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Ginseng Roots By Craig Thompson

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Ginseng Roots Book Review
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Title: Gingseng Roots
Author: Craig Thompson
Pages: 448
Published by: Faber (2025)

Review contains affiliate links to bookshop.org. Purchasing the book through these links provides the blog with a small commission at no additional cost to you.

Ginseng Roots is a memoir-meets-agriculture graphic novel by award-winning comic book writer Craig Thompson. 

So, when it landed on my doorstep, I was really curious. On the one hand, I adore memoir writing whilst on the other, I know next to nothing about farming – let alone ginseng. 

I’ll hold my hands up and admit that whilst I’ve enjoyed the majority of the graphic novels I’ve read, I’m hardly a seasoned reader of the form. 

And though I was vaguely familiar with Craig Thompson, this was my first time I’ve read his work.

But after this one, it’s safe to say I’ll be picking up more of his writings. A big thanks to the team at Faber creators for sending this copy over.

A window into the past

At its core, Ginseng Roots is a globe-trotting memoir shaped around Thompson’s relationship with class, childhood, and illness. And it’s the titular Wisconsin root that links these themes together.

First, we learn about the origins of the ginseng trade in lockstep with Thompson’s upbringing, as Craig and his brother Phil work the fields. For this, each brother receives a small stipend (just $1!) that they immediately splurge on comics.

Comics are the thing that brings the Thompson boys together, and for hours between the brutal work in the fields, they pore over Marvel and Star Wars issues.

Time passes by and there’s a clear tension between who they are now, versus who they were then. Thompson is (obviously) now a comic book writer, living on the West Coast. Phil is a city boy with a city boy job, on a city joy salary.

Returning to Marathon, Wisconsin to visit his ailing father, Craig reflects on this contrast with their blue collar upbringing. Less through a lens of nostalgia and more on how much has changed in their family.

In Wisconsin, the world has moved on too – though not quite in the way the boys have. Family farms are gobbled up by corporates, local youths are replaced by cheaper, more amenable foreign workers, and previously lucrative arable work no longer pays well.

And in this vacuum, reactionary politics takes hold. It’s in this respect that Ginseng Roots works well as a political commentary, critiquing the incestuous relationship between corporate power and political interest – including an extraordinary deal between Trump and the controversial Foxconn that, in the end, never materialised.

A word on the art

Ginseng Roots is a long book; it’s visually complex and packed with detail. Panes are richly populated with the delightful use of red, adding another dimension to the black and white illustrations. And I’ll probably need to read it another couple of times to experience more.

That’s not to say it’s inaccessible – you can absolutely follow the narrative with ease. But like most graphic novels with a literary bent, Ginseng Roots is a book that you’ll get more out of, the more time you put into it.

The pacing can be a little inconsistent. It was originally published in twelve separate issues, released five years apart between 2019 and 2024. And as with any serialisation, turning it into one volume can be a little jarring – especially with the constant hopping back and forth in time.

Still, the scope is impressive, covering history from Chinese myth, and the colonisation of indigenous America, through to the Hmong people of the Vietnam war and the first term of Donald Trump’s presidency.

Conclusion

Ginseng Roots is a surprisingly emotional exploration of family and forgiveness.

Whereas Blankets is Craig Thompson’s memoir on his upbringing, exploring a childhood trauma in a highly religious rural American community, Ginseng Roots feels like the balm – appropriately given the supposed healing nature of the root.

This isn’t a cure for that childhood, but it’s a step towards understanding and forgiveness. Two decades have now passed since Blankets was released — and Craig’s latest entry feels soberly reflective.

Beautifully written, the closing pages are particularly emotional, tying up the novel in an appropriately thoughtful manner.

And with the deep roots of family and the plant itself intertwining, this is a graphic novel that will easily leave a lasting impression on any fan of the medium.

Rated 4 out of 5
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It’s Lonely at the Centre of the Earth By Zoe Thorogood

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Lonely at the Centre of the Earth Zoe Thorogood review
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“This book was not supposed to exist.”

Title: It’s Lonely at the Centre of the Earth
Author: Zoe Thorogood
Pages: 196
Published by: Image Comics (2022)

Content warning: This novel includes (very) direct references to suicide and self-harm

Fresh off the success of The Impending Blindness of Billie Scott, Zoe Thorogood was a rising star in the comic book industry, on the cusp of her big break — and then COVID hit. It’s Lonely at the Centre of the Earth documents the six-month period of her life during this time.

