Thoughts on Books, Q2'26

This quarter is apparently my most successful quarter ever, in terms of the number of books read. I read 14 books in April, May, and June, compared to only nine in January, February, and March. This means that at the halfway point in the year, I have read 23 books, only three off my one-per-week target. Maybe I can catch up? Probably not. As always, we can dig deeper into this headline figure. These 14 books total 4,070 pages, compared to a little less than 3,000 last quarter. However, the average is only around 290, a figure more comparable to Q4'25 than Q1'26. In other words, I have read more, but shorter, books. However, I have probably also absolutely increased my reading, which I am pleased about.

I normally say something banal and narcissistic at this point, by way of an introduction. Thematically, most of the books I read this quarter were misaligned with my expectations. A few were very hyped, at least for me, and failed to live up to that hype. A few had no hype at all, and impressed me greatly. Overall, I think I have read a good collection of books this quarter, and worry (as always) that I have been too harsh at times in the reviews that are found below. Finally, a note on the 'to read' list. Having read a lot this quarter, the 'to read' list is now quite changed. But some books have been on this list for far too long. I will read Korolev. I will read Superintelligence. And I hope, with summer upon us, I can read a lot more besides.

To read:
1. Brain of the Firm, Stafford Beer
2. The Conquest of Abundance, Paul Feyerabend
3. John Law, James Buchan
4. Small is Beautiful, E. F. Schumacher
5. Thinking in Systems, Donella Meadows
6. How to Philosophize with a Hammer and Sickle, Jonas Ceika
7. After the Fact, Marcus Gilroy-Ware
8. The Great Leveler, Walter Scheidel
9. Aristocracy, William Doyle
10. Superintelligence, Nick Bostrom
11. Korolev, James Harford
12. Killing Time, Paul Feyerabend

No Logo, Naomi Klein

No Logo is quite an old book. It feels, in places, very dated. Klein's book is, on the one hand, the story of advertising, or how corporate America slowly turned everything into advertising. This seems quaint at the time of writing, though I also imagine it must have been quite quaint in the year 2000, too, given 1980s Americana is visually dominated by advertising, and is, in a manner of speaking, just a great big advertisement itself. Thus, on the other hand, No Logo is a book about globalisation, and about how through globalised supply chains the notion of brand has become very philosophically interesting. Firstly, globalisation detaches conception from production, meaning the brand becomes much more of an idea than an object. Secondly, this idea is one imbued with tension, for the attractiveness of the brand must be maintained, while the product itself emerges through a quite disgusting exploitation of labour.

So, yes, Klein's book feels dated, but No Logo is also a book about problems that remain hyper relevant for today's societies. The evolution of the internet has seen advertising reach a new plateau as what we might call 'cognitive capitalism' has run rampage over our communities, public spaces, and notions of privacy or intimacy. This has all been done, less we forget, in the interests of advertising shit. The strange kind of nihilism that emerges from Klein's interrogation of the brand is thus more pronounced now than ever before. We have permitted the erection of enormous technological edifices and the construction of sophisticated surveillance apparati for the purposes of selling junk food and trainers, gambling and package holidays. The evolution of globalisation is one that has also proceeded at pace. There is growing talk, in the West, of de-globalisation or even re-globalisation. I remain sceptical that such efforts, if they really were to happen, would involve onshoring the production of low-value-added consumer commodities, rather than high-value-added industrial products. From this perspective, maybe the slow death of 1990s globalisation will not actually change that much. Equally, particularly with climate change now biting, the West has to get used to a world without abundant, cheap treats. Furthermore, the end of the so-called 'China Prices' is another compelling sociological reason for the collapse of Western political hegemony, for extractive capitalism will inevitably face a crisis if a worker's declining wages cannot be supplemented by ever cheaper 'treats' that retain a sense of wealth and, to be frank, offer a distraction from the present malaise. Either the 'treat economy' remains offshore, and thus subject to geopolitical and environmental disruptions, or it is onshored and must confront the economics of domestic manufacturing. While I think the former is probably better, and a bit of both the likely reality, both imply higher prices for 'treats'. This will determine the political direction of the West for a generation, or more.

