Canary in the Media Mine


Is it irony or self-awareness that much of Silicon Valley is enamored with a show about techno-paranoia? The genius of Black Mirror lies in its presentation of dystopias that are terrifyingly close to reality. Each episode combines technology that’s almost arrived with the dark tendencies of human nature to produce a shocking world, but one it seems we’re on the cusp of. I just did a google search of the show, and the first headline read, “Black Mirror’s ‘Nosedive’ episode is about to become reality in China.” Black Mirror is like a canary in the media mine, signaling the dangers of where technology could lead society before it descends upon us.

I’ve only watched a few episodes, and I don’t go around recommending it. If you haven’t seen it, I don’t exaggerate when I say many of the episodes are chock full of immorality and baldly disturbing. It’s also not what I’d call entertaining. But it is thought-provoking.

The episodes take a familiar, relatable premise (like social media ratings, video game escapism, online dating) down dark and twisted paths. This is what could happen… and all things considered, its creative and believable. While most critics applaud the show for cleverly exposing the danger of technology misuse, I think Black Mirror does more than that, whether intentionally or not. More than pointing out how social media or memory scanners could wreak havoc, it exposes the darkness of the human heart. Technology is just an enabler.

Take the Nosedive episode. Lacie lives in a world where people rate each other based on each interaction they have. Your average rating affects your job, ability to buy a home, and could even send you to jail if you drop too low. Talk about incentive to practice fake smiling and friendliness all the time (which she does). Lacie is obsessed with getting her rating up to move into her dream home, but a series of unfortunate events send her rating spiraling down. It’s a messed up world that doesn’t feel too far away, with rating Uber/Lyft drivers, pandering for Likes and Follows on Instagram … who’s to say ‘social credit’ won’t take a more prominent role in a society dominated by social media?

But behind this world is the same reality of human nature. There is nothing new under the sun. We’ve always wanted to be liked by others, to be on the highest rung of the social ladder. Read Jane Austen! No one had a rating associated with their name, but people were fundamentally the same. There’s a public face you present to garner favor, especially among the elite. Women weren’t chasing 5/5 stars on an app, but they were chasing the wealthiest man, the most luxurious lifestyle, admiration from others, ultimately for the same purposes. What Black Mirror did was recognize that innate nature, and placed it in a new infrastructure enabled by technology.

One more example: the Crocodile episode (this one is really bleak and violent). In her young and stupid days, Mia helps her friend Rob cover up a hit-and-run where he was behind the wheel. Years later, Rob wants to confess, but Mia has a successful career and family, and she doesn’t want to dig up that past – so she kills Rob. Then she witnesses a roadside accident (a self-driving pizza truck hits someone). An insurance agent comes knocking with a device that can replay memories, but that means exposing her murder of Rob … which leads her to kill the insurance agent, and then the insurance agent’s family.

(I told you it’s disturbing.)

Crocodile addresses a regular theme in Black Mirror: the invasion of privacy. Technology has turned everyone’s eyes into potential surveillance cameras that can be replayed. It’s meant to be used for good, but this episode shows a case where it goes extremely poorly as it pushes Mia to kill more and more in order to cover up her earlier crimes. But again, the fundamental issue isn’t with the Recaller technology. Mia is hellbent on protecting her self-interest at any cost to others. This is the darkness of the human heart. Sure, the technology exacerbated the situation, but the point is, her capacity for murder out of self-protection existed long before she was triggered.

We do face unique challenges today with the advancement of technology. Its moving at a pace where policies can’t keep up, and they often come retroactively and always imperfectly. There is a legitimate fear about what our tech can do in the wrong hands. But the reality is, no one is trustworthy. We’re all fallen people. Ironically, in a time where the culture denies original sin and validates self-worth and individual goodness, a show like Black Mirror isn’t just sounding a warning about technology, but signaling the sinfulness of our own hearts.


Photo by Jeremy Yap on Unsplash

Haunted By Eden

we live in a world haunted by Eden:
half is ruled by logic
0s and 1s harnessed to make machines
binary codes flicker into modern idols
hooking the mechanical bloodstream to ours
like an IV drip
half is given to wonder
a man can explain his own reality
or call it all illusion
1+1=2 in academic truth but judge not
what a man calls his god

are we algorithms, brushing against each other?
accidental programs of A, G, C, and Ts
we live in a world haunted by Eden:
in ceaseless striving for purpose
yet drowning in self-addiction
a worshipper’s soul chafes against the lies
that cells and galaxies exploded
from an empty inkwell
and the ache for meaning is
a chemical misfire

is it love or mathematics?

functions never parameterized heartbreak
or taught a man to die for another.

