A Swedish Scrapbook

Last month, I spent a week in Sweden with my friend Lou. I flew out from Manchester on the same day that I finished the Extremely Stressful Project that I’d been working on for six months. Being in the middle of nowhere brought a huge sense of relief.

I stayed in a tiny village called Uddebo, about 100km from Gothenburg. Uddebo had been in decline until a number of people moved there to explore alternative ways of living. The village now has several communes, all of which put on regular events. There are also several free shops, and a community sauna. The photo below shows the freegan Sunday lunch we were invited to.

There is also a raft across the river which was added after the bridge was damaged.

It was the perfect place to spend time recuperating. I went swimming in the river Asman every day. It turns out rivers are great for banishing (although English ones are too ridden with filth and plague to be much use).

The classic film about Sweden is Ari Aster’s folk horror Midsomar. Arriving in this small village on a beautifully sunny weekend, I kept seeing echoes of the movie – outdoor meals, small buildings and so on – even down to being given a flower crown.

We also found lots of strange art in the woods. I took photos but I did not touch any of it. I’ve seen enough horror films to know how to survive in the countryside.

I decided to spend a night sleeping outdoors. We’d found a small wooden shelter that looked perfect for this. Lou couldn’t join me, as she needed to sleep properly before an upcoming performance. I am of course terrified of the dark, from having watched too many horror films.

Walking into the woods as sun set felt creepy, like something from the start of a film.

One thing that amazed me was how the woods were noisy until dusk fell, when they went silent. The Dark Forest theory feels very different when you’re actually in a dark forest. But I soon relaxed and managed to sleep.

I also met a giant dog called Buins who was super-friendly, and didn’t really how massive he was and went to sit on my lap.

Lou performed her one-woman show at the Central Library while I was there. I didn’t understand the words, it was good to see her onstage again.

The next day we wandered around Gothenburg, where we encountered a lunchtime disco, which are apparently run to allow people to make the most of their lunchbreaks.

Lou had to return to Uddebo, but my luggage was stored at her friend’s flat so I took a visit to Liseburg, where I met one of the rabbits that owns it.

I’m too frit for roller-coasters, but I love watching people riding on them.

I did, of course, sample the notorious Swedish pizza. I am now working on a horror novella inspired by this cuisine.

I love Sweden and can’t wait to go back!

Re-reading the 90s: The Virgin Suicides

I’m re-reading some of the books I loved in the 90s to see what I make of them now.

What I remember

It’s hard to untangle my memories of Jeffrey Eugenides’ novel The Virgin Suicides from the iconic movie and its Air soundtrack. Incredibly, that film came out in 2000, which feels strange since my impressions of it are so vivid despite it being more than twenty years ago. Every time I consider the book’s details, it’s the film I think of.

One of the most interesting things about the novel is that it is written from a second-person plural viewpoint (something it has in common with Josh Ferris’s Then We Came to the End – another book I should re-read). I don’t remember the group narration from when I read it in the mid-90s, but I’m looking forward to seeing how the book is constructed.

I’m curious as to how well the book has aged. The novel is based around objectifying a group of young women, and I wonder if that will feel less comfortable nowadays. Either way, this book has an advantage over The Secret History of being a short read.

What it was like

Despite being a short book, I struggled to make progress with The Virgin Suicides. It’s very well written, almost a textbook piece of creative writing, but I didn’t like it very much. The book describes the lives and deaths of four teenage girls from the point-of-view of the men who grew up around them. The book is very much about male gaze. I kept imagining an audiobook read by Hannah Gadsby, and how little time she would have for the often-creepy objectification of the teenage girls in the book.

Eugenides’ writing is exquisite, and the opening paragraph is a good example of this, with a mix of summary, imaginative details and foreshadowing. I could imagine it being discussed in a classroom. The book builds its story about the sisters and the boys watching them through subtle, exquisite details.

The book is suffused with longing and nostalgia, as a group of middle-aged men investigate the life and deaths of the five Lisbon sisters. The men have collected exhibits from the time, as well as interviewing some of the people involved.

