THE INTELLIGENCE EXPLOSION: When AI Beats Humans at Everything, what it says on the tin

THE INTELLIGENCE EXPLOSION: When AI Beats Humans at Everything
JAMES BARRAT
St. Martin's Press (non-affiliate Bookshop.org link)
$15.99 ebook, available now

Rating: 3.5* of five

The Publisher Says: With the rapid rise of generative artificial intelligence, both existential fears and uncritical enthusiasm for AI systems have surged. In this era of unprecedented technological growth, understanding the profound impacts of AI — both positive and negative — is more crucial than ever.

In The Intelligence Explosion, James Barrat, a leading technology expert, equips readers with the tools to navigate the complex and often chaotic landscape of modern AI. This compelling book dives deep into the challenges posed by generative AI, exposing how tech companies have built systems that are both error-prone and impossible to fully interpret.

Through insightful interviews with AI pioneers, Barrat highlights the unstable trajectory of AI development, showcasing its potential for modest benefits and catastrophic consequences. Bold, eye-opening, and essential, The Intelligence Explosion is a must-read for anyone grappling with the realities of the technological revolution.

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My Review: In non-fiction publishing, there is...or was...a fearsome thing called "omigawd I've just bought a magazine article blown up to book size. That is this book.

Trenchant, of-the-moment analyses do not survive well...anyone here old enough to remember Faith Popcorn? Shere Hite? Laurence Peter? Peter Drucker?...all very famously took modern trends, extrapolated on them, and came to conclusions that, when wrong, now make us chuckle, ans when right, are largely so ingrained they seem useless as "predictions" (see Laurence Peter's eponymous Principle). We have here one of the latest in that distinguishing lineage. (No, that's not a typo.)

The arguably bad actors in Barrat's analysis are, in my view, much much worse than he paints them. He thinks hubris and greed are enough to explain their actions; most of them are malevolent and malign, to my way of thinking. To be scrupulously fair, Barrat presents some possible positive uses of what's being called "generative AI" which, well, I think overstates the present state of LLM development. There is an argument to be made that the danger of this system's rapid adoption is that it is nowhere near finished in its refinements of its capabilities; in fact, the real threat may be the black-box problem that has legions of experts in their various fields extremely jittery.

As another voice in a very august chorus, members whose names are very niche knowledge but the venues platforming them are the likes of Scientific American, ScienceNews, and The Harvard Business Review, so hardly low-wattage luminaries, I wonder what Barrat thought he was going to add. As his precise coeval (we share a birth month and year, though I only wish I was as handsome as he is) I understand why he wanted to sound a klaxon instead of ringing a tocsin. The stakes Society is sleepwalking over a cliff holding are existential. There will already need to be a multigenerational project with focus and passion and funding needed to repair the damage already done in pursuit of these tech scum's vile agenda. I do not see that beginning in my own lifetime. I was wrong about how fast the rotten, soulless enterprise moved forward, so may I be wrong about how much damage it's already done...in the better-than-I-thought direction, please.

As a documentary filmmaker by trade, Barrat is used to using repetition as a major technique to get people to really hear him. Books, and he's written two (one about AI as threat in 2013) before, do not benefit the same way from that technique of reinforcement. It acts to annoy many of the readers who are most likely to agree with and amplify his trenchant, urgent message (me).

I'm afraid that the overall experience of reading this book was one akin to chatting with a fellow catastrophist whose affect on me was to have me agreeing but wanting to change the subject. YMMV and the topic is important enough to lead me to recommend you read the sample made available to see if you vibe with his prose.

YOSS'S PAGE: A PLANET FOR RENT, bitterly personal takedown of capitalist tourism, & RED DUST, same except it's law'n'order/security

RED DUST
YOSS (tr. David Frye)
Restless Books (non-affiliate Bookshop.org link)
$14.99 ebook, available now

Rating: 4* of five

The Publisher Says: From beloved Cuban science fiction author Yoss comes a bitingly funny space-opera homage to Raymond Chandler, about a positronic robot detective on the hunt for some extra-dangerous extraterrestrial criminals.