Malinche in the Digital Storytelling Chasm

I wrote this essay for one of my classes last quarter*. It’s kind of outside my scope of usual work (both in terms of my studies and my general hobby writing), but I really enjoyed it. I got to think about literature+tech and implications of e-books. Rather than letting this gather dust on my hard drive, I thought I’d share it in case it generates any interest. Note it is an academic piece, so I’m not gabbing in my usual, more conversational(?) tone. So here’s a peek into what I’ve been doing at school!

Literature once stood as an intervention in the attention economy, illuminating the pitfalls of the sociotechnical world, but technology is turning it into another competitor. Who will read classics verging on a thousand pages when Facebook, Netflix and Amazon remain a swipe and a tap away? The attention economy runs on the well-oiled wheels of distraction and instant gratification. However, the rise of new media does not herald the death of literature but the transformation of it. Just as music travelled through the mediums of vinyl discs, cassette tapes, CDs, and iTunes playlists without demise, writing faces a similar evolution. The invention of the printing press in 1450 formalized the concept of the book, which is now challenged by the advent of electronic literature and e-readers.

What role will e-books play in the history of reading and writing? Could they eliminate traditional narrative forms, such as lengthy epics, and give rise to new ones? In Malinche and the End of the World, Franco Berardi warns of the conquering automaton, drawing parallels to the Spanish conquest of Mexico. In that historical event, Malinche “is the symbol of the end of a world, and also the symbol of the formation of a new semiotic space of world-projection at the intersection between two different codes” (Berardi 106). E-books are the Malinche of our literary times. They continue to use, with nostalgic reminiscence, understandable signs of the old world—page flips and bookmarks—while translating the printed word into the “superior” code of zeros and ones. They herald the rise of a New World, where story narratives become embedded in an immersive digital experience of humanity.

Much as Malinche bridged the gap between her native roots and the conquistadores, e-books stand between the collapse of the old literary world and formation of a new one, functioning as a translator and marker of the shifting code. The tension in the technology surrounding e-books highlights the conflict between the two worlds. This is prominently seen in the visual book metaphor, which designs the interaction with digital text to resemble physical techniques (Pearson 22). Digital imitations of page flips exemplify one debated use case: the computational cost of rendering page turns is high, and it offers the reader no functional value. Among digital document designers, some believe such embedded book metaphors are effective because of their visual and interactive similarities to printed material. Others judge the long-run model limitations will restrict new possibilities, as “it tends to lead designers away from the potential of new media capabilities, thus meeting with the functions of paper but never actually surpassing them” (Pearson 22). Some might frame the debate as one between traditionalists and visionaries, but a Berardian view reveals an attempt to understand an emerging world on the basis of old code.

While the book metaphor remains strong in digital documents today, it marks a transitional phase rather than a permanent stagnation. The inevitable progress of technology reading platforms will make the visual book metaphor more incongruous with the new medium, and document design will be forced to adapt. Consider the stages other technologies underwent, such as motor vehicles.

“For example, in the absence of any better proposals, the first motor cars were designed to look like carriages, which were, at the time, a very familiar sight. Over time, however, these carriage-shaped vehicles were eventually overtaken, and cars now bear little resemblance to the once primitive-looking early automobiles” (Pearson 100).

As a technology enters uncharted waters, its evolution takes it further away from familiar mediums, adapting it to maximize functionality and value within expanded constraints. For vehicles, progress entailed optimizing physical design given new horsepower and speed capabilities. For e-books, designers might increasingly leverage the combined strengths of physical and digital mediums. Potential developments could include: document design for multiple windows, improvements of inputs with no-touch gestures, indexing and linking annotations in fundamentally new ways, and more. As the shift to this new code commences, the semantic voids formed indicate the fast-paced transition that is occurring. E-books maintain terms like “bookmarks” and “pages,” despite their physical absence, in the linguistic scramble to define the current reality. The question is no longer if the old literary world will collapse into a new one, but how that world will look.

One of the markers of immersive digital storytelling will be the inevitable redefinition of the book. While the exact form of future writing remains open to speculation, examining how the medium controls the message offers clues on two levels: first, how the feedback loop between media capabilities and usage informs e-book design; and second, how the position of the e-book on connected devices shapes narrative content. In the case of the former, margins in print books illustrate a historical precedent of the feedback loop. Margins were initially meant to serve a practical purpose, enabling readers to handle books without staining printed parts of the page. As books became commodities, margins became places to write notes, something unheard of when books were a costly luxury (Pearson 13). The design of this medium preceded new usage methods, demonstrating the often-unexpected side effects of technology. Margins remain relevant in books today, and some are even designed for effective note taking.

