cocktail of emotions!).
Finally, if you’re not a fan of historical fiction — again, as I am not! — you should absolutely get these books. Novik is an exhaustive researcher with a gift for rendering the people and circumstances of the past simultaneously comprehensible and unmistakably different, making the past “a different country” indeed, but nevertheless a place whose contours can be firmly grasped and inhabited.
In other words, Novik has written a work of historical-military fiction with dragons in it that I enjoyed, despite having almost no interest in historical fiction, military fiction, or high fantasy. She did this by means of the simple trick of being consistently and variously brilliant in her execution.
First, she is brilliant in the themes that run through these nine volumes: the themes of honor, duty and love, and the impossible dilemmas that arise from trying to be true to yourself and others. Captain William Laurence — the sea captain who finds himself abruptly moved into the dragon corps — is a profoundly honorable man, bound by the strictest of mores. Nominally, Laurence’s moral code is shared by his fellow gentlemen and officers, but where most of the world — all the way up to the Lords of the Admiralty — pays lip service to this code, Laurence truly believes in it.
But there is something of Godel’s Incompleteness in Laurence’s Georgian morality, in that to be completely true to his ethics, Laurence must — again and again, in ways large and small — also violate his ethics, often with the most extreme consequences imaginable at stake. Novik spends nine volumes destruction-testing Laurence’s morality, in a series of hypotheticals of the sort that you could easily spend years arguing over in a philosophy of ethics seminar — but these aren’t dry academic questions, they’re the stuff of fabulous adventure, great battles, hair’s-breadth escapes, and daring rescues.
Next, there is Novik’s historicalness, which is broad, deep, and also brilliantly speculative. Novik has painstakingly researched the historical circumstances of all parts of Napoleonic Europe, but also the Inca empire, colonial Africa, settler Australia, late-Qing China, and Meiji Japan.
It would be one thing if Novik merely brought these places and times to life with perfect verisimilitude, but Novik goes further. She has reimagined how all of these societies would have developed in the presence of massive, powerful, intelligent dragons — how their power structures would relate to dragons, and how the dragons would have related to colonial conquest.
The result is both a stage that is set for a Napoleonic War that is recognizable but utterly transformed, a set of social and strategic speculations that would make for a brilliant West Point grad seminar or tabletop military strategy game or an anticolonial retelling of imperial conquest, but is, instead, the backdrop for nine exciting, world-spanning novels.
Next, there’s Novik’s action staging. I have the world’s worst sense of direction and geometry. I can stay in a hotel for a week and still get lost every time I try to find my room. I can’t read maps. I can’t visualize 3D objects or solve jigsaw puzzles. Hell, I can barely see. Nevertheless, I was able to follow every twist and turn of Novik’s intricate naval/aerial/infantry battles, often with casts of thousands. Not just follow them! I was utterly captivated by them.
Next, there’s Novik’s ability to juggle her characters. While these novels follow two main characters — William Laurence and the dragon Temeraire — they are joined by hundreds of other named characters, from Chinese emperors to the Sapa Inca to Wellington to Napoleon, to say nothing of the dragons, the sea captains, the Japanese lords, the drunken sailors, the brave midshipmen, and so on and so on. Each one of these people is distinct, sharply drawn, necessary to the tale, and strongly individuated. I am in awe (and not a little jealous). Wow. Just wow.
Finally, there’s Novik’s language: the tale is told primarily through Laurence’s point of view, which is rendered in mannered, early 19th century English. Again, this is the kind of thing I usually find either difficult or irritatingly precious or both — but again, it turns out that I just hadn’t read anyone who was really good at this sort of thing. Novik is really, really good at it.
At the end of one summer, years ago, I ran into Vernor Vinge at a conference and asked him how he was doing. He lit up and told me he’d just had one of the best summers of his adult life, because he’d started it by reading the first Terry Pratchett Discworld novel, and had discovered, stretching before him, dozens more in the series. It was an experience he hadn’t enjoyed since he was a boy, discovering the writers that preceded him.
As I read the Temeraire books, I kept returning to that conversation with Vinge. I listened to the Temeraire books as audiobooks, downloading them from Libro.fm and listening to them on my underwater MP3 player as I swam my daily laps. Simon Vance’s narration truly did the series justice, and I could only imagine how complex it must have been for Vance and his director to juggle all the character voices, but they pulled it off beautifully.
I normally read pretty widely, but almost always within a band of themes, settings and modes that I’ve specialized in. This can be a very satisfying experience, of course. Last year, I read dozens of fantastic books that were in my wheelhouse, for all that that wheelhouse is an extremely large one:
But reading against type, outside of one’s comfort zone, yields new and distinct delights. The Temeraire series joins the very short list of heroic fantasy novels that I count among my all-time favorites, along with such marvels as Steven Brust’s Vlad Taltos/Jhereg series:
Brust is tremblingly close to finishing the Vlad books, which I started reading as a 13 year old and have been devouring ever since. I can’t wait for the final volumes to come out, so I can binge-read the whole series from beginning to end.
There are so many good new books coming out every month, and it can feel like a disservice to those writers to indulge in backlist reading, but there is a lot to be said for revisiting beloved works of decades gone by. I am so glad to have read Temeraire at last — I haven’t been this excited to read something I missed the first time around since I read Red Mars 12 years after its initial publication:
ALT
