Monday, April 6, 2026

Book Review: "The Boat of a Million Years" by Poul Anderson

The Boat of a Million Years (1989)
Poul Anderson (1926-2001)
470 pages

I remember when Poul Anderson’s science fiction novel The Boat of a Million Years first came out, over three decades ago. I had somehow heard about it before it was released (in those halcyon, pre-internet days), and anytime I came near a bookstore I eagerly checked to see if they had it. When I finally found a copy, I was over-the-top excited to read it – and it didn’t disappoint.

All this was long before I began writing these reviews. But, recently, I read the book again.

What originally attracted me was the story arc following a group of immortals on Earth as they live through the millennia, from ancient times to far into our future. Anderson’s immortals are born at different times and in different places, but all face the challenge of keeping their agelessness hidden. While some carry out into solitary, nomadic lives, others repeatedly settle down, though only ever for a couple few decades until their families and neighbors begin to question their perennial youth, forcing them to again disappear and start elsewhere anew. For they must take care as, while they do not age, they can be killed if injured sufficiently brutally.

The story opens in 310 BC, introducing the earliest born of these immortals, Hanno, as he seeks to join a Greek ship that plans to sail out of the Mediterranean and up the coast to then unknown northern lands. Already in the opening pages, it becomes evident the care Hanno takes to hide the centuries he has already lived.

As the story proceeds, readers are introduced to other immortals, born later, in other lands. With each chapter, Anderson drops into the life of one or the other of them, usually to reveal a moment of crisis, as they face trouble hiding their immortality and struggle to find a way through. Gradually, their wanderings begin to intersect, their experiences helping them to detect another like them, though their ever-present fear of discovery by mortals keeps them wary even then of revealing themselves.

In ancient times, and even up through the 1800’s, disappearing remains a feasible option for them, with vast uncharted or at least isolated lands to vanish into, and limited or no communication across large distances. As the 20th century dawns, however, it becomes increasingly difficult for them to remain under the radar. They must employe ever more cunning strategies to remain undiscovered – and be quick to move on whenever someone gets too close to the truth. Eventually, they reach a point in which they must decide whether to face the uncertain future together, and what path offers them the most appealing way forward.

Especially in the first half of the novel, before the characters have come together, it can be challenging to keep track of who’s who, especially as it can be several chapters before Anderson comes back around to the same character. As they change their lives to remain hidden, they often change their names, and though Anderson gives clues for the reader, to help keep track, it can still be difficult to keep things straight. Admittedly, I made it more difficult for myself this second time through, because I ended up reading it a bit at a time, over many months.

Unfortunately, as I recall also happening on my first reading, I didn’t discover until I finished the story that the end pages contain both a Chronology, listing the year each chapter begins, and a Glossary, providing the modern-day locations of the ancient place names used in the story. It would have helped to know that these pages were there as I was reading the story; unfortunately, the book has no table of contents, so a reader is left to discover these guides by chance – or once they come to the last page of the story.

The one advantage to not discovering the end pages in advance is that for someone who loves history, it can be fun to decode the places and times the chapters are set in. And unlike when I first read the book, now with smart phones a reader can discover for themselves the information necessary to figure it out.

As someone who enjoys learning about the past and imagining what’s to come, the idea of these characters witnessing and experiencing so many centuries of human development thrilled me. More generally, stories set across long time scales tend to catch my attention. Thus, I was excited to turn the page, deep into Neal Stephenson’s Seveneves, and read the single line 5000 Years Later. And then there was Cixin Liu’s Remembrance of Earth’s Past trilogy, which begins in our recent past and actually carries right on past the end of our universe. (My reviews of these novels linked to at right.)

The first half to two-thirds of the book can feel a bit chaotic, as the story jumps ahead in time and place from one character (or few characters) to the next, until they finally begin to come together. And Anderson imagines a rather depressing future for humankind, one that paradoxically leaves the immortals as the most recognizably human beings left to carry on the ancient motivations of humankind. But if you love history and an epic sweep to your stories, Anderson’s done his homework; in The Boat of a Million Years you’ll drop into now almost legendary times and places in our past, not as dry history, but through characters who experience them firsthand.


Other notes and information:


Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Monday, March 16, 2026

Book Review: "The Future of Truth" by Werner Herzog

The Future of Truth (2024)
Werner Herzog (1942)
115 pages

I don’t think truth is some kind of polestar in the sky that we will one day get to. It’s more like an incessant striving. A movement, an uncertain journey, a seeking full of futile endeavor. But it is this journey into the unknown, into a vast twilit forest, that gives our lives meaning and purpose; it is what distinguishes us from the beasts in the fields. (3)

With these comments, director and writer Werner Herzog sets the stage in his essay The Future of Truth for an examination of what it means to seek truth, particularly in a world filled with ever more sophisticated forms of misinformation, misrepresentations and deep fakes.

He opens by distinguishing between truth and facts, dismissing the idea that “what characterized truth was its way of sticking to fact, to reality.” (20) Rather, he argues, “facts, of themselves, have no power, they are inert, they shed no light, they give us no deeper understanding.” (20)

Precisely that distinction lay at the heart of an article I read recently dealing with climate change: the author noted that then-President Obama had presented facts about climate change that supported his call for acting more aggressively to address it, while Republican politicians presented other, equally true facts about the potential economic difficulties of doing so. The author pointed out that both sides were “correct” with respect to their facts, leaving the discussion at a stalemate; the real challenge was, how to get to the deeper truth of the situation, through a broad discussion about what should be done and what the consequences might be? (Unfortunately, I can’t find the link to that article at the moment; if you recognize it, please leave the link to it in the comments below.)