On the intergalactic trading station William S. Burroughs, profit is king and aliens are the kingmakers. Earthlings have bowed to their superior power and weaponry, though the aliens—praying-mantis-like Grodos with pheromonal speech and gargantuan Collosaurs with a limited sense of humor—kindly allow them to do business through properly controlled channels.

That’s where our hero comes in, name of Raymond. As part of the android police force, this positronic robot detective navigates both worlds, human and alien, keeping order and evaporating wrongdoers. But nothing in his centuries of experience prepares him for Makrow 34, a fugitive Cetian perp with psi powers. Meaning he can alter the shape of the Gaussian bell curve of statistical probability—making it rain indoors, say, or causing a would-be captor to shoot himself in the face. Raymond will need all his training—and all his careful study of Chandler’s hardbitten cops—to meet his match.

As he did in his brilliantly funny and sharp science-fiction parables A Planet for Rent, Super Extra Grande, and Condomnauts, Yoss makes the familiar strange and the strange familiar in Red Dust, giving us an unforgettable half-human hero and a richly imagined universe where the bad guys are above the laws of physics.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.

My Review: Raymond (short for Raymond Chandler), a pozzie living on space station William S. Burroughs of the Galactic Trade Confederation, presses an already-imprisoned Gaussical into helping him catch a fellow Gaussical whose probability-bending is getting too greedy. Raymond believes like will call to like, and trusts he's Philip Marlowe not Miles Archer.

If none of that made sense, but you're still intrigued, sign up for this voyage of the Cuban-registered spaceship Yoss powered by much the same sense of absurdity that powered Douglas Adams to fame and fortune. Only he wrote it in Spanish. Lots of kinetic to-and-fro, lots of pseudo-hardboiled dialogue, innumerable odd lifeforms (the Gaussians, psionically gifted Cetian benders of probability, are my favorites but are not alone) pack the under-two-hundred pages set in the same fictional universe as A Planet for Rent (q.v.) very full.

Too full, most likely; and almost entirely male, so the misogyny Yoss is known for doesn't flare up. But don't think he's at a loss for slurs! Or any other colorful language, this man's right up there in the inventiveness standings. While I just said the short book's maybe a bit too packed, it's not filler...but it's also not moored onto a solid foundation unless you have read A Planet for Rent. They are not interconnected in plot or characters, but in background assumptions like Humanity's made up of wildly unpredictable, untrustworthy wild cards who need watching and controlling for their own good. (And their overlords' profit.) And our pozzie Raymond (positronic-brained android) is part of the machinery that keeps conflict between Humanity and the Xenoids to a dull roar. It's because of that the fascination with Raymond Chandler got hold of MSX-3482-GZ. We're all friends so let's use keynames, though. Sets the proper tone. As the events unfold we should be getting set up for the two Gaussians (you know, Gauss? numerical analysis, conformal mapping, all that stuff y'all already know too much about for me to go into it) confronting each other with one (reluctantly) representing Order and one not. And it never happens. Fifth star gone.

Rooted in Yoss's experiences of the 1990s collapse of socialist Cuba, his well-founded mistrust and anger at capitalism is loud and clear in the stories that precede this novella, where they reach a high shine. It's clear to me that the loud clanging of alarm bells in these two titles should have been heeded quite a while ago.

Best ten years ago; second-best, today.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A PLANET FOR RENT
YOSS (tr. David Frye)
Restless Books
$14.99 ebook, available now

Rating: 4* of five

The Publisher Says: Out of the modern-day dystopia of Cuba comes an instant classic from the island’s most celebrated science fiction author: a raucous tale of a future in which a failing Earth is at the mercy of powerful capitalist alien colonizers.