Feeling an imposter, and uncomfortable with ‘the future of comics’ moniker hanging over her head, this autobiographical meta-narrative is a heady cocktail of dark humour, messy mental health days, and a unique look into the mind of a talented but troubled writer.

In fact, It’s Lonely at the Centre of the Earth ‘was not meant to exist’ in a final, published form — but thank god it does.

A portrait of the artist as a young woman

The blending of art styles within It’s Lonely at the Centre of the Earth is where things get really fascinating. 

It’s intentionally disruptive of its own form, with Thorogood experimenting with a combination of real photos, manga-style versions of herself, and her own uniquely identifiable art style that blends the best of western and east-Asian influences. And when these styles overlap on the same page — often crossing into the same pane — it’s pure, creative magic.

The tone of the novel will divide readers. It’s about mental health from the perspective of several versions of the same person. Readers’ mileage will vary with how much they wish to engage with this and — content warning — there is a lot of discussion of suicidal thoughts and self-harm within. Some readers may find this heavy going. 

It’s self-deprecating and cynical, punctuated with the awkward bedfellow of manic joy, before the black dog descends and swallows her up. And that perspective of self-sabotage and the feeling of being taken hostage by your own self bleeds through onto the page through some vivid and truly impressive uses of illustration.

However, it’s important to note that It’s Lonely at the Centre of the Earth does all this without glamourising suffering.

But it’s also hilarious, uplifting even in parts, albeit in flat-out deadpan and self-referential ways. Thorogood directly addresses the reader throughout, calling out critics — like this one — for the simpering praise showered upon her, and even ‘scraps’ the novel half-way through.

Trust me, it’s one you’ll need to see to believe — it’s brilliant. In short, this is meta-(non)fiction at its best.

Conclusion

It’s Lonely at the Centre of the Earth is a stellar piece of writing, and a prime example of what the graphic novel genre can offer in the hands of a talented writer and illustrator.

The tone may not jive with every reader. It’s dark and brooding at times, and there’s a lot of introspection on behalf of the author. But this is a memoir, so it’s inherently self-reflective. And a very good memoir at that.

With shades of Catcher in the Rye, Zoe and Holden both sharing a prickly sensitivity towards inauthenticity, It’s Lonely at the Centre of the Earth is a phenomenal read and a modern classic of the graphic novel genre. Go buy a copy.

Rated 5 out of 5
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Orbital By Samantha Harvey

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“A hand-span away beyond a skin of metal the universe unfolds in simple eternities.”

Title: Orbital
Author: Samantha Harvey
Pages: 137
Published by: Vintage (2024)

Four hundred kilometres above Earth, spinning in orbit, is the International Space Station. And on clear nights, this small but vital vessel can be seen on the horizon.

From terra firma it’s a mere speck on the skyline, but inside this compact metal container, the greatest of earth’s scientific minds are performing experiments in zero gravity and observing extreme weather for the betterment of humanity.

It’s up in the stars that we join Orbital, Samantha Harvey’s literary science fiction novel, which scooped the Booker Prize in 2024, launching her into the stratosphere alongside writers including Salman Rushdie, Hilary Mantel, and Margaret Atwood, amongst others.

Poignant and dreamlike, Orbital is a beautiful elegy to a space station in its twilight years, with NASA set to decommission the ISS as soon as 2030-31.

To the Moon

Floating in space are Chie, Roman, Shaun, Nell, Anton, and Pietro – six astronauts hailing from nations around the world and working together for the common cause of human advancement.

In many ways, this common interest is the main thread of Orbital. It’s less about who they are as individuals – and political differences seemingly evaporate upon contact with the atmosphere. Meanwhile, the strangeness and unique challenges of life in Zero-G atmosphere is a commonality shared only by the select few who make it into space.

Each chapter represents part of their journey in orbit, with the astronauts sharing ruminations on life back home. Chie carries grief, Shaun his religious faith, and Anton ponders on life after love. It’s a very humanist novel in some respects.

All the while, night turns to day and day turns to night — but for the team aboard the International Space Station (ISS), these transitions are far more frequent. Orbiting Earth sixteen times a day, the astronauts experience sixteen sunrises and sunsets all within just 24 hours.