Herzog promotes such a seeking of truth in his essay, characterizing it as the pursuit of a deeper understanding of a situation, of humankind, of our world. By exploring this “journey into the unknown” in the presence of a variety of examples of deceptions – both intentional and unintentional, and including some he himself has participated in – he raises thought-provoking questions about what lies in the gray area between such artifice leading us to fundamental truths versus being destructively deceptive.

Over several chapters, he considers: the often exaggerated plots presented in movies and other arts performances to communicate emotional truths; the misrepresentations and lies of political leaders from ancient times to the present day; the seductive nature of conspiracy theories and sects; and the ever improving ability of AI to create deep fakes in terms of videos, recordings and pictures. While some of his examples of misinformation will be familiar to readers, the wide range of deceptions he describes is truly impressive – if also dismaying.

Hertzog’s view of truth as being distinct from a simple collection of facts makes eminent sense to me, as does his conception of the pursuit of truth as a never-ending journey to ever deeper understanding. I wonder, however, whether his ready acceptance of certain kinds of deception for the purpose of better getting to truth in particular situations leaves open a dangerous lacuna through which other, less honorable actors could also pass, claiming the same right to pursue and propagate their destructive truths.

By way of example: he mentions a Japanese business called Family Romance, an agency that will “supply actors who on a temporary basis stand in for missing friends or family members.” (37) He describes using actors from that agency to make a film “that a few reviewers took … for a documentary;” in fact, it wasn’t, and yet he argues that “in spite of [that] there is an underlying truth: in the feelings” (40) communicated by the actors. 

Then the rub, however: he relates that "a few years later ... the Japanese state broadcaster, filmed a documentary about” the agency's owner, asking him “to nominate a client who would be prepared to stand in front of the camera and talk about his experience with Family Romance.” To the subsequent embarrassment of the broadcaster the owner chose one of his own actors to pretend to be a client, later defending his choice by saying that

a genuine customer would have played down his loneliness to keep face, he would have told lies, and at best maybe said half the truth. Only one of his actors, who had done the job of cheering up a lonely person hundreds of times, would permit deep insights.... Would speak the truth. (41) 

Essentially, the owner argued, the genuine person might lie, while the liar would tell the truth – get to the true feelings.

But this seems a slippery slope, for two reasons. For one: yes, the genuine person might play down their loneliness, but more generally their situation might simply be complicated, their loneliness may only represent a part of what they are feeling; an actor portraying such loneliness could simply end up as a caricature of some idealized lonely person – is that really getting at a truth? More critically, by making this switch, creating this illusion, are we not granting permission for the autocrat or dictator to do the same, to create the lie that, from their point of view, gets to the “truth” as they see it, or at least as they want others to see it? If one argues that a deception can be useful for getting at the truth, how does one distinguish between creating acceptable and unacceptable deceptions – pursuing edifying versus damaging “truths”?

I suppose Hertzog might argue that establishing that distinction – between acceptable and unacceptable, good and bad truths – is part of the overall work for all of us, the “incessant striving” required. But it feels a dangerous game to play.

Hertzog even uses himself as an example of such ambiguity. Describing it broadly so as not to spoil it for readers, early in the book he quotes another author; being a bit curious, I googled the quote and found that it was known to be something Hertzog himself had made-up. Towards the end of the book, he reveals this – citing it as an example of how he distilled the writings of this particular author into a quote that expresses the broader truth he had found in them, even if the author never explicitly wrote the words Herzog “quoted.”

Again, however, a demagogue or simply someone bent on deception could propagate a “quote” of some work of another that perverts the message in a way that corrupts public discussion and eventually policy – rationalizing that it gets at what they consider an important truth. And, as has been reported, even if the deception is eventually discovered, it can be difficult to disabuse people of a lie they have heard, especially if it aligns with what they want to believe. In the current social and political environment – ever more polarized and full of opposing, hardened ‘truths’ – it can be hard not to be concerned about where such deceptions could lead us.

I have long admired Hertzog as a director, enjoying his films; evident in them is, as he writes, that

all my life, my work has been involved with the central issue of truth. I have always rigorously opposed the foolish belief that equates truth with facts. (79)

In The Future of Truth, he argues that we all should engage in the hard work of looking beyond facts to discover truth. And, ultimately, it’s perhaps better to follow his lead in that sense, to actively pursue truth rather than live in fear of those who would abuse our search.


Other notes and information:

A recent article in the New York Times discusses this same topic of truth: Music, At Least, Doesn't Lie.


Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Friday, February 20, 2026

Book Review: "The World Goes On" by László Krasznahorkai

The World Goes On (2017)
László Krasznahorkai (1954)
311 pages

I struggle to know how to even begin to classify the twenty-one pieces in Hungarian writer László Krasznahorkai’s anthology The World Goes On. All but one are written in a stream of conscious style of generally paragraph-long sentences, with the paragraphs themselves often spanning many pages. Each challenges a reader to follow a kind of frenzied inner monologue of a restless mind. (The one exception to this style I’ll leave for readers to discover – certainly, its structure was a first for me…)

The collection can broadly be divided into two groups. The first section, roughly half of the pieces, Krasznahorkai’s labels HE SPEAKS, with the remaining half in a second section labeled HE NARRATES; a single, final story has its own section HE BIDS FAREWELL. Despite the similarities in approach across the pieces, those of the first (and third) section have a distinct impact compared to those in the second.

The opening set of pieces tend to be written in a first-person voice, as essays that unspool personal meditations on the world and our place in it. For these, the stream of conscious telling serves to reinforce the struggle to find sensible explanations as one contemplates the complexities and contradictions of our world.

Thus, for example, in the opening story, Wandering-Standing, the protagonist (Krasznahorkai?) describes a desperate desire to leave his hometown – “intolerable, cold, sad, bleak, and deadly” (5) – only to discover that wherever he goes he has not actually left behind what he wished to escape. In He Wants to Forget, he despairs of our present-day world, finding it to be an

age [that] wants to forget it has gambled away everything on its own, without outside help, and that it can’t blame alien powers, or fate, or some remote baleful influence; we did this ourselves: we have made away with gods and with ideals. (17) 

The title story considers the irrevocable consequences of the events of 9/11, which he finds marks a clear before and after for our civilization: 

I knew at once, watching the flaming, tumbling Towers, and then envisioning them again and again, and I knew that without a brand-new language it was impossible to understand this brand-new era in which, along with everyone else, I suddenly found myself. (27)

And, finally, The Second Lecture considers the minor, almost invisible, constraints the world we have created places on us; a vagrant standing at the end of a platform, beyond a yellow line meant to mark off the area as prohibited, inspires a meditation on the how we internalize so many of the rules we live by. 

The particular instinct that prohibits setting foot in just this area doesn’t only prohibit setting foot in it, but erases it from consciousness as it were …. Any forbidden zone of this sort … not only explicitly communicates its unavoidable randomness, but offers exemplary proof that the regulations of our human world (including the simplest ones) are not just unfathomable but unchallengeable. These regulations … even the least significant ones, are impossible to separate from their invisible corpus; laws such as these – even the mildest ones – become visible solely when they are violated, and can be apprehended in operation only through a certain element of scandal, that is, via the introduction of a certain degree of danger. (46) 

Somehow, a particularly trenchant observation in our current moment, when seemingly innocent mistakes or inoffensive actions can have prejudicial, and even fatal, consequences.


The second section shifts to a short story format; here the stream of conscious telling often comes with particular phrases repeated many times over, giving the stories a frenetic pacing. In A Drop of Water, the protagonist finds himself in a sacred city in India, which he desperately wants to leave but, like a nightmare, he can never quite find a way out. That Gagarin describes the search for truth by a man obsessed over what might have led to the death of the first Soviet Cosmonaut. In many of these stories, the telling leaves a reader almost exhausted for the protagonist: it’s hard not to feel that most of them could use a meditation course to help quiet their frantic thoughts.

Several of these stories return to the themes of the first section, exploring the nature of our world. Thus, in Downhill on a Forest Road, a driver suffers the contingency inherent in everyday events, discovering in an instant that

everything, including a catastrophe, has a moment-by-moment structure – a structure that is beyond measurement or comprehension, one that is maddeningly complex … because of one choice or another, of more choices and still more choices ad infinitum, those maddening had-we-but-known choices impossible to conceptualize because the situation we find ourselves in is complicated, determined by something that is in the nature of neither God nor the devil, something whose ways are impenetrable to us and are doomed to remain so because chance is not simply a matter of choosing, but the result of that which might have happened anyway. (221)

And, more bleakly, Journey in a Place Without Blessings tells the story of a cleric who takes drastic action with his church and congregation in the face of a loss of faith:

The diocesan bishop sits sadly among the congregation and he says: this is the end of the reading of the Scriptures, for there has been no understanding. (277)


Each of the pieces in The World Goes On pulls a reader in, enveloping us in a fast-moving current of ideas and observations. I’ll admit that I was knocked off balance in the first pieces, finding it difficult to wrap my head around them. But as Krasznahorkai’s style grew on me, I came around, letting myself be fully absorbed into his storytelling.


Other notes and information:


Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Saturday, February 7, 2026

Book Review: "Universal Basic Income" by Karl Widerquist

Universal Basic Income (2024)
Karl Widerquist (1965)
255 pages

I’ve long been a supporter of the idea of having a Universal Basic Income program. It seems particularly necessary in the United States, where the dominance over the past half-century of a free market fundamentalist ideology focused on profits above all else has had the inevitable consequence of driving an ever-growing number of people into increasingly precarious situations relative to work and so income. And the rapid advances in AI and automation can only be expected to accelerate this trend.

But I’ll admit that my support of UBI has rested on a largely uninformed understanding of how it could be implemented and the challenges to it. So, when I discovered an introductory text entitled simply Universal Basic Income earlier this year (shout out to The Regulator Bookshop!), I decided it was time to address this gap. Written by Karl Widerquist and published as part of The MIT Press Essential Knowledge Series, the book jacket blurb promised “an accessible introduction” to UBI – and it definitely delivers on that claim.