My wider point is that, despite being old, No Logo can still find relevance. It is a great reminder of the importance of physical production in knowledge economies, as well as the sociological work capitalists must do to manufacturer wants and desires for their products; to shape taste and culture. The Left probably does itself a disservice to focus on policy, and economic relations between workers and production, while abandoning ideas about culture and the manufacturing of demand. Yes, it would be better for people to buy shitty products from worker-owned cooperates than large, extractive multinationals. But a socialism of banal consumption, one ultimately enslaved to the 'treat economy'--a society that may quite soon describe modern China--is ultimately a disappointing landing point. Klein's book reminds a reader that while there remain questions about economic relations, in a world where everything has the potential to be a brand, we must contest the politics of branding itself.

Radical Technologies, Adam Greenfield

Verso Books went through a period, perhaps from around 2015-2020, of publishing very disappointing technology books. To be sure, none of them were bad. But often, I felt, many of them lacked a degree of umph. James Bridle's New Dark Age felt like a forgettable polemic about technology; a book I mentally group with something like Laurence Scott's Four Dimensional Man, though that was not published by Verso. Lizzie O'Shea's Future Histories was another book that did not quite resonate with me--though, to be fair, this is one I would go back to, at some point, and give it another shot. Aaron Bastani's Fully Automated Luxury Communism was one I was quite excited by, but found to be quite shallow in places, theorising from a generic reading of Mark Fisher and then preceding to talk in giddy fashion around various technologies that may only be over the horizon. Others have contributed to my cooling of Verso, at this this era of Verso. Others, too, have been published but I have no read them. It may be that I'm bad at picking them.

I give all this preample not to be mean--all the books mentioned are solid books, just not books I particularly love. Rather, I give it to offer context to my approach to Adam Greenfield's Radical Technologies. Published by Verso in 2017, it is a prime candidate for this kind of 'meh' type of book. I certainly expected it to be. Truthfully, knowing nothing about the book, I would not have bought it from Verso. I have learnt my lesson; been burnt too many times by this era, and this genre. I instead acquired Radical Technologies for a discount price in a charity shop. Having learnt that Verso has many books out of print, and knowing that hardback copies can be tricky to get, I took the plunge. At the worse, I would not enjoy it, read it quickly, and let it linger on my shelf with the rest of that dejected era.

I found myself quite surprised by this book. I generally enjoyed it. This can largely be attributed to Greenfield's writing style, which I felt carried both momentum and my attention. My notes on the book demonstrate a consistent theme. While Greenfield's schtick is to discuss how new technologies are transforming our cities, and by extension, our lives, hie consistently highlights how this is not a one-way process. Technologies develop in response to us, and the structures of our existence. These technologies, in turn, shape us, and the subsequent ways we can live, and ways that our lives are organised. This adds something which, as memory serves, others have lacked. Bridle's New Dark Age is much more a lament of the technological age; Bastani's FALC a celebration of our (possible) technological future. One gets the sense, reading Greenfield, of some interested in new technologies, but also conscious of current technological trends being bound within a longer term, dialectical process shaping social urbanity. I suspect an element of this perspective bleeds over from the architectural ideas contained within the work. Buildings, of course, shape human behaviour and identity; but people turn buildings into spaces, instilling them with purpose and identity. The same is true of technologies, and to this end, I think Greenfield's book is an important reminder of this.

This Is For Everyone, Tim Berners-Lee

I bought This Is For Everyone because my local bookshop had a signed copy for sale, and Tim Berners-Lee's contribution to computing--if not humanity--is enormous. I like knowing that I have his signiture tucked away; something to show guests and, maybe, some day children. Having bought the book, I subsequently learnt that the Financial Times had broadly recommended this book, and I generally like the FT's recommendations. So, rather than just owning this book for my own pleasure, I decided to actually read it.

This Is For Everyone is a book of two distinct halves. While the whole book is ghost-written (this is acknowledged, which is more than some books do), the ghost-writer is much better in the first half, concenring TBL's early life up to the invention of the World Wide Web, than in the second half, which leans much more into policy ideas, activism, and filler. I bring up the ghost-writer because it explains this distinct contrast in quality. I imagine it is much easier to craft a rich, engaging narrative when the story is set in stone, non-controversial, and supported by evidence and cute stories. I imagine it is much harder to give a voice to an author when what is being 'said' (or written) is much more fluid, potentially controversial, and still unfolding right now.

