At five in the morning of
Tuesday, September the 4th, a 27-year-old Red Bull heir Vorayuth
Yoovidhya drove his million-dollar Ferrari on the road in a fashionable area of
Bangkok where he hit a policeman on a motorcycle on patrol. The driver failed to
stop after the impact. From the look at the damaged Ferrari it appears it had
been driven fast.
How fast was the Ferrari
going before the accident? Did the policeman suddenly cut in front of the
Ferrari as claimed by the Ferrari driver? Did the accident happen while the
driver was sober as his family lawyer claimed? The press reports from the
English language papers add new details daily and contradict earlier reports.
The basic facts are reported in The Nation. The Ferrari was estimated to be
traveling at 200 kph when the accident happened. As with many crime and accident
scenes, the press leaked information. Whether this information is accurate is
another question. What we know from the press is: “Impact traces show that the
Ferrari crashed straight into the rear of the motorbike, leaving an imprint of
the bike’s exhaust pipe on the car’s front.”
The body of the policeman
appeared to have been stuck on the bonnet; his motorbike was dragged 200 meters
before the Ferrari finally drove clear of the wreckage. Before that the
policeman’s body fell from the car onto the street, whereupon he was assumed to
die, with a broken neck and multiple broken bones.
Was the driver drunk at
the time his car rammed into the back of the police motorcycle?
According to the Bangkok Post, Vorayuth’s alcohol level exceeded
the legal limit. As the test was taken hours after the accident it might be
assumed at the time of the accident it was higher. Why the delay in testing for
alcohol in a hit and run case involving the death of a police officer? Because
the police were refused access to enter the Red Bull family compound where the
driver was hiding after the accident. The family driver falsely claimed that he
had been driving the Ferrari.
people don’t like inconvenient facts or evidence. One of the hugely important
aspects of great wealth and power is to control information. To make certain
that information channels pitch your story in the best possible light and ignore
facts or evidence that might discredit that story.
We have a story to tell of
the driver, the grandson of a wealthy family, who drove his heavily damaged
million dollar car, leaving behind like bread crumbs a trail of engine oil from
the accident scene right to the family house and underground garage. He parked
the car and went into the house.
Shortly after 5.00 a.m.,
at the moment of impact everything changed for the two men involved. One was a
cop who died. The other was a rich kid doing what rich kids do—seeking refuge in
the family mansion. Vorayuth could have stopped his Ferrari and went to the aid
of the police officer he had struck. It is impossible to know whether the
initial impact or the subsequent dragging of the officer resulted in his death.
However small the chance, it might have made a difference. At least to the
What happened next is
revealing on a number of cultural, social and political levels. Let’s be honest.
People panic. People make mistakes. People exercise poor judgment in a crisis,
and, at this crucial time, the cultural training of a lifetime comes into play
as they go into automatic pilot. This is the moment when what people are taught
by their parents, schools, and others in their lives can be understood more
If you live in a place
where the default is to game the system, you couldn’t ask for a better case
The initial contact at the
family mansion was by the local police who showed up at the door and were denied
entry—by a maid. The door was shut. The police walked away. Yes, an officer has
been killed, and the servant at the wealthy person’s door said they could not
enter. Wealth and influence induce fear and the police rather than pressing
ahead, did what one comes to expect. Find a ‘middle way’—meaning a way to fix
the problem. A senior police officer from the local district police station (the
one where the dead officer was assigned) apparently made a deal with a servant
of the family to let someone else in the household (another servant of course)
to take the fall for Vorayuth. They went in the side door.
This was a hard switch to
make plausible. It wasn’t as if the driver had taken the second hand pickup out
for a run. Maids, gardeners, and drivers normally aren’t given the keys to
million dollar sport’s cars to have a little fun early spin around the
neighborhood. The set up smacked of desperation or arrogance; probably a bit of
I want to pause for a
moment and ask you to consider how culture comes into play in such a tragedy.
Privilege, entitlement, influence, connections are words we all know. They are
abstract concept but with real consequences. The default action of the family
and the police was to game the system.
That’s how immense power
works everywhere, and it is why the rule of law is the only mechanism we have to
restrain those with such power from running us over and pushing a servant
forward as the ‘cut out’ or ‘fall guy’ so that the heir to the family fortune
can have the Ferrari repaired and ready to drive another day.
After hours negotiation
between the police and the family and their lawyer, the 27-year-old heir was
taken to police station and promptly released on a USD16,000 bail.