In A Planet for Rent, Yoss critiques life under Castro in the ‘90s by drawing parallels with a possible Earth of the not-so-distant future. Wracked by economic and environmental problems, the desperate planet is rescued, for better or worse, by alien colonizers, who remake the planet as a tourist destination. Ruled over by a brutal interstellar bureaucracy, dispossessed humans seek better lives via the few routes available—working for the colonial police; eking out a living as black marketeers, drug dealers, or artists; prostituting themselves to exploitative extraterrestrial visitors—or they face the cold void of space in rickety illegal ships.

This inventive book marks the English-language debut of an astonishingly brave and imaginative Latin American voice.

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My Review: The Intergalactic League has been to Earth, has looked around, and has decided this shithole of a place is good for sex work and raw materials. The Planetary Tourism Authority licenses the visitors under some (largely notional not actual) rules, including the ready availability of Body Spares (humans to be...inhabited) for tourists who can't handle our atmosphere.

It's not terribly subtle; it is terribly biting. As satire often is.

Your tolerance for the howling outrage of a man who's seen his country get so desperate that it encouraged the "mulatta" women to become sex workers to balance the country's economic health on their bodies will determine your pleasure in the read.

Every facet of the capitalist colonization of "smaller" countries is brought into angry focus as the Xenoids, our spacefaring overlords, best us at sports we've never heard of, as they watch eagerly while a human performance artist uses his own, slow and painful, suicides (assisted by their superior technology to remain alive and reassemble afterwards) as artistic statements they can savor; most horribly, and pointedly, there is Buca, a Social (sex) worker, who's headed offworld with her Xenoid client to...nope. That one you need to read.

It is chilling to think immigrants to capitalist countries are sufficiently desperate to see what they know awaits them as preferable to what they're leaving.

And we, obliviously, heap more and worse atop them. It cannot last forever. Read about it from the other side, see at last why that's so.

THE JAGUAR MASK, a beautiful tale of working with people not like you to accomplish things that need doing

THE JAGUAR MASK
MICHAEL J. DeLUCA
Stelliform Press (non-affiliate Bookshop.org link)
$21.99 paperback, available now

Rating: 4.25* of five

The Publisher Says: Felipe K’icab doesn’t know who he is. He only knows he was born different than his human family, and he can’t relax unless he’s blasting reggaeton in his cab weaving through the streets of Guatemala City. The jaguar mask and his other human faces keep him safe–until El Bufo, a corrupt ex-cop, commandeers his cab and drags Felipe into a murder conspiracy investigation, trying to expose the foreign-backed regime’s ecocidal and genocidal past.

Cristina Ramos knows who her mother’s killers are. After witnessing the murder in a vision, she struggles to keep her grieving family from falling apart. When El Bufo’s relentless vendetta throws Felipe into her life amid increasing civil unrest, Felipe and Cristina must overcome generations of institutionalized silence, uncover the secrets of their powers, and forge a path to justice, or else be swept away by another wave of violence.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA THE PUBLISHER. THANK YOU.

My Review: A werejaguar and a corrupt ex-cop drive a revenge/vengeance plot that cuts the nonsense out of criminally culpable ecocide. Different agendas make them extremely effective in cooperation. Cristina adds a psychic flair to a deeply unlikely scoobygroup, all with very different...even conflicting...agendas for their actions.

But those actions are all in immediate harmony, so they go well. Proof that people with different agendas are well-advised to focus on an immediate goal that suits each. Let the longer-term issues go; make common cause with anyone who can help you get urgent business done; keep your ears open for what those you're working with do not know they are telling you because all information is useful.

Ki'cab, our werejaguar, is the most immediately appealing and relatable character for me. He feels unsafe in his home, so goes to the big city and flourishes in his own patchwork piecemeal way. His human mask is the one that fits least well, perfectly understandably given how awful Humanity is, how poorly the weres fare at their hands. I'm with ya all the way, soul sibling. He has many masks, though, and wears them to accomplish different tasks for which he needs to be a slightly different guy. It's fascinating! I love that Ki'cab lives with a woman who loves and commits to life with Aníbal, her transmasc boyfriend. I love that he cares more for the needs and dignity of his friends than for abstractions like Morality and Legality. Felipe Ki'cab, you're the human in this book that I want to grow up to be.

