Examining Myths and Truths in Sasquatch Country

 Sasquatch Country: Death, Myth, and Truth in the New American Wilderness by Chuck Thompson

Sasquatch Country book cover

Author Chuck Thompson

There’s a point about midway through Chuck Thompson’s stunning and surprising new book Sasquatch Country: Death, Myth, and Truth in the New American Wilderness where he references Rashomon, the classic Akira Kurosawa film that changed the way we considered objectivity in events. Thompson, who was interviewing the county prosecutor who also served as the coroner in Skamania County in Washington state, used the film to help understand the various perspectives that were presenting their truths of a tragic situation. I initially requested to read this book because it had Sasquatch in the title, and death and myth in the subtitle. While the book deals with Sasquatch lore, I wasn’t expecting how deep this book explored the complications and implications of changes in society. Thompson initially explores the tragic death of two met who set off for a Christmas Eve hike in Washington states Gifford Pinchot Forrest. Although both men were experienced hikers, when they didn’t return at their expected time, one of the men’s wife decided to make a call to 911 to report them missing. In subsequent calls, she provided additional information that she felt might be helpful in locating the men, including where they likely hiked. In her anxious state, she also shared that her husband liked Sasquatch, and somehow this ended up as defining the purpose of the men’s hike. When their bodies were found several days later, the reports indicated that the men were searching for Sasquatch. Because of various cuts to newsrooms and reporters, wire services picked up the police report, and sensing clicks, reported the story with the lead about Sasquatch.

The grieving families of the men were further traumatized by the jokes and speculation that followed as the story went viral. From social media posts, to comments on the articles, and even late night talk show writers’ rooms, the tragic death of these men were misconstrued and used as entertainment and laughs without consideration for the feelings of the families nor the lives of these guys. Chuck Thompson, a writer and editor for various publications including CNN and the environmental news website Columbia Insight, presents a deep dive into the tragedy of Dean Pommerville and Eric Straughter, the two men who lost their lives after being caught in a surprise Christmas Eve storm in the Pacific Northwest, in order to not only understand what exactly happened to Dean and Eric, somewhat experienced hikers and outdoorsmen, but also to explore how the various factors that allowed their story to be taken so out of context and misconstrued. I was surprised at how compelling Thompson’s reporting and analysis are at questioning the various changes in how we receive and consume news and information online and how his reporting and analysis challenged my own thoughts and understanding of news. Even if Thompson doesn’t provide explicit answers for readers, he at least restores the humanity and dignity of Dean and Eric, providing a more truthful and realistic explanation for their Christmas Eve hike, and using the scant evidence from the men’s final day to make clear claims that they really went out for a quick hike, likely to escape recent workplace stress, and not Sasquatch hunting. Thompson methodically presents compelling evidence to indicate that Dean and Eric planned to return at their stated time, in the early evening, and had only planned to be out in the woods for a brief time, as shown by their light clothing and lack of supplies. Furthermore, in the final section, he recreates what likely happened to the men as they probably encountered a sudden storm, using evidence from meteorologists and medical experts to demonstrate what happens when someone experiences hypothermia. In an interesting turn in the second part of the book, Thompson explores some of the earliest legends of Sasquatch, the Ape Canyon event of 1924 (which I recently read about in MrBallen’s graphic novel The Terror Within). He does this to first explore how inescapable Sasquatch is to the area, but also to indicate how fleeting the objective truth is in understanding these situations, and how they are rooted in myths and legends from the area. While there hasn’t been any definitive evidence of Sasquatch, there’s plenty of circumstantial evidence, with many reporting sightings and encounters. Thompson’s interrogation of the facts of the case left me wondering why we question or believe these accounts, but don’t always question or believe the accounts posted on news services or online publications. In another fascinating deep dive, he explores how changes to digital media and police departments have changed the way we get information, and subsequently what we believe and hold to be the truth. Through his own experience working in newsrooms and the media, Thompson details how news reporting has cut back, leaving editing to one individual, if at all. Interestingly, he also reports on the emergence of a Public Information Officer or Communications Specialist within police departments, who have become like spokespeople for police departments, sending out brief reports that often serve as the basis for crime and other community event reporting from the media. It was an interesting contrast to see how as traditional media gradually decreases while reporters are paid less for more and more work, these communications specialists have taken on increasingly significant roles within police departments. Thompson uses this contrast to indicate one of the sources of the Sasquatch report- from the initial police report that was issued. However, Thompson also filed a freedom of information request to listen to the initial 911 call that Dean’s wife, Chris, made. Thompson’s reporting shows that there was no reference to Sasquatch in this call, and it was only in a later call, once the men had been missing for a long time, that Chris mentioned in passing, possibly in an attempt to provide any information that might help locate her husband and his friend, that he had shown some interest in Sasquatch. She never mentioned that this was the purpose of the men’s hike. Yet, the office on duty reported the men as Sasquatch hunters.

I don’t want to get too into the woods with this, but I found Thompson’s reporting to be so thorough and important in unraveling the mystery not just of what happened to these guys, but how their story became so entangled. Thompson also explores another unexpected angle in examining the role (or the non-role) that Flock cameras played in locating the men’s car. Chris Pommerville, in her 911 call, noted the likely location of the car, which was found near the trail, as she described it. Yet, the police reports and subsequent reporting indicated that Flock cameras played an important role in locating the men’s car. While the cameras were used to note when the men travelled on a certain toll road, their role in locating the car was completely fictional. As Thompson notes, it’s possible that the Public Information Officer may have been pushing the importance of Flock cameras, a highly controversial surveillance tool, on the community. Again, I didn’t expect a book with the title of Sasquatch Country to raise such philosophical and important questions about where our information comes from, what we should believe when we read information online, the implications of easy access to information online, and even how police may use communications officers to justify surveillance tools. It was fascinating to read, and I found myself incredibly absorbed with the tragedy of these men’s deaths, as well as the implications of the factors that led to these false reports and the virality of the untrue story. However, what Thompson does most powerfully is provide a sense of closure for Dean and Eric, while also restoring their dignity and humanity. Reading the last section of the book, where Thompson details the Christmas Eve plans and why exactly Dean and Eric decided to go out to escape into nature for the day is both honest and understandable. It’s something that most of us do when we want a break or some fresh air. Thompson invites readers to be more empathetic and considerate, especially when we may encounter sensational stories that might merely be meant for clickbait.

While Sasquatch County isn’t directly about Sasquatch, it does challenge our thinking about the nature of truth and objectivity, encouraging us to be more skeptical and critical about what information we encounter, its purpose, and its sources. It’s also an engaging read that kept me turning pages to learn more about the mystery of these men’s deaths, and how the details surrounding their deaths became so twisted and taken out of context. Highly recommended! Many thanks to Catapult, Counterpoint Press, Soft Skull Press, and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of this marvelous book!

Body and Blood: Catholic Horror in America

 Body and Blood: Catholic Horror in America by Matthew J. Cressler, Jack Lee Downey, Kathleen Holscher, and Michael Paquier

Body and Blood book cover

Is there any other kind of horror more terrifying than Catholic horror? Maybe not for those who were raised in other Christian denominations or other faiths, but as someone who attended Catholic school throughout elementary and high school and who served as an altar boy, I find Catholic horror, especially supernatural Catholic horror to be some of the most frightening and soul-searching kinds of horror around. I’ve always loved The Exorcist, and Body and Blood: Catholic Horror in America provides me with more reasons and ideas as to why this powerful film (and novel), which is allegedly based on a true story, remains one of the most frightening films of all time. Yet, the authors of this book, all academics, also explore how the film remains ultimately a Catholic recruiting tool, as it presents a message about good triumphing over evil and how good Catholics, even those who remain skeptical in an increasingly secular world, can return to the faith and possibly even make the ultimate sacrifice to help out someone else in need. Like Eleanor Johnson’s Scream With Me, a reevaluation of classic American horror films through a post-Dobbs feminist lens, Body and Blood invites readers and horror aficionados to reexamine some of these classic films and consider the implications of the events in our current times.