One of the saddest aspects
of the case is the likelihood that money will talk and punishment will be
reduced to compensation for the victim’s family. It has happened before. After
enough incidents of this kind it is difficult to not to conclude that this is
how the system works. It’s not a freakish outcome; it’s a normal one where
officials and someone in a rich family work out a corrupt solution to ‘fix’ the
problem. If the servant of the Red Bull heir had taken the place of the driver,
an innocent man would have been sent to prison to serve the time for the
wrongful death. This is the heart of corruption, of the system gamers, the flaw
of the patronage system—all of it played out on Sukhumvit Road, inside a
mansion, the parties locked in the embrace of cover up and
It’s not necessarily that
Thais don’t have a sense of justice but they have seen too many examples of
impunity enjoyed by the rich and powerful when they break the law. This Red Bull
heir case came just a few weeks after a ‘hi-so’ teen driver, daughter of a high
ranking official, was given two-year suspended sentence after having been found
guilty of reckless driving causing 9 deaths. She was just 16 and driving without
license when the fatal accident happened on an express way two years ago.
Besides the suspended sentence, the punishment included 48 hours of community
service and banned driving until 25.
asking: Will the Red
Bull heir join a long list of Thailand’s privileged youths who have killed
ordinary people with their cars and have served no time? Actors, singers,
celebrities, and children from well-connected families with influential surnames
and ranks, are often given a ‘Get out of Jail’ card. Here is a
small sample made by a Thai in 2010.
In this case, the wealthy
family lost control of the information. The evidence was overwhelming and
obvious who was the driver and who was lying to protect him. The senior police
officer involved in the failed coverup was soon transferred to what is called in
English an ‘inactive’ post. Unless you’ve lived in Thailand you might not be
familiar with inactive posts. Think of an inactive post as a secular purgatory
where cops, bureaucrats, and other public servants are sent. It is a temporary
limbo existence for those who have been caught taking bribes, fiddling the
books, planting evidence, abusing their authority or otherwise breaking the law
The official in the
inactive post continues to draw his salary and stays at home or catches up on
his golf game, waiting until the scandal blows over. At the point—weeks or
months—the official is quietly eased back into service. People forget about it.
There is no memory. No follow up in the press. It is as if it never happened.
The inactive post is what passes for ‘punishment” and justices in cases such as
In other legal systems, a
cop conspiring to subvert justice would have committed a serious crime. His
action would be seen as undermining the rule of law and he would be arrested and
charged of a crime and if found guilty sentence to prison. An ‘inactive’ post is
a telltale sign that the rule of law is not a justice system that applies
equally to all citizens. In this Orwellian world of fixers, the money card
trumps the justice aspiration. What happened in the Ferrari hit–and-run case is
not unique. If you live abroad, you know about this case because the weight of
Red Bull fortune puts the family on the radar screen of the richest people on
the planet. People take great interest in the lives of the rich and famous
especially when they run afoul of the law. They want to know how that person
will be treated, knowing the outcome will speak volumes about the strength of
the legal system against the weight of money and influence.
The Bangkok city police
general took control over the investigation saying that he would see the driver
in the dock or he would resign. In reality criminal cases like this one often
drag on for a long time. It is not uncommon for years to pass before there is a
verdict. Most Thais are skeptical. Reuters published a piece on impunity for
the rich and famous following this case.
“Jail is only for the poor. The
rich never get punished. Find a scapegoat,” said one of a stream of comments
posted on the popular Thai website, Panthip.com.
Another on news site Manager.co.th
read: “He’ll probably just get a suspended sentence. What’s the cost of a
Suspended jail terms do seem to be
the norm for politically powerful or well-connected Thais.
There is a chance the
family driver might go to jail for his willingness to take the fall for the
family. The senior cop who had conspired to help the family might also suffer
more than the usual punishment of a couple of month in an inactive post. They
are the little people in this drama. What will happen to the driver? The Reuters
report gives a hint of what most Thais believe to be the outcome.
The rule of law protects
the ordinary man or woman, but inside a system of titans who are viewed as being
blessed by their good karma—blood money exchanges hands. Such big people are to
be respected and deferred to and never challenged. When you live in a position
above the law you and your family can commit crimes knowing, that at the end of
the day, you can’t be touched personally so long as you open your wallet. The
amounts paid in such cases by Western standards are very small. And that’s the
way things are. In a few weeks, other news will overtake this story. It will be
buried. Like the dead police officer, the Red Bull Ferrari story will rest in a
forgotten grave that only a few people will visit.
The great California Gold
Rush of 1849 drew thousands of people who dreamed of striking it rich by panning
for gold. One lesson of ’49 was the people who found riches weren’t the miners
but those who sold them shovels, pans, buckets and pots. Another lesson is that
whenever there is a gold rush, those not caught up in the fever figure out a way
to supply the shovels and picks. This merchant class knows where the money is to
be found. It is rarely in the mass hysteria of crowds all searching for the
What reminded me of the
Gold Rush was an article in The New
featuring an online entrepreneur who founded a business of selling reviews to
self-published authors of eBooks. He invented the digital shovel for the new era
of gold rush miners—self-published eBook authors.