El Bufo and Cristina are decent enough characters, each is presented as a human being with motivations and reasons for their lives and actions; it's no fault of writing or characterization that I'm less interested in either of them. Cristina's got the grief of knowing the truth, seeing it clearly in front of her eyes, and not being able to alter its happening (Cassandra deserves a better rep in our culture); El Bufo ("The Toad") is presented such that empathizing with him is hard.

Hard for monoglot readers will be contextually-clued-in words from Spanish; I hear this, but it's so incomprehensible to me y'all find it troublesome to read "foreign" words when this amazing tool the internet will tell you what anything you don't know means in English. I'm more empathetic with those unfamiliar with Guatemala, as my own acquaintance is nodding at best, relying on a friend who lived there ages ago. I find learning about places dimly familiar or utterly unfamiliar fun; if you don't treat them like Mordor or Arrakis, places impossible and unreal, and just get on with reading.

I'll say that the beginning say 15% will challenge you. It is not entirely in medias res, but gets really close to it. If that's just intolerable to you as a reader, this might not be the read for you. I can't offer an all-5 rating because of that, but can say I think you'd do well to give the sample a read. Maybe the prose will woo you in....

THE SEASON: A Fan's Story, a beautiful gift given out of love

THE SEASON: A Fan's Story
HELEN GARNER
Pantheon Books (non-affiliate Bookshop.org link)
$13.99 ebook, available now

One of Lit Hub’s 43 Favorite Books of 2025!

Rating: 4.5* of five

The Publisher Says: From the beloved master of Australian letters Helen Garner comes a brand new work of nonfiction, exploring boyhood, football, and the quotidian joys of family life.

Helen Garner is one of the most “prodigiously gifted” writers of our time (The New York Times Book Review), best known for her intricate portraits of “ordinary people in difficult times” (New York Times). In The Season, she trains her keen, journalistic eye on the most difficult time of all: adolescence.

Garner and her grandson Amby are deep in the throes of a shared obsession with Australian football—or “footy”—as Amby advances into his local club’s Under-16s. From her trademark remove, Garner documents the camaraderie and the competition on the field: the bracing nights of training, the endurance of pain, the growth of a gaggle of laughing boys into a formidable, focused team.

The Season is part dispatch on boyhood, chronicling the tenderness between young men that so often scurries away under too bright a spotlight, and part love letter to parenthood and family, as Garner becomes enmeshed in the community that gathers to watch their boys do battle. The Season finds Garner rejoicing in the later years of her life, surprised to discover their riches—a bright, generously funny, exuberant book from one of our great living writers.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: I really like Helen Garner's writing, enjoy her choices of subject matter, and really resonate with the worldview she puts out:

A little rush of desolation. It doesn't matter if I'm not there. No one needs me. I'm not essential after all. I'm only a witness. It's one of the sporadic bursts of reality that grandparents have to bear. You're making a serious mistake if you start to think you're near the centre. You're on the periphery. You're a servant. A hanger-on. And soon you'll be dead.

Preach, my sister.

What hasn't, won't, can't really die is the pleasure of an honest writer facing up to a tough subject (and there is no tougher subject than getting old!) with clear eyes, a willing heart, and a lifetime of practice, just...getting on with it. That is Helen Garner's métier. She speaks of her teenaged grandson with the mingled pride, amusement, and nostalgia for the rapidity of time and change carting away the one you made memories with while leaving a very roughly similar but perilously unfamiliar person in their place. I completely relate. Parents, grands, aging family members all feel a similar way, and what interests us is how much we obliviously assumed about our own pasts. Did we do better than they did? What Aunt Doraflora meant that one time she said the thing that made Dad so damn mad...oh! makes sense now, as we watch our futures doing, learning, figuring out in front of us.