Sometimes, these two halves overlap, and I generally do not think it works. For instance, there is a bizarre through-line about AI agents. TBL claims to have always had something like an AI agent in mind when designing the World Wide Web. This may be true. I have no reason to doubt this claim. But equally, if I am a commissioning editor of a big publisher, I am looking for a hook that will sell books; for an excuse to have all of TBL's book-tour interviews to say something about the wonders of AI. So yes, I am a bit cynical about this inclusion. The second half of the book is largely stuff like this. Narratively, it becomes a lot looser; the time between key events expands. This is to be expected, I guess. He is famous for the World Wide Web, after all. Few take much notice of what TBL is doing today, so why spend too much time on it? The trouble is, like the AI thing, the book wants to be involved in several important conversations. Pricacy. Tech regulation. The privatisation of the web. And so on. But TBL sounds (or reads) like a man out of time. Like a man who never really left the political mileu best captured by the 2012 Olympics Ceremony to which he was a part. A time before the effects of liberalism's crisis has yet to fully percolate; a time when the biting austerity of the Coalition government had yet to fully bite; a time when American hegemony was unquestioned; a time when the basis of collective knowledge and imagination online was only just beginning to be monopolised by STEM ideologues in Silicon Valley. Maybe I do not have the full measure of TBL. I certainly cannot know the man's soul. But for a book published in 2025, it feels so old.

So, I return to my opening statement. I am quite glad I have this book. I think TBL has done some wonderful things for humanity. I am glad I have a copy of his autograph.

What Just Happened, James Gleick

Speaking of old, James Gleick's What Just Happened is an essay collection, published in the early 2000s, brining together Gleick's various writings throughout the 1990s around the drawn of the internet age. I will not linger too much on this book. I do not think it is as impactful as Gleick's other work (and Gleick's name was mainly the reason I bought the book), and so I have relatively few thoughts on it. There are some cute moments, for instance the failure of people to recognise how the digitalisation revolution would transform music listening (written by a man who still uses an iPod). Things like the smartphone, too, are absent from the imagination expressed in the book. However, Gleick's broad thesis that the connecting of people and information would be socially transformational is broadly accurate, and there are moments where one sees a person more plugged into the unfolding information communications revolution than perhaps others were at the time (then again, what else would you expect?).

To an extent, this notion of 'being right' about the internet is reflected in the title, What Just Happened. Note the absense of a question mark. The book's title is ambiguous. It could be explaining what just happened, or it could be asking what just happened. It is both a statement of authority and a statement of one who has been surprised. I think it's quite clever. But besides this, I found most of the writing a bit bland and uninteresting. As above, Gleick is an alright writer whose books (Chaos, Information) I have previously enjoyed. There is less of a through-line here, and that holds the book back. Someone more trained in historical methods might be able to extract some insights from this book, treated as a timely artefact, but I could not.

The Dialectical Biologist, Richard Levins and Richard Lewontin

There are a few books I count as being tremendously influential to me; as syntheses, to an extent, of what I think, and maybe more importantly, of how I think. On reflection, I think I will add The Dialectical Biologist to my list. I write this with the concern of being premature. I am still, actively, thinking about the ideas contained in this book. But it is precisely this ongoing project of thinking that leads me to believe it has, and will have, a profound influence on my thought processes in the coming years (just as Administrative Behavior, The Sciences of the Artificial, Tools for Conviviality and Science is a Free Society have done).

I bought the book because I have been enjoying Richard Lewontin's work over the past year or so. At the time I was writing, and have now written, a book that made extensive use of Lewontin's thought (you can read it here, if you want). I had some expectations about the book. Dialectics is most commonly associated with Marx, through his use of Hegel and Hegelian dialectics. I therefore expectated a book called The Dialectical Biologist to demonstrate the links between biology as a discipline and Marxism as a school of thought. And, to an extent, the book does do this. Levins and Lewontin make various arguments, in keeping with Lewontin's other work, that the social structure in which science takes place shapes the understanding we have of nature, and the appropriations of scientific insights that are undertaken. But--and perhaps this would have been obvious to most other people from the title!--the book does not linger on this social critique too much. Instead, The Dialectical Biologist is quite a methodological book. It is a book that argues for a more dialectical approach to biology.

Put simply, Levins and Lewontin challenge the nature/nurture dyad by arguing that nature (or, more correctly, the environment) is not fixed. Instead, it is changeable by human actions (amongst other species), and is indeed constantly changed. There is no fixed environment that shapes the actions and behaviours of organisms, but rather, a constantly changing environment in continuous responses to organic actions and behaviours. Of course, the environment also shapes those actions and behaviours. Gravity, for instance, holds humans down, and in doing so, limits how we behave and how we can shape our environment. But just because gravity is unchanging does not mean that the gravitational environment is unchanged--humans have created aeroplanes, and in turn, a whole new environment, with new ways of living! The point Levins and Lewontin make is that nature/nurture, or environment/individual, are not mutually exclusive. They are creations of one another, and constantly interacting to (re)create one another. There is a thesis, an antithesis, and a synthesis, which becomes the thesis or antithesis of a new synthesis, and so on, in a dialectical fashion.