I really enjoyed Body and Blood especially since it allowed me to reconsider and reevaluate the meaning, symbolism, and themes in some of my all-time favorite horror movies. Furthermore, the authors also highlighted some other movies (and books) that I’ve been able to include on my to watch (and to read) list. However, what I enjoyed most about this book was their approach to contextualizing the horrors from these films socially, historically, and stylistically. Each chapter focuses on different elements of Catholic horror which include themes like demons and possession, haunted spaces, death, bodies, tradition, rites, and burial, and pain, martyrdom, and suffering. Each chapter also includes an interlude that focuses on the history, events, and figures who all have influenced these themes, symbols, and approaches to portraying Catholicism in films and novels. One of the elements I found most interesting about each chapter was the reminders about how Catholics were frequently suspected of evil or backwards, traditional practices, sometimes facing severe social ostracism, violence, and even death for their practices. While Catholics notably also participated in later persecutions during the European witch hunts of later medieval times, the book serves as a reminder of how frequently these elements of Catholicism were often portrayed as the other, a complex and arcane religion that bordered on superstitious and was often the subject of derision and fear mongering. Nevertheless, the authors remind readers how Catholic horror aligns well with many gothic elements to create some of the most well-regarded horror in literature and film, whether it’s the Monk, Dracula, or more recent entries like The Exorcist, The Nun, or The Conjuring films that feature demonologists Ed and Lorraine Warren. The authors explore the varieties of these stories, and how their settings, characters, and events all incorporate elements of Catholic horror, and how these themes have evolved from one of critiquing a religious group to one that seeks to potentially represent social and cultural fears and anxieties playing out in current society. In the early chapter that focuses on how the Catholic practice and interest in corpses and dead bodies are often displayed after death, the authors examine how this is often portrayed in films, where they spend some time examining Psycho, with Norman’s interest in taxidermy and how his mother’s corpse might reflect a Catholic belief. It was an interesting chapter to read about the practices in Catholicism that I grew up with without questioning too much, especially with practices like veneration of the body parts of saints or seeing the preserved bodies of other religious figures. The authors also discuss how zombie films that show the living dead walking among us might also represent some of the Catholic fears and anxieties, especially around the apocalypse and the end of the world. It was also fascinating to read the last chapter which details the Catholic idea of physical suffering, punishment, and pain, and how The Passion of the Christ is actually more of a horror film than anything else. Again, having grown up with the image of suffering and gruesome deaths of martyrs, it’s not something I really questioned until I began to meet others who were not raised Catholic. On a recent trip to Europe, I had to explain to my family about some of the more gruesome artwork representing the lives of saints in museums and cathedrals. I also recently rewatched Ken Russell’s The Devils, which is also featured throughout the book, and seeing some of the body horror and torture that is apparent in this film made me rethink the ideas of suffering and brutality that appear to be so much of certain brands of Catholicism.

Body and Blood is a fascinating book, especially for fans of horror who may have attended Catholic school. The authors, all scholars of literature or religion, present novel interpretations of horror, both older and modern, to allow readers and viewers to reconsider the influence of religion, especially Catholic religion, on horror. I found their interpretations and ideas fascinating and intriguing, allowing me to consider some of my favorite films and stories in a new light. Many thanks to NYU Press and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy. Highly recommended! 

Artificial Intimacy and the Outsourcing of Human Relationships

 Artificial Intimacy: Who We Become When We Talk to Machines  by Sherry Turkle

Artificial Intimacy book cover

Author and researcher Sherry Turkle

I just came across an article from The Atlantic that focused on the work of Gad Saad and his belief about the toxic nature of empathy that is leading to the decline of “the west”, Saad, who holds a doctorate in marketing, seems to take a zero sum approach to empathy, where the ability to share feelings and relate to others, once held as a true sign of one’s humanity or appreciation for life, has now become toxic and woke. While it seems that Saad is more concerned with empathy in policies and regulations, his belief in empathy as toxic and destructive has received much attention from right wingers and what Gil Duran has nicknamed the Nerd Reich, a band of technofascists whose desire for efficiency and control have led to world wars. While Saad’s views on empathy are bizarre and misanthropic, they are gaining, probably for many of the reasons that Sherry Turkle has investigated our relationships with technology for nearly 50 years. In her latest book, Artificial Intimacy: What We Become When We Talk to Machines, Turkle treads new ground in the area of human machine intersection, but still manages to investigate the deleterious effects that technology has on our ability to communicate, to open up and become vulnerable, to relate, and to empathize with others. In past books, Turkle has investigated how technology like social media, email, and text messaging impacts our abilities to have conversations or communicate our feelings or ideas, or how digital toys often take the place of real relationships for children, blurring their schema for not only living things but also relationships. In this book, Turkle examines many of these same problematic outcomes, but she is looking at how chatbots and AI have impacted several areas of human relationships, connectivity, creativity, and thinking.

Even if you’ve never read Turkle’s other books or are familiar with her research, this is a great book to start with as the subject, artificial intelligence, is at the forefront of the news and seems to be an inescapable part of our online and digital experiences. However, what I found most fascinating in this book was Turkle’s interviews and documentation of how others are using chatbots in their daily lives. As an educator, I was glad to see that Turkle takes a constructivist and humanist approach to analyzing the participants’ use of AI, examining not only it’s impact on their abilities to think and classify information, but more significantly how AI dependency might impact their relationships with others. Through using theoretical frameworks from developmental psychologists like Erik Erikson and Jean Piaget, Turkle notes that prior developmental milestones and markers of cognition and identity development may be bypassed or unresolved which may have significant implications for individuals and society as they opt out of tasks that may be challenging, difficult, or even confrontational. As Turkle reminds readers with Erikson’s theory in particular, the developmental stages are not always resolved in a linear fashion, but we often face these conflicts throughout our lives. While resolution often results in a positive development in our authentic selves or identity, an unresolved conflict may have a detrimental impact on our psyche, leading to issues in identity diffusion, mistrust, and even despair. Proponents of AI claim that it leads to efficiency and an ability to personalize our interests and learning, yet Turkle’s own experiences documenting the obsequiousness of AI and several popular chat programs show that its demonstration of feelings or emotions are shallow and misleading. She also reminds readers that human relationships and learning are messy and not easily coded or refined by altering a sequence in a program. Rather, relationships and learning take time, patience, empathy, and determination, characteristics that many in the tech industry suggest that we bypass in order to bring us short-term satisfaction or joy that eventually leaves us isolated and alone and possibly with misguided ideas about relating to other people. In fact, I was surprised to read how many individuals that Turkle met with who repeatedly opted for digital relationships with chatbots because they are easier to manage and control and do not offer the give-and-take negotiation that is an essential part of growing a relationship. Another important factor that Turkle stresses is the role of the pandemic in accelerating the move towards chatbots as a kind of replacement for human relationships. She notes her own challenges with the limited connections that social distancing enabled, and presents the turn towards digital relationships with AI as part of a result of the social isolation from the pandemic. Yet, Turkle’s own research on our relationships with technology also indicates that this was an inevitable destination as one of her books, 2011’s Alone Together is subtitled Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other. While much of her prior research examines children and the elderly and how the use of technology presents them with a simulated connection that they often accept as real. Yet, Artificial Intimacy touches all areas of human relationships, work, and life, examining how people from across different communities and backgrounds have all begun to replace real, human relationships with artificial intelligence.