Widerquist, according to the author’s bio, is a professor of philosophy specializing in distributive justice, having earned doctorates in political theory and economics. He acknowledges up-front his deep engagement in and support for the basic income movement, but argues that

whether you agree with my position on UBI or not, I think you can learn more from a passionate and honest attempt to argue the strongest points for it and refute the strongest points against it than from a dispassionate list of points on either side. (10) 

So, a reader clearly understands his position going in.

Widerquist opens with a brief history of the UBI movement, then provides the definition of UBI he uses for the purposes of his book: 

a periodic cash payment unconditionally delivered to all on an individual basis, without means-test or work requirement.” (11) 

After explaining the individual elements of this definition, he points out other names used to refer to UBI, as well as alternative views on the key aspects it should include. He also differentiates it from other, related kinds of policies.

With nomenclature and definitions established, Widerquist describes sample implementations of UBI. Rather than getting into the weeds of specific potential program details, he focuses on presenting simplified, illustrative examples. Based on a roughly poverty level UBI payout and a simple flat tax, he demonstrates the net amount of money each person would receive given the amount of personal income they receive. By making these examples concrete – to the point of including tables of dollar amounts showing personal income and the taxes on it in the context of receiving a UBI – he illustrates clearly for readers how a program could work.

But how would such policies fare in the real world? Widerquist acknowledges that the lack of existing, broad-based implementations of UBI makes drawing firm conclusions difficult. Nevertheless, he reviews a variety of narrowly targeted UBI trials that have been done globally – including devoting a chapter to Alaskan’s experience with their oil revenue financed Permanent Fund Dividend – and discusses what can be learned from such programs, despite their limited scope.

Among the conclusions he draws, I found perhaps most impactful his comments regarding affordability concerns raised about UBI. He makes a compelling argument that, in terms of financing a UBI program, it’s more about the will to do so than a lack of available funding opportunities; he even proposes potential funding sources, including charging for mineral rights on public land or for the use of the broadcast spectrum – instead of giving these away to companies at little or no cost, only to have them turn around and make a profit selling the resulting products and services to consumers (that is, back to the original, public owners of those rights). Ultimately, he notes:

People who say “we can’t afford it” don’t usually mean that, objectively speaking, the spending required to support UBI is unsustainable; they mean that subjectively, it costs more than they think it’s worth. If you don’t like a policy to begin with, it’s subjectively unaffordable at any cost. No evidence refutes these subjective beliefs. … The case for UBI is better built on the rejection rather than the accommodation of that belief. (130)


Beyond Widerquist’s clear and effective explanation of how a UBI could be implemented and financed, however, I found most enlightening his examination of the pros and cons of UBI programs. He gives a pointed description of the economic realities that make UBI necessary, persuasively refutes arguments raised against it, and explores which justifications can and cannot work in gathering support for it.

His fundamental argument for UBI, which he returns to repeatedly in the text, builds off a concept of distributive justice, and gets at the heart of the motivations driving our present-day economic system: 

It’s wrong to come between anyone else and the resources they need to survive. But that’s exactly what we do. Our rules deny the vast majority of people access to the resources necessary to produce food, shelter, clothing, and the other things humans need unless they continue providing services [i.e., work] for existing property owners. Because our rules have that feature, we are all owed at least enough cash compensation to buy goods instead. (143) 

He goes on to make a point that seems largely ignored, or perhaps forgotten, by too many, especially in the US:

People often say that work is a fact of nature, but that’s not true in the way we use work today. Work in the sense of “toil to convert resources into consumption” might be a fact of nature, but work in the contemporary sense of “time spent providing services for people who have money so you can get money to access resources” is no fact of nature. The current necessity of it is entirely the result of rules that have been imposed on us. (144)


Over a century ago, in The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (my review linked to at right), Max Weber described this imposed basis of our current capitalist economic system as having arisen out of a distinctive form of ascetism introduced by the Protestant Reformation. The resulting society we have created, Weber recognized,

is an immense cosmos into which the individual is born, and which presents itself to him, at least as an individual, as an unalterable order of things in which he must live. It forces the individual, in so far as he is involved in the system of market relationships, to conform to capitalistic rules of action. The manufacturer who in the long run acts counter to these norms, will just as inevitably be eliminated from the economic scene as the worker who cannot or will not adapt himself to them will be thrown into the streets without a job.

Thus, the role of work in our present-day society is not a fact of nature and, as Widerquist unequivocally states, “we can change the rules.” (144)

A few lines later, I’ll admit I was fairly cheering him on as he highlighted a pet peeve I’ve long had regarding discussions about policy proposals (such as UBI) that might rein in some of the excesses of free market fundamentalism:

Labels such as “socialism” or “communism” are primarily used as meaningless scare words for any progressive policy. So many different ways to organize an economy are possible that it is folly to portray a continuum between “capitalism” and “socialism” as if it were all there is. There are thousands or millions of policy choices, all of which create differently working systems. (147) 

As opposed to considering such options, however, in the US anything less than full-throated support for the free market system too often evokes the question ‘what do you want, communism?’ – which shuts down any chance for a constructive or nuanced conversation. This dogmatic mindset has been methodically inculcated into American thinking, as Naomi Orestes and Erik M. Conway point out in their trenchant history The Big Myth: How American Business Taught Us to Loathe Government and Love the Free Market (my review linked to at right):

By promoting a false dichotomy between laissez-faire capitalism and communist regimentation, market fundamentalists [have made] it difficult for Americans to have conversations about crucial issues, such as appropriate levels of taxation or the balance between federal and state authority, or even how to appraise the size of the federal government objectively.