What is the point of this revolution? Why does it matter, and why I am so taken with it? For Levins and Lewontin, the point is two-fold. Firstly, that less stock should be placed in individual characteristics, and a more holistic understanding of the world should be embraced. We are not genetically determined, or even necessarily pre-disposed, to violence, or poverty, or tremendous success. It is infinitely more complicated than, to paraphase the title of another Lewontin book, what is in our genes. Secondly, that a simplistic, individual-orientated perspective on human behaviour is politically and socially dangerous. It lends credence to eugenic perspectives that will kill us all if allowed to persist; it encourages attacks on the poor, the sick, and the otherwise disposed or plain unlucky; and it legitimises narratives around success, that those who succeed are the most talented, naturally gifted, and otherwise most deserving. In a dialectical world, none of this is accurate. Indeed, perhaps the most revolutionary aspect of this way of thinking--a perspective that is missing in Marx but is expressed more fully in writers like Feyerabend--is that progress is quite illustratory. The world is subject to constant change, and there is no objective 'good' towards which we are working. This might make some people uncomfortable. Indeed, the notion of progress is so ingrained into the Western mindset (unlike, say, in Chinese culture, where the empire, long united, must divide; long divided, must unite) these ideas are likely anthema to many. But, at least for me, they not only make sense; they are liberatory. They allow me, intellectually, to connect to the thousands of years of human history; and to think, meaningfully, about the thousands of years of human history that are to come, in one form or another.

Maybe that is taking things too far. Maybe it is not. But, as above, I will--indeed, I think, must--keep thinking about this book.

Crude Capital, Adam Hanieh

There is a segment of thinkers of the left who will not shut up about this book. Hanieh's Crude Capitalism has been on my list of books to pick up for a while, but it has more so fallen in the 'meh' category of enthusiastic buys; if there's a good deal, I'll get it. That is what happened here--I essentially got a brand new copy for £4, which even the Verso sale cannot beat.

The positive reception I've seen for this book probably elevated my expectations of it. I found it quite interesting, and undoubtedly well-researched. I also did not find it world-changing in the manner some online reviews might have suggested. It has not fundamentally altered my understanding of the role of crude oil in global economics. Though, it has perhaps entrenched in my mind a belief that the geoeconomics of energy is a major factor driving, or inhibitating, the transition away from renewable energy resources. A fossil fuel energy infrastructure conveys power onto states that can control the extraction and transportation of energy in a way that renewable energies--which are much more decentralised and democratic in nature--do not. The case in point is the United States, the main focus on Crude Capitalism. Without oil, the US's economy hegemony, in the form of the dollar, is challenged. Most people who may attention know this, more or less. But oil-based infrastructures give expression to US power, or perhaps it is better to say, represent a second transmission vector for the US to assert its power. So long as oil performs this role, and so long as there is a nation-state capable of controlling and imposing oil-based infrastructures, humanity will not transition towards renewable energies.

By way of form, I was surprised at how much Crude Capitalism is really just a history of oil, and while I normally like historically-grounded texts, I disliked this approach, here. My interest in Crude Capitalism was primarily from a geopolitical and geoeconomic perspective. Those insights pertaining to these topics have basically been distilled in the paragraph above; much of the book is not focused on these topics, which is a shame. Nevertheless, I can see why lots of people like this book. I can also understand why someone would not. This is not a book I would rush to read again, but is a book I would recommend to those interested in the topic.

The International Brigades, Giles Tremlett

It follows from my interest in anarchism that I am interested in the Spanish Civil War. I did not know too much about the focus of Tremlett's The International Brigades, besides the obvious that it would be about the international volunteers who came to Spain to fight Franco and the fascists.