It’s eye-opening moments like this that bring home the stunning, mesmeric, and yet terrifying oddities of space travel.

Conclusion

Orbital is very much a literary fiction novel, possessing elegant prose and a thoughtfulness that delivers a dizzying view of the universe.

And because of this, it’s a high risk piece of writing. In the hands of a less talented writer, there’s a real chance that Orbital could have come across as too esoteric and disconnected to the reader. Fortunately, this is not the case – and frankly, Samantha Harvey deserves every single accolade she gets.

Orbital is thoughtful and pondering, but without unnecessary complexity. And on the front inside cover, there’s even a map detailing the ISS’s full route. This is a subtle but really neat addition, and I found myself leafing back and forth to map the novel’s description to the station’s chartered course

Granting the reader an appreciation of the beauty and fragility of the earth, Harvey’s novel is a call to action, imploring us to take care of our only home. It’s a stellar piece of fiction, and will likely be one of the best books I review on the blog this year.

Rated 5 out of 5
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The Housemaid By Frieda McFadden

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“From behind closed doors, she sees everything.”

Title: The Housemaid
Author: Frieda McFadden
Pages: 329
Published by: Little, Brown Book Group (2023)

The Housemaid, by author and brain injury physician Frieda McFadden, is a psychological thriller that delights and frustrates in equal measure.

This is an intriguing read from the outset, with a plot that will undeniably entertain. But The Housemaid is let down by trite characters and underdeveloped ideas.

Still, McFadden’s first novel in the Housemaid series is an interesting read that will get chins wagging amongst friends and in book club circles.

The Housemaid in brief

Early on, the reader is introduced to Millie; an unassuming Brooklynite on the lookout for her next job, following a recent but unexplained firing.

Down on her luck — and not long out of prison — she happens upon a living-in housemaid role for the Winchesters, a wealthy New York family. It pays well, puts a roof over her head, and no questions are asked. But something is awry in this suburban setup.

The book starts slow, but grows gradually as family secrets are uncovered and Millie’s own past begins to emerge, creating a pressure cooker of tension between herself and the Winchesters. It’s a compelling setup — and I guarantee you’ll read this book in one or two sittings, such is the pace — but much like the plot itself, something isn’t quite right with The Housemaid.

We need to talk about Millie

McFadden writes The Housemaid from a first person present perspective (I am, I do not, e.t.c.) which is ideal for a mystery. The present tense is great for building tension, and seeing the plot unfold from one character’s perspective at a time allows the author to be really creative with revealing details.

However, the first person perspective has its flaws — especially if you cannot relate to or bear being with the main character. And to be fair, readers’ views will vary on this, but Millie is neither easy to love, nor strong enough to carry this novel. She lacks genuine depth — even following some bizarrely brief revelations — and feels like a mish-mash of caricatures. Indeed this could be levelled at most characters in The Housemaid, with perhaps the exception of Nina.

Taken at face value, Nina is a changeable and highly disturbed individual. This is curious in itself, but McFadden takes Nina’s depth of experience to a different level, granting her a level of intrigue not afforded to other characters in the novel.

The art of the page-turner

There is an art to creating a page-turner. It was arguably made famous by Dickens in the Victorian era, where publishing full books was expensive and so stories were published in daily or weekly newspaper serialisations.

It worked like this. The chapter would begin slowly, building gradually, before concluding with a blockbuster ending, whether a major plot revelation or change in the pacing of the story. You know the drill. Shorter sentences. Dramatic interludes. This would draw readers in and guarantee they pick up the next issue. Ultimately, it was a quid pro quo for both authors and newspapers.

This structure lives on in contemporary thrillers, and some of the better writers are able to disguise it well. The Housemaid delivers mixed results in this regard; with many chapters ending in an overly dramatic ‘Millie monologue’.

That being said, if writing a page-turner is indeed an art, then McFadden is undeniably a maestro. This 300ish page book can easily be read in a single sitting or two. It’s that gripping.

Conclusion

The Housemaid by Freida McFadden is a flawed but eminently readable thriller that would be suited perfectly for a beach or book club read.

It does, however, suffer from some mediocre character writing, a bevy of frankly silly narrative moments, and a convenient deus ex machina to resolve a particular plot point. It’s therefore quite a limited read, with a couple of twists to keep things interesting. However, The Housemaid is unlikely to be a book you’ll read more than once.