In a contemporary parallel, research about digital reading patterns shape the design of Web pages. In her study of close reading versus “hyperreading,” N. Katherine Hayles points out the tendency to read web content in an F pattern, which in turn transforms design choices. Important material should never be relegated to the bottom right page corner, for instance. “Canny Web designers use this information to craft Web pages, and reading such pages further intensifies this mode of reading” (Hayles 70). This feedback loop can be extended to e-books as well. The visual book metaphor ensures similar reading habits to print, but as digital documents evolve away from that, designs might morph based on hyperreading patterns. James Sosnoski introduced the idea of hyperreading as “reader-directed, screen-based, computer-assisted reading,” and examples include search queries, keyword filters, hyperlinking, juxtaposing and scanning (Hayles 66). As these concepts solidify, e-book designs might follow with built-in search bars, multi-window layouts and more intentional schemes to match reader habits.

The medium also controls the message in a broader scope: the positioning of the e-book in a world of connectivity leads to massive implications, such as the reduction of narrative length and potential breakdown of the book as a whole unit. E-books primarily reside on wireless tablets, making it a swipe away from games, shows, and social media. The transition from isolated print books to a medium with connectivity forces writers to compete in an attention economy where other digital goods often provide more entertainment and gratification. Ken Wissoker, envisioning the future of the book as a media project, urges authors to remain relevant with the times by adapting their content to the platform:

If, as an author, one assumes readers are reading an e-book on an iPad or other tablet, with their e-mail and Twitter stream constantly a click away—not to mention the rest of the Web waiting nearby too—what would one need to do to keep those readers’ attention? The book should be as tight and compelling as possible. Perhaps the same study that would work as a 280-page paperback should be edited down to 75 pages. What do you really need the reader to know? There might also be more of a premium on narrative and style to make the reading experience a more engaging one. (Wissoker 133)

Without naming it, Wissoker identifies the demands of the attention economy on writers: Conform, or become obsolete. The downsizing of narrative length may appear like an incremental change, but the truncation of a literary work changes the message. Readers have always drawn a distinction between a written piece and its summary, between Shakespeare and the corresponding Spark Notes. At what point does the summary become the message itself? When Wissoker asks, “What do you really need the reader to know?” he implies a fundamental shift in value, from substance and depth to brevity and style.

While Wissoker posits the reduction of length for tablet reading, he also predicts the value of long tomes given text searchability (134). Here, the assumed value is in reader discovery, which can be improved with more available text, rather than reading a work in its entirety. In this case, the influence the medium exerts over the message could foreshadow the breakdown of the book as a whole unit. When Neil Postman addresses the power of the written word medium, he says:

“writing freezes speech and in so doing gives birth to the grammarian, the logician, the rhetorician, the historian, the scientist – all those who must hold language before them so that they can see what it means, where it errs, and where it is leading” (12).

Print locks the original form, structure and flow of content according to the author’s design. Digital media capabilities such as searchability, extraction and re-organization of book segments have the opposite effect, “unfreezing” the writing. This “unfreezing” is already seen in functionality like simple copy-and-paste and Kindle’s ability to extract and present highlighted quotes from various e-books. Taken further, Wissoker envisions the possibility of a playlist model, similar to iTunes or Spotify, where readers customize playlists selected from book chapters and articles (133). Just as the playlist model in music allows for listening to a song without its entire album, it can permit and strengthen the habit of reading only selections from a book. Another potential consequence is the genesis of new vocations. As Postman remarks that writing gave birth to logicians and historians, will digital media give birth to content re-mixers? Just as there is an art to mixing musical tracks as a DJ, a new type of skilled artisan might come into demand, one that mines the digital literary trove and creates thematic playlists.

The changing mediums and literary consequences ultimately have larger societal ramifications. An examination of literature’s digital New World cannot end with technical speculation, but should extend to the cultural impact, such as how knowledge will be consumed and disseminated. Books have been vital in the lifeblood of recent civilization, functioning as both an evidence and advocate of our common humanity. They shape the current “world,” which Berardi essentially defines as shared meaning in a community. As e-books take the stage and point to an evolution in electronic literature, the question becomes: How will meaning and shared values change in this era? In 1997, Richard J. Cox writes about the already heated debate over the future of the book. He concludes:

“Whether the book is a physical object or electronic shadow is almost beside the point. The real matter is that we understand, regardless of what might replace the book, the nature of information and knowledge in our society. It is what any society or culture is held together by, the book being a part of the symbols and memories of a society” (Cox 55).

While he rightly speaks to the heart of the matter, “the nature of information and knowledge,” the evidence does not allow us to dismiss the form of the book. The medium is integral in defining the nature of information. With the digitization of literature, the New World might be the endgame in the commoditization of books, which began with low cost paperbacks. Greater accessibility leading to information fatigue ultimately leads to reduced desirability. As a result, particular types of literature, such as scholarly writing and long novels, become increasingly archaic. Various conjectures about the cultural consequences ensue: the reduced prestige of academia, or a society designed around distraction instead of attention, living from notification to notification.