Turkle frames this simulated connection through artificial intelligence as an emergency that has further enhanced anxiety and stress while also delaying typical markers of adulthood like intimacy and trust. She also documents case studies of AI that have done harm to children and adolescence, and how tired and time-constrained parents sometimes turn to AI to fulfill their parenting duties, or how children respond to AI-enabled devices like Alexa or Siri. Turkle reminds readers that while we may gain efficiency, easy answers, and even short-lasting pleasure or joy, it often comes at the expense of our privacy and possibly our identities, ability to trust, initiative, or intimacy. While the chapters on childhood and adolescence are concerning about how AI is impacting developmental milestones, I found the chapters looking at love and work even more shocking. Learning more about how people depend on AI for companionship and work skills opened up new insights into how AI is replacing these areas of our lives and making individuals less able to confront the typical challenges of life. There were two other chapters that also looked at how AI is becoming more of a part of therapy and how people (and companies) are using AI to manage mourning. I found these last two chapters equally concerning and somewhat disturbing. It seems that AI would be counterintuitive to therapeutic practices, especially those in psychoanalysis and Rogerian therapies, but it seemed like therapists and individuals who Turkle interviewed were of the belief that AI’s use in therapy was inevitable and would bring benefits. While therapists viewed its use as a means to provide further insights into analyzing patterns, dreams, and suggesting treatments or practices, patients seemed to appreciate the accessibility that AI therapists provide in relation to cost, time, and customization. As Turkle noted in some of her research participants, AI therapists don’t necessarily challenge these patients, often allowing patients to dictate the terms. What was also surprising was that not all companies promoting AI therapy need to issue disclaimers either. The chapter on mourning was also shocking to read, but also understanding. As Turkle notes, accepting death is one of the most challenging tasks of being a human, but it allows us to resolve the grieving process. Not accepting death creates a sense of melancholy on the individual level. AI companies have begun to exploit the desire to address death by creating digital avatars and AI-recreations of loved ones by uploading text messages, emails, videos, photos and other digital documents. Not only does it raise moral and ethical concerns, but Turkle notes the issues of privacy and consent, as most likely the deceased have not provided consent. Turkle’s research suggests that this willingness to revive the dead in an unliving manner prevents us from grieving and healing. It’s this kind of disruption, the inability to resolve the conflicts of life that AI has facilitated in the past few years.

Artificial Intimacy is an important book that many people should read. It’s a book that is especially important for parents and teachers, as it can provide us with a better understanding of the risks and consequences that AI poses to our children and students. While Turkle raises alarms and calls AI dependency a state of emergency, the presentation of the book’s subjects and research participants is empathetic and understanding. Yet, she also calls on readers to reclaim the real and reject the artificial, noting how AI not only limits our relationships with others, but it also reduces our agency and decision making. We are outsourcing our lives with the promise of efficiency and customization. The cost is our privacy, our identity, and our minds. With the recent attacks on empathy and the stress of efficiency, Turkle’s work and analysis throughout her career and this book in particular are relevant and meaningful. Highly recommended. Many thanks to Little, Brown, and Company and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of this wonderful and important book. 

Examining the Horrors of Social Media and Artificial Intelligence in Incarnate by Alma Katsu

Incarnate by Alma Katsu

Incarnate book cover

Author Alma Katsu

Alma Katsu’s Incarnate is a fascinating and thrilling update to the gothic horror classic The Portrait of Dorian Gray. I’d actually argue that Katsu’s Incarnate is a more adventurous and relevant story that not only examines the age-old desire for beauty and youth, but rather frames these themes in our world that, as Katsu explains in her afterward, “can…not tell the difference between real and fake, it would seem much of the population no longer cares.” Her main character, Dorothy, is a complicated woman whose own trauma and bullying pushed her to the fringes of society and uses social media more as a lurker than someone truly engaged in making meaningful connections, even if they are virtual. An opportunity to work a video creator, Tomas Delgado, allows Dorothy to gain entry level access to cutting edge technology in social media before she graduates college. Katsu’s characterization of Dorothy allows us to both empathize with her and root for her as she seems to obtain a dream internship working with one of the hottest video producers, even if it requires leaving school early and moving to LA on her own away from her family in NJ. As Dorothy develops strong work ethic, spending many nights at the studio perfecting video effects for her favorite signer, Catrina Villeneuve, she’s able to demonstrate her technological prowess to Tomas, proving that she’s a capable and talented member of Tomas’s developing team, even if it sets up rivalries between other members of Tomas’s team. However, Dorothy’s late nights aren’t all spent on Tomas’s projects. She’s also been developing her own avatar, Isabella, who she decides to create social media accounts for. Despite being a digital creation that was developed through her work with the singer Catrina Villeneuve, people can’t (or aren’t willing to) recognize that Isabella is not real. In fact, Isabella’s girl-next-door looks and emptiness seem to appeal to a broad swath of social media users, and she eventually becomes a phenomenon. Maybe because there’s this air of mystery about her, but people want to know more about this woman and where she came from. Even Tomas and others in the studio have questions about Isabella, but because Dorothy used Catrina’s images and videos and Tomas’s equipment and property to create this viral sensation, she’s not willing to disclose her origins. In fact, she secretly seems to revel in the comments, attention and notifications she’s receiving as Isabella since this was never something she experienced as Dorothy. Dorothy also begins to receive strange messages that seemingly offer her a chance to have Isabella become more and more popular, dominating the digital realm. However, as Dorothy eventually learns, these kinds of deals with “trolls” often come with some compensation. Even though she doesn’t sign and contract and her agreement is through messaging, Dorothy’s troll extracts quite the toll, even if the cost doesn’t immediately reach Dorothy.

Before becoming a novelist, Katsu worked in the world of intelligence, becoming one of the first social media researchers, often trying to learn more about how social media impacted behaviors, beliefs, and the flow of information. Similarly, Incarnate takes readers behind the scenes to learn more about how social media and our willingness to accept whatever we see can boost profiles, whether they are real or not. In her afterword, Katsu also shares a thought about social media that I’ve been thinking about ever since I finished the book: “Here’s the last lesson of tech forecasting: Every technology has two sides, and those two sides are not Good and Bad. They’re Offensive and Defensive. You can use a new technology to improve your lot in life or to further your goals, but you can also use it to take down your enemies, to obfuscate or deceive.” It’s a powerful lesson that the technology isn’t really good or bad, but rather it’s how we decide to use it. While Dorothy initially uses it to attain the kind of popularity and attention that evaded her (or she shunned) IRL, we see how she learns to use social media as not just a tool, but also a weapon. At one point, Isabella is invited to a weekend getaway with other influencers who remind her to act as if there’s always a camera filming her; although she forgets this reminder, she learns how others may use social media to take down competitors. In fact, we begin to see how Isabella and Dorothy both change from desiring attention and likes to feeling threatened and cornered by competition. In many ways, Dorothy reminded me of Maris from Katsu’s last novel Fiend, where we see someone who is bound by her status, yet finds ways to manipulate and maneuver, often with some supernatural help, and advance in a world that previously denied them status. Alma Katsu’s Incarnate is an exciting, page-turning ride where I felt my emotions swaying from sympathy to disgust and dismay. I really appreciated the complexity of Dorothy and the transformation that occurs with her as she gains more status and visibility through Isabella. Some of the other characters, especially the other influencers, were a little more underdeveloped, and I would have liked to learn more about them. I also loved the mention of a character named Graham Jones, a “British technocrat bankrolling Tomas’s studio,” and wished there was more about this aptly named individually. Some of the plot points, which I won’t give away to spoil the ending, move rather rapidly towards the latter half of the book. Nevertheless, Katsu’s writing kept my attention and kept me turning pages. Incarnate is a fascinating book, and a great way to use horror to examine the implications of social media and artificial intelligence, especially our willingness to accept whatever we see online as real. Highly recommended! Many thanks to Putnam and NetGalley for sharing an advance copy of this wonderful book!