Readers’ views will inevitably differ, depending on their experience with the genre. Thriller enthusiasts may find they’ve read this book before, but for some that familiarity may be reassuring. For other perspectives, check out Luke Harkness’s glowing review and Literary Quicksand’s more critical reception.

I recommend The Housemaid, but with a handful of caveats.

Rated 3 out of 5
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The Age of Absurdity By Michael Foley

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The Age of Absurdity

"The common challenges of earning a living, maintaining a relationship and ageing are becoming battlegrounds of existential angst and self-loathing in a culture that demands conspicuous consumption, high-octane partnerships and perpetual youth."

Title: The Age of Absurdity
Author: Michael Foley
Pages: 240
Published by: Simon & Schuster Ltd (2010)

Why are we so unhappy? 

And is the pursuit of happiness even valid? 

These are the interesting questions posed by Michael Foley, in this sometimes witty, other times intellectually bereft, piece of writing.

His central argument appears to be that society’s expectations clash with reality, making us unhappy, riffing on Albert Camus’ idea of the absurd — in essence, the divorce between existential expectation and reality.

Foley’s view appears to be that the modern generation, part of the ‘age of entitlement’ — as he opines frequently — are destined to be disappointed due to their own inflated egos and greed.

The problem here is that such claims evaporate upon contact with air, once the usual soundbites and indulgence in prejudice are scrutinised.

The Age of Absurdity
Old Man Shouts at Clouds

The Age of Absurdity includes some utterly bizarre segues, many of which have aged poorly since its publication in 2010. 

This includes a strange take on neurological and addiction-based conditions. Foley argues, or at least implies, a frivolity on the part of the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) — the United States’ authority on mental health. 

Anybody who has read The Body Keeps the Score, written by Bessel van der Kolk, MD — who has actually worked in the US healthcare system — would know that historically, it has been difficult to get conditions listed in the DSM.

“The opening line of the grant rejection read: “It has never been shown that PTSD is relevant to the mission of the Veterans Administration.”

Since then, of course, the mission of the VA has become organized around the diagnosis of PTSD and brain injury, and considerable resources are dedicated to applying “evidence-based treatments” to traumatized war veterans.

But at the time things were different and, unwilling to keep working in an organization whose view of reality was so at odds with my own, I handed in my resignation”

The Body Keeps the Score, Bessel van der Kolk

In the Age of Absurdity, it’s clear that Michael Foley is undeterred by his absence of knowledge or experience when making such assured pronouncements. He then turns his attention to depersonalisation, widely considered an adverse response mechanism for anxiety and stress, but apparently not for Foley.

In fact, The Age of Absurdity considers depersonalisation to be a good thing, claiming that ‘achieving personal detachment was considered to be a key factor in mental health, by every thinker from Buddha to Sartre.’ Neither, of course, renowned for their expertise as mental health clinicians.

It is this that perhaps explains Foley’s crass and ignoramus reading of Buzz Aldrin’s descent into alcoholism and depression following the moon landing mission, with Foley claiming depression to be ‘often the fate of the modern personality — greedy, attention-hungry, and resentful, always convinced of deserving more, always haunted by possibility of missing something better somewhere else, always smarting at a lack of recognition, and always dissatisfied.’

Away from this, Americans (apparently) do stupid things and people who play videogames and watch TV are wasting their time. The reader is then regaled with a ridiculous tale of the author’s fury at being unable to find a café that wasn’t playing music at 11am, whilst trying to discuss a thesis with a friend in Spain.

Truly have the horrors of the modern world been inflicted upon this poor soul.

It’s all very ‘old man shouts at clouds,’ and cheapens some of the more thoughtful and reflective moments in The Age of Absurdity. And that’s a real shame.

Critiques of structural social issues

The stronger parts of the book are the critiques of structural social issues. 

Capitalism, including its associated rampant consumerism, is a key target for Foley’s scorn. For example, the need for more, but without any certainty of the ‘whys’ behind the desire to accumulate ‘stuff’.

“If every time could be the last, it's as good as the first.”

The Age of Absurdity, Michael Foley

Particularly poignant are the sections on the absurdities of love and ageing, which produce some of the book’s most impressive observations on the fragility and tenuousness of our existence.

