... I see people I have known my whole life slip away from me on social media, reposting conspiracies from sources I have never heard of, some sort
... I see people I have known my whole life slip away from me on social media, reposting conspiracies from sources I have never heard of, some sort of internet undercurrent pulling whole families apart, as if we never really knew each other , as if the algorithms know more about us than we do, as if we are becoming subsets of our own data, which is rearranging our relations and identities with its own logic, or in the cause of someone else's interests we can't even see ...
The trick with pro-grade "disinformation" seems to be not just creating one reality for each target audience, but the complete disregard with which you create a separate one for another target audience without alerting the first. Until the disinformer has mastered the art, he or she may be concerned with a unified spread of influence, across a broad range of a target population, but the opposite appears to be true. Narrowing and segmenting the target is much more important than any concern with "consistency". Micro-targeting sets specific mousetraps for specific, shortrange goals, undetectable shifts that can be expanded and later congealed as a position. And eventually a position that nobody would have agreed with in the first place. All is deniable, the important thing is outcome. Let them debate fairness, or moving goalposts, in the unflattering glow of defeat.
Soviet-Kiev born Pomerantsev takes a two-part approach to his book (his update, really, since his first book, which was more Russia-centric) --in which the main stream is his tour of world Information specialists, analysts, dissidents and movement people, who narrate their perspective of a world that is finding that truth is more debateable than ever. Against which he mixes in some elements of biography, his childhood with dissident parents, a family who escaped to the West. His parents worked in film and media, and Pomerantsev grew up in the shadows of his father's new employers, both the BBC and Radio Free Europe. Under each category of narrative in the book, the theme is basically the definition of control. Which entities shape history, and how their manipulation of information deceives the participants.
We get the all-too-familiar, with whispering campaigns, scam, smear, and fake news. Alongside of which we get the new developments, which the Russians call active measures--- where capillarity, white-jamming, sockpuppets, cyborgs, trolls and bot-herders all move among us. And which cumulatively are able to force large change in microscopic interest-groups.
The former Cambridge Analytica analyst Christopher Wylie has placed the blame for access squarely in the hands of Facebook: “Imagine we are on a blind date, we’ve never met before and I start telling you how much I love your favourite musicians, how I watch the same TV as you do etc, and you realise the reason I’m so perfect for you is because I spent the last two years going through your photo albums, reading your text messages and talking to your friends. Facebook is that stalker.” In the current climate of untrustworthy influence campaigns, using an algorithm-based, non-randomized platform to obtain your news, your politics, your positions-- is to hand over the keys of the car to an unknown driver.
Pomerantsev's book is a kind of intermediate disinfo reader; it hops all over the map, but it's useful to recall the timeline in the narrative. The key dates in the origin of the Information Plague are these: 1991, fall of the Berlin Wall & Soviet Union; 2000, election of Kgb Officer Putin to Russian Federation; 2007, the Russian hack and cyber-shutdown of Estonia; 2014, the Russian invasion and disinfo war with Ukraine; 2016, Brexit, and the assisted appointment of Donald Trump to the US Presidency.
The soaring use of influence campaigns is mirrored by the rise of unregulated new information platforms, only now imaginable via new technologies. Both the Russians and the West-- from the First World War forward, really--have used propaganda techniques to bias and control the facts and fictions that write history. America has always had a culture & soft-power apparatus operating in tandem with its wartime propaganda campaigns; the Cold War expanded and diffused those boundaries. The Russians seem never to have differentiated the two. The fine print under the Russian campaigns seems to be that Life Is Wartime. And to be fair, if your life was the 2oth Century in Ukraine or East Germany, that may not be far off. But it's important to recognize it and label it, define the components and name them. Pomerantsev, along with others, like Wylie, like Masha Gessen-- are doing just that.
It matters. It's personal, it's life and death. Manufactured Consent-- is not consent....more
Generally, psychological mysteries tend naturally to narrate the motives, the interior deliberations of the anti-hero or, sometimes, the murderer. CriGenerally, psychological mysteries tend naturally to narrate the motives, the interior deliberations of the anti-hero or, sometimes, the murderer. Crime And Punishment's Raskolnikov comes to mind. Dozens of noirs from Chandler to Goodis have this trait; Dorothy Hughes' In A Lonely Place comes to mind. The puzzle, and the intrigue, derive from the reader's increasing familiarity with the internal spiral within. Denise Mina's new mystery Conviction spirals outward, on the other hand. Almost the opposite of the internal considerations of the above, the adventure lies in circumstances throwing the protagonist against a dozen occasions of jeopardy, one leading inevitably to the next. In Hitchcock movie terms, if the first type is an inward spiral, and explores the path toward evil, the example is Vertigo; whereas in the Mina novel the example of the outward spiral, the classic innocent caught in an undertow of circumstance --would be North By Northwest. It follows that the pace and drive of the spiral-outward novel are accentuated, the narrative accelerates with the velocity of unpredictable outside influences. The inward-spiral variation is more of an admire-the-clockwork puzzle than an open adventure. All that said, Mina's mystery here is still a psychological mystery, while the pace and drive are nonetheless break-neck. My mention of North By Northwest is intentional, as Conviction shares a lot of the abrupt shifts of scenery, and the onslaught of the unexpected, with that film. Eventually it will see the big screen, almost without a doubt. See it in these pages first. Recommended....more
… at this time of year, everyone went a bit crazy. It was the light, intense during the day and still there at night. The sun never quite slipping beh… at this time of year, everyone went a bit crazy. It was the light, intense during the day and still there at night. The sun never quite slipping behind the horizon, so you could read outside at midnight. The winters were so bleak and black that in the summer folk were overtaken with a kind of frenzy, constant activity. There was the feeling that you had to make the most of it, be outside, enjoy it before the dark days came again. Here in Shetland they called it the 'simmer dim'. And this year was even worse. Usually the weather was unpredictable, changing by the hour, rain and wind and brief spells of bright sunshine, but this year it had been fine for nearly a fortnight... the birds still singing late into the evening, the dusk wich lasted all night, nature slipping from its accustomed pattern...