 

Asking the Important Questions: What Happened to College? by Neil Gross

 What Happened to College? How Politics Broke Higher Education and What We Can Do to Fix It by Neil Gross

What Happened To College? book cover

Sociologist, professor and author Neil Gross

Many thanks to Avid Reader Press and NetGalley for sending me an advanced copy of Neil Gross’s important and insightful new book What Happened To College?: How Politics Broke Higher Education and What We Can Do to Fix It. While most of us are assailed by bad faith assaults on higher education by bloviating modern Macbeths who are full of sound and fury but signify nothing (Chris Rufo), Neil Gross, a sociologist who teaches and is the chair of the department of Sociology at Coby College, has asked some interesting questions of the current research and engaged in his own inquiry of undergraduates, noting how their voices are often missing from the responses. As Gross untangles the research and pulls on surveys and statistics to investigate the question of “What Happened to College?”, we learn that there are many different factors across different domains that have contributed to more politicized, if not polarized, campuses in the US. However, it’s important to also pushback against the simplified and uninformed responses that proliferate on social media, conservative think tanks, and even from the government that try to implicate liberals with indoctrination and enforcing “ideological capture” in college classrooms. Thankfully, Gross’s deep dive into the research and his inclusion of student voices provides an antidote to the shallow thinking and bad faith arguments that continue to malign higher education. Nevertheless, Gross’s analysis uncovers issues and concerns, but he offers some reasonable and evidence-based ideas to improve teaching, communication, and socialization on campuses.

While Gross works in higher education and has observed changes through Colby’s campus, he notes that this campus, located in Maine, may not be representative of other campuses, and thus qualifies that much of the research and results we encounter about polarization and divisiveness on campuses should be viewed through the lens of the differences in schools. That is, students will perceive freedom to share and interact much differently on small, liberal arts campuses than they might on large, state school, research one, or elite college campuses. Another aspect of the book that appealed to me was Gross’s reminder that much of what we encounter in the news about incidents on college campuses reflect isolated events at some of America’s most elite and selective universities, yet the narrative that this is happening across all colleges is somehow perpetuated. My spouse also works at one of these universities that experienced significant disruption due to protests and encampments, and although Gross doesn’t mention it, it’s important to note that these incidents are disruptive to everyone on campus and, at times, involve members outside of the campus community. Yet, due to a lack of critical examination into these incidents, the blame is largely foisted onto administration, professors, and specific departments, and this blind acceptance of these scapegoats has real implications. People have lost their jobs, students have lost scholarships as schools continue to lose funding for research and scholarship. Gross’s research and analysis is an important reminder of the need for critical analysis of these incidents and to be a careful consumer of information we encounter on higher education.

In addition to being a professor, Gross also explains that his research was partly driven by his son’s recent college application process. While he notes that many students do not necessarily factor politics and institutional neutrality into their decisions, he notes that the framing of attention to political incidents on campus may affect how parents view college decisions. Thus, Gross’s book is a great read for parents whose children are planning to apply and attend college. He provides clear and well-researched information about the different types of universities and how their campus politicization has shifted over time. Furthermore, I thought that certain sections of this book would be a great read for first year students in introductory courses to not only explore the evolution of politics on campus, but to also gain a better understanding of how to support claims and ideas with research and how to analyze and evaluate existing research. Students would have an opportunity to examine survey and polling data, but also to question the methods, samples, and questions that researchers ask to raise further questions about the reliability and validity (as well as potential biases) that result from research methods. While this may seem highly technical and theoretical, Gross’s pedagogical skills make these methods accessible for a general audience and further help to promote the kind of critical thinking that is at the core of higher education.

What Happened to College? is organized around several areas of the campus- admissions, friends, hooking up/romance, politics in the classroom, cancel culture, and majors. Gross ends the book examining how education in general and higher education specifically is a progressive idea which ends up transmitting progressive ideas to students. He further explains how selective universities tend to be more progressive or liberal, which in turn attracts more progressive applicants. His research and analysis examines the traditions of higher education and demonstrate that it’s not ideological capture or indoctrination, but rather the progressive nature of education for all that tends to further influence people’s thinking. I found the chapter on majors to be particularly interesting, as Gross notes that some majors tend to have more conservative or moderate views, while others tend to lean more liberal, which kind creates this self-fulfilling prophecy. Students who tend to lean more conservatively or moderately are more likely to study fields like business, engineering, and sciences, where they encounter more students and professors with similar ideas and values. Conversely, students with more liberal learnings are more likely to select liberal arts, social sciences, and education as majors, where they also encounter others with similar values and beliefs. Other chapters that deal with teaching and cancel culture are also important to consider since students have expressed concerns about sharing their ideas in class. As Gross indicates, this is a documented concern for many students, but I also think that college classrooms have always experienced the challenges of getting students to share their ideas and experiences in a larger and sometimes unfamiliar setting. Part of this is developmental, as students are transitioning from a familiar high school setting to an unfamiliar classroom with changing classmates throughout their 4 years. Some classes may even be so large to limit any kind of dialogue. In my experience teaching in higher education, it can take some time to build trust and establish an environment where students feel comfortable sharing. I usually try to get students to use their own experiences as a frame of reference to make connections with the ideas and theories from readings. I also like to use small groups to help establish closer connections and develop more comfort with sharing with a small group before sharing with the entire class. Again, this can take some time and effort to establish the level of trust and comfort. Students in college are also, in the words of Mikhail Bakhtin, ideologically becoming, a kind of continuous process that is shaped by the interactions with the different people and values that surround them. As students move from their varying home experiences to college, they probably encounter a greater variety of values and backgrounds, some of which may counter what they believe. It’s important to remember that their development of their own ideologies are a continuous and ongoing process, and exposing students to a variety of different perspectives is not only healthy, but also important to their development. Gross notes the role that social media can play in students reticence. While social media can offer students immediate responses and attention to their ideas and thoughts, it’s not representative of the kind of dialogue and critical thinking that are an integral part of a college classroom. Furthermore, the exposure to echo chambers and divisive polarity that are often found on social media run counter to the kind of thoughtful dialogue and evidence based reasoning that are often found in college classrooms. Nevertheless, social media is something that professors and students have to contend with on today’s campuses, but as Gross’s research into the concerns about freedom of expression and careful consideration of ideas from students indicates, it’s all the more reason why college is so important for students today. Students need to learn to think and listen considerately to ideas, as well as to be critical consumers of the kind of information (and disinformation) they encounter online. College classrooms should play important roles in shaping this kind of critical thinking to question and counter the polarization present on social media. Gross’s conclusion recommends some practical applications that can be implemented to improve dialogue and interactions on campus to reduce polarization and create a better sense of understanding and appreciation. I really appreciated seeing the importance of teaching centers to help professors learn best practices for facilitating meaningful dialogue and engaging students in sound instructional methods to support deep learning. Furthermore, it was interesting to learn more about intentional rooming arrangements in some schools and other programs like those at Duke University that promote dialogue and discussion among students.