The real matter of the writer is always life. Helen Garner has never once in a long career lost sight of that. Here she grapples with life changed beyond recognition, obsessions incomprehensible, worries she has no way to connect to, while knowing how much she loves; learning how much she is loved; and grappling with The End. "Really I’m trying to write about footy and my grandson and me. About boys at dusk. A little life-hymn. A poem. A record of a season we are spending together before he turns into a man and I die."

It is a gift you leave him, Helen Garner, that he will open many times in his life. And, in his turn, in a world as different from this one you both briefly cohabited in as you and I can't even conjure, he will understand your thoughts and feelings. They will resemble yours...despite the immense gulf between you in time, you will connect on the humanness of being old, being alive without certainty, and...I know you hope, and so do I...feeling loved from ahead and behind.

THEIR FOUR HEARTS, intense, appalling, urgent, amazing

THEIR FOUR HEARTS
VLADIMIR SOROKIN (illus. Gregory Klassen; tr. Max Lawton)
Dalkey Archive Press (non-affiliate Bookshop.org link)
$17.95 all editions, available now

Rating: ?5*? but on what scale....

The Publisher Says: In many respects, Their Four Hearts is a book of endings and final things. Vladimir Sorokin wrote it in the year the Soviet Union collapsed and then didn't write fiction for ten years after completing it—his next book being the infamous Blue Lard (q.v.), which he wrote in 1998. Without exaggerating too much, one might call it the last book of the Russian twentieth century and Blue Lard the first book of the Russian twenty-first century. It is a novel about the failure of the Soviet Union, about its metaphysical designs, and about the violence it produced, but presented as God might see it or Bataille might write it.

Their Four Hearts follows the violent and nonsensical missions carried out by a group of four characters who represent Socialist Realist archetypes: Seryozha, a naive and optimistic young boy; Olga, a dedicated female athlete; Shtaube, a wise old man; and Rebrov, a factory worker and a Stakhanovite embodying Soviet manhood. However, the degradation inflicted upon them is hardly a Socialist Realist trope. Are the acts of violence they carry out a more realistic vision of what the Soviet Union forced its "heroes" to live out? A corporealization and desacralization of self-sacrificing acts of Soviet heroism? How the Soviet Union truly looked if you were to strip away the ideological infrastructure? As we see in the long monologues Shtaube performs for his companions—some of which are scatological nonsense and some of which are accurate reproductions of Soviet language—Sorokin is interested in burrowing down to the libidinal impulses that fuel a totalitarian system and forcing the reader to take part in them in a way that isn't entirely devoid of aesthetic pleasure.

As presented alongside Greg Klassen's brilliant charcoal illustrations, which have been compared to the work of Bruno Schulz by Alexander Genis and the work of Ralph Steadman as filtered through Francis Bacon by several gallerists, this angular work of fiction becomes a scatological storybook-world that the reader is dared to immerse themselves in.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.

My Review: Before I begin, let me say:
→H↔E↔E↔D↔T↔H↔E↔C↔O↔N↔T↔E↔N↔T↔W↔A↔R↔N↔I↔N↔G←

If you need a content warning for gore, body horror, transgressive...anything...horseman, pass by. This is Sorokin, of Blue Lard fame, playing Literature's organ with the unsettling pedal fully depressed and the weird stop pulled all the way out. Comme d'habitude, then.

So, the audience now being self-winnowed, I'm going to tell you as little as I can about the transgressions and more about why I care enough to suggest you read this tooth-ripped bloody gobbet shoved in a sweaty gym sock of a book. Because you still can, that's why. This is a litmus test for collapse. If you read it and are not repulsed fairly often, you're probably on the barricades now. If you read this and think, "oh my gawd how'd he geta away with THAT?!" twice a chapter, you're marching somewhere, and shitposting about the 2025ness of it all, and postcarding the hell out of red districts. Everyone else, the "this is repulsive!" to the "this should be banned!" folk, why are you even here? It is not safe for you to be reading anything here when you're under curfew. Off to The New York Times, now, quick as you like, no hands outside the windows!