Last Friday, I wrote about
the practice of buying shopping cartloads of Twitter
followers. Another gold miner’s pan in
the river rumored to have gold turns out to be only part of the gear eBook
authors are using in their mining operation. This is part of a larger story of
how some authors are gaming the system. (It would be wrong to say all
or even a vast majority of self-published eBooks authors are engaging in this
conduct, or that it is limited to the self-published author—it is
The stories from the
miners who have struck gold and the shovels, pans and buckets they’ve employed,
continue to expand. The New York Times story ran for four-page article detailing
the buying of reader reviews. John Locke, who cracked the million book sale’s
mark as a self-published author apparently kick-started his best-seller status
through paying for 50 reviews of his books.
The dark side of
publishing is getting darker as the number of eBooks and self-published authors
increases and traditionally published authors feel the heat of declining sales
and rankings. Before the internet and e-publishing, an author, if she or he
wanted to be published, had to find an agent (no easy task) and the agent had to
find a publisher for the book. That process was a difficult, tiresome,
time-consuming, frustrating, and at times bitterly disappointing. People who
felt that they had a book in them saw these obstacles to getting the book
published usually decided the effort of writing a book with a dim chance of
getting published wasn’t worth the effort. They elected to keep that book inside
With these old barriers
removed, the obstacles to publishing have been torn down like the Berlin Wall.
Anyone can publish just about anything as an eBook, although tearing down the
barriers to publishing has done nothing to remove the barriers to selling more
than a 100 copies.
But a number of authors
have been creative in finding ways to tunnel behind the remaining Berlin
Wall—bestseller status. Those channels have become expressways. The ‘Black Hats’
in the gray industry supporting Internet services are the engineers building
The fallacy in
e-publishing is that now traditional publishers no longer hold the keys to the
door to publishing. All one needs are adoring fans and reviewers and the author
can show the world that his or her talent was always there, neglected,
unrecognized and nearly lost for posterity but for eBooks. In other words, you
have gold to sell. If only you could let everyone know, and the cost is below
market price for gold, too.
Things haven’t quite
worked out that way for most eBook authors.
It is turning out that
readers and authors in eBooks culture are losing their innocence as discover the
environment is parasite infested; “Black Hats” are a business, its members sell
all digital tools to game the system. Readers can no longer trust reviews they
read online. They start to question the actual number of people who make up an
author’s platform. It’s like trying to buy a car from a lot in a bad
neighborhood. You might get a deal, or you might get a lemon. The realization is
hitting home that the eBook business was never about books. It hides in the book
world; wants to be accepted as a book world that readers and authors can
The more we learn about
how the “Black Hats” effectively game the system, the more we learn the hard
lesson that readers are another group of consumers who can be fooled and
tricked. The eBook racket is modeled on the gold miners’ supply operation, only
it operates in cyberspace. What the New York Times article on bought
reviews fails to deliver is a tour through the Black Hat world where
professional hired-guns plant reviews for hotel rooms and just about any other
consumer good or service. This website has an article titled “Fake Review
Optimization –How black hat masters beat the travel system” that will introduce
you to the underworld where the Black Hats toil.
The death of Neil
Armstrong is a reminder of men who were heroes not for their huge
accomplishments but for the fact they refused to prostitute themselves to
capitalize and turn their achievement into money. Armstrong bought a farm in
Ohio. He was a recluse. He avoided interviews and talk shows. J.D. Salinger
avoided interviews, the literary limelight, and the cocktail circuit. He let his
books find their own way.
The eBook world isn’t
noted for the publicity shy personalities of a Neil Armstrong or J.D. Salinger.
This is the recreation of the old-styled Wild West of the unsettled frontier
with the brash gunslingers spoiling for a fight.
The digital world has
produced a number of eBook authors who, like preachers of that old time
religion, gather their flocks and set up court in the tradition of third world
dictators. Part of this striving for success in the eBook world is
understandable as an adaptation of the celebrity culture to the culture of
books. There have always been celebrity authors from Charles Dickens to Ernest
Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald, to the Norman Mailers, John Updikes and Saul
Bellows. They gather audience of admirers. Their books were read and admired
across class, religious and political divides. These writers didn’t write down
to their audience. And that audience was book orientated, cohesive, and quality
minded. In their day, books were an important part of the intellectual domain
that educated people were expected to read and expected those in their circle to
read. When the content of books were the subject of conversation.
That time has gone. The
world of books has moved on since the passing of these authors. Those who have
replaced them have found themselves in a world of vanishing bookstores, critics,
newspaper reviewers, independent publishers, and crowded by other forms of
leisure time online, along with diminished attention span and focus required to
read a complex novel.
Publishing, with the
explosion of eBooks, has become a feature of the retribalization of populations.
To get a book contract with a large publisher is easier for those who have
established their ability to self-publish a book that demonstrates the author’s
ability (not to write or tell a story) but to act as a superior tribe
accumulator. Buying Twitter followers is a way to announce the size of one’s
tribe. Agents and publishers call it a ‘platform’ but let’s be blunt—it is the
size of the writer’s tribe that counts.
