I like Rushkoff’s writing quite a bit, though he tends to be a bit more earnest than most writers covering all things cyber. That’s fine by me, and it certainly distinguishes him from the field quite a bit. He’s good at what he does, and that quality is the theme of Get Back in the Box. His thesis is that instead of depending on clever marketing or metastatic horizontal growth, businesses (and other organizations) will best thrive over the long term by knowing what they are good at and getting better at it. This seems old-fashioned and even kind of corny, but he makes a strong case through many examples and a much-needed return to common sense.
Ruskoff believes that companies that try to do too much or move into markets they know nothing about get soundly beaten, while those that stick to their core business and treat their customers as partners do quite well – even if Wall Street sneers at their seeming lack of ambition. He makes suggestions for getting back on track and staying there, though I would have liked more big-picture ideas (like what to do about Wall Street, for example).
It’s a fast read, and good medicine for those who are in a position to influence their workplace – even by leaving it for a better one.
Jim Knipfel, best known for his dark and hilarious memoir Slackjaw, is always worth reading. This, his first novel, rang my bell as it kept me wondering throughout whether or not it was science fiction or a classic descent into madness. If Lovecraft had beeen as good at writing clear prose as he was at dreaming up new methods for frightening readers, or if Phil Dick had possessed a firmer grasp on reality than his characters did, then either could have come up with something similar. But Knipfel’s unique voice is informed by his own angry madness, and his New York is as terrifying as any tiny, inbred New England village – while maintaining the exuberant humor for which it is so well known.
In some ways, The Buzzing feels more like a long (and compelling) poem, rather than a novel. It’s more evocative than provocative, and I reckon that certain of its scenes and images will be coming back to visit me on evenings and weekends for some time to come.
I’m torn: part of me wants to just say something snarky like “Neil Gaiman has written that book of his again,” but honestly, when he’s good, he’s very good, even if we’ve already read this story a few times too many.
While the plot is Gaiman’s Standard Model (schlub discovers that the world is magical and grows into a cool stud through kindness and trickery), the details are more interesting than ever and his talent for drawing broadly engaging characters hasn’t left him yet. Fat Charlie, the protagonist, is the perfect awkward teenager grown into his late 20s, and while most of the people he meets are pretty 2-D, they are mostly as funny as they are flat.
Someone smarter than me needs to analyze the racial politics and subtext of Anansi Boys. I was amazed that Gaiman developed a troupe of characters who are mostly of African descent, but took great care never to comment on that choice. I found myself thinking more deeply about my own racial attitudes than I would have had I been reading a straight-up essay on racism.
Interesting stuff, and a fine, quick read, especially for those of us still dealing with our inner schlubs.
Do you read Robert Cringely’s column? You should, and thanks again to Tom for tipping me off so many years ago.
This week’s is especially good and won’t turn off those of you who aren’t supernerds. He makes some good points about Internet news vs. printed news that are worth thinking about, especially by Internet news providers (including bloggers, right?).
Does anyone want a copy? I decided not to finish it. I will not think less of you. There’s a Half Proce Books sticker on it, so the OCD posse may want to pass.
This is an odd little collection of four novellas that each explores the weirdness of urban settings. The authors attracted me to the volume – that is, China Mieville and Paul Di Filippo attracted me. Their bits are very nice, if a bit more one-note than I expect from them. Di Filippo tosses off the notion of a linear world without a trace of explanation, bless his nutty heart, and takes great delight in defusing the silliness of local customs. Mieville takes an unsettling and kind of heartbreaking notion and pours it into an urban setting almost as an afterthought, but it’s still the best part of the book.
All right, all right: I couldn’t finish Michael Moorcock’s piece. I’ve never read his stuff, and now I suppose I never will. It felt silly and phoned in, and I pushed ahead without him. Geoff Ryman’s final piece explores the Elderly Problem and is a lot of good fun.
So: Three to one. Good odds.
This article was published in Harper’s a couple of months ago and is finally online. It is well worth reading, as it provides a framework for understanding some of the freakier conservative tropes (liberal media bias, liberals = traitors, etc.) of the past century. It changed the way I view politics, though I must confess that I’m no more optimistic now. Take a half hour and read it; the time won’t be wasted.
I like Cardhouse quite a bit, if for no other reason than that he/they introduced me to Achewood. (There are many other reasons.) Today’s post (7/11, no permalink, sorry) says ‘Evite.com stays in business by selling the email addresses you enter to spammers. Don’t even bother looking at their privacy agreement, “opting out,” etc, it’s all worded for the inviter, not the email addresses you happily enter for your goddamn sock hop.’
Is this true? Am I a naive chump for not knowing that? I assumed all the big guys knew better than to pull scams like this, but perhaps there are a few that exploit our (okay, my) assumptions. It makes me a little extra sick because I ported the 826 volunteer list onto Evite back when I was VCing over there. My friends, well they can go to hell, but my volunteers are saints.
Give me a good nanotech world and I’m happy. David Marusek’s first novel, vigorously promoted by Boingboing a while back, delivers a lovely near-dystopia set a couple hundred years from now when anyone who can afford the basic amenities will live forever. Add clone families sought after as employees for their loyalty, brutality or empathy; corporate-style families that stick together only so long as it is mutually beneficial; AIs smart enough to routinely find ways to disobey orders they don’t like…well, there’s a lot of good stuff in here. Yet somehow it doesn’t feel crowded with expositon.
The story can be read as a straight-up adventure-struggle between super-rich adversaries, a search for personal meaning by a clone renowned for dependability, a meditation on death, fear and suffering, or a sketch of a class struggle so unbalanced as to be meaningless. Some characters are cartoonish, but most are finely drawn, and, more importantly, deeply sympathetic.
Old-school Neal Stephenson fans will probably eat Counting Heads up in a weekend; it certainly owes a fair amount to The Diamond Age. Living forever never seemed so desperate.
You said it, sister