"The Mountain in the Sea" by Ray Nayler
Pairing Peter Godfrey-Smith’s Other Minds and Ray Nayler’s The Mountain in the Sea as back-to-back reads was a complimentary and fun choice to make: the former shows and is cited as a source of inspiration to the latter, and the story is better for it in Nayler’s Crichton-flavored (re: arrogance chasing profit in depths of the natural world too dense to survive, backed by copious research) techno-thriller, taking on a fresh central plot of high-functioning, language-using octopuses sought out by an dizzyingly-powerful corporation with, of course, vicious goals, all running alongside intriguing and timely subplots of consumerism hinging on slavery, semiotics, artificial intelligence, and the problem of consciousness, among others.
These fields are well-trodden but promising for any genuine artist or thinker to take on, and Nayler riffs, uplifts, and builds real value to the ideas at work in Mountain through characters that step out of mere device-status (a routine casualty in this genre), forays that dare and ask much of the reader (more on one in particular in a minute), and beautifully-inventive wordplay.
For a gem of an example of all three in action, we have our main character, Dr. Ha Nguyen, moved to tears while watching an octopus performing a “shape-song,” mesmerized as the animal gestures and shifts through colors and patterns cast across the chromatophores the octopus is known for:
“… rhythm of tide, of moon-ripple played out on night water. Of buoy-clang near the beach and shore of man. Of crab-scuttle and claw-clack. Of fish-dart and propeller-chug. Of whale-song in the wave. Rhythm of the struggle in the jaw of the shark, the loss of limb and spray of ink as the hero battles back against death….”
For further reading, see poet Brenda Shaughnessy’s The Octopus Museum for a full-on dive into what poems by cephalopods could be.
But to stay on Mountain, there’s a lot more I could say to recommend about the book, but one specific interaction struck me as an especially original and poignant perspective on artificial intelligence.
Much has been said and repeated to the point of exhaustion on this topic, but I sat straight up when, during a heated interview in the book, wherein Dr. Arnkatla Mínervudóttir-Chan and her disturbingly-massive DIANIMA corporation are accused of overreach without consequence.
In light of the jab, the character gives an interesting verdict on fears that the potential for artificial intelligence’s conquering of their masters is not about fear but, instead, “guilt…. a revenge fantasy.”
In AI, Nayler’s doctor sees a subconscious conjuring of a fate that humanity wishes upon itself, a feeling that feels perfectly on point when it comes to western civilization, smacking as it does of the religious, of sins that deserve to be punished, even longed for, to account for what human history has done to degrade the planet and its kin.
While the issue itself comes off as a bit of an odd anachronism, given the era Mountain is supposed to take place, the charge Nayler’s character brings of extinction-by-AI as a wishful fantasy to account for the collective shame of humanity feels new, standing outside of the points that are par the course of this technology, and worth considering for how deep it hits into the drives behind creation and our wishes for the future.
Concerns that it’s too late to keep the global environment livable for humans (re: George Carlin, “The planet isn’t going anywhere. We are!”) seem, tragically, more and more justified, especially as climate change speaks for itself at volumes that grow larger and deadlier every year.
Therefore, to follow Mínervudóttir-Chan’s argument is to see AI as a rightful consequence, rolling credits on the Anthropocene by way of a final judgment doled out by a being infinitely smarter, stronger, and more foresighted than us.
In effect, a veneer of tech is put on old concepts from Revelation, foreseeing a form of AI capable of seizing reins around everything we’re doing, then redirecting a present we seem unwilling or unable to stop buying and burning.
There are a few reaches at work, of course.
To me, the assumption that AI would be inherently self-interested and violent is to see the doomsayer’s projections. Such a being wouldn’t need the calories and living conditions that are our bases of operation, and as such have underwritten most conflicts we’ve known and multiplied when we opt to be selfish.
On top of that, I’ll say that AI as destroyer, either coming from genuine concern or guilt or both, seems to absolve us, in the present, of the very worthy, difficult, and heroic work that goes into small and large efforts at conservation, changing behavior, and holding to values above and beyond consumerism and manipulation.
This, of course, only perpetuates hopelessness, defaulting to weakness, and loss of integrity, all being fine South Stars we do well to turn from for better directions (re: any).
But to follow the same logic down different stairs, I wonder if the real fear behind Mínervudóttir-Chan’s idea of AI as comeuppance is not that we will destroy ourselves and the planet.
If these practices continue to find success and perpetuate without a technological savior, destructive or otherwise, the status quo could very well surpass the historical precedents of evil that keep repeating and adding more money and muscle.
The through-line of guilt might in fact rest on fears that new, as-of-yet-unseen levels of evil could be reached, if AI fails to stop us, novel monsters lurking over horizons increasingly reachable since, it seems, we keep getting better at repeating the same acts again, and again.
Naturally, none of this is to side with despair, or discontinue the worthy acts, large and small, to help others, ourselves, and our world.
And Mountains is not without potential for righting the wrongs of humanity.
Case in point: a passage in which Nayler seems to allude to non-biological life as a vessel for hope as an automonk (robotic Zen monks that invite all kinds of issues of consciousness and personhood, wearing another high point in the story’s imaginative powers) positioning newborn sea turtles in safety, highlighting that while humanity is proficient at self-destruction, the technology we make is capable of anything, beneficial or detrimental, especially so in a passage that stands out for its grace and optimism:
“Ha watched the auto monk carry the wicker basket down to the beach. Gently, the auto monk tilted the basket to the sand. The small, slippered ovals of sea turtle hatchlings poured out, scrambling for the waterline.
Despite everything we have done to the ocean, despite everything we have done to this world, life finds a way.”
The Crichton nod fits great, and quoting Ian Malcolm is usually an accurate and very cool move, in my book.