Generally, I found the book to be very touching, to the extent that by the end, when the final volunteers are being unpacked by Tremlett, I felt such a sense of tragedy for their activities. Tremlett does a wonderful job of conveying the hope that pervaded many; the confusion that some grappled with; and the terrible bravery that must have been required at the dawn of the world descending into the most terrible darkness. That being said, this is not a history of the Spanish Civil War. Tremlett focuses on specific volunteers and battles, but does less to weave a continuous narrative. As such, a reader is told in one chapter that a brave battle was fought that halted Franco's advance; in the next, the reader is told that that advance had gained ground, and a new battle--of increasing desperation--was now in preparation. The slow defeat of the Republican forces, whom the Brigades supported, seems almost like a sore spot for Tremlett, something he cannot quite bring himself to fully articulate. Now, this might be an error on my part: by the end of the war, Tremlett tells us, the Brigades played an ever diminished role, and so why focus on the narrative of the war when it is the Brigades who are the central focus? I think this is valid. But equally, as above, Tremlett does a wonderful job of conveying the humanity of these volunteers, and in particular, their hope and idealism. It feels tragic reading about such individuals, while knowing that in the end, they lose. I do have to wonder if Tremlett determined that it was just not worth puncturing the narrative with such painful facts.

My other criticism of The International Brigades is Tremlett's treatment of the politics of the Spanish Republic. The anarchists are explained also as comedy figures; disorganised, ineffective, and at times hostile to other Republican forces. This may well be true, but others--for instance, Chomsky--have distributed the reputation the anarchists have received during the civil war. Chomsky argues that the Stalinist Communists were incentivised to discredit and attack the anarchists, as the anarchists were a rival political block less amenable to Stalin and the Soviet-centred international communist movement. In ignorance, I can believe this. I can also accept that, from Tremlett's perspective, it was the Soviets, rather than the anarchists, who played the organisational and logistical roles required to create, train, and deploy the International Brigades. Again, for a book about the brigades, and not the Spanish Civil War, Tremlett's cursory treatment of the anarchists can perhaps be forgiven. But, in my opinion, there was space to elaborate on the politics of the Republican side a lot more.

Hyperpolitcs, Anton Jager

Jager's Hyperpolitics is another book, like Crude Capitalism, that has suffered in my expectations from over hype. When this book came out, a heard a tremendous amount in left-wing circles about how great this book was, and about how of-the-moment it is. Now, I did not dislike this book at all. Hyperpolitics is an interesting read, and one I generally agree with. My criticism lies much more is the 'so what?' question. The crux of Jager's argument is that shared spaces and opportunities for community have been erased throughout Western society. We are hyper-individualised, which in turn extends the realm of politics to every conceivable aspect of life, public and private. And... I agree with all of this. Indeed, I'd probably go further than Jager does in some regards. For instance, people need things to talk about. In Britain, that has typically involved things like football and holidays. But when you can't afford either, and when alternative activities-cum-topics do not exist (e.g., the local football team has lost its funding), there really is very little left to discuss, other than politics. The trouble, though, is that I do not think this talk about the loss of community is establishly novel. Jager makes a good case for it as something the left must focus on, but the third-spaces discourse has existed for years, and Hyperpolitics remains very light on recommendations or strategy. I find myself thinking that much of the hype around this book must, therefore, come from urbanites who are just now realising that suburbia is a social desert, as the hyperisation of politics encroaches ever more on the urban core. I probably would recommend people read Hyperpolitics, if only because it is very short. But I do not think it lives up to the hype.

Toward a History of Needs, Ivan Illich

Illich's Toward a History of Needs has been on my radar for a while. I have been working on a paper about human needs, and how human needs come to be. Within that literature, in my opinion, Illich's perspective on radical monopoly is poorly represented, if at all. The paper--still fragments of a thought often caught in the wind--would expound on Illich's contribution. Maybe one day I will write it. I do very much hope that I can.

Toward a History of Needs is a collection of essays by Illich that, in my opinion, are not that representative of the title. This is a common theme of Illich's books: the title is often thematic, while the contents might fit the theme but does not address the titular subject. So it is with this book. Illich does not outline in any great detail a 'history' of needs, in the way that others might, and even as Illich has done in works such as Shadow Work. However, I have also found with Illich that assmebling his thoughts into a coherent whole often requires one to be in the right mindset. At least, for me that is the case. Passages of Illich are always interesting; but to connect the dots requires a deeper, and at times I think more speculative, reading of his work. Fortunately, I think I was in the right mindset for Toward a History of Needs. My notes offer two descriptions of Illich's social theory which I think are novel approaches and, at the least, help me in developing a deeper understanding of Illichian thought.