Both darkly amusing and touching in equal measure, these are the few areas where it appears that Foley is writing with some authority.

Is The Age of Absurdity worth reading?

Witty but inescapably bitter, The Age of Absurdity is a hard one to recommend. 

The first couple of chapters are excellent, and the later chapters are soberingly thoughtful, but for a book that extols the virtues of happiness in the introduction, it struggles to shake the pall of cynical bitterness and resentment towards newness and modernity.

What’s more, Foley is indisputably intelligent and perceptive. So it’s all the more frustrating when this intelligence evaporates to make room for denouncing ‘rap music’, ‘Americans’, and of course the classic modern complaint — how anybody can now ‘choose their gender’. 

Thoughtful at times, The Age of Absurdity is at its best when Foley leaves his strange, ignorant gripes at the door. Unfortunately, this is a rare occurrence, making for a turgid book laced with prejudice, and lacking the intellectual clout it thinks it has.

Rated 1 out of 5
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Sad Little Men by Richard Beard

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"All anglophone private schools exist in the shadow of the institutions that influenced their founding. They replicate the segregation and social exceptionalism reserved for superior beings destined to lead."

Title: Sad Little Men
Author: Richard Beard
Pages: 278
Published by: Harvill Secker (2021)

 

It’s 2021 and the UK government is embroiled in scandal.

Boris Johnson has to front up to parliament and apologise for partygate — a series of parties that took place at the height of the COVID-19 lockdowns — but appears unwilling to do so.

Remarkably, this will not bring his government down. That chapter, featuring a certain ‘Pincher by name, pincher by nature’ will unfold later.

But his bluster, deflection, and obfuscation reveals a naked exceptionalism about men like Johnson that will define his, and many others’, legacies.

This is where Richard Beard’s Sad Little Men picks up, promising an exploration of the origins behind the UK’s political leaders for the past century.

Sad Little Men
An Overview

“At an English boarding school [...] the world they enter is enclosed and has much in common with the asylum at Bethesda, Maryland, where [Erving] Goffman did most of his research”

Sad Little Men, Richard Beard

Sad Little Men makes the case that the culture of boarding schools produces highly flawed individuals. Beard, who attended boarding school at the same time as Boris Johnson and David Cameron, though not at the same institution, chronicles UK private school life throughout the ages, adding his own experiences throughout.

Lacking in empathy — and by extension the necessary qualities for a role in politics — Beard builds a picture of emotional deprivation and strident exceptionalism.

Ultimately, this damage trickles down to the electorate through bad policymaking and toxic rhetoric.

A word on the audiobook version. It’s exceptional, and arguably the best way to experience the book. The narrator, John Sackville, delivers a performance that’s well spoken in the manner of an old Radley College boy, but also quietly vulnerable with trauma leaking into the pronunciation of every word.

Sad little men and the fallout from ‘boarding school syndrome’

Plenty has been written about ‘boarding school syndrome,’ and even more research into attachment theory and its role in separation anxiety.

It’s in this vein that Beard questions how healthy it is to remove a young boy from his family home, to instead be raised by a surrogate parent such as a matron or schoolmaster — especially under the guise of it being ‘good for you’.

And boarding schools as a hotbed of extraordinary social privilege with crippling emotional deprivation, is Beard’s core thesis.

Private schools, declassified

Good old ‘regular’ private schools do not escape Beard’s condemnation either.

He argues that Eton, Winchester, Radley, and Harrow are simply the blueprints of success for every other private school in the land.

These schools exist in their own space and time, Beard argues, retaining many of the cultural and social-economic quirks and antics of previous decades.

On the one-hand, this could be seen as a sweeping generalisation. However, it’s hard to deny the evidence presented. On numerous occasions, Beard consults diary entries of famous alumni, including Orwell and Churchill, and points out the extraordinary similarities in culture across the decades.

These include the glorification of war, the ‘banter’, and the language used. The ‘tuck shop’ features — where young chaps can get their sweets — as does ‘prep’ time after school. 

Any reluctant private school attendee will recognise at least a handful of these.

Conclusion

Sad Little Men is unlikely to change the hearts and minds of the reader who has entrenched views on private schools.