What Happened to College? is an important book to read, not just for professors and others who work in higher education, but for parents and students as well. Neil Gross’s thoughtful and critical analysis and evaluation of the research about the politicization and polarization in higher education helps to establish a more reasoned, impartial, and objective perspective on many of the issues that students and faculty face in higher education. This is especially important since the current narrative about ideological capture and indoctrination relies on spotlight fallacies and overgeneralizations that fail to document what is really happening on college campuses and classrooms. These logical fallacies and the media attention they have attracted have real world consequences on funding and opportunities in higher education that will ultimately result in a less-educated population. If anything, Gross’s research and analysis is an important reminder about the significance of a college education in raising more questions and interrogating the data and information we encounter. Highly recommended! 

 The Nerd Reich: Silicon Valley Fascism and the War on Democracy by Gil Durán 

The Nerd Reich book cover

Author Gil Durán 

Many thanks to Avid Reader Press, Simon & Schuster, and NetGalley for allowing me to read Gil Durán’s urgent, shocking, and timely book The Nerd Reich: Silicon Valley Fascism and the War on Democracy. I recently heard about this book from Charles Pierce in one of his columns. While Pierce didn’t do a deep dive into the book, I really appreciate his incisive critiques of the current political atmosphere. Durán’s book aligns with Pierce’s views that often call out the inhumanity, physical and institutional violence, and grift wafting its stink from the White House. However, Durán examines how the rise of Silicon Valley has converged with the MAGA extremism that has ideologically captured the current GOP, allowing a moneyed contingent of disaffected misanthropes to accelerate the end of democracy in favor of something far more sinister and self-serving, in the worst-case scenario. However, the tech titans featured in this book are often portrayed as disruptive innovators and forward-thinking geniuses whose contributions to technology and calls for limited regulation are beneficial and necessary for growth and development. Yet, Durán unearths the dark reality of their goal of disruption is not for the greater good of all, but rather to hasten the collapse of traditional nation-states, which would allow those with the means to create their own city-states or nations, as documented in Davidson and Rees-Mogg’s The Sovereign Individual, a strange and apocalyptic book from the late 90s that claims that the end of nation-states is near with the decline of industrial economies giving way to information economies. This shift will allow a rich elite class to create their own enclaves in order to protect their wealth. As Durán documents, much of the predictions from Davidson and Rees-Mogg never came true, yet the book and others by the authors became a kind of libertarian text, along with Lord of the Rings. As strange as it is to think that a synthesis of new-age apocalyptic thinking with sci-fi-fantasy has significantly influenced the most powerful sector in the most powerful economy, this is the reality that has is continually foisted upon the public as Silicon Valley continues to eat up areas of government, politics, media, and entertainment that reaches most of the US population. Durán’s research and reporting not only documents the invasive reach of these elite geniuses, but he also explores the influences that have helped to shape and disrupt much of the traditional information outlets and infrastructure in American society over the last 25 years. I appreciated his overview of Davidson and Rees-Mogg, as well as the odd Curtis Yarvin, whose writings I was not aware of until the 2024 election was over. As Durán documents, Yarvin and Thiel helped to influence and current vice president JD Vance, and bankroll his post-Yale law school employment, which Durán documents his mediocre and rather non-existent accomplishments. What was both interesting and rather terrifying is the way that Thiel’s reach and money enabled him to engineer Vance from a bland ivy-league law school grad to a viable GOP candidate, who claimed Trump was “America’s Hitler”, and eventually to join Trump’s ticket. While Durán doesn’t get into the analytics of Vance’s transition from Trump critic to fanboy, he does show how Vance’s language and views shifted to more MAGAfied language and twitter takes during his Ohio senate campaign, which was incredibly expensive and bankrolled largely by Thiel.

In addition to examining the influences and politics of Silicon Valley, what was most reveling in Durán’s book was the profiles of the Silicon Valley broligarchy.  While I’ve heard of Peter Thiel, largely because of the Gawker trial, and Musk, I wasn’t as familiar with some of the other names like Balaji Srinivasan, Joe Lonsdale, and Marc Andreessen, and how their venture capital companies fund disruptive technologies and companies that largely lead to what Cory Doctorow calls “enshittification.” I’ve become acquainted with other members of the broligarchy through their roles in Trump’s second administration, like David Sacks, who has been a special advisor on topics like crypto and AI. Durán’s reporting and analysis helps to illuminate the convergence of these two seemingly disparate groups who share a disdain for most of humanity, government, and general empathy. In many ways, their views of engineering a world where free thinking is replaced by efficiency and algorithms was initially documented in Franklin Foer’s Word Without Mind, but Durán takes these ideas further to demonstrate how big tech’s insistence on disruption is tied to the esoteric and fantastical libertarian fever dreams of The Sovereign Individual and a disdain and resentment towards people. While Elon Musk’s transition from tech titan to sloppy solipsist has been writ large for all to witness, other misanthropic trolls like Balaji Srinivasan come off as pretty nihilistic and nasty in Durán’s book.

What was even more surprising to learn beyond the misanthropy and nihilism of big tech’s desire for destruction was their co-opting and perversion of religion. While Thiel’s recent pivot to apocalyptic preaching has received some credit, Durán cites other instances of a kind of syncretic tech-addled Christianity that evangelizes that the first shall be first. Big tech has developed their own sermon in the valley where the message is blessed are the selfish, for they shall purchase the land. Durán explores not only this pivot to a distorted view of Christianity, but also big tech’s attempts to build their own cities and enclaves, often under the premise of zones of economic opportunity, designated lands that avoid certain regulations and restrictions in order to speed up economic development. While Durán details failed attempts by big tech to purchase massive land packages and develop new cities, he also notes other instances of experiments abroad, such as a Próspera in Roatán, a small island off the coast of Honduras. I was stunned to learn about this, as I visited Roatán a few years ago, but I do remember a tour guide pointing out the private air strips. Próspera was championed by then president Juan Orlando Hernández, a convicted drug trafficker who was recently pardoned by President Trump. Durán documents the incredible reach of big tech and its entanglements with the second Trump administration to not only upend democratic institutions and enrich the president, but also to continue to facilitate these kinds of experimental cities that will ultimately benefit the broligarchy and most likely deepen inequality, especially in developing nations like Honduras. Durán notes that Trump’s proposal for “Freedom Cities”, a vague and nebulous plan to erect new cities on undeveloped federal ground, aligns with these sovereign cities like Próspera and other attempts big tech has engaged in to develop their own exclusive enclaves. In fact, Durán details Balaji Srinivasan’s Network State, which calls for a tech takeover of the city, dividing it between the Gray tribe (tech) and Blue tribe (democrats), where the Grays are able to buy out police and other enforcement through providing food and shelter. Although light on details, Trump’s “Freedom Cities” suggests that investors would develop new cities on federal land (rather than redevelop existing cities and properties), allowing a kind of exit and potential for a feudalism and autonomy that Durán claims big tech desires. Although Trump’s plan hasn’t really materialized, Durán draws the connections between big tech and Trump to identify the ways in which both have sought to disrupt and dismantle traditional nation-states and democracy to usher in an age of fight and feudalism. Durán further untangles the sordid entanglements of big tech and Trump through the latter’s pivot to crypto, which is another marker of big tech’s attempts to disrupt traditional economies. Durán’s explanation of how crypto and bitcoin have evolved over the years to emerge as the president’s favorite scam is clear. He explores the ways that early online payment processors like paypal, where Musk and Thiel made their mark in tech, likely developed as a means to provide an alternative to traditional currency, another element that was discussed in The Sovereign Individual that would likely hasten the demise of democracy and nation states. Although crypto was touted as a means for decentralization and possibly avoidance of financial regulations and taxes, the president has recognized its power as a means to make money from his followers, and Durán’s reporting explores the intersection of big tech, crypto cons like FTX, and the president’s increasing wealth and deregulation and pardoning that has benefitted and awarded crypto-criminals who have gone on to become major contributors to Trump’s World Liberty Financial. It’s a shocking network that, according to Durán’s reporting, has largely been facilitated by the libertarian fever dreams started in chat rooms and group texts, that eventually morphed into the Network State Conferences and other gatherings to promote the ideas from The Sovereign Individual.