Firstly, Illich uses the word 'equity' in a way that is very different to how I would have typically understood it. Equity features prominently throughout the book, but is most clearly explored in the essay Energy and Equity. For me, and I think most others, equity means to have a stake in something. A business or a household or a birthday cake. If I have equity, I have a share of something. Illich does not treat equity in this way. He argues that as we come to rely more and more on energy-intensive technologiesm our equity actually falls. This is because, while we get the advantages of the new technology, we also become reliant on energy produces and the energy infrastructure that can supply it. In this sense, our equity in society dissolves, for we become ever more crippled by our dependence upon infrastructures and institutions that are orders of magnitude more powerful than us (Illich would say we become 'disabled'). How can we have a voice, or autonomous action, in a world where we are so dependent upon others? How can be have social equity, by which Illich kind of means as social equality, or a kind of democracy-by-action? This idea is really interesting. For instance, while there are a myriad of reasons for the failure to more to renewable energy technologies, one (more implicit) reason is that solar panel (etc.) are highly equitable technologies. A person with solar must not rely on the billionaire energy plant owner to supply them with electricity. Solar panels confer not just environmental benefits, but autonomy benefits, too. This is not necessarily something existing power structures want to encourage (see above, and the discussion of Crude Capitalism).

Secondly, there is the question of supply and production in Illichian philosophy. Again, this is a matter of Illich using these words in a way that is not intuitive to me, or I would hazard most modern readers. In various works, Illich talks about how institutions create their own demand. For instance, doctors create sick people. Teachers create the uneducated, and so on. By this, Illich does not mean that doctors poison patients, or teachers neglect children. He means that these professions (and others) are endowed with the power to determine who is sick, and who is undereducated, and so on. These professions, once citizens have been endowed with such labels, then take up the task of erasing these labels from citizens. Illich often points out the kind of circularity of this relationship. The revelation I have had in Toward a History of Needs is this: institutions supply public goods, but in doing so, they produce the underprovisioned. For instance, the supply of cars produces, by way of reorientating society, those who are underprovisioned by virtue of their own legs alone. Similarly, teachers supply education, producing undereducated citizens as the standards of 'educated' and 'intelligent' rise, foreclosuing opportunities for the 'less educated', though perhaps wholly similarly learned.

For an Illich nerd like me, I found Toward a History of Needs an enlightening read; a book I will continue to think about. Though, as with most Illich, he is hard to fully piece together, and benefits from third-party explanation (which I hope to one day contribute to).

The History of the Modern Fact, Mary Poovey

I started reading The History of the Modern Fact alongside The Dialectical Biologist to provide me with a more historically-grounded understanding of the formation of science, and the political economy therein contained. I will not say too much about this book, as it is quite dense and very academic. In style I found it quite comparable to Martin's The History and Power of Writing which, given both came out in 1998, both are histories, and both are published by the University of Chicago Press, probably had the same editor. Now, this editor--whoever they are--did an excellent job in steering the production of two rigorous academic texts. However, they probably failed in both instances on taming the authorial voice, which in both books can get lost under a mountain of detail and things-that-feel-tangential-but-might-not-actually-be. When Poovey is summarising her argument, or even just writing from her perspective, I found her writing very clear and engaging. But I struggled with a lot of the prose throughout the remainder of the book, and I do not feel like I got out of it all that Poovey is offering. I feel like that is a shame, but I also think it is probably more me, than Poovey (or Martin, for that matter). It is good to learn these things.

The State and Revolution, Vladimir Lenin

I have convinced myself, probably inaccurately, that in recent months I have embarked on a study of revolutionary texts. I an extent, my interest in the Spanish Civil War is part of this tendency. Likewise, my reading of Melville's October back in March. Part of this poser's 'study' is reading Lenin, whom I have never read. I have read biographies of Lenin. I know bits and pieces about the October revolution, and about the links between Lenin and the German revolutionaries. But I have never read Lenin himself. The State and Revolution, written at the height of the October revolution, seemed like a good place to start.

