Q: What was it about the Cain and Abel story that attracted you as a subject? JN: Two brothers fighting over the affection of their parents and their place in the world, a family banished to the wilderness, the murder, the punishment—it’s so mythic and yet familiar and relevant. Incredibly, the source material is only about fifteen sentences long. The porous openings in the original story gave me handholds into it.
When I started this blog years ago, I made a private agreement with myself: I would avoid writing topical political content. Substack, social media, and the blogosphere is saturated with political commentary, providing lots of heat but little light. I don’t like trafficking in outrage, which is the fast-track to success in political blogging.
However, I did write a novel about missile defense set during the Reagan Era in a town hosting a nuclear weapons research laboratory. That’s pretty political, even if the politics are fairly retro.
Due to recent events in the Middle East, the topic of missile defense has come up again, primarily thanks to Noah Smith’s Noahpinions (via). Smith’s piece on recent successes in missile defense tickled a nerve in me, mostly because this is a topic I’ve followed off-and-on for forty years.
To clarify, while my book is tinged with autobiography (I did indeed grow up in Livermore during the Reagan Era while the Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI) was being developed), it’s also fiction (neither of my parents worked for Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory (LLNL), although almost all my friends’ fathers were scientists there).
This is why I reacted strongly to Noah Smith writing this:
…for most of my adult life, I believed that ballistic missile defense was a hopeless, failed cause. From the 2000s all the way through the 2010s, I read lots of op-eds about how kinetic interceptors — “hitting a bullet with a bullet” were just an unworkably difficult technology, and how the U.S. shouldn’t waste our time and money on developing this sort of system.
He quickly adds,
Even the most ardent supporters of missile defense don’t think it could stop a nuclear strike by Russia or China. … critics of missile defense were right that missile defense will probably not provide us with an invincible anti-nuclear umbrella anytime soon. But they were wrong about much else.
Fair enough—Smith is differentiating between defense technology for stopping short- and medium-range ballistic missiles armed with conventional explosives (such as the type used to protect Israel from Iran’s attack in April) versus technology for stopping long-range nuclear ICBMs, which was the problem SDI was supposed to solve. Over the last forty years critics of missile defense have muddied these categories, taking the problems of developing an ICBM defense system, which must deal with missiles launched into the upper atmosphere, and translating them to conventional missiles, which fly at altitudes similar to prop planes.
With this proviso out of the way, Smith goes on to argue that “the way in which critics got this issue wrong illustrates why it’s difficult to get good information about military technology — and therefore why it’s hard for the public to make smart, well-informed choices about defense spending.” He proceeds into the history of short- and medium-range missile defense and its uninformed and myopic critics. It’s a thoughtful piece, well-reasoned and well-researched.
What’s my beef, then? It’s his assertion that the critics getting their prognostications wrong make it “hard for the public to make smart, well-informed choices about defense spending.” I disagree.
What I saw during the SDI years, and continue to see in 2024, is a dearth of public involvement in defense spending or development. How can the American public make well-informed choices, given the lack of transparency in budgeting or the research process?
This is not a bleeding-heart appeal (such as the 1980s bumper stickers Smith references: “It will be a great day when our schools get all the money they need and the Air Force has to hold a bake sale to buy a bomber”). Simply put, the public is not informed on the decision-making process, has not been invited into the process, and is not wanted to be involved in the process.
The evidence for this is in the history of missile defense itself. Even with four decades of critics piling on against it (which Smith thoroughly tallies), the short- and medium-ranged missile defense technology they mocked was approved, funded, developed, honed, and deployed. As far as I can tell, no one was voted out of office for supporting missile defense. No referendum on their development or funding was held.
Smith theorizes that with missile defense,
the information about how good America’s weapons systems are gets kept behind closed doors, unveiled in secret Congressional briefings and whispered between defense contractors. Meanwhile, everyone who wants to criticize U.S. weapons systems is on the outside, squawking loudly to the press.
My skepticism originates from Smith’s belief that the problem is an “asymmetry” between the military, which is secretive “in order to avoid alerting America’s rivals to our true strength,” and mouthy critics of short- and mid-range missile defense, which have a poor track record for predicting its failure.
Now, Smith’s point is a defensible perspective. It’s equally defensible that the reason the military is so hush-hush about their research projects is to keep the American public in the dark. When defense budgeting is discussed publicly, it’s about funding for more bread-and-butter expenses, such as better meal rations and outfitting soldiers with body armor. Who’s going to argue with supporting our troops?
“A shield, not a sword.”