Although big tech has taken considerable action to accelerate the end of the nation-state, Durán’s book ends with some important reminders and assurances that the end is not guaranteed. He reminds readers about the strength in numbers and how rejection of the pessimism and nihilism of big tech and the broligarchy can prevent their final solution for American society. He cites instances of failed Network States in California and other regions to show how towns and communities can band together to reject this kind of takeover, while also offering some additional practical advice for individuals and groups to be cautious and concerned about the overreach of big tech in our lives. While this book is both eye-opening and disheartening at times, it’s also an important reminder to recognize the tradeoffs we sometimes make when we welcome in efficiency and convenience that technology and social media provide. Durán’s The Nerd Reich is an important and urgent book to read to not only learn about the intersection of big tech and politics, but also their nihilistic and misanthropic views of society, and their goals of creating a kind of tech-feudalism that would arise after the collapse of democracy. It’s a shocking revelation, but also important to learn more about as big tech continues to insert its reach into our lives. Highly recommended!

Examining Extremism Through Language: The Language of Terrorists

 The Language of Terrorists: Distinguishing Trolls from Violent Extremists by Julia Ebner

The Language of Terrorists book cover

Scholar and author Julia Ebner

Many thanks to Columbia University Press and NetGalley for allowing me to preview Julia Ebner’s important and insightful new book The Language of Terrorists: Distinguishing Trolls from Violent Extremists. As someone who is interested in linguistics and the psychology of extremists and cults, this book appealed to several of my interests. Furthermore, as online discourse becomes increasingly muddied while social media and online engagement continues to rise, Ebner’s book offered some practical and relevant issues of focus. While the book is an academic text that employs a theoretical analysis of several online corpuses from forums, I found Ebner’s writing, explanation and analysis to be clear and relevant. While I don’t teach these topics, I think that some of the chapters and examples she uses from the language of extremists could help students not only recognize some of the signs of extremism and might help them better understand memes and language that they encounter online.

Ebner’s book is organized into 4 parts, and she presents her argument for the need for a new frame of analysis for the language of terrorists and extremists to not only improve detection, but to also better understand motivations and what drives people towards extremism and violence. She presents examples of different kinds of discourse and discord online to allow readers to differentiate between online trolls and those who truly intend to use violence to provoke change. However, it’s also helpful when she applies her framework to the examples to better see how language markers, word choice, and even punctuation and style can reflect elements of extremism and violence in these manifestos and discussion forums. The first section, Trends and Challenges, examines the difficulty in assessing instances of terrorism and trolling, noting how trolling has been a part of human psychology that spans across history and cultures. However, this also makes the detection of extremist violence even more difficult and challenging since our access to language, especially printed, published, or produced language has increased significantly over the past 100 years. Although Ebner doesn’t include Ted Kaczynski, the Unabomber, in her analysis, he didn’t publish his manifesto until more than 10 years after his first attack, and it came after deliberating about whether to take his threats seriously or not. Furthermore, he relied on traditional print publications, like the New York Times to reach a wider audience. As Ebner notes throughout her analysis, the internet, social media, and other platforms like Youtube allow individuals and organizations to reach out to other like-minded individuals for potential recruitment and oftentimes inspiration for committing more violence. Even as social media and platforms develop norms and rules to police language, individuals find ways to work around the language, adopting what author Adam Aleksic calls “algospeak”, language, words, and phrases that evolve to either trend with or avoid algorithms and detection. Furthermore, Ebner explores some of the alternate and darker sites that provide a haven for trolls and terrorists to share their hatred and loathing for society. Sites like 4 and 8chan are frequently mentioned, where anonymous posters not only sharing their misanthropy and misogyny but also continually engage in violent imagery and discussions. While it is fascinating to gain insight into these groups and individuals, it’s also not always easy to read since their hate speech is used for analysis throughout the book.

Part II, “Drivers and Detection”, explores some of the theories of radicalization over time, and how our understanding of terrorism has evolved with technology and study. Furthermore, Ebner notes that many terrorists or terrorist groups often published manifestos explaining or attempting to provide reasons for their actions and their stated goals. It’s through these manifestos that those who study extremism have identified some key markers and shared experiences. It’s fascinating to learn how these theories of extremism and radicalization have evolved, but it’s also rather scary to see how technology and social media platforms can easily aid in the radicalization process, especially for individuals who may have had negative social experiences or have some kind of grievance that they’ve continued to carry around. Online platforms, social media and chatrooms provide a kind of community that seems to be missing in many of their real life/in person worlds. Furthermore, we see how many perpetrators drew inspiration and ideas from prior attacks, as their own manifestos either mentioned or plagiarized large sections of the manifestos of other extremists and terrorists. I was actually surprised to see this, and it made me wonder whether that is some kind of psychological factor as well—that rather than experiencing a sense of sympathy for the victims or repulsion by the attacks, those who drew inspiration from other attackers seem to be more fascinated and almost worshipful of the attacks. I was also disappointed and disgusted to learn that members of a chat room discussed one attack in terms of video games, awarding points for victims. It’s troubling enough to read about the beliefs and ideas of these extremists, but learning more about their reactions to this violence was also horrible. And this is not to take away from Ebner’s excellent scholarship and analysis, but I write this more as a warning that parts of this book can be upsetting to read at times, and it made me question online interactions. If anything, it also made me realize how important it is to treat everyone with kindness and respect.

Part III, Patterns and Prediction, delves into the language of manifestos and examines different groups chat rooms. Ebner uses several different groups as comparison to the extremist groups, which included a far-right group and a QAnon group. The comparison groups included a Mormon chat group and a Soccer fan chat group. While both the Mormon and Soccer groups included some language of a kind of identity fusion that the extremist groups featured, these groups often exhibited a collective sense when referring to out groups. The QAnon and far-right groups often referred to violence and dehumanization when referring to others. In addition, these extremist groups often discussed a sense of persecution or fear that is often seen with the great replacement theory, where resources, rights, and access are often viewed as a zero-sum game. Both groups often discussed a sense of grievance or negative experiences, and these are often attributed to the other groups, whether they are immigrants, minorities, or according to QAnon a satanist cabal that they claim are lizard people. It was truly strange to delve into the ideas and mindset of QAnon’s bizarre and scattered thinking, but Ebner’s analysis helps to show how easily grifters and influencers can use the language of grievance and gamification to ensnare the lonely and losers into perpetuating violence and chaos.