Two things struck me about The State and Revolution. The first is how forward-looking it was. Lenin was leading a revolution as he wrote the book, and yet there is little attention given to things like counterrevolution, which dominated (some might say infected) the minds of the French revolutionaries a hundred years prior to Lenin's conquest. Instead, Lenin is concerned with the role of the state, namely, how should the state assert itself, evolve, and ultimately fade away, as the socialist (and then communist) revolution develops? This is not only an important question (or would become important as Lenin's health failed, the old Tsarist bureaucracy reasserted itself, and Stalin emerged as the embodiment of the totalitarian state), but a question that presumes a successful revolution; that presumes the immediate challenges of overthrowing the old system will be overcome. From this perspective, Lenin's writing is wildly optimistic, which probably betrays a man driven by supreme confidence in his worldview, if not specific ideas and strategies. The second thing that struck me was--and I mean this in the kindest way possible--how much of Lenin's ideas I had heard before. Undoubtedly, my hearing of them is really just other people reiterating Lenin's original thoughts, and so I am not accusing Lenin of a lack of originality. But the broad idea that the state, initially assertive, must under socialism would to eradicate itself through the dissipation of power to the masses, is hardly an idea I am unfamiliar with. Lenin's recognition that the final state of socialism is in most ways comparable to the anarchist ideal is also worthwhile, and familiar. The disagreement between the camps seems to be about means, rather than ends. Again, this is not that unusual a perspective in radical left circles.

My conclusion is I am not sure I learnt too much from The State and Revolution, but reading Lenin has certainly enhanced my understanding of Lenin as a man. I think that is valuable. There is plenty of Lenin to read, and Lenin seems worthwhile to read, if for no other reason than he is a world-historic figure whose thoughts and actions continue to influence the world to this day.

Afterlives of Chinese Communism, various

I was a little surprised to discover this book in the Verso sale. Being from 2019, I assumed I would have heard of it previously, particularly in some of my periods of reading a lot about China. Evidently, I had not. But with the book being on sale, I purchased it, and I am generally glad that I did. Afterlives of Chinese Communism offers something that is quite unique compared to other more accessible books on China. The various authors of the book want to explore how the communist ideas of Mao's revolution shaped modern China, and in what form these original ideas still persist in modern China. The book is therefore rather critical of the modern Chinese state, but not from a Washington consensus of 'bad communists' but from a leftist perspective of 'doing communism badly.' Afterlives explores all manner of ways that Mao's original ideas have been dismantled and twisted by the modern Chinese state. Such criticisms are not always negative. Indeed, I think most leftists see modern China as an opportunity not yet fully realised, rather than as a project that has failed and fallen into the traps of Western capitalism. But where there is criticism--and there is plenty in this book--the criticism generally coalesces around the idea of China as a materialistic society, one dominated by lust for money and held together more and more by a lame nationalism than a sense of class identity. I think at times this criticism is unfairly juxtaposed to Mao's idealised China, whereby the people worked as one, united by a sense of class struggle and historical purpose. Both, surely, are caricatures of a state of 1.4 billion people. Both overlook the extra-political relationships, regional identities, and international identities that many Chinese people will enjoy. But there is also, probably, elements of truth here. Mao was a social engineer, for good or bad. The modern Chinese state seems to care much more about making the Chinese people wealthy, rather than the self-actualisation of the population and its species-being.

Something that is interesting about Afterlives is how remarkably out-of-date it feels. In only a few years, we have seen a global pandemic, and the collapse of the American economic order. Ideas of China being a 'moderately wealthy' country have shifted from a statement of perceived modesty to something that almost terrifies those of us with a concern for the material limits of the planet--if China is only moderately wealthy, when will they stop!? It is an interesting question, and one I do not ask in an orientalist, paternalistic way. Similarly, the pandemic has demonstrated both the complex relationship between the Chinese people and the state, and the limits to outsider understanding of trying to see 'the Chinese people' and 'the Chinese state' as homogenous entities. China continues to fascinate in the way that a mirage does. The result is that there remains much of interest in Afterlives, but that a reader might also find the book lacking in places, and if quips and comments are missing. This is not the fault of the authors, but the inevitable consequence of a rapidly changing world, and the emergence of the long twenty-first century.

Hidden Histories of Science, various

A frequent reader of this blog will know that I will happily shit on popular science books. Most are bad, and they are only getting worse. I think Hidden Histories of Science could be called a popular science book. But unlike this genre (usually), this book is actually very good. I enjoyed it quite a lot, so much so that it probably is my favourite book of the year, so far (but only because it was very easy and pleasant to read). The book is a small collection of essays about--you might have guessed!--the hidden histories of science. This is to say, obscure details, discoveries that felt through the cracks, insights into discoveries that highlight a more dynamic process of knowledge production than might be commonly realised.