Those who are in favour of private schools may — unkindly in my view — deride the book as a hit job from a disgruntled ‘old boy’. Meanwhile, readers with preconceived notions will likely find their prejudices bolstered by Beard’s book.

That’s not a criticism of Beard’s book, but more a reflection on our own time, where entrenched ‘sides’ and binary opposition thrive in the absence of nuance.

Regardless, Sad Little Men is at its best as an insightful look into the workings of private schools past and present — and a crucial intervention into the public conversation on the UK education system.

Rated 4 out of 5
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No One Left to Lie to (by Christopher Hitchens)

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“The acquittal of Clinton, and the forgiving by implication of his abuses of public power... has placed future crooked presidents in a strong position."

Title: No One Left to Lie to
Author: Christopher Hitchens
Pages: 338
Published by: Verso (1999)

Bill Clinton is a bad, bad man.

At least, that’s the impression one takes away from No One Left to Lie to.

Reading Hitchens’ account of the Clinton presidency, I’m reminded of the media coverage of President Trump’s impeachment, whose well-documented and heinous crimes against America are perceived to be unprecedented.

And yet reading No One Left to Lie to, Trump’s behaviour and abuse of public office seems, to the contrary, to be wholly precedented.

Clinton may not stand accused of provoking an insurrection, but his use of executive power to salvage personal reputation at the expense of respect to the electorate feels remarkably familiar to a 2020s reader.

Clinton’s Kryptonite

The central premise of No One Left to Lie to is Bill Clinton’s political triangulation and perceived dishonesty in the public eye.

Triangulation is a form of aloof centrism, claiming a tenuous moral high ground without any substantial grounding. It involves borrowing ideas from each political wing – not for the good of the nation, but more cynical reasons around political expediency.

It’s a revisionist take on the Democratic heyday of the 1990s from a journalist and writer who, much like his literary hero George Orwell, possessed that rare quality of eluding the binary boundaries of both the liberal Left and the conservative Right.

Christopher Hitchens defined himself as a leftist and a remnant of the international working class movement. Less swayed by binary political allegiance, Hitchens’ world views were shaped more by an internal moral compass – again, very much like Orwell.

'Hitchens was one of the very few people who could slash and burn you in print, then meet for drinks and talk in the true warmth of friendship, discussing a writer we both admired, garrulous to the very last. It was a sign of his essential decency that he didn’t make it personal.'

George Packer, The New Yorker (2011)

For example, Hitchens’ unwavering support for the Iraq War was a flashpoint between him and comrades on the Left, whilst his excoriating critiques of figures like the late Reverend Jerry Falwell drew the ire of the political right.

Of course, this didn’t make him infallible.

Is No One Left to Lie to a Reliable Text?

Hitchens is no stranger to polemical writing that challenges the reputation of seemingly untouchable public figures, such as Henry Kissinger and the late Princess Diana. He even branded Mother Teresa a ‘thieving, fanatical Albanian dwarf‘. 

Regardless of one’s views on Hitchens’ polemics, No One Left to Lie To was a bold book to write in 1999, considering the accusations levelled against President Clinton.

Openly accusing Clinton of rape on multiple occasions and including detailed witness accounts, Hitchens dismantles the carefully curated mask fostered by Clinton.

The stronger parts of No One Left to Lie to reside in the chapters dedicated to Clinton’s wielding of foreign policy. Hitchens argues that foreign policy under the Clinton administration was used both as a cudgel to flex US military supremacy and a shield to distract from criticism back home.

And with a number of sources close to the then-President, it’s a damning picture.

“By Tuesday, December 15, after Clinton’s last-ditch nonapology had “bombed” like all its predecessors, every headline had every waverer deciding for impeachment after all. On Wednesday afternoon, the president announced that Saddam Hussein was, shockingly enough, not complying with the UN inspectorate.

And the cruise missiles took wing again. Within hours, the House Republicans had met and, “furious and fractured,” according to the New York Times, had announced the postponement of the impeachment debate, due to begin on Thursday morning.”

Christopher Hitchens, No One Left to Lie to (1999)

The stronger parts of No One Left to Lie to reside in the chapters dedicated to Clinton’s wielding of foreign policy. Hitchens argues that foreign policy under the Clinton administration was used both as a cudgel to flex US military supremacy and a shield to distract from criticism back home.

And with a number of sources close to the then-President, it’s a damning picture.