Like Blue Lard, like Moderan, like everything Burroughs or Dennis Cooper ever wrote, this weird, janky, slightly collapsing edifice of artifice requires you to participate. Very few things in the content-consuming 2025 we live in *require* you to participate to make them work. Sorokin's works aren't simple, even simplistic, slickly made entertainments, they are viscera of story hoicked out of places you didn't think there was spare narrative flesh. There wasn't spare narrative flesh. Vital organs of awareness and complicity and oblivious cruelty are wrenched out and held up before your dumbfounded gaze...and the chapter-opening art adds to that impact.

Sound unappealing? It's not here to appeal to you, it's here to make you reach inside yourself and find the pieces...they're only going to be pieces, I don't think inchoate monstruous sadists read my blog...of these characters in crises they did not make, or try to make better in any way. It is in all of us to look away, to accept pretty surfaces on ugly things, ugly selves. That response is not possible while reading Their Four Hearts.

And that's the point of reading it. I think it could do you a power of good between retches.

THE GIRL IN THE GREEN DRESS, well-fictionalized historical murder case

THE GIRL IN THE GREEN DRESS
MARIAH FREDERICKS
Minotaur Books (non-affiliate Bookshop.org link)
$14.99 ebook, available now

Rating: 4.5* of five

The Publisher Says: From the author of The Lindbergh Nanny comes an evocative mystery about the 1920 murder of the gambler Joseph Elwell, featuring New Yorker writer Morris Markey and Zelda Fitzgerald.

At the dawn of the Jazz Age, Morris Markey arrives in New York to become a writer. Having served in France, he needs to be in a place so distracting he cannot hear himself think. New in town, Markey hovers at the edge of the city’s revels, unable to hear the secrets that might give him his first Big Story. Finally one night he spots Joseph Elwell, a man about town known for courting wealthy married women, with a glorious girl in a dress of silver and dollar green.

The next morning, Elwell’s housekeeper runs out into the street screaming that Elwell has been shot. Every door and window in the house is locked. Did the ravishing woman kill her paramour? At last, Morris Markey has his story.

To penetrate the glittering world of Joseph Elwell, Markey turns to the newly famous Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, who met Elwell the same fateful night he night. Bored while Scott is working on his next novel, Zelda offers to help Markey with his investigation.

Together, Markey and Zelda learn that there were many people in Elwell's life who had reason to want him dead. And when a second man is found shot in his home in a very similar way, Markey begins to suspect that the truth may be more complicated—a story so dangerous that after he finishes it three decades later, he himself is found dead in his home, a single bullet through his head.

Mariah Fredericks's third standalone novel based on a true story from New York City's glamorous past, The Girl in the Green Dress is a truly standout historical mystery.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: The past is an inexhaustible goldmine for novelists. Author Fredericks works it with skill, and a very discerning eye...there's enough fact to get a really good story here, but not enough to make a microhistory true-crime book of. That's a storyteller at work, discerning the bones of an involving story!

The story told is pretty emblematic of prosperity's victims. Young, ambitious, seeing around them all the world through the envious lens of desire, of greed for more; and yet, innocent youth does not see the cost of it despite their focus on a failure of existing social rules. We're all blinkered by something we do not examine in youth, and Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald was the poster girl for it. She lived a life of glamour and sophistication in the 1920s that utterly beguiled many...especially Morris Markham, newly arrived reporter seeking the case that could make his name in Jazz Age New York.

I was very aware of the 2000s "manic pixie dream girl" vibes coming from Zelda in a way I had not seen before. There's a sadness and frailty in Zelda's real life story, but this use of her troubled mind bothered me...Markey used Zelda for her connections, fell for the of her image that he created (like so many others in her life), and she was so bored she hopped on his ambition to bag the story to amuse herself. It felt uneasily like a transactional acquaintance. Hence the missing half-star.