The path from e-books today to such a bleak world is possible but not definite. It is fitting to echo Berardi’s sentiments, that the collapse of the old world into a new one is inevitable, but the shape and language of the New World cannot be ascertained in this transitional phase. He asks, “Will pleasure, affection, and empathy find a way to reemerge of out their conjunctive framework? Will we translate into human language the connective language of the automated semio-machine whose buzzing is growing in our heads?” (Berardi 109). Berardi ends his essay with these questions, indicating that the conquering automaton might not destroy all that is good in the old civilization. While a mindless continuation down today’s path in digital literature could spiral into distraction and de-valuation of knowledge, another vision remains possible. Though e-books are the Malinche of our literary times, standing in this crucial chasm between traditional books and a digital future, we do not need to be Malinche, defined as either a traitor or victim. As e-books bring together writers, user experience designers, and engineers, thoughtful professionals can collaborate for a higher purpose than grabbing a slice of the attention economy. With more powerful tools at our disposal, we can uphold the tradition of the book as a vehicle of knowledge and public good. The medium might control the message, but we are the ones shaping and designing the medium.

[1] Berardi, Franco. “Malinche and the End of the World.” e-Flux: The Internet Does Not Exist, Apr. 2015, pp. 100-109.
[2] Cox, Richard J. “Taking Sides on the Future of the Book.” American Libraries, vol. 28, no. 2, 1997, pp. 52–55.
[3] Hayles, N. Katherine. “How We Read: Close, Hyper, Machine.” ADE Bulletin, 2010, pp. 62-79.
[4] Pearson, Jennifer, George Buchanan, and Harold Thimbleby. “Designing for Digital Reading.” 2014.
[5] Postman, Neil. Amusing ourselves to death: public discourse in the age of showbusiness. London, Methuen, 2007.
[6] Wissoker, Ken. “The Future of the Book as a Media Project.” Cinema Journal, vol. 52, no. 2, 2013, pp. 131–137.
* Originally written for Critique of Technology at Stanford, March 2017.

Technology: Our Slave or Tyrant?

technology, future

Wearable technology is slowly but surely becoming the next Big Thing. We’ve got smart watches now, and smart clothes are making their debut, so we’ll probably all be buying smart underwear in a year or so. What a time to be alive. But it doesn’t end there – many predict that after wearables, implantables will follow. Technologies that will live inside of you. I was reading this article, which should give you a fascinating, or terrifying, view of the potential future tech landscape.

I studied Computer Science, but when it comes to technology, I’m less interested in banging out code than considering some of the more abstract issues the rapidly advancing field raises. Philosophy, morality, humanity – how does technology mold and shape our understanding of people and society? However fascinating technology gets, it doesn’t beat the startling intricacies of human nature. No surprise: God’s creations are infinitely better.

In literature, technology inspires all sorts of stories and bizarre futuristic worlds. It very well may be part of the reason dystopia has seen such a resurgence, in addition to the foolproof, mass market ploy of incorporating The Love Triangle. But the very best technology-inspired stories (I don’t want to slap on the science fiction label, because they don’t necessarily have to be) ask the hard questions. How do we hold security and freedom in proper tension when we have the ability to know and control too much through 360 cameras and chip implants? What, at the very raw core of our being, makes us human, when there are clones and emotionally intelligent robots walking the streets? And perhaps at the center of it all:

Is technology our slave or tyrant?

If you dig deeper, the question is really about the condition of our souls. Technology is a neutral thing, and it can be used for good or evil, just like nuclear energy or money. From a biblical perspective, it ought to be our slave. Our vocation as human beings is to subdue the earth and everything in it, and technology is a means to do that: to help us water the fields, keep the lights on, erect buildings, increase efficiency. It can absolutely be used and stewarded well (something I’m interested in exploring in my career, Lord willing). Yes, technology is improving the convenience and comfort of many aspects of life. I don’t need to leave the house for groceries? And here we were just thinking what a brilliant concept the supermarket was! 

But from the Fall and the corruption of the human heart, it will inevitably be abused. For every good use of tech, there will be unspeakably terrible ones. The issue is not that technology makes us better or worse, but that it exposes us, perhaps in new ways. How we approach it and how we use it reveals and magnifies our brokenness. These are 2 things we cannot halt: the advance of technology, and the decay of morality. It makes for some very good storytelling, yet some very sobering realities. Is technology our slave or tyrant?

I’m afraid many people think it’s our salvation.



Thoughts? I have plans to write something of a follow-up to this on the interplay between technology and characters in literature. Stay tuned!

[image cred]