Buying reviews is a short
cut. With dozens if not hundreds of five-star reviews, the author shows his
tribal chops; he has the commercial ability to form a unified consensus amongst
a group of people and he lays claim to being their leader. The digital book
becomes a sacred, divine text. We don’t have to go back far into history to know
that criticism of the divine is heresy, and anyone who says your tribal leader
has written a moronic book, populated with two-dimensional characters, who have
nothing of interest to say, is going to find the full wrath of any
quasi-religious cult follower who believes his or her idol and belief system has
A reviewer who says the
book isn’t her cup of tea is also put to the sword by the author’s tribe. A book
by a tribal leader is by definition a five-star, #1 NYT bestseller. Anything
less is intolerable. One example is a New York Times bestselling author
suggested that a reviewertake down her one-star Amazon review of her
book after the reviewer named Corey
received threatening phone calls from the author’s fans. One of the fans told
the reviewer to kill herself for having given the book a one-star review, which
came after the author’s husband lambasted another reviewer for giving his wife a
one-star on Amazon.
Interestingly the author,
in a plea to put this unpleasantness to a stop, asked the reviewer who received
death threats to remove her one-star review. In other words, she blamed the
reviewer for the attack.
One would have hoped the
author would post a comment to the effect:
If you post a review saying you
love my book that makes me happy. If someone doesn’t share that opinion, that is
fine, too. Negative reviews DO NOT MAKE ME UNHAPPY. They are part of what I
accept as an author and all readers should accept as part of a book loving
culture. We live in a world of diversity, please allow others to share their
opinions of my books because this is the true meaning of freedom of expression.
Honor this freedom, and you honor not just my books but all
But that isn’t what
happened. The reviewer didn’t remove it. But it was removed from Amazon.
Censored out of existence. Stored in Room 101 next to Winston Smith’s chair.
This smacks of the entitlement culture of the new world order; a way of looking
at things that Orwell would have seen as evidence of minds sculpted with the
knife of fascism and totalitarianism. Read Corey Ann’s
account; it is like watching a
mugging in slow motion. It is ugly and painful.
How did we arrive at a
point where dissent and criticism are prohibited and those who persist are
bullied and threatened? Five-star reviews are like weeds not unlike the grade
inflation that has ruined the gardens of schools and universities. Things turn
ugly online when someone tries to weed the garden. Reviewers are ambushed and
taken down. Why? Because they misunderstand the new social contract where
everyone is a genius, everyone is special, and you, too, are Number 1. No one’s
feeling must be hurt by a review that the book they wrote has flaws. We are
witness to the narcissistic personality having found the perfect medium—the
Internet—where it breeds clones of itself by the hundreds of
Books are no longer books
but ‘objects’ of veneration. A group of authors have crossed over into the realm
of tribal flags, colors, sacred writings, which allow the leader to rally his or
her followers—who become troops in battles against anyone who’d dare give a one
or two star review to the divine revelations contained in the leader’s latest
eBook. We have entered into the land of ‘entitlement’, where some authors expect
only five-star reviews.
Solipsism is a curse and
digital publishing promotes this terrible defect in the human psyche. It draws
from the sports metaphor where winning, being number one is the driving passion
for the player and the audience. Being Number One is being The Most Valuable
Player on the team. The mentality is also found in the military. The numbers of
book sales translates into the equivalent of a soldier’s rank and combat
decorations. Sales figures make the author a ‘hero-warrior’ to his tribe and
demonstrate to his loyal followers that indeed they should all take pride in
their tribal leader who is owed everything.
As eBooks and the digital
frontier becomes the new place for tribal warfare, no one is much talking about
the books themselves. That is the point. How we look at the publishing process,
the role of authors, and the role of readers; books have become tribal icons,
vanity calling cards, and status plays. The bands of devoted readers aren’t
going to sift through the hundreds of thousands of new titles any more than
traditional publishers with their slush piles. Most people read very few
authors. Readers stick by the authors they know and like. At the same time,
readers are open to try new authors if they know about a book and see that
others have liked it by posting a review. As readers, we are also panning for
Like most religions, most
books/authors, over time, disappear without a trace like a gold miner’s boot
print on a muddy riverbank. The same fate awaits most eBooks. Most of the
authors will never have a tribe. Just like most of the gold miners in ’49 didn’t
find gold. That doesn’t stop the ruthless, unethical and fraudulent activities
of some authors to manufacture a phony tribe, or those with a tribe to bully
anyone who dares to give less than five stars to a book by a cult
There was a time when
reviewers looked at the merits of a book, and readers, knowing a reviewer’s
taste, and decided whether they might like the book. The culture of legacy
publishing and the professional reviewers have been on a rapid decline. Is it
now the cult of the celebrity author and not the book that matters? Have we lost
our ability to admit that even the best of authors can write an average to poor
The world of books spins
out of the old orbit—and the new orbit is looking more and more like something
out of Orwell. Public relations, marketing and gaming the system has created
distorted and ugly politics, and it created an even uglier, desolate and
artificial world leaving behind an unmarked grave of authors who enriched us
with their rare glimpses of life and the human condition forged through
imagination, creativity and talent.