As that was not unusual for the times, those or ours, I merely note the fact in case it bothers others as well. It feels like the sort of thing Zelda would've been deeply familiar with, being an intelligent woman in a society that does not much value those beings.

So Markey, with Zelda's help getting into the Right Sort's parties and homes, sets about learning all he can about the murdered man. We're along with him, in third person close PoV, so it does feel like a real-time unfolding of the absurd and artificial world of the moneyed elite in crisis. Asking questions and listening in, discussing the murder victim's many shenanigans, all of it happens as we see the people in that world enacting some very peculiar social rituals around drinking, drugging, and sexing each other up. The Great War recently past damaged those off the battlefield, differently to be sure, as those on it. These times were in flux as institutions rattled and broke; the idols were changing; and Zelda was shoving statues off pedestals to the admiring eyes of Markey in the crowd around her.

As expected after her fictionalization of the Lindbergh kidnapping, Author Fredericks is scrupulous in pointing out her inventions, embroiderings, and naming her sources for the story. It is a big part of the reason I trust her to tell me a tale...she tells me when she's departing from the facts. The biggest departure was the central sleuthing duo...they never met in real life! I suppose that's a spoiler. oh well, so be it, you're reading a review so it can't be too surprising. I was completely convinced by their world as drawn here, so just accepted it was all real for the duration. Great work!

As this story centers on an unsolved murder, bookended by a very suspicious death, the very nature of it is to be uncertain...however, it does not feel unfinished as a story. No one who has lived a long enough life really believes in neatly tied-up ends, that's often why people read series-character mystery novels. I don't think that reader will necessarily be thrilled by the looseness of the ending as it is not a tidy resolution on that level.

It very much is a good story, for all that, and a terrific way to wile away a day.

HASSOUNA MOSBAHI'S PAGE: WE NEVER SWIM IN THE SAME RIVER TWICE, both a truism and an Eternal Verity; and SOLITAIRE: A Novel, a title very fitting

WE NEVER SWIM IN THE SAME RIVER TWICE
HASSOUNA MOSBAHI (tr. William Maynard Hutchins)
Syracuse University Press
$32.95 trade paper, available now

Rating: 3.75* of five

The Publisher Says: Originally published in 2020, Hassouna Mosbahi’s riveting novel explores the human psyche amidst the turbulent aftermath of the Arab Spring in Tunisia. Through the experiences of three friends, Mosbahi narrates the profound impact of violence and cultural change in Tunisian society and the ways in which those shifts are reflected in their personal lives.

We meet Saleem, on the brink of turning fifty, whose once blissful marriage teeters on the edge as his mental health deteriorates. Aziz, a retired postal clerk with an unassuming appearance, finds solace in literature and international cinema. And Omran, a well-traveled writer and public intellectual, navigates a complex relationship with a young Franco-Tunisian woman who lives in Paris. As these men forge an unlikely friendship over drinks at a coastal bar in Bizerte, and through long walks along the beach, they grapple with the increasing political extremism that surrounds them. Repelled by the Jihadist rhetoric and the brand of masculinity it represents, the three friends question their relationship to their country, which is both their home and a place they feel alienated from.

We Never Swim in the Same River Twice offers an alternative narrative of the Arab Spring, one that challenges Western media’s depiction of a “blessed revolution,” and gives readers an intimate and elegiac portrait of Tunisian history.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.

My Review: William Maynard Hutchins, who translated this story, is soeone whose work I admire and seek out. He came to my attention thirty-plus years ago when I first read, and loved, Naguib Mahfouz's Cairo Trilogy. In the hands of a less skiled translator that somewhat sudsy family saga could've become cloyingly moralistic...a fate that befell the later translation of Midaq Alley in my opinion.

I've been at a loss; this book did not irresistibly draw me in, but it's much better than most books I read. It's not to my taste. Its message very much is. Then I read World Literature Today's review of it, by M.D. Allen, of whom I've never heard before: (link: https://worldliteraturetoday.org/2025/july/we-never-swim-same-river-twice-hassouna-mosbahi)

...{visiting} a newly independent Algeria makes {the author's stand-in} consider that the Islamist establishment there also now misrepresents the protracted and bloody war that has just ended as having been fought not against colonial rule but in favor of “fatwas advocating violence, [and] a culture of hatred and loathing.”