Another element emphasized by defenders of our current economic system, notes Widerquist, is a requirement for “mandatory-participation” – that everyone who can work should be expected to. This expectation leads to an argument against UBI centered on the concern that it may allow some people – those willing to get by on a poverty-level income – to decide not to work. Widerquist argues, however, that what UBI actually provides is individual independence: rather than allowing a person to not work at all, it liberates a person from having to accept poor wages or working conditions simply to survive. And, as he points out to defenders of a mandatory-participation requirement:

If you think the market economy is going to fall apart without the forced participation of 99 percent of its workers, you must think it’s very fragile system. (147)


Addressing the related concern of incentive to work, he has a section that I was strongly tempted to quote in its entirety, as it provides a powerful and decisive rejoinder. I’ll limit myself here, however, to his penetrating observation that

When the subject is whether workers want available jobs at going wages, you always hear about “lazy workers” who won’t work (for going wages), but never about “cheap employers” who won’t pay the wages you need to get people to work voluntarily [rather than to survive]. (148-9) 

As he goes on to point out: “If one person has a task that they want someone else to do, they should pay enough that someone wants to do it.” (149)

In that sense, UBI would address one of the critical consequences of sky-rocketing inequality: what some have come to label the precariat, those struggling to get by on whatever jobs and wages they can get. Implementing it would “reverse the growth of inequality … by giving workers greater power to command better wages and salaries.” (142) Thus, workers having a basic income would be able to leave a job with poor or abusive working conditions, or a poor salary, without immediately ending up homeless and unable to eat.

Fundamentally, Widerquist argues that with UBI “we can have a thriving market economy without poverty, homelessness, or the fear of economic destitution.” (142) Instead of working counter to our market economy

UBI is actually rather individualistic, giving power to middle- and working-class people against both private and governmental power structures. It’s compatible with any system that respects everyone’s power to say no. (148) 

UBI simply gives people enough to survive – a poverty level income; to live better or afford more, a person would still have to find work.

Although Widerquist examines – and refutes – these and other arguments against UBI, he also touches on what I feel is the most serious impediment to implementing it: finding the political will. In what now, in early 2026, feels like a dramatic understatement, he notes:

One perennial antidemocratic problem in American politics is the power of the donor class. Studies in the United States consistently show that legislation is far more responsive to the opinions of the wealthy than to the opinions of voters as a whole. … [And] disturbing trends against the power of the people are present in the United States. Some state governments are attempting to establish permanent minority rule by disenfranchising voters, gerrymandering, and other anti-democratic tactics. (208-9) 

The economist Martin Wolf examines the origins and consequences of such disturbing trends in The Crisis of Democratic Capitalism (my review linked to at right), in which he describes what he considers to be the fundamental, symbiotic relationship between democracy and capitalism, and argues that:

The health of our societies depends on sustaining a delicate balance between the economic and the political, the individual and the collective, the national and the global. But that balance is broken. Our economy has destabilized our politics and vice versa.


Corrupting the political process in their favor, the elite and big business continue to increase their wealth and power by lowering taxes for themselves while reducing job protections and social services for everyone else. Thus, for example, they have successfully lobbied to reduce marginal tax rates from highs of over 80% on the wealthiest during the middle of the 20th century down to 37%; and they have broken the back of both public and government support for unions, making it possible for businesses to increase profits by reducing wages and benefits. These powerful groups can be expected to fight mightily against higher taxes to support UBI, and against the possibility that their businesses could be forced, by a stronger bargaining position of their workers, into paying higher wages.

One could imagine that a sufficiently enraged and engaged populist progressive movement could potentially overcome this reactionary position. But the first step would be that enough people see through the economic ideology of free market fundamentalism that has become so ingrained in US social and economic thinking.

However, another barrier to the rise of such progressivism must also be overcome, as Widerquist points out: the successful creation by the elite and big business of a destructive social ideology.

Perhaps the biggest threat to the UBI movement is the rise of right-wing nationalism … convincing the mass of people that our economic problems are caused by some boogeyman [such as] immigrants; foreigners; LGBTQ people; racial, ethnic, or religious minorities; and any other vulnerable group they single out. America is particularly vulnerable to right-wing nationalism because white fear and distrust has extremely deep roots. (209) 

The history of this challenge has been thoroughly examined by Heather McGhee, in her engaging The Sum of Us (my review linked to at right), in which she explores how the elite in the US have for centuries instilled and then leveraged fear of the other to protect their wealth and power:

The elite adds in the urgency of the zero-sum story – they are taking what you have; they are a threat to you – and it’s enough to keep a polity focused on scapegoats while no progress is made on the actual economic issues in most Americans’ lives.”


I would argue that together, these broadly and deeply held beliefs – in support of free market fundamentalism and against support for programs that also help other groups – pose a bigger challenge to getting UBI implemented than specific arguments against it. Because, in the end, these beliefs mean that those against UBI will always be motivated to find yet another argument against it.