As we celebrate the
possibility of expanding the number of writers, we also mourn a time passing out
of mind when a negative review didn’t trigger death threats or threats of
litigation to the reviewer. The new gold rush has just begun, and if money is
your game, then you’ll be busy this weekend designing the latest shovel for the
legions of eBook gold miners who have heard the siren call of the new
Meanwhile, we should
remember most of the world of books is still found in libraries, bookstores, and
news agents. The traditional book industry had and has its problems and
shortcomings but it was never an easy system to game. In comparison with the
fraudulent and unethical practices that continue to evolve in the eBook world,
readers may return to buying physical books. They may return to
bookstores. That would be a good thing. The independent bookstore staff cared
about its customers because the owners were also readers. Sadly many of the
independents are closed or in financial trouble. If you are lucky enough to have
a local independent bookstore, stop in and give them a hug and tell them, thank
you for being there. Buy one of their books. Ask a member of staff to recommend
If you are broke, or don’t
have a job, but love to read. Send me an email and I’ll send you a book. Read
it, pass it on to someone who finds themselves in the same circumstances, and
ask them to do the same. Authors write to be read. It’s hard being an author
today, and it seems it is hard being a reader, too. With some luck we might find
more people in the book industry who adopt the message on the sign at the
I’d say that dude is one
beautiful human being.
The words on the sign are
the kind of message I want to remember when I feel depressed about how the eBook
business has been gamed by the “Black Hats.”
Those are two questions
people have asked themselves since people with sufficiently large brains evolved
enough to ask questions. Our social fabric and political institutions rely
largely on trust. If you need to verify every statement, word, intention, motive
for reliability, truthfulness, and integrity, you will need to get up much
earlier every day and be prepared to accomplish much less even though you have
The problem is our brains
are large enough to ask the right questions, but not large enough from getting
fooled a great deal of the time. The gap between asking the right questions and
relying on the wrong information has grown in cyberspace.
There’s no need to pretend
that the analogue world was a fortress of trust, integrity, and honesty. Our
species has a long history of cheats, free riders, charlatans, and con
Holden Caulfield, J.D.
Salinger’s immortal teenager in The
Catcher in the Rye, hated ‘phonies’ who were ‘fakes’ by another name. Holden
was a product of the 1940s and 1950s. Fakes are sometimes good. Like in an
American style football game, the quarterback who fakes handing off the football
to the full back, pulls back and throws to the wide receiver for a winning
touchdown. That quarterback is a hero. The football hero’s use of the fake is
celebrated, rewarded and glorified.
Mostly thought, we
understand that ‘fakes’ like in antiques, smiles, and Gucci handbags carry
disapproval, social punishment, and possible criminal charges. Like Holden, we
think of these people and their fakes as phonies. We don’t much like phonies
anymore than Holden did.
So what is behind the
‘fake’ in cyberspace? The beauty of capitalism is the ability of wily
entrepreneurs to spot and exploit market demands. The New York Times has an article on how
entertainers, actors, musicians, politicians and authors who wish for others to
judge them as successful and popular have been into the marketplace to buy fake
Has there ever been a time
when the demand for status has suffered a recession or depression? If you find
such a time and place, please get back to me. Otherwise, I am proceeding in this
essay on the assumption that the graph for status demand shows a universal
upward trend. What makes entrepreneurs rich is, they don’t fight this flaw in
human nature, they find a way to make money from it.
It is a rough and tough
digital and analogue marketplace where everyone wants to be ‘liked’ and everyone
is looking for an edge or shortcut to stardom, election, or a bestseller. There
is the hard way—luck plays a factor—where the person relies on achieving
recognition and success through talent, creativity, hard work, and timing. We
live in the big easy. Why not leap over the others trying to do exactly what you
are doing but seem to be gaining more recognition and buy a couple of plane
loads of new passengers who arrive at your personal airport.
Watch them file off the
plane, smiling, waving, telling the world how much they love and admire you and
hang on your every 140-word plug of your latest gig, sale, book, blog,
appearance, or that nice salad you had for lunch.
All of those Twitter
followers—the statistics are there in public for all to see— admire you. They
want to support you as a special, talented genius. They can’t wait to buy what
you have to offer, tell their friends about how they bought everything you
produce, and write glowing reviews and tweets about you as if every day is Oscar
night and you won in five separate categories but couldn’t accept as you were in
Stockholm receiving a Nobel Prize.
If you want to increase
the number of people who follow you on Twitter, you can go to a place and buy
new followers. At fiverr you can shell
out $5 for 1,000. There are according to the NYT article many such sites.
