Unplanned Obsolescence

The increasingly quaint notion of "writing" books

Sorry, Mom: Not coming to a bookstore near you.

My mother was very excited by the Christmas gift she got me. It was a book—about her son!

Jim Cullen: Prolific Authorship offered a prolix pitch: “Discover the Man Behind the Words and Wisdom, Full Biography, and Also Dive into the Shadows of History and Explore the Untold Layers of a Scholar’s Journey.” The book was more like a pamphlet, and I found the lack of a publisher to be conspicuous. Nor could I find any information about the author—perhaps I should say “author”—named Wallace N. Lewis. Alas, it looks like the book is already out of print. So much for my immortality.

It's clear that Jim Cullen: Prolific Authorship was generated by Artificial Intelligence. The writing is awful: “USA Today, known for its broad readership and accessibility, has hosted Jim’s reflections. In this widely read publication, his analyses contribute to a national conversation, offering perspectives that resonate with a diverse audience.” This is the kind of prose that leads me to bring down a reign of terror on students when they hand in such essays. But hey, I think Mom paid less than ten bucks for it. Editorial junk food. I expect it to proliferate.

I remembered this holiday moment last week as I worked on a book proposal. Artificial Intelligence is getting better, and it’s only a matter of time—sooner rather than later, it appears—before books as I’ve been writing them become obsolete. My textbook on essay-writing has gone through four editions; I can’t see there being a fifth with Claude and his (can you misgender software?) Large Language Model compatriots around to do the heavy lifting. I suppose there will be demand for specialized writing at the very high end, the way the steel and textile industries have survived in the United States, for example. Books will soon be solely about celebrity musings from online influencers—though it’s not clear how much longer celebrities will have a corner that market, either. I reckon I’m lucky to have lasted as long as I did.