Widerquist also explores the relationship between automation and UBI. While acknowledging that automation would seem to be a ready and convincing argument for UBI, he goes on to argue that he finds it a poor supporting point. He raises the concern that those opposed to UBI will simply push back with let’s wait and see if unemployment really rises before doing anything, since significant unemployment due to automation hasn’t yet occurred. He also argues that “automation might be more likely to cause increased inequality and precariousness” (195) in the near term, rather than direct job losses, and that in fact it already has, for centuries. As he points out,

[although] the term Luddite has come to refer to any person with an opposition to technological improvement … the real Luddites weren’t necessarily opposed to automation itself; they were demonstrating against the cruel way our labor market reacts to automation. (198)


Andreas Malm provides a fascinating review of the history leading up to the Luddite movement and, more broadly, the impact of automation on skilled labor, in Fossil Capital (my review linked to at right). Examining the origins of the Industrial Revolution in the English textile industry, he demonstrates how fossil fuels enabled business owners to automate, and so eliminate highly skilled workers, in order to increase profits. He quotes a manager in the 1930’s, who wrote

the machines never get drunk; their hands never shook from excess [work]; they were never absent from work; they did not strike for wages; they were unfailing in their accuracy and regularity.

Malm also describes how fossil fuels enabled a shift in production to densely populated cities, where business owners recognized that the

shadow of potential substitutes will keep a worker aware that she is fortunate to have her job. The threat of dismissal is ‘perhaps the most effective means yet discovered to impose labour discipline in class-divided societies.’ … a large, dense, concentrated supply [of workers] allows for ‘flexible labour turnover policies’, whereas a small, thin, spatially dispersed labour market forces firms to treat their employees as precious minerals.

Looking forward, however, Widerquist points out that “We don’t need to stop technology to fix the problems that inspired the Luddites. We need to raise the floor [through, for example, UBI] to ease the transition.” (199)

Although Widerquist convincingly refutes many of the arguments against UBI, one I remain concerned about – not as a reason to not implement it, but rather as a challenge to any such implementation – is the potential inflationary impact. Widerquist acknowledges that although the government spending to finance UBI and its beneficiaries “demand for goods will create inflationary pressure.” (162)  But, he argues, taxation policy, whether on wealthier members of society or also on businesses’ access to and use of raw materials (widely understood, from minerals to broadcast spectrum and beyond) can mitigate this.

In terms of the potential inflationary pressure of wages being driven up by giving people the ability to survive without working, he makes the argument (in a personal correspondence) that

wages going up does not always mean inflation goes up. Sometimes wages going up means profits going down while the overall price level remains the same. We need a good fiscal and monetary policy along with UBI to ensure any new spending is consisted with overall price stability. 

While I certainly support the idea of lower profits as a fair exchange for more socially viable wages, and of the pursuit of fiscal and monetary policy that enables UBI to succeed, I still struggle to see how it's politically feasible.  This remains the rub.  How can UBI supporters overcome the entrenched power of a wealthy elite who believe that they merit whatever they can get, and that by hiding in gated communities they can protect themselves from the blowback of the impacts of the massive inequality they are creating?

Nevertheless, in Universal Basic Income, Widerquist makes a persuasive case for both how beneficial UBI would be for the increasing numbers of people in precarious living situations and how straightforward it could be to implement.  Perhaps more importantly, he clearly lays out which arguments can be effective in pursuing support for UBI and cautions against others that may seem at first blush reasonable but contain pitfalls.  His book provides a solid and engaging starting point for anyone interested in better understanding this important policy option.


Other notes and information:

More quotes from this book

Regarding the vaunted idea in the US of a deeply felt work ethic, Widerquist calls it for what it is: 
our society has no work ethic. It has, at best, a money-making ethic, as evidenced by the ability to buy yourself out of a genuine obligation to “work” with an inheritance, a lottery ticket, lucky investments, or nefarious business deals. (151)

Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Saturday, January 17, 2026

Book Review: "The City and Its Uncertain Walls" by Haruki Murakami

The City and Its Uncertain Walls (2024)
Haruki Murakami (1949)
449 pages

In Haruki Murakami’s novel The City and Its Uncertain Walls, a young couple enjoy each other’s company while strolling through parks or sitting in cafes. They live in separate cities, an hour and a half train ride apart, and so cherish these times they can be together.

As their relationship deepens, the girl begins describing a town where, she says, her real self lives.  "The me here with you now isn’t the real me. It’s only a stand-in. Like a wandering shadow." (4)  Over time, she fills in ever more detail about the town, and life in it, including that a place and occupation exist for him there, too. The boy, though he struggles to understand the true nature of the place she describes or his beloved’s role there, recognizes and accepts its reality to her.

When the girl one day disappears from his life without a trace, he descends into a profound melancholy. Though he moves on – completing school, taking up a career, and occasionally dating along the way – he never forgets the girl. He continues to carry with him her answer to his question about how one enters her mysterious town, the strange place where her real self supposedly lives:

You just need to wish your way in. But truly wishing for something, from the heart, isn’t that simple. It might take time. (5)


Murakami represents the two worlds, the one the couple originally occupy – what we would consider the real world – and the other with the mysterious town the girl describes, as kinds of alternate realities. As the boy becomes a man, he begins to have experiences that shift between these realities, all the while attempting to find his place in them and to understand his relationship with the girl he still loves.