Cyberspace has evolved an entire market based on fakery. The ecology of
Cyberspace has always been swimming with sharks. Until recently no one knew how
many of the sharks were fake. In the case of many ‘celebrity’ personalities, it
seems the aquarium they’ve created, if the fakes are stripped out, reveals a
couple of minnows hugging the glass at the far end, hiding behind a fake rock.
You can now check out that aquarium by going to a website called Faker Status People to expose
the empty aquarium—or so it claims.
Holden Caulfield, that
perpetual teenager warned us about the phonies. We need to update Holden’s
world, our world, with the idea that digital worlds are filled with those who
wish to ‘game’ the system; they see a zero sum game, and will pay any amount, do
anything, write or say anything, that builds the illusory aquarium and invites
you in to see the glory of their achievement.
Cyberspace has made every
one of us a private detective. You need to search and verify claims. Your
default should be skeptical and leery of big claims and numbers. Routinely use
and update tools online to verify claims and numbers before you believe the
number of fans online are real fans.
Assume there is a vast
digital cemetery of ghost fans who haunt you screen and urge you to see a film,
buy a book, watch a comic, or listen to a singer or band. We live in the land of
ghosts in the machine (Arthur Koestler died too soon to witness his prediction).
Only with one difference: ghosts were, by tradition, once people. Online large
numbers of the fake followers were more likely bots than real people. Bots,
zombies or ghosts, the fake Twitter followers are marching across your screen,
and pretending to be alive.
You are Vincent Calvino.
Look out for the ambush. Watch out for the conmen. Finding what is popular and
good has never been easy as it is often lost in the haze and noise of a busy
marketplace. There are no shortcuts. No one will look out for you
The same applies to
status—those who seek shortcuts are ultimately exposed for their fakery. The
peacock having lost its feathers is a strangely lonely, pathetic, naked bird. No
one wants to mate with a loser. That is the message. Peacock feathers fall in a
cyberspace rainstorm as we call the bluff. All eyes turn to watch the sky turn
colorful, thick with beautiful fake feathers, like a good Gabriel García
Márquez’s novel, knowing we will never look at the sky quite the same way
What do you remember from
this morning? Yesterday, last week, last year, when you were thirty years old,
when you were nine years old? What passes through the memory bottleneck and can
be recalled with ease? Our memory capacity is finite, limited, unstable and
dynamic. Witnesses to a crime inevitably report events that contradict each
other. To bear witness to a crime, an accident, the shock of the unexpected is a
high memory value moment. We process such moments into memory with more success
than the normal, routine activities that arrange our lives like a dance card
where the tunes, faces, and activities unfold as if by automatic
We have a memory carrying
capacity. Beyond that point, is the well-traveled path of overload and
forgeting. How many times do you wish you had a memory stick upload
information? It would make learning a foreign language much easier. We are some
time away from expanding our personal memory capacity. The irony is that we are
drowning in a huge sea of information, most of which we will forget the next
Ground Hog Day is
the classic movie about the repetition and sameness of life. Bill Murray the TV
anchor finds himself stranded into a day that is caught in a time loop and
endlessly repeats the same events, in the same order. I have that sense
reading the daily newspapers in Bangkok. The stories about corruption, murder,
incompetence, and lying unfold as if I am caught in the Thai equivalent of
Ground Hog Day.
The spider’s web of memory
stretches across our days. Sometimes we catch a fly. It satisfies a
hunger. Memory, controlling it, determining the content, and ensuring the right
things are remembered fall into the political realm. A great deal of
vested interest is found in the way political process uses our memories often
against us and for the politicians’ own interest.
There are the candlestick
makers, and their vision of memory is the warm, soft glow that only lit candles
can bring, the rituals of birth, marriage, graduation and death are framed in
this candlelight. One day a group of electricians come to the realm. Their
technology doesn’t depend on candlestick makers; indeed, the electricians have a
technology that will remove the candlestick makers from their high position in
society and in politics. The new elite will be the electricians. The clash
between the candlestick makers and the electricians is life and death. We are
reminded of those precious candle lit moments, ones that are shared with our
parents, their parents, going back far in time. Candles are our memory cue. How
can we turn to electricity, an alien technology, which threatens continuity and
ultimately will cause us to forget about the world when our lives were
illuminated by candles?
The electricians, if they
succeed, will be the new elite. The candlestick makers, their wealth, status,
and authority will fade into oblivion. No one will remember how powerful and
important these candlestick makers were. We will remember the world of
electricians, and they assume their role of the new elite. The history of
technology suggests that one-day, like the candle makers before them, the
electricians will be replaced—and not without a struggle. There is always a
battle to win before the old memory keepers are lost to history. Except as a
footnote, and demoted to a footnote is not what any candlestick memory wishes
for. People rarely read footnotes and almost never remember them if they
We pay attention to what
we are shown and to what we are told. A great deal of what we pay attention to
is pre-selected. We rarely question the selection process or consider what it
means for our understanding of priorities in the larger world.
I have been asked what I
remember about the 2012 Olympics.