Final Thoughts

Whilst Hitchens was a great writer and rhetorician, this was not ‘The Hitch’ at the peak of his powers. It’s overly wordy for such a brief text, and his prose lacks the wit and fluidity found in later books such as god is Not Great.

Regardless, No One Left to Lie To remains a powerful contrarian viewpoint and a sensational polemic against a much-loved former US President.

But to get the most out of this book, it’s imperative to leave political biases at the door and judge on the evidence contained within.

A must-read piece of political journalism.

Rated 4 out of 5
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12 Bytes (by Jeanette Winterson)

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“There’s a new kind of quasi-religious discourse forming, with its own followers, its creed, its orthodoxy, its heretics, its priests, its literature, its eschatological framework. Even its own Singularity. It’s AI.”

Title: 12 Bytes
Author: Jeanette Winterson
Pages: 368
Published by: Grove Press

ChatGPT, everyone’s favourite purveyor of bad poetry, was released in November 2022, with OpenAI’s generative AI tool altering the landscape of work for a number of industries. 

This of course extended to indie authors who, long-acquainted with having the odds stacked against them, found Kindle Unlimited flooded with bookish sewage overnight as a clutch of have-a-go writers and grifters took advantage. Fortunately, Amazon would eventually restrict them from only publishing a mere 3 books a day. That’ll teach them.

This brings us to 12 Bytes, a brilliant piece of non-fiction by witty wordsmith and all-round literary rockstar, Jeanette Winterson. Published as a series of topical essays, she guides the reader through key developments in tech.

And whilst it helps if the reader is familiar with AI, this is by no means mandatory – this is pure Winterson; informative and hilarious in equal measure.

Welcome to the metaverse

From sex robots and metaverse avatars, to transhumanist biotech such as Neuralink, the future is digital, whether you like it or not. 

And 12 Bytes offers a great insight into this from the perspective of a writer. Winterson speaks on the topic with a prescience, having immersed herself in the worlds of big tech, automation, and AI for a number of years.

In fact, her 2019 novel Frankissstein was a retelling of Mary Shelley’s famous gothic novel, with the monster less a physical manifestation and more a discussion on the ethics of AI, transhumanism, and cryonics.

Likewise, as generative AI develops in leaps and bounds, it poses a number of questions for society, including the future of creativity and employment. These are big, emotive topics with rival pro and anti-AI camps emerging in creative circles.

Binary opposition

Because our society thrives on binary opposition, the subject of AI has pitched tech evangelists against artists in public discourse.

Artists and publishers are (understandably) concerned that their work is being used to train AI tools, whilst the tech sector has to make the case that regulation (such as the EU’s AI Act) must be applied in calm and informed moderation rather than in a reactionary manner.

Fortunately, Winterson doesn’t buy into this adversarial discourse – engaging with the topic of artificial intelligence with, well, intelligence and nuance.

It’s worth noting that 12 Bytes was actually published in 2021, over a year prior to us mere mortals gaining access to generative AI tools. 

I asked Winterson at Manchester Lit Fest whether her thoughts had changed since the dawn of publicly available generative AI tools. 

Her answer? 

“Well, I have to be optimistic, because what’s the alternative?”

In 12 Bytes Winterson envisions a world where AI could help transcend human limitations and biases. Is this overly optimistic? Time will tell.

Womens’ erasure from tech - A tale as old as time

We live in a world of ‘tech bros’. Think Mark Zuckerberg, Elon Musk, and Sam Altman. 

Tech Bro Spirit Halloween Costume - Stuff Tech Bros Like
Source: StuffTechBrosLike

And yet Winterson drops a series of truth bombs throughout 12 Bytes. The forerunners to modern tech innovations such as AI and automation lie in the work done by women. 

12 Bytes analyses the history of tech, bringing the women responsible for our current advancements into the public consciousness. She pores over the work of Ada Lovelace in particular, taking jabs at the notion that tech is predominantly for men (a myth invariably propagated by men).

To be clear, this isn’t a polemical book – it’s just the facts. And because of this, 12 Bytes is important. It’s a chronicle of history that simply isn’t taught or discussed, arriving at a time in which artificial intelligence models are being trained en masse in a sector lacking in diversity.

And from a historical perspective, 12 Bytes is a fantastic chronicle of the erasure of womens’ roles in tech. Even those familiar with the subject will find some of the passages astounding.