The last section explores some potential solutions that seek to balance our right to free speech and expression, while also acknowledging some of the markers of extremism and the threats of violence that persist in some of the hidden corners of cyberspace. She provides some practical ideas for attempting to intervene and reduce opportunities for extremism while seeking to improve threat assessment. I was very impressed by her recommendations about deprogramming extremists over time, as she takes a humanist approach and recognizes that punishment is not effective and is often too late. Rather, she recommends a kind of re-education paired with interventions to help reverse the biases that extremist content have built. In addition, Ebner calls for the importance of digital citizenry online for young people. I appreciated her call for teaching younger students to engage in more positive and productive online communities, and how schools and other organizations can promote more of this approach to online engagement. It was also interesting to read about how anti-terrorism laws and surveillance can often be exploited by populist and autocratic leaders, which felt particularly relevant in today’s climate. Ebner notes that there has been a decline in democracy in some countries, which autocrats often use as a pretext for curtailing the rights of those who oppose them, often labeling them as terrorists and using anti-terror laws to unjustly persecute these groups. Thus, she urges caution in adopting any kind of methods to examine the language of extremists and terrorists, especially since it can not only represent a curtailment of freedom of speech, but it may also be used against those who are clearly exercising the freedom to protest or disagree with the government. As a result, Ebner advocates for a collaborative approach that involves education, adoption and regulation by technology platforms and social media, and government. She also presents some of the issues of AI and how it may be exploited by extremists, yet how it might also be used (and also exploited) for surveillance by governments. Ebner raises important considerations and questions regarding this issue, but she also presents some new and innovative ways of thinking about language and its markers of extremism. This was a fascinating book that presents the arguments and ideas about examining language as a marker of terrorism and extremism, but also cautions policymakers in only examining language. Ebner lucidly presents her theories, evidence, analysis, and recommendations so that those beyond academia can learn and consider new ways in thinking about the language of terrorists. The Language of Terrorists is a relevant and urgent book written in a clear and engaging style. Highly recommended! 

Smoking Toad for Higher Consciousness: The Ego Trip by Kimon de Greef

 The Ego Trip: Psychedelic Toads, a Trail of Deaths, and the Guru Who Peddled Transcendence by Kimon de Greef

The Ego Trip book cover

Author Kimon de Greef

Many thanks to Doubleday Books and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of Kimon de Greef’s wild and mind expanding book The Ego Trip: Psychedelic Toads, a Trail of Deaths, and the Guru Who Peddled Transcendence. Following in similar investigative books that explore the recent explosion in psychedelic therapy and tourism, de Greef takes readers down a less traveled path to enlightenment and psychedelic knowledge through the Sonoran Desert Toads, also known as Incilius Alvarius or previously known as Budo Alvarius, a species of toad that exudes a toxin that has psychedelic properties that are similar to those found in plants like ayahuasca. De Greef’s book not only takes readers on a trip to learn more about the history and misrepresentation of smoking toads (or sometimes licking them), but also about the self-appointed toad gurus who have swept in to the Sonoran Desert area and received the “blessings” of the Seri people, the supposed indigenous guardians of the toad medicine. Much like Ernesto Londoño’s Trippy: The Peril and Promise of Medicinal Psychedelics and John O’Connor’s A Short, Strange Trip, de Greef’s book not only examines the promises of enlightenment and new insights to be gained from these psychedelic substances found in nature, but also examines the psychedelic gurus and facilitators who lead these new therapeutic sessions, and the implications and consequences of taking plant medicine and traditions to those with psychological problems and mental illness. It leaves readers to question whether these individuals are really helping or exploiting others and their needs. De Greef’s reporting leaves us uncertain as to an exact answer, but it is clear that there are power and economic inequalities that still persist as a result of the recent book in psychedelic tourism and the emerging industry that supports it. Furthermore, I found de Greef’s questions and analyses important in examining the ways in which some of these facilitators take advantage of the increasing desire for personal insight, growth and knowledge, and how psychedelic substances have largely filled a void for these psychonauts.

At the center of this tale of toads is a charismatic but troubling physician named Octavio Rettig, whose own struggles with substance abuse were relieved through toad medicine. De Greef’s narrative is divided into two parts, with the first part exploring Octavio’s addiction battle and eventual rise to become a trusted purveyor of toad medicine to others who are sick and suffering with the approval of the Seri, a nomadic desert people who occupy land in and around the Sonoran Desert. I found this part of the book to be fascinating not only because of Octavio’s unique rise to psychedelic supremacy, but also because de Greef details the long, strange trip of 5-MeO DMT, the supposed God Molecule, that is found in not only toad venom, but also in plants and the molecule’s synthesis in labs. Unlike other long-lasting psychedelics, 5-MeO DMT is a much shorter trip with users experiencing an intense ego dissolution, often viewed as providing new insights and connections. In some of the latter half of the book, which details the attempts of pharmaceutical companies to patent and produce 5-MeO DMT for therapeutic purposes, researchers liken its powerful experiences and effects on the brain as a kind of system reset that possibly can be a powerful agent in helping individuals with significant depressive symptoms, especially those with treatment resistant depression. We not only learn more about the history of this intense psychedelic, but also about the Seri people, who were the supposed guardians of toad medicine and whose council granted Octavio special rights as a kind of shaman who can distribute toad medicine. De Greef’s research also takes us into the history of toad smoking and licking, which explores some of the misconceptions and fear mongering about the attempts to seek out this new, psychedelic experience, as well as some of the cultural and anthropological studies related to psychedelics and toad medicine. This was among some of the most interesting aspects of the book, and de Greef’s clear summary and analysis of the history and concepts helps readers understand the possibility and questions around the use of toad venom in ancient or pre-Columbian spiritual experiences from people like the Mayans and Olmecs. De Greef consults with well-known experts in the field like Andrew Weil and Wade Davis, as well as other well-known researchers whose work in Central and South America helped establish much of the scientific study of plant medicines of indigenous people. What is most fascinating, though, is through de Greef’s examination of the Seri people is that we find that there is not much evidence to support their use of toad venom in any kind of spiritual or religious experiences. The Seri people, who have inhabited the Sonoran Desert area for centuries, revered many other animals in their traditional ways, but there is no evidence that the toad was one of them. De Greef’s reporting indicates that Octavio likely brought toad medicine to the Seri people in order to help with the high rates of alcohol and drug addiction and used their traditional songs and imagery in his toad ceremonies, providing a kind of credibility to the idea that toad medicine is an ancient, indigenous practice. In fact, Octavio received letters from the tribal council indicating his skills as a practitioner of toad medicine, a credential he would use to travel the world and facilitate toad ceremonies for others who were interested in or in need of some kind of mystical experience to bring about change.

In the first half of the book, de Greef also details the complications that have arisen in trying to extract the toad venom, since it requires “milking” the toads by squeezing them. The toads are nocturnal and only come out during the rainy season, spending much of the year underground in the Sonoran Desert. Further complicating the issue is the fact that the Sonoran Desert has become an area used by cartels and coyotes to facilitate border crossings, and toad hunters have, at times, been abducted or experienced conflicts with both groups, making toad medicine a difficult and sometimes dangerous substance to obtain. As Octavio’s prominence rises in the world of toad medicine, de Greef describes how his ceremonies gradually take on a kind of rote-like practice, where he sometimes tries to take on as many customers as possible, many times ignoring or failing to watch over individuals in the throes of an intense, psychedelic experience. Furthermore, he incorporates other plant medicines in the process, which may have other effects on his participants. What was even more troubling was that as a physician, he seemed to do no intake or prior history to understand any possible physical or mental conditions that may impact the treatment. In fact, Octavio and some of the other practitioners seem to view toad medicine as a kind of panacea that can treat all conditions from addiction to diabetes and ADHD. As readers will learn, this cavalier approach to a powerful psychedelic has dangerous and tragic consequences.