The book made me feel impatient and I found the tone less pleasant than I had on first reading. the Guardian published a review of the book by writer Dizz Tate, who gives a more enthusiastic view.

While I didn’t enjoy my re-read of The Virgin Suicides, maybe it just caught me in the wrong mood I can imagine returning to it in another 20 years or so to see what I make of it then.

Walking the Coast-to-Coast: Blakey Ridge to Robin Hoods Bay

The last two sections of the Coast-to-Coast followed a rather circuitous route to the final destination of Robin Hood’s Bay. The penultimate day started with a long walk that followed a huge circle, keeping the Lion Inn in sight for a long time.

That day’s first landmark was Fat Betty, a mediaeval marker stone. The guidebook says that the tradition is to take one of the items of food left on this stone and replace it with something else. It was apparently a tradition to leave gifts at such places, but I’m not sure how this has shifted to the idea of exchanging items.

The penultimate day has some boring roads, but set in beautiful countryside, including the gorgeous Great Fryup Dale. We passed through Glaisdale, which was mostly closed, and we did not have time to visit the boutique Museum of Victorian Science. The Horseshoe Hotel had some great vegan options which seemed heart-breaking as I was too full to eat.

Despite being on the Coast-to-Coast, and being on the North Yorkshire Moors Railway, Grosmont had no decent options for food, so we ended up taxi-ing back to the Horseshoe Hotel, where the food was as excellent as it appeared.

The final day’s route was even more wiggly than that of the penultimate one. It started with a cruel climb out of Grosmont. During this stretch one of my toenails began cutting into a toe, drawing blood. I was lucky that Dave had some scissors with us for me to trim this. Something else to remember for future planning.

More road walking on the final day

The route took us into Little Beck Woods where we stopped for coffee at Falling Foss just as the heavens opened. We waited out the sudden storm with some excellent coffee and cake. The rest of the day’s weather was fantastic.

The route continued through boggy moorland and quiet roads. We got chatting with a runner who told us how he’d taken up running when he was 55 with a 48-inch waist, and was now into ultramarathons. Very inspiring.

The final stage of the walk took us across clifftops heading south towards Robin Hood’s Bay. We were blessed with perfect weather for this section – I’ve talked to people who found themselves finishing the route in thick mist. We booked to stay overnight, which meant we had to travel back through a rail strike, which was a frustrating end to a good walk.

Tradition dictates that you carry a stone from St Bees Head to Robin Hood’s Bay. We walked the route in three stages, but I somehow managed to keep track of my pebble through two house moves.

Having done five national trails, the Coast-to-Coast is the one I would most recommend. At 190 miles, it can be comfortably completed in under two weeks. It’s well-organised and extremely friendly. I think the Pennine Way is a better walk, but the Coast-to-Coast is much more engaging.

Monthnotes: May 2023

After several months of hard work, May brought opportunities for restoration and recreation. I rolled off the stressful project onto a new one, as well as taking a couple of holidays: hiking the end of the Coast-to-Coast trail, and spending a week in a tiny village in Sweden. I also had a number of visitors to the valley, which was lovely.

Sweden was the highlight of my month. I arrived in the country a few hours after rolling off the project. There was a sense of relief to being away from England, with Manchester airport feeling like a metaphor for where our country is at. After a night in an airport hotel I took a series of buses to Uddebo, a tiny village of 250-400 people. I spent my time there reading and swimming in the river Assman. While the trip definitely had a pagan/Midsommar vibe, all the people I met were lovely and I can’t wait to go back.

I walked 487,475 steps during the month, an average of 15,725 per day. My total was boosted by a few days walking the final stages of the Coast-to-Coast trail. This is an incredibly sociable route, with some very well good food and accommodation stops. The Lion Inn at Blakey Ridge was probably one of the best pubs I’ve ever visited. I’ve also written up some of the Pennine Way hikes I did in April: Hebden Bridge to Ponden, Ponden to Gargrave and my grim hike from Gargrave to Horton-in-Ribblesdale. Despite all the walking I did in May, I put on 2½ pounds, so I guess I need to pay a little more attention to my diet.