The story fits into the genre of magical realism; Murakami even references it, with two of the characters discussing Gabriel García Márquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera. It’s a genre I’ll admit that I’ve never been particularly drawn to, although I’ve read and enjoyed several of García Márquez and Isabel Allende, as well as an earlier Murakami novel, After Dark, which has elements of magical realism that give it the feeling of a series of impressionist overlays of reality, as I discuss in my review (linked to at right).

While I found The City and Its Uncertain Walls engaging, the open-endedness of the alternative realities he presents left me unsatisfied. No doubt just a measure of my own personal taste with this particular story, for it’s not that uncertainties in stories always bother me. Just as one example, I found Marlen Haushofer’s The Wall (my review linked to at right) a gripping, moving read, despite having both the origin of the eponymous wall and the ultimate fate of the main character left unknown.

In Murakami’s novel, however, while the enigmatic town does seem to exist in some strange, unfathomable and unexplained way, we are left unclear if the boy’s engagement with it is a dream, a hallucination, or something more. Perhaps, in the end, it doesn’t matter – it’s simply meant to be a part of the mystery of love, left to each reader to interpret.


Other notes and information:


Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Friday, December 12, 2025

Book Review: "How to Think Like a Roman Emperor" by Donald Robertson

How to Think Like a Roman Emperor: The Stoic Philosophy of Marcus Aurelius (2019)
Donald Robertson (1972)
294 pages

In How to Think Like a Roman Emperor, Donald Robertson uses the education and life experiences of Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius to provide an engaging introduction to the ancient philosophy of Stoicism and how its elements have informed the modern techniques of cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT). Based on this history, he reveals how incorporating a Stoic outlook into our own thinking can positively influence our daily experience.

Throughout his telling, Robertson references classical texts, including from Stoic philosophers, Roman historians, and correspondence between Marcus and several of his key tutors. Not surprisingly, Marcus’ own Meditations plays a central role. More a collection of reminders to himself than a narrative intended for a wider audience, these writings reflect Marcus’ understanding of Stoicism as a philosophy of life and how he sought to apply it to guide his daily behavior. (My review linked to at right.)

Robertson combines these references and his own professional experience as a cognitive-behavioral psychotherapist into an eminently readable mixture of history and science. Over the course of the book, he introduces key aspects of Stoic philosophy, shows how Marcus understood and applied them in ruling the empire, and then provides straightforward steps from Stoicism-infused CBT that people can employ in their daily lives to strengthen their own resilience in challenging situations.

The following quote both reveals Robertson’s approach, as well as introduces one of the central concepts of Stoicism: to think and speak about things that happen to us objectively

Marcus tends to refer to this way of viewing events as entailing the separation of our value judgements from external events. Cognitive therapists have likewise, for many decades, taught their clients the famous quotation from the [Stoic philosopher] Epictetus: “It’s not things that upset us but our judgements about things.” … This sort of technique is referred to as “cognitive distancing” in CBT, because it requires sensing the separation or distance between our thoughts and external reality. (77) 

This concept of cognitive distancing reappears throughout the text in a variety of applications of Stoic teachings (and corresponding techniques in CBT) to address events that can impact our thinking. The goal is to avoid catastrophizing, in our words and thoughts, “by practicing deliberately describing events more objectively and in less emotional terms.” Robertson notes, for example, that

Marcus follows Epictetus’s guidance when he reminds himself [in Meditations 8.49] that he should tell himself someone has insulted him in a matter-of-fact way, but not add the value judgement that it has done him any harm. … stick with the facts and don’t unnecessarily extrapolate from them. (72)

Many of the techniques Robertson presents constitute approaches to achieving such objectivity. Thus, he describes the Stoic idea of “contemplating the sage, in which Stoics would ‘imagine a role model whose strengths you’ve identified coping with a challenging situation. [They] asked themselves, ‘What would Socrates or Zeno do?’” (102) We can apply this in our daily lives, Robertson suggests, by bringing to mind in a difficult moment our own sage: a friend, a well-known person, or even Marcus Aurelius himself, based on what we have learned about his approach to the crises he faced. Indeed, Marcus can be a good choice, as few of us are likely to face, as he did, murderous and conniving courtiers, barbarian invasions or a civil war (this last maybe not so unlikely anymore, I suppose – though I lay myself open to the charge of catastrophizing…); if the techniques worked for Marcus in those situations, then there can be hope for us to successfully apply them in our more mundane daily challenges by reminding ourselves how Marcus would have handled it.

One helpful distinction the Stoics made, according to Robertson, was between our initial, instinctive response to an event and our subsequent reaction after having a moment to consider it rationally.

Stoics acknowledged that our initial emotional reactions are often automatic. We should accept these as natural, view them with indifference, and accept them without a struggle rather than try to suppress them. On the other hand, we should learn to suspend the voluntary thoughts we have in response to these initial feelings and the situation that triggered them. In the case of worrying, perhaps surprisingly, that’s usually just a matter of noticing we’re doing it and stopping. (210) 

Such a realistic attitude toward a person’s behavior, distinguishing between the essentially animal reaction that arises before we can marshal conscious consideration of the event, and how we then go on to thoughtfully deal with it provides the space for having some grace for ourselves and others in difficult situations. It reminds me a bit of a description of success in meditation I once heard: it’s not in never getting lost in thought – it’s in being able to quickly recognize that one’s lost in thought and coming back to the moment.