Mosbahi’s high reputation as a novelist will not be hurt by this very readable work, which gives a vivid if not especially pleasant picture of post–Arab Spring Tunisia; nor will anyone but the most intransigent of his political opponents deny his moral courage.

This is a message I can not help but support, said however, aimed wherever, in whichever language of culture. Moral courage IN PUBLIC is more important now than it has ever been in my lifetime, though I stipulate that it is not and has never been unimportant.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

SOLITAIRE: A Novel
HASSOUNA MOSBAHI
Syracuse University Press (non-affiliate Bookshop.org link)
$24.95 all editions, available now

Rating: 3.5* of five

The Publisher Says: In Hassouna Mosbahi’s engrossing and keenly observed novel, he takes readers deep into one day in the life of Yunus, a Tunisian intellectual.

A professor of French language and Flaubert specialist, Yunus is recently retired and separated from his wife, as he leaves the city to settle in the Tunisian coastal city of Nabeul.

Searching for solitude, he hopes to spend the remainder of his life among the books he loves.

On the day of his sixtieth birthday, Yunus plunges into a delayed midlife crisis as he reflects on the major moments in his life, from taking up writing as a young man to his career as a university professor to his failed marriage.

Yunus’s identity crisis mirrors that of his Tunisian homeland with its tumultuous history of political and cultural upheaval.

He meditates on the lives of his friends, drawing from his memory a colorful cast of characters whose experiences reflect the outsized influence of religion and tradition in their lives.

Through the eyes of Yunus, Mosbahi’s elegiac, literary novel explores life and death, love and writing, and the relationship between puritanism and extremism in the Arab world today.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.

My Review: Quiet ruminations of a man younger than me that I'd've hated at forty, been scared by at fifty, and...uncomfortably...relate to at *mumble*ty-five.

I seemed to be a dead man granted a chance to observe the joy of life from the darkness of the tomb. The glass escaped from my hand, and shards of its glass flew across the kitchen floor. I did not hear the laughter overflowing with love that a smashing glass had inspired in a poet—it may have been Apollinaire, Eluard, or someone else. What I heard was my spirit splintering like the dry bough of a green tree. I left the kitchen and went to the bedroom to curl up in bed. I closed my eyes, wishing to flee from my black soul to another world. At some moment, a different vision of my country dawned on me—not the vague, gloomy one I had grown accustomed to harboring as an expatriate. It came to me with the radiant light of a Mediterranean morning on the beach at Les Grottes in Bizerte, green and fragrant like the vineyards and the orchards of figs and almonds in the spring at Raf Raf, dreamy like sunset in the oases of el-Djerid, and white and blue like the houses in Sidi Bou Said. I leapt out of bed happily, like someone who had long misplaced something and found it again after despairing that he ever would find it. So, I returned to my fatherland.

It's nice, and it's resonant...I felt the same way returning to New York after exile in Texas...but y'all, do not overlook that "fatherland" ending this passage. This is not a western country but a westernized one, and it really shows. There are assumptions inside this narrative invisible to a Tunisian man of a certain age, women exist in relation to me being the most toxic one.

It's not unusual, honestly, in literature from anywhere to see men taking women for granted. It bothers me more now than ever because the world is at the intersection of multiple crises and can not remotely afford to turn away minds and hands needed to figure out then apply solutions to the problems we face.

A shame it's not so stone-cold simple, and obvious, to the old white men desperately clinging to power.

As I was saying...Author Mosbahi has some assumptions that jangle warning bells in my 21st-century-woke mind. The narrator, still less the author, demonstrate the remotest awareness of their cultural blinders, which the best, the most successful critically anyway, US writers are at long last coming to do. We've all got miles to go before we sleep.