Between work and holidays, my writing has been a little scrappy, but I’ve also had the chance to do some more strategic thinking, and have a new zine of short stories almost ready to go. The big challenge is producing a good-looking cover, but I am hoping to have something to on etsy in June. Once that is done then I will be returning to the South Downs Way stories. ChatGPT and creative writing continues to be an interesting area, and I’ve written up some of my research into this. I’ve also published a much-delayed post on Why ARGs never worked.

If my writing has been chaotic, my reading has been even worse, not helped by the Kindle – I have about a dozen e-books in various states of completion, and probably need to abandon some of the slower-moving ones. The Jeremy Deller book Art is Magic was a highlight, and Nick Harkaway’s Titanium Noir was good, light riverside reading. Francis Wheen’s Strange Days Indeed was a second hand bookshop find, and provided an interesting view on how very strange the 70s were. One thing that stuck out in particular was how the current political situation is relatively stable compared to the depths Britain plumbed in the 70s.

Succession came to a close, although I’ve not really enjoyed the 4th season – I think I preferred watching Logan Roy torment the siblings to the actual succession drama. I completed From Season 1, still unsure where that is headed, and also finished The Last of Us. I managed to go about 8 weeks without watching a movie then crammed three in the Bank Holiday with Sooxanne: In the Earth, Old and a rewatch of time-loop sci-fi drama Edge of Tomorrow. I still haven’t managed to get into Yellowjackets Season 2.

I’ve listened to a lot of podcasts this month. Pop Could Never Save Us continues to be awesome. Despite being dropped by NPR, the Louder than a Riot team managed a great second season, including a fantastic episode about ilovemakonnen’s experience as a queer rapper. There was also a great emergency podcast on the coronation by the Indelicates, Cat Vincent and Rob Rider Hill.

I continue to feel uncertain about social media. Towards the end of the month, I had my Instagram account shut down because their automated systems thought I was a bot. The account wasn’t particularly precious to me, but almost losing it in such a high-handed way is frustrating. Mastodon seems great but doesn’t have the scale of community that Twitter does.

As I mentioned above, I rolled off the stressful work project. One downside to this was leaving a team that I loved working with (another is that I quickly stopped having work dreams and my nightmares are back to their old subjects). The new project has needed a little preparation, and I’ve enjoyed reading about Domain Driven Design and team topologies.

  • I actually went to a gig, seeing Talvin Singh at the Trades Club, with support from Mayshe Mayshe.
  • A lack of decent decaff in Sweden means I have started drinking caffeine again, which means I will have to go through the withdrawal at some point.
  • I’ve long been signed up to El Sandifer’s patreon, and was delighted that she had her first professional comics publication in 2000AD this month.
  • I failed to click with Department of Truth when I first read it, but I am now hooked. It’s a very strange comic about conspiracy theory, with some fantastic art.
  • Ava and I went to the Ley-hunter’s annual gathering, held this year run Todmorden.

AI Book review: Death of An Author by Aidan Marchine

Death of An Author is an ebook novella produced by Stephen Marche using AI tools, which was commissioned by Pushkin Industries. I read a couple of good interviews about the book and, while I’d found the excerpts underwhelming as prose, I was curious to read the whole thing, particularly Marche’s afterword.

The book is about 95% AI text, using three tools. The original text was generated using ChatGPT, with Sudowrite used to tidy the text, making it “more active” or “more conversational”, and finally Cohere used to generate figurative language.

Death of An Author is a sly book, one that understands its place within a larger debate, and making allusions and interventions based upon this. There are references to the act of reading, the meaning of copyright and the book’s literary context – this is very much a book produced by someone with an English PhD, and the text itself is aware of what is at stake. The pseudonymous collaborative writer (Aidan Machine) even refers to an imaginary article by Stephen Marche, the human collaborator in the text. The writing itself is brisk if superficial, but the mystery had an interesting resolution – at least it felt so to me, as someone who rarely enjoys mysteries.