What I remember is
watching the Olympics at my gym. Perched on a LifeCycle, I watched the end of
the women’s triathlon. There were clips of earlier events with swimming and
bicycling contest. The main event was the footrace. On the TV screen I saw
athletic women from a number of countries on the last leg of the race, their
arms and legs finely honed with muscle, their faces determined and serious as
they found the last reserve of strength to give that last kick of speed as they
approached the finish line. One of the women runners glanced behind to see how
close her nearest competitor was. A moment later, arms raised, she broke the
tape across the finish line.
It was a moment to file
The triathlon runner
crossed that finish line as her trainers, nation, family and friends, along with
the eyes of the world watched.
But the completion of the
event isn’t what I have in my memory of the 2012 Olympics.
While the Olympics events
were shown on a TV screen. There were two other TVs mounted on either side of TV
with the Olympic programming. The TVs sets on left and right—mounted on the
wall—were tuned to the CNN news broadcast. Images of dusty road winding to a low
ridge of hills against the horizon flanked the Olympics. The images were on a
road in Syria. There were no runners on the road. As far as the eye could see
the road was choked with women. Dressed in black traditional dress, heads
covered under the hot sun, they carried children, they carried the things
refugees grabbed as they fled the bombs falling on their homes and as the tanks
shelled their men. The black clothing blended in a sea of thousands of women,
covered head-to-toe, creating a solid, moving body. They walked by the thousands
along a road without end.
The sound on the TVs was
turned off. But the CNN news reporter needed no soundtrack. The long unbroken
line of women needed no explanation. There were no medals waiting, no tape to
break, no trainers and fans to hug and congratulate them. They were alone. How
does a person march along such a road for days?
That’s my memory of the
Olympics. An official triathlon enveloped in celebration, congratulations,
medals, pride and accomplishment, and a different kind of triathlon with only
endurance and obscurity, hardship and despair, along a Syrian road. That’s when
you know that Ground Hog Day is a movie about one kind of triathlon. The cozy
one that happens to talented and beautiful winners, and brightens our day as we
feel good to watch excellence. The memory of those refugees will be forgotten,
if they were ever remembered to begin with, and tomorrow Ground Hog Day will
recycle the happy moments, the dull ones, the interlude of one banal routine
following on the heels of another.
Memory finds little
traction in mediocrity. Most of what filters through consciousness is mediocre.
It is gone like a snowflake on a warm window. We look for patterns of greatness,
excellence, and the transcendent to lift us to a higher level. The arts,
literature, music has long promised such deliverance as we trudge along our own
dusty road. We forget movies, books, and songs.
The words “out of print”
are shorthand for an author who is passing out of memory.
After awhile, we glance
back over our shoulder like the triathlon runner to see if any of our memories
behind us are catching up with us. Over a lifetime, we out run most of our
memories—as they are lost to us as we are alive. A central feature of death is
the final extinguishing of our memories; they don’t survive. Another feature of
our passage—memories of who we are, what we accomplished, are captured in a
memory bottleneck. That’s when we die for a second time. Like the candlestick
makers, we love the life we know and fear its displacement. Not only do we
forget, we are forgotten like the refugees on the road.
Let’s say you’ve written a
book. Or maybe you are thinking about writing a book. It might be a crime novel
set in an exotic location. It might be a domestic comedy set in your hometown.
But let’s not become sidetracked by worrying about location, theme, or
characters. It’s more important to think about what it means to write a book. Or
more precisely what it takes, or what you believe it takes to start that
Realize from the beginning
that there is a degree of madness in the desire to write fiction. The isolation
it requires from friends, colleagues, family, and neighbors is part of the
madness, the estrangement from others. Writers build a wall between self and
community in the act of writing, with the community on the other side of the
wall. If that contradiction isn’t a sign of madness, then nothing
Writing is a contradiction
between thinking and doing, between individuality and society, and creating and
consuming. We have these elements dissembled and broken in our lives as writers.
Those whose glide path isn’t founded on words are both freer and more enslaved
than others are. Freer hitched to the wagon of word building can be forced
labor, another kind of prison. This is also the cause of the enslavement.
Enslaved as they spent a lifetime using words to pick the locks on the prison
but never managed to escape. A life of writing is filled with these no-way out
I am writing these words
because of two other writers seeking to find answers to these dilemmas faced by
The first writer is
Charles Bukowski and his poem “Rolling the Dice.” Have a listen to him read this
poem. It is less than two minutes.
Just do it.
If you are going to try,
don’t do it half-assed. You may suffer consequences: jail, derision, mockery and
It depends on how much you
want to do. He says it is only the good fight there is.
If you want to write, then
roll the dice. Do it. Do it now. You lose only by holding the dice you never
The second writer is
William Boyd. He’s a well-known British novelist and his four part
series Any Human Heart is worth watching. The main character is a
writer named Logan Mountstuart. The background on the 2002 novel of the same
title and the TV series is on Wikipedia.
