Although Stephen Marche's most recent book is ironically titled Death of an Author, in my view it could have easily been titled The Impending Death of Literature, unironically.
Full disclosure: I have not read nor do I intend to read Marche's book. But even though my boycott of it will have no impact on its popularity - and Mr. Marche could well be a decent enough human being - for me, this book personifies technology run amok. A Frankenstein made of equal parts ChatGPT, Sudowrite (how do you like that product name?), and Cohere - three Artificial Intelligence programs - Marche has been quoted as saying "I am the creator of this work, 100 percent. But, on the other hand, I didn't create the words." Were George Orwell still with us, he might be chuckling then choking in rapid succession.
I first learned of Sudowrite about six months ago in a sobering closing essay in The Week. About a month ago, my daughter introduced me to Chat GPT on her laptop; I didn't sleep well that night. A few weeks back, a news story really got my attention. It highlighted an AI pioneer who is asking the U.S. Government to step in and regulate the booming business in artificial intelligence before it is too late.
Yesterday I read a brief article in the May 19 issue of the The Week describing how Marche assembled Franken-Novella-Stein, including a closing quote where he compared his product to hip-hop. I'm neither alarmist nor Luddite. But as a lover of literature, the rapid encroachment of AI into publishing upsets me as much as hearing DJs who call themselves musicians.