For this reader, Location is 2/3rds the battle. The right contrasts, the right measure of oddly exotic to completely everyday, even the right Light and Air, set the tone for once and for all. It's not the whole battle of course, because a sloppy mystery belongs to no location, serves no purpose, no matter where it is. No worries.
Ann Cleeves' Shetland Island series has that--uhm-- locked up. And with all the advantages of the right place--- better described by she than I-- it's got that sort of distant, contained Isolation thing going on. Which has served authors in many guises from decrepit Country Manor Houses ala Baskerville or Rebecca, to shipwrecks, to foreboding boarding schools in the hinterlands. Hello Hogwarts. (A locked-room mystery is the ultra minimalist's choice in this niche.) By intentionally confining the elements to a narrow set of variables, a mystery writer can ratchet up the suspense and make the actual plot seem really daunting, as there simply can't be a surprise culprit. Seemingly.
There is a sort of conflict of riches, with this series, accompanied as it is by the Bbc version-- that pits the same material, portrayed in different media, against itself. The Bbc series has the overarchingly enormous advantage of filming on the Scottish Archipelago of Shetland and adjacent locations; it's packed with incomparably unique, dramatic scenery. There is the tendency, for this viewer, at least, to drift off to examining the crags, tors, northern light and generally fjordish landscape so liberally framed-in --during discussions about how the body got there. Not generally a problem, as you'll refocus on the crime scene eventually, but. It's like watching a movie about the dangers of a tiger-ridden jungle place, and having a tiger in almost every scene. It almost splits the attention span.
Cleeves' book is a lovely evocation of a fairly complex mystery in that place, and manages quite well without the majestic drone or crane shots. Her aim is to turn up a bit of the anthropology of the place alongside the steady, workmanlike process of detection. A far Island town bordering the arctic circle is its own place, certainly, and its society and historical makeup are every bit as unique. So of course the villains, and the cops, are unique as well.
If there were a way to first read the books and then see the series, that would be the ultimate. As it is, you have to suspend a little technicolor in the book version, but aren't distracted by crane shots and the last rays of the sun crashing through the pounding surf every five minutes either....more
After a few hundred mysteries, you get accustomed to the 'rotating-pov' sort of device employed by half of them. The idea that each new chapter will iAfter a few hundred mysteries, you get accustomed to the 'rotating-pov' sort of device employed by half of them. The idea that each new chapter will introduce, and then return, in rotation, to the inner voice of yet another character. What the Lady Of The House worries about. What the Chauffer thinks. What the Butler knew. But from the inside, from within their point of view.
It makes things mysterious at first, setting the stage that way, and to be honest, solves a 'voicing' problem for the author; how to transition from the conscience or internal monologue of one figure, directly over to another's, without having to do a lot of re-set. If the reader expects to be inside a new/ returning character every chapter, it's easy to situate them after a few rounds, and expedites character exposition in the process.
With that, I have to confess; much as I'm a fairly veteran reader of mysteries and know the characterization salad-spinner system pretty well--- in the end of this one I wasn't quite sure what, or more exactly who, had caused what happened to happen. I know who it wasn't, but the more bent the internal narrative, and the more bent characters in one novel, the more difficult it is. I'd blame the translator if it weren't for exemplary prose and poised storytelling throughout. So I'll blame the Author. Okay then, moving on.
Ordinarily, slow-dawning detail and elusive clue tracking make for a good mystery. Here in fact we have a corpse and crime-tape fluttering in the Austrian wind by page 29; it takes our detective all the way to page 119 to get to the whiteboard in the squadroom, the layout of the trail of clues. Usually, as mentioned, this is all to the good. What works against the flow is the relentless "Our Town" sort of exposition, which author Hochgatterer employs throughout nearly every chapter. Well past the center point of the book, we're being introduced to further, unimportant characters, who only serve to crowd the scene. Yes, of course, it camouflages the murderer, but it's overkill, pardon the expression. It's an enormous talent that can take dozens and dozens of characters and integrate them on the fly. Here, we struggle with that.