Final Thoughts

12 Bytes is an excellent piece of non-fiction that manages to inform and entertain in equal measure. 

At times Winterson, a sharp thinker, falls foul of the ‘looking at screens is inherently bad for us’ trope when discussing technology, which doesn’t hold up under any meaningful scrutiny.

Still, 12 Bytes is a witty and highly competent analysis of the tech sector’s history, and a must-read for anyone curious about the past, present, and future of the industry.

Rated 4 out of 5
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The Dark Side of the Sky (by Francesco Dmitri)

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Dark Side of the Sky Book Review
Dark Night of the Sky Francesco Dmitri Book review

‘Our whole life — what we believe, what we do — hinges on whatever answer we give. What do we live for?

Since before we are born, there is a whole world deciding for us [...] Making laws for us to follow and inflicting punishments if we dare to differ.’

Title: The Dark Side of the Sky
Author: Francesco Dmitri
Pages: 355
Published by: Titan Books

As the dark of evening gathers and the fire crackles, the Open Feast awaits you and your fellow guests.

You gather around the fire, close your eyes, and hum in unison with your misfits-in-arms. The hubbub builds until it reaches its zenith, and you sense an otherworldly presence as the known world melts away.

This is The Dark Side of the Sky, a marvellous piece of contemporary magic realism from Francesco Dmitri, author of Never the Wind and The Book of Hidden Things.

It’s a thrilling tale of belonging, morality, and a reexamination of the social contract we all unwittingly sign upon birth.

What is The Dark Side of the Sky about?

Dmitri’s latest novel follows The Bastion, a spiritualist collective living in relative isolation on a reserve in Puglia, south Italy.

Once a year, the Bastion extends an exclusive invitation to the ‘Open Feast,’ a secretive cultural retreat for the curious. The Feast’s visitors, all with divergent life experiences, arrive for different reasons.

These include Zoey Lee, CEO of Soul Journey — a mind, body, and spirit festival — who is keen to check out what competitors in the sector are doing. Charlie, a young professional French woman, looks for answers following a recent traumatic event. Meanwhile, Mikka, a roving hippie with a penchant for hard drugs, seeks a fraternal home.

The Dark Side of the Sky follows the lives of Open Feast participants from their humdrum day-to-day lives, through to the more exotic, mind-bending nights by the campfire. Told from multiple perspectives, Dmitri spins a truly brilliant yarn with an equally solid cast of characters.

Nuanced and morally complex

Every generation, the media—invariably right-leaning—selects a group of people it decides to ostracise.

Whether it’s The Catcher in the Rye poisoning the youth of its time, the wealth of moral panics around comic books, or sinister emo bands ‘cults’ corrupting our children, history isn’t short of cultural scapegoats.

But there’s a common thread that binds these incidents. A new or ‘alternative’ form of art emerges, prompting the media to run a handful of shock-jock stories on the alleged effects it has on the younger generation.

On the face of it, The Bastion is an ideal target. They’re young, hostile to social norms, and believe that they’re going to save the world. At best, it appears naive — a target ripe for ridicule — and at worst, a dangerous inculcation of Messianic dogma.

There’s a risk that a novel like this lapses into straightforward binaries of good versus evil, old versus young, and progressive versus regressive, with our outsiders struggling against a system rigged against them.

However, The Dark Side of the Sky is a delightfully nuanced and morally complex novel that blurs the boundary of cult and community in a fascinating way, riffing on this ambiguity to disorientate the reader.

Final Thoughts

The Dark Side of the Sky is peak magic realism, managing to capture that elusive balance of real-world relatability and implied wonder that masters of the genre exhibit.

With beautiful, evocative, (and sometimes brutal) writing, Dmitri’s novel captures the magic of the Open Feast with great success. The writing style is ‘literary’ without being too high-minded, and accessible without being too simplistic.

The setting of Puglia does feel frustratingly underutilised — the Open Feast could, conceivably, have been held anywhere — but it doesn’t detract from an excellent tale and may even help reach a wider audience.

In any case, The Dark Side of the Sky is a genuine page-turner that will generate lots of discussion and debate, both at book clubs and online. I’ll certainly be checking out Dmitri’s back catalogue after this one.

Rated 4 out of 5
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