In the TV series, Logan
Mountstuart’s life as a writer starts at Oxford where he meets two other
friends. One becomes successful novelist and the other friend becomes a highly
noted art gallery owner in London and New York. Logan starts off with a bang in
the literary world and then life intervenes, and he’s able to write another
novel but never does. Instead he keeps a daily journal. The TV series explores
the multi-selves of Mountstuart’s progression from a young child, to a young
person, a middle aged one, and finally an old, frail man. Throughout this
passage Mountstuart records the events of his life in a journal. The drama is
drawn from those journals. What stays within his mind all through the years is
the idea that what comes to a life is nothing more and nothing less than a
matter of luck. What his father told him, good luck or bad luck. But it is
While Bukowski whispers in
our ear, ‘just do it’ as that is your only choice and what you wish to do is the
only fight worth getting into the ring of life for. Boyd’s Logan Mountstuart
wishes us to believe instead that whether you step into the ring or not,
whatever happens, it is simply a matter of luck. Your wife that you love dearly
is killed by a V-2 rocket walking down a London street with your daughter, you
are arrested on a secret mission during WWII but the Swiss police stop you
walking on a highway and throw you into prison, or you overlook the details of
other’s motives, desires, illusions and that carelessness makes you unable to
start a novel, or you choose the wrong woman as a lover or wife and again your
novel writing venture stalls and crashes..
Logan Mountstuart spent a
lifetime seemingly unable to do it.
Because he believed that
it was all a matter of luck. In his world, you never had the chance to
roll the dice. Others rolled it for you and however they rolled and stopped,
that number became your destiny.
What a sad, dreary life of
a life like a leaf blown in the wind.
Another reading is the end
Moutstuarat’s life cycle was the time to allow the story to unfold from the
journals. The grand irony was pointless as a way to create worlds when his world
had been largely shaped by external events, circumstances and relationship. The
luck component was the engine that did the shaping.
Logan Mountstuart who
never got around to writing the bestselling novels like his Oxford friend
ultimately is vindicated with the posthumous publication of his journals. In the
closing minutes, we see the book cover of that book with Mountstuart’s handsome
middle-aged face. Of course that made it fiction, too. As the point of the
Journals was to chart a multi-character journey, and any snapshot of the author
at one age was a greater distortion than found in fiction.
Moutstuart had luck. But
he had to die before it came. What does success mean to a dead writer? Does it
mean that he was ultimately lucky in the end even though he never lived to see
it? When the dice were rolled, the winning number came not from his
fiction but the artifacts of a life where the actions of others had determined
his luck. Where was the line to be drawn between fiction and fact in
Moutstuart’s life? I am not certain he ever knew. We certainly don’t.
As I said at the
beginning, I’ve been thinking about Bukowski and Boyd, two authors with
different visions of destiny, luck, hardship, consequences, and determination.
Two approaches to what it means to be a writer.
Bukowski says, you roll
Boyd says, the dice are
rolled for you.
In Bukowski’s world
there’s no such thing as luck. There’s only conviction, steadfastness and
understanding that the isolation of climbing in the ring is the victory. That
you have to struggle, fight back, make your luck each day. Or he might be
saying, there is no luck. It’s all endurance and will and
And in Logan Mounstuart’s
world it’s all a matter of luck. This isn’t climbing in the ring. This is
climbing on the stage to become a puppet that will be passed along from woman to
woman, friend to friend, and a string of strangers. It doesn’t matter who they
are really; as their only role is to pull the strings. How you move forward and
backward in life is how lucky you when life assigns your quota of string
Writing a book is an act
of endurance. Anyone who has done should be congratulated as it is often talked
about but rarely done. If you’ve written a book to please the string
pullers, then you rewarded like a puppet. Boyd has us believe the puppets die
and disappear, vanish without a trace. But if your book questions the string
pullers, condemns them, shows their duplicity, you can expect isolation. The
reward is mockery, poverty, and loneliness. The truth never has come on the
cheap. There are the costs to consider.
I am inclined toward the
Bukowski school. Get in the ring. Throw a punch. Mix the metaphor, and roll the
dice. Roll them before they roll you.
I am less inclined—though
it may be my own delusion—to go along with Boyd’s Mountstuart. Because
Logan Mountsuart’s life was nothing more than a series of random chance events
and meetings—a man in the Spanish Civil War who left him a fortune in Miro
paintings, his meetings with Hemingway in Paris, and Joyce and Ian Fleming, and
his meeting and parting with a number of women over his life. These events and
meetings became the frame around his own life. But what picture did Mountstuart
finally leave inside that frame?
That’s the question. Did
he leaves us only with the choreograph of a puppet show written daily and over a
lifetime solely from the puppet’s point of view?
Is such a journal of luck
the book we should all be writing? Is it the only legitimate book that can be
Again, I don’t
What I do believe is
Bukowski’s three words should be pasted to your computer screen . . .