In the 1980s, the public was well aware of the SDI project. It was highly publicized. Reagan announced it on national evening television. What the public did not know was how the LLNL planned to stop those nuclear missiles from reaching American soil. One of the earliest approaches they explored was a theoretical X-ray laser fired from orbiting satellites at the incoming missiles.
(Defenders of ICBM missile defense point out that the X-ray laser was merely one of many approaches considered. That’s true, but it’s also true that it, and so many of the other technologies considered, were discarded as impractical, unworkable, or simply dangerous. The history of SDI and its offshoot Brilliant Pebbles goes into the many misses and problems.)
To return to the X-ray laser: How was it to be powered? The proposal was that each satellite would hold a thermonuclear device. To fire the laser, the internal device would detonate. The contained thermonuclear explosion would shed X-ray radiation, which was redirected toward the intended target.
It’s easy to satirize this proposal (which I certainly did) as though a plot point in a hypothetical Dr. Strangelove sequel. My point here isn’t to knock research that sounds ludicrous, or which didn’t pan out during development. The history of technology, science, and engineering is littered with wild ideas and failed approaches.
My point is: SDI was highly publicized, but the energy source of the X-ray laser wasn’t revealed until years later by a whistleblower. The public could not make an informed decision, because the most vital information about the project was being withheld. Was it withheld because the U.S. military didn’t want to tip its hand to its enemies? Or because the details would be tremendously embarrassing—H-bombs in space to defend America from H-bombs in the sky? I lean toward the latter explanation.
How many voters today are aware that anti-ICBM research is still ongoing in 2024? The SDI project was renamed multiple times over the decades, as a cynical way to sneak it through the budgeting process. It was never defunded, although, again, as Smith and others recognize, “even the most ardent supporters of missile defense don’t think it could stop a nuclear strike by Russia or China.”
Rather, I think the military learned a lesson from Reagan and SDI: Don’t tell the public about your darlings. From a perspective of secure funding, there’s more harm than good from having your pet research project on the cover of Time.
To be fair, Smith doesn’t advocate for giving the U.S. military carte blanche on spending and research: “There’s no easy solution here, other than simply being aware of these difficulties and trying very hard to counteract them. We pundits should talk to and listen to a variety of experts, not just the loudest and most confident.” I agree, although I think his advice should extend well beyond the sphere of the punditry.
And Smith’s also right about the poor track records of critics of conventional missile defense. In the case of SDI, though, the polarity is reversed. Journalist William Broad’s first book on ICBM missile defense, Star Warriors, was a hagiography of SDI and the scientists at LLNL. From the tone and tenor of the 1985 book, a reader might think ICBM defense was simply a matter of getting the brightest and best minds together in a room with a whiteboard and a pot of hot coffee.
Broad’s later account, 1992’s Teller’s War, tells a very different story, revealing not only the research failures, but more critically the deceptions, exaggerations, and maneuverings used to sell the project to Reagan, Congress, and the American public. Broad barely references his earlier Star Warriors in the later book. In fact, reading between the lines of Teller’s War, its tone comes across a little like a scorned partner who realizes far too late that their spouse had baldly lied to them about an infidelity years earlier.
A postscript. When I wrote “the public is not informed on the decision-making process, has not been invited into the process, and is not wanted to be involved in the process,” that largely assumes the public wants to be informed about defense budgeting.
In an era of political gamesmanship, where “owning” the other political team is more than important than actual leadership and problem-solving, I’ve seen very little interest from the public in how our defense dollars are being spent. Perhaps the military doesn’t need to be secretive at all any more about its research projects.
This is the much needed backstory of the character of Stapleton from Conan Doyle’s “Hound of the Baskervilles”. It is exceedingly well done and in keeping with Conan Doyle’s original story. … Heartily recommended for lovers of Holmes and those looking to add to their own Sherlock Holmes collections.
Thanks, Melisende! Full review here, more information on the book here, and Amazon page here.
If you don’t know, the XYZZY Awards are given yearly for interactive fiction. They’re sometimes called the Academy Awards for interactive fiction.
I was blown away to learn that According to Cain won Best Game and Best Implementation for 2022. Cain was also nominated for Best Writing, Best Story, and Best Puzzles.
I’m floored. In 1999, when I first became aware of the interactive fiction community, I wondered if I could write a title that could win the IF Comp or the XYZZY Award.
To place sixth in the IF Comp was more than I could have asked for. (I was happy to make the top twenty.) To win Best Game for the XYZZY Award is, in some ways, a fulfillment of a twenty-four year personal goal.