Contest-wise, I enjoyed the book for two reasons. Firstly, it features essays by some of my favourites. Lewontin is featured. So is Stephen J. Gould, a man whose book Questioning the Millennium was one of my favourites last year. It also features an essay from Kevles, whose work I need to read much more of. Naturally, then, I was predisposed to enjoy this book and agree with everything. Secondly, because one of my deepest interests is in lost knowledge. How does humanity forget things, and why? I even wrote a paper about it, and hope to spend much of my career writing more on this topic. Naturally, then, I am likely to enjoy a book about the hidden histories of science; about the things that were lost or forgotten (and the reasons why). The book does not disappoint on this front.

The Invention of Science, David Wootton

Finally, we come to Wootton's The Invention of Science. I was very much looking forward to writing this book. Released through Penguin, and at nearly 600 pages long, I thought this was going to be a nice, accessible history of science that I would enjoy, even if the depth of, say, Poovey's History of the Modenr Fact was lacking. On the first front, I should acknowledge that depth was not lacking in this book. Wootton is very thorough. Nevertheless, my experience of Wootton's book was quite different to what I was expecting. In some ways, I think it has been a positive experience, even if it has ultimatley means I am less inclined towards this book than I had expected.

Wootton is very clear from the outset that he disagrees with the historicist school of philosophy of science. This school--the school I generally agree with--argues that a formal scientific method not well-defined, and that history, circumstance, as well as power and politics, are important drivers of scientific discovery. By extension, historicists places less emphasis on individuals, and more emphasis on historical context. To this extent, one might deny that there is/was a formal revolution is science. Instead, a historicist might argue there was just a transititon in preferred 'ways of knowing.' A historicist might also deny the primacy of a Newton or a Galileo in the discovery of scientific insights; or, as Feyerabend does, highlight the non-scientific aspects of these individuals and show how these aspects were essential to their scientific discoveries (thus undermining the notion of a neat scientific method). At its most extreme (e.g., Feyerabend), a historicist might even argue that there is no such thing as 'science,' or that scientific knowledge is just a modern packaging of essentially ritualistic practices that humanity have been undertaking for thousands of years. Certainly, there is a denial of the idea of progress from some historicists (I generally think science is an intellectual evolution of, say, religous scholastic practice, though I think there remains a lot of overlap; I think the idea of progress is largely illusory and that the alternative--a world without progress--is much more philosophically interesting).

Wootton rejects the historicist perspective. I do not think he denies that historical context is important in how science unfolds. For instance, in his discussion of the telescope, he recognises that technological dependencies involved. Similarly, he emphasises how modern science could not have emerged without the printing press. But Wootton places much less emphasis on this historical factors, and elevates the role of specific individuals. This, I do not think, is too surprising. Wootton has, for instance, written a biography of Galileo. Such an activity usually betrays a certain personal adoration for the subject. I am imagine that Wootton sees in Galileo a unique genius that would have expressed itself regardless of the time period, and that to claim (as a historicist might) that the only special thing about Galileo was his unique historical circumstances is to belittle the sanctity of the man. Or, perhaps I am projecting. I can imagine, academically speaking, that Wootton has spent a good chunk of his career having good research rejected or changed by an annoying group of historicists. I am sympathise. I think the limits of my sympathies, though, are revealed at the point Wootton seems to reject Thomas Kuhn. Feyerabend is purposely provocative and extreme in his position; in his books, Feyerabend admits to doing this, to try and inspire more interesting and unexpected discussions. But Kuhn is a more mellow historicist. Kuhn's big 'sin', from a scientific method perspective, is to reject the idea of falsification. For Kuhn, theories can be shown to be false, but they can still persist. This is to say, scientists--sometimes frequently--reject contrary evidence and continue with flawed models. Kuhn argues that a host of historical and political reasons account for this reject of falsification. Feyerabend simply reveals in the hypocrisy of it. But Wootton seems determined to argue that the scientific revolution was built on falsification principles. That rather than such uncivilised things as politics and personal interest spurring the pioneers of rationalism on, they took definitive evidence as definitive, and moved forward with it. I have no reason to doubt Wootton on this; but I have cause to ask why it seems so important to Wootton today? The conditions in which science emerged are surely different to the conditions under which science is maintained and perpetuated. Indeed, as an academic writing and publishing, I know it is. There will be similarities, of course. But a novel correspondence between Galileo and other (newly) learned men of Europe, and their rejection of theories based on new measurements of parallax given by previously inconceivable technologies, is quite different to a global knowledge production industry held up in no small part by modern government bureaucracies and international capitalism.