That said, the Detective and the major characters are great, and worthy of another outing. Personally I always like a sort of cantankerous, non-linear Chief Detective. Ala Morse, it adds a dimension to an otherwise flat or dimension-less Chief Advanceman Of Plot. Unexplained 'peculiar' is intriguing, when done well. And that's what saves the book. Here's the Commandant, pursuing his hobby:
The sky had remained clear. From the kitchen window he could see the pale red tint of the evening in the southwest. The first stars would soon be visible. The telescope was beside his bed; the last few times he had not bothered to put it away. Tonight, he would go up to the roof, take his time, and align it properly. He would start by looking at the zenith, where at this time of year Andromeda was in view … of course it bothered him, when his other colleagues kept riding him about it. But when Strack had asked him what the point was of spending hours staring through a tube, he had said, "I'm looking for God, that's the point," and all of them had shut up, for good....more
Another perfectly-normal-goes-perfectly-squirrelly outing, from Barbara Comyns, mistress of the slow-dawning catastrophe.
All the curdled norms and pAnother perfectly-normal-goes-perfectly-squirrelly outing, from Barbara Comyns, mistress of the slow-dawning catastrophe.
All the curdled norms and propped up pretensions of the Edwardians, and their mystified children, come out to play in a small village. What makes this different from a standard genre version is Comyn's detail, her milieu-drenched sense of the English countryside, the manners and atmosphere. The way time just drifts. And as always, her sense of how children see the same things the adults see but come away with very different views. Childhood Gothic for certain.
Nearly anything specific starts to verge on spoiler here, so I'll just say stick with it in the slow-burn buildup of the first fifty pages or so. Comyns knows how to put it in gear. This would be a good 'first Comyns' to read; it only gets better and considerably weirder from here....more
The skeleton key to the sprawling Rougon-Macquart novels of Emile Zola.
I've read three or four of the twenty novels and think I might take a stab at gThe skeleton key to the sprawling Rougon-Macquart novels of Emile Zola.
I've read three or four of the twenty novels and think I might take a stab at going completist. Getting organized, I purchased the guide to the Characters, a standard edition by JG Patterson. Next step: what order to read them in? It is not at all settled what should be read first...
Per Wikipedia, here is the Canon, cited in the order of its Publication: 1. La Fortune des Rougon (1871) 2. La Curée (1871–2) 3. Le Ventre de Paris (1873) 4. La Conquête de Plassans (1874) 5. La Faute de l'Abbé Mouret (1875) 6. Son Excellence Eugène Rougon (1876) 7. L'Assommoir (1877) 8. Une page d'amour (1878) 9. Nana (1880) 10. Pot-Bouille (1882) 11. Au Bonheur des Dames (1883) 12. La joie de vivre (1884) 13. Germinal (1885) 14. L'Œuvre (1886) 15. La Terre (1887) 16. Le Rêve (1888) 17. La Bête humaine (1890) 18. L'Argent (1891) 19. La Débâcle (1892) 20. Le Docteur Pascal (1893)
But there are other, more internally chronological or just more coherent orders, readily available online. Looks like either way I start with La Fortune des Rougon, so that will be the start. But even before that: as I can't read French, which translations?
This will be a large undertaking, but no pressure, I seem to have the rest of my life to undertake the mission. If there was a perfect hardback set of the volumes, I'd buy it, but I don't see it out there. No ebooks or kindle version, I think. Got the character map in hand, at least....more
It says it right on the cover, The Devotion Of Suspect X, A Novel. In looking back, I guess that's where I parted company with this one. It is a detecIt says it right on the cover, The Devotion Of Suspect X, A Novel. In looking back, I guess that's where I parted company with this one. It is a detective story, a mystery, a straightforward piece of genre fiction, but it just doesn't qualify as A Novel.
Characters are not alive here, they exist as equations, transitional elements that guide the plot down the appropriate avenues to the next turnstile. The plot itself, though unhindered by much color in its enablers, is tricky, unusual, and certainly intricate enough to make the grade. But the actors onstage aren't given much chance to breathe. People in a mystery deserve to be rendered as people, before the reader cares much if they are perpetrator or victim. A Novel does that.
One other standout absence here is that once we're into the story by only a few pages, the idea of Japan just goes dormant and this could be any police procedural anywhere on earth. For this reader, the lure of the dense atmospherics and traditions of Japan was a large part of wanting to read this. What the author maintains is the Japanese manner, the politeness and restraint-- but that isn't enough to illuminate the scene.
There are trends in modern mysteries, and one of them is minimalism; to drain the work of character and atmosphere is perhaps an attempt at that, but really. It's like staging a cowboy & indian movie on a one room set, or an opera all acapella, with no orchestra. Too little is too little....more
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