Baskerville is my take on the Arthur Conan Doyle classic. Told as a journal penned by the original’s villain, it relates his life story from a pauper’s childhood in the Empire of Brazil to life on the run in Panama and Costa Rica. He lands in England determined to confront his family and claim his place at Baskerville Hall. All the while, he lays out his plan to settle a score with Holmes and Watson, whom have taken him for dead after their confrontation on the bogs of Dartmoor.
A review copy of the novel is available to NetGalley members upon request. Please note, I’m currently seeking NetGalley members who actively review and crosspost to other sites (Goodreads, Amazon, book blogs, etc.)
The XYZZY Awards is one of the oldest video game award on the books. It first started in 1997 and has been held yearly since. It’s often called the Oscars for interactive fiction. If you’ve played even one interactive fiction game first released in 2022, you can nominate a title and vote on the final outcome.
As mentioned, if you played even one outstanding interactive fiction in 2022—parser, choice-based, any story-based game at all, really—you can vote. I encourage you to head over to the XYZZY Awards site and nominate your favorites for the next round of voting. The deadline is December 16th.
A little more than a week ago, I wrote a review of an art show by the artist and TikTok sensation Devon Rodriguez, best known for live drawing subway riders. He is, by some measures, the most famous artist in the world, with many millions of social media followers. He did not like the review.
It went up on a Friday. On Saturday morning, I woke up to a tidal wave of anger from Rodriguez on Instagram, tagging me across scores of posts. Hundreds of his followers went on the attack.
Davis gives a more nuanced and thoughtful analysis of his hellish situation than should be expected from someone who received death threats over, of all things, a review of an art show. He reasons
the only way I can understand Rodriguez’s incredibly thin-skinned reaction to my article is that he has managed to rise to this status of apex visibility without any kind of critical writing about him at all. It’s all just been feel-good profiles, so that the first critical word feels like a huge crisis. That’s a relatively new kind of situation for an artist to be in…
In the past, artists had to pass through the gatekeepers of museums and art galleries before becoming well-known to the public. Even Basquiat had to break through the establishment before securing his place in the art world. In today’s digital world, it’s possible, even desirable, to hurdle over the gatekeepers and go straight to the masses with one’s output.
A similar dynamic is at play in the world of publishing, as I’ve written about a fewtimes. This desire to stand above criticism is, in my mind, the root motivation for dysfunctional narratives. The tenor of the attacks Ben Davis withstood sounds much like the way dysfunctional narratives are defended, such as the Rodriguez fan who snapped at Davis, “What if he was your son??”
Davis links this reaction to the notion of “parasocial relationships,” that is, “the imaginary, one-sided friendships people develop with celebrities and influencers in their heads.” This cuts to the “transitive logic” I wrote in 2019 about an all-too-similar event involving Sarah Dessen and her followers when they attacked a college student who posted a relatively innocuous criticism of Dessen’s work: “The logic magnified an innocuous criticism of a single YA author to an attack on all YA fiction and its readers. Thus, the logic went, if you’re a reader of YA fiction, it’s a personal attack on you.”
Author Sarah Dessen
“Parasocial relationships” is the best term I’ve seen to describe how Dessen’s followers rose up and hounded the college student offline. Much of the outrage seemed rooted in the feeling that Dessen was not merely a YA author, but their friend. Any why not? These new, online super-authors are
not merely authors, they’re brands. Many of these YA authors have crafted an online persona of a confidant and sympathizing mentor. You don’t merely read their books, you hear from them everyday. You see their vacation photos and learn about their pets. You share their ups and downs in the real world.
Wikipedia says that the term parasocial interactions was first coined in 1956, no doubt in part inspired by the rise of television in the United States. The researchers described them existing prior to mass media, such as people emotionally bonding to gods, supernatural spirits, or saints. They are telling examples.
It requires no divination skills to predict these social media brouhahas will continue so long as artists and writers can organically grow their followings. Certainly I don’t see these kerfuffles as justification for returning to the pre-digital way, where editors and publishers decided over Negroni lunches who got published and who got to languish. But being thin-skinned to criticism, and using one’s followers to “cancel” the critic, is a bad choice no matter how you look at it.
As Davis predicts:
If there’s no criticism of [Rodriguez’s art], here’s what I think will happen: All the marketing companies and PR people looking to piggyback on Rodriguez’s popularity will stuff his feed with more and more cringe celebrity content and half-baked promo ideas until his social-media presence is bled dry of whatever charm it has.