The second half of the book was also interesting, but I enjoyed it less than the first half. While Octavio is still featured in the second half of the book, this section moves away from the Sonoran Desert and into the business world, where we learn more about the attempts of start-up pharmaceutical companies to bank on the growing trend of psychedelic therapies, and how new attempts to synthesize 5-MeO DMT has led to an increase in trials for this medicine. Among the strands in this story is the growing attempts to legitimize psychedelic medicine, and how the psychedelic toad community struggles with reigning in Octavio’s messianic behavior, which has resulted in injuries and deaths. It is interesting to learn more about how some of the pharmaceutical companies have attempted to take 5-MeO DMT to trials and to read about the outcomes of these experimental trials, but I found this aspect of the story a little more clinical and not as exciting as the first half of the story, where de Greef examines the history, rituals, and cult of toad medicine. In some ways, there are parallels between Octavio and these companies, who seemingly both seek to exploit the growing interest in psychedelic therapies and their role in self-exploration and actualization. As de Greef’s reporting and analysis demonstrate, there seems to be a fine line between the beneficial and the profitable approaches of both facilitator and companies. That is, while they both seem to want to improve outcomes and contribute to wellness of individuals, there’s also a need to make money, and when readers look beyond the visions and trails, we’re left wondering who benefits the most from toad medicine.

The Ego Trip is a fascinating book that incorporates scientific and true-crime reporting to explore the complications arising not only from a controversial and misunderstood approach to mental health and wellness, but also the rise of a complicated, guru-like man who has twisted traditional ways to create his own narrative and practices for toad medicine. De Greef’s reporting not only provides more insight into this misunderstood practice, but also provides readers with more clarity about the origins of toad medicine, and how practitioners like Octavio Rettig have twisted ambiguities and uncertainties about indigenous practices to carve out a new age practice that meets the needs of a growing crowd of psychonauts. De Greef presents compelling evidence to allow readers to draw conclusions about these practices as well as the kind of cult that Octavio has built over the past 15 years. It’s a fascinating look at this obscure, but growing community. Highly recommended! 

A Sudden Flicker of Light: Exploring Film's Impact

 A Sudden Flicker of Light: A Revisionist History of Movies by David Thomson 

A Sudden Flicker of Light book cover

Author and film critic David Thomson

Big thanks to Simon & Schuster and NetGalley for allowing me to preview David Thomson’s provocative and expansive A Sudden Flicker of Light: A Revisionist History of Movies. I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect with this book. While I wasn’t familiar with Thomson’s writing, I’ve learned that he is one of the foremost film critics, authoring over 40 books in a career spanning nearly 60 years. He knows his stuff, and this book is touted as the culmination of all of his knowledge and thoughts about film, both celebrating and critiquing not just the artistry and magic of filmmaking, but also the commerce and industry of Hollywood and the silver screen. However, what I found most interesting was not just examining the trends and history of film, but rather examining how film has influenced individuals and society, and how the kind of imaginary pretense of stories on the screen has ended up influencing people’s expectations and understandings of the world around us. A Sudden Flicker of Light ends up being a fascinating study of the role of popular media on our own ideas and expectations about the world, which challenged my own thinking about my relationship to films, media, and others. I ended up enjoying this book, not only for Thomson’s unique, digressive style that seems to transition from one idea or film to another like a jump cut, establishing an implicit relationship, but also because Thomson’s ideas and critiques about the influence of film and popular media had me questioning and thinking more and more about why we watch films and what impact this has on us. It’s a fascinating look at the history of film, which as the book’s subtitled proclaims, challenges popular notions of films by frequently looking at influential factors, context, trends, and historical events that have influenced not just movie scripts and productions but also viewership and ticket sales.

Although Thomson’s book follows a somewhat historical progression of films, he starts the book focusing on cinematographer and director Haskell Wexler, who is often cited as one of the best cinematographers, but who was also fired from two award winning films in the 70s (The Conversation and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest). I wasn’t exactly sure what this brief biography had to do with the rest of the book, but after finishing I can see a few themes emerge from Wexler’s career, especially as he was working with some of the directors who helped shift the Hollywood machine from entertainment to art, revising the ways that we consumed films and movies. As Thomson explains, Wexler was asking a lot of questions, sometimes pulling the actors from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest aside to question the tone of the film, asking whether Milos Foreman was trying to elicit more comedy from a film that could possibly serve as a serious critique of society. This kind of conflict or dichotomy between artistry and themes in films and the need for commerce and audience approval is one of the oppositions that Thomson pursues and analyzes throughout the book. It’s fascinating to think about how Cuckoo’s Nest, an Oscar winner and beloved classic, may have turned out differently if it had sought to lessen the humor and been more serious or morose. Thomson raises some other examples, most notably the ending of Chinatown, which was rewritten to be dourer, which ended up subverting the audiences’ expectations for a happy ending. He also acknowledges the kind of ambiguous ending of Adolescence as another way that audiences are left with questions about the motivation, yet still can remain riveted to the screen based on the artistry of the acting, direction, and relevance of the plot. The discussion of Adolescence and Netflix’s influence on our viewing is also compelling to think about how the approach to home viewing and engaging longer form television has shaped our own consumption of films and movies.

I loved learning more about the history of cinema, and Thomson’s own reflections about how cinema has evolved over time. There’s a lot to learn about, and in particular, the chapter “Like Lightning” that deals with The Birth of a Nation, the first film to be screened at the White House, is fascinating, especially in its demonstration of how film has the power to alter the popular understanding of history and shape or reinforce personal beliefs, biases, and stereotypes. I found this chapter particularly relevant based on the ways that images, video, and other forms of media are often presented to win hearts and minds and challenge perceptions about the nature of the world. Rather than documenting a kind of truth or reflecting historical accuracy, Thomson explores the ways in which film manipulates and alters our emotions and ideas, much the same way that say videos shared of boat attacks or bombings are now shared on social media to drum up support for violent, illegal policies and unpopular attacks on other nations. In fact, Thomson’s last chapter, titled “Quiet, Piggy” raises some important observations and questions about the ways in which President Trump, a big fan of Sunset Boulevard and Gone With the Wind, two other films Thomson analyzes and critiques, has more or less become an actor in his own film, playing a kind of trope and using other motifs like violence, sex, and villainy to sell his film. It’s a fascinating deconstruction that questions how our viewership and voyeurism has shifted from watching what plays out on the screen as a kind of escapism and fantasy to actually enacting the fantasy in real life.

Thomson’s viewership and scholarship is nearly unlimited, but he seems to know a lot about film noir, as one of the chapters significantly focuses on noir. Other chapters focus on other film trends, but sometimes the chapters aren’t completely historical or thematic, and his style moves around a bit. At first, I found these transitions a little hard to follow, but as the book progressed, I appreciated his thinking and linking more and more. At times, Thomson has a kind of conversational style where it’s almost as if he’s sitting in a room sharing all of his ideas and observations that have built up over years of viewership with the reader. At other times, he makes humorous asides and suggestions about films, actors, directors, and themes. I appreciated how critical he was of the need to sustain a commercial audience, and how popular tastes and the Hays Code influenced the earlier film industry. Other chapters on Orson Welles’ brilliance are also fascinating to read to really understand how Citizen Kane both established and in some ways limited Welles’ career. Thomson goes on to examine certain trends in films that emerged in the 1930s throughout the 1970s, noting how world events like the Great Depression, World War II, and the Cold War influenced film themes and tropes, including villains, heroes, the roles of women, and the need for sex and violence in films, even if these ideas are implied more than explicitly stated or displayed. Again, through his insight, Thomson explores how films are more of a window facing inwards, in our own psyches and human nature, rather than a mirror reflecting reality, and often giving us what we may desire or want rather than showing us an objective truth.

A Sudden Flicker of Light is a fascinating read; one that will challenge readers’ understandings and thoughts about film and popular media and how it shapes our own understanding to the world. It’s a book I will need to revisit since there are so many different ideas, but it’s also an important book to consider due to how Thomson raises important questions about our own viewership (or voyeurism) and how the trends and themes films explore have not only altered us on an individual level, but also how they have shifted ideas, attitudes, and beliefs in society. I loved this book and highly recommend it!