An example of the book’s commentary is in the description a dream the main character has:

That night, Gus had a terrible nightmare. He was taking an oral exam in front of his mother and ex-wife. Each time he tried to answer, a different writer’s voice came out: William Faulkner, Ernest Hemingway, Jane Austen.

Hemingway is the name of another AI writing tool. The dream questions the nature of imitation for human writers, as well as referring to one of ChatGPT’s finest tricks, that of imitating well-known writers.

The book also occasionally digs into specific descriptions, as in this outline of a meal.

That night, Gus made himself a meal of fried mushrooms in a cream sauce on toast. He started by heating a pan on the stove, adding butter to it. He then sliced the mushrooms and added them to the pan, cooking until they were browned. He added cream to the pan, stirring until the sauce thickened. He placed slices of toast on a plate and spooned the mushroom and cream sauce on top.

That passage is obviously AI, right? But I can’t be sure – maybe this is part of the 5% Marche wrote by hand. In a Guardian interview, M John Harrison spoke of an ambition he has: “I want to be the first human being to imitate ChatGPT perfectly. I bet you it’s already got mimickable traits”. Either way, it’s interesting that Marche chose to leave this prosaic description in the text.

Given the way in which the book’s plot takes it to such interesting places, it’s likely that Marche gave the AI some fairly clear leads about the overall story. It would be interesting to know the actual prompts used, although Marche talks about how he generated the book’s style:

What you need is to have it write something about a murder scene in the style of Chinese nature poetry, then make it active, then make it conversational, then Select All and put it in the style of Ernest Hemingway. That gets you something interesting. Raymond Chandler, after all, was not trying to write like Raymond Chandler.

The prose is often workman-like, but some flourishes and philosophical asides stick out. One sentence I particularly liked was “The policeman at the door of Gus’s office was a tall, thin, cadaverous man wearing a dove-gray suit that did not fit him well”. It is simple but has a lovely rhythm, and fits the hardboiled style. The choice of ‘dove-grey’ is interesting when we’d normally think of doves as white. And it makes me wonder how much work was done to get this just right. Marche has spoken about how the best results come from very precise prompts that are specific about substance and style. How much work was this, compared with just writing the sentence one wants?

Marche says that he did a significant amount of sifting of the produced text. This is some way from the dream of giving an AI a short prompt and having it produce perfect, entertaining prose. However, it’s notable that when Burroughs worked on his cut-ups, a great deal of time was spent exploring the results for interesting lines. Again, I’m curious about how much work was required to get the best lines (“He wondered why there was no good English word for slimy in a good way.”).

Marche talks about how good the AI is at ’heteroglossia’, with an uncanny ability to turn its hand to specific modes of speech such as “a paragraph from a Lacanian literary critic”. Marche says that he “[defies] any writer to improve on AI at that particular skill”. While the AI struggles to produce crisp narrative prose, it is an excellent mimic. In a podcast interview , Marche made the exciting suggestion that an AI might be very good at turning out a book like Dracula, which consists of different forms of documentation.

(A discussion in Wired Magazine placed Death of an Author alongside books including Moby Dick, which used extensive found text, and Graham Rawle’s Woman’s World, which sampled 50s women’s magazines)

Discussing the debate around AI, Marche writes:

So little of how we talk about AI actually comes from the experience of using it… Like the camera, the full consequences of this technology will be worked out over a great deal of time by a great number of talents responding to a great number of developments. But at the time of writing, almost all of the conversation surrounding generative AI is imaginary, not rooted in the use of the tool but in extrapolated visions.

It is important to actually play with these tools in good faith to see what they can do. The first book I bought made using ChatGPT was shardcore’s remix of John Higgs’ writing, The Future has Already Begun. Shardcore has spoken about how having the book as a physical object changes things. Reading Aidan Machine’s book makes a compelling argument better than the thousands of thinkpieces and opinion chatter. I only wish it had been made available as an actual paperback.

Marche concludes his afterword by saying that “What makes a good painting and what makes a good photograph are different. That transition required a complete reevaluation of the nature of visual creativity” The best AI art will not come from reproducing writing that humans can do better, but from finding new forms for this medium.