For me, having previously read Marcus’ Meditations, but otherwise not much about Stoicism and only a bit about CBT, How to Think Like a Roman Emperor provided an accessible introduction to both. One comes away with a history of Marcus’ life, including how he came to understand and translate Stoic philosophy into effective behaviors he could apply in the face of the many challenges he encountered. And, by tying the philosophical principles of Stoicism to the techniques of Cognitive-Behavior Therapy, Robertson provides readers with concrete ways to build such resilience into our own lives.


Other notes and information:

More quotes from this book, including descriptions of other Stoic techniques

As someone who enjoys learning about history, learning more from Robertson’s book about Marcus’ life and times was a pleasure in itself.

As part of <i>identifying a sage</i> for ourselves, Robertson proposes that:
Your first step is to write down the virtues exhibited by someone you respect.  Listing the qualities you most admire in another person, just as Marcus does in the first book of The Meditations, is a simple and power exercise.  


Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Thursday, November 20, 2025

Book Review: "The Lathe of Heaven" by Ursula K. Le Guin

The Lathe of Heaven (1971)
Ursula Le Guin (1929-2018)
184 pages

The problem with unintended consequences is not so much that the consequences were not intended, as that all too often they weren’t even imagined as possibilities, and so come as a complete shock. People tend to remain so focused on what they want to have happen – or, at least, expect to happen – that they don’t give proper attention to the full range of ways things could go wildly wrong.

Precisely such a failure of imagination lies at the heart of Ursula Le Guin’s wonderful novel The Lathe of Heaven.

As the story opens, George Orr has been found in the corridor of his apartment building desperately sick and nearly passing out. A medic arrives, who discovers that Orr has been taking a quantity and combination of medications beyond what the government allows. As a consequence, the authorities require him to submit to psychological treatment; eventually, he ends up in the office of a sleep treatment psychiatrist and researcher, Dr. William Haber.

During their first session, Haber learns that Orr has been taking medications in an attempt to avoid dreaming, as he has been tormented by what he calls effective dreams, which alter reality, with changes only he can notice. Repeatedly witnessing the often horrible consequences that quite naturally tend to result from the manic and uncontrolled nature of dreams – in particular the lives that suddenly disappear, not existing in the new reality his dreams have created – he has been desperate to suppress them.

Assuming Orr suffers from some sort of hallucinations due to lack of sleep, Haber proposes using a new machine he has been developing to monitor Orr’s sleep: he will hypnotize Orr, in order to suggest what he should dream and then put him to sleep, and he will then monitor his brain activity. Grasping at any hope for a cure, Orr submits to the treatment.

Already after the first such treatment, Haber comes to realize that his patient can indeed change the world with his dreams – it turns out that those with Orr when he has an effective dream can, like Orr himself, recognize that things have changed. Haber quickly recognizes the power Orr’s condition makes available, and he cannot resist the opportunity to use it to try and change the world.

Le Guin has set the story in the early 21st century, some three decades ahead when she wrote it. She imagines a bit of a dystopian future, with civilization reeling under the impacts of climate crises, overpopulation, pollution-induced epidemics and wars. Haber seeks to fix these problems through his guidance of Orr’s dreams. Of course, absolute power corrupting absolutely, he doesn’t forgo the opportunity to throw in a few perks for himself along the way.

While Orr realizes, and feels deeply, the lives impacted by his dreams, Haber, in the classic (and too often not inaccurate) stereotype of the idealist, only sees the possible benefits of his goals, convinced that it’s worth whatever cost. What he cannot overcome, however, and cannot ignore, is that his attempts to change the world by guiding the content of Orr’s effective dreams offer only a frustratingly inexact process. In a powerful metaphor for the many ways an idealist can fail to anticipate the eventual outcomes of their best laid plans, Orr’s dreams remain a hazy interpretation of Haber’s hypnotic suggestions, and so, while resulting in a version of what Haber seeks, they never turn out as he plans. Nevertheless, Haber remains undeterred; despite the often dramatic unintended consequences that accompany his desired outcomes, he cannot help but try again and again.

Though the challenge of making sensible use of a genie’s wishes is a common enough theme, Le Guin’s story reminds me most of W. W. Jacobs’ short story, The Monkey’s Paw. The eponymous item comes into a family’s possession with the understanding that it can grant three wishes. Already the first wish the family makes, while seemingly simple and straightforward, leads to dreadful tragedy; and when they try to use the subsequent wish to correct the outcome of the first, the results become only more horrible.

Le Guin traces a fine line in The Lathe of Heaven: as readers, our natural sympathies lie with Orr as he attempts to push back on Haber, even while trapped by his drug conviction into continuing treatment. But many a reader will also feel some connection to Haber – will sympathize with his desire to use this power that has fallen into his lap to make the world a better place. And the danger of that temptation and the recognition that we too might succumb to it in Haber’s place weigh heavy.


Other notes and information:

As a tangent, enjoy the incomparable Laurie Anderson’s musical take on the story The Monkey’s Paw, here.


Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf