Her prose so incisive as to trap one in the jaws of awestruck envy and her thoughts so idiosyncratic as to tickle all the right parts of the brain, Joan Didion was an incomparable talent. Her lyricism was unrivaled — her punchy syntax so organic and her intentions so dogged and sharp. Didion had been one of few contemporary writers to explore the unplumbed depths of style and composition, uncovering roots of literature never touched before; thus, Didion’s writing is inimitable.
Or is it?
After reading my first Didion novel, “Slouching Towards Bethlehem,” I was convinced that there was, nor will ever be, a writer quite like her. There have been the Virginia Woolfs, Ernest Hemmingways, and Jack Orwells of literature, but I have not seen an authentically whip-smart voice like that of Didion’s. But it turns out that there is one person, or shall I say one thing, that can recreate Didion’s unique voice and regurgitate her style onto a new, unwritten page: artificial intelligence.
When ChatGPT made its infamous debut in late 2022, I fearfully began researching, googling the literary aptitude, accuracy, and humanness of AI technology. When comedian Sara Silverman and two other authors sued Meta and OpenAI for using their work to train their algorithms, I knew the death knell for the very vocation of writing had already been rung. In no time, AI would be sullying the careers and livelihoods of writers and entertainers worldwide, suddenly making the inimitable (my beloved Joan Didion) imitable.
Like many others, I unapologetically call myself an “AI limitationist.” AI is derailing the careers of creative minds across the U.S. This kind of technology, and the inequity that trails in its wake, warrants government intervention and regulation and should be regarded with skepticism.
I remember stumbling over an article in the New York Times from 2018 titled “Computer Stories: AI is Beginning to Assist Novelists.” The author, David Streitfield, a science and technology journalist, wrote about novelist Robin Sloan’s use of machine learning technology. Sloan is quoted as saying, “The lovely language just pops out and I go, ‘Yes.’” The output from his machine reads “bare sky,” and Sloan, optimistic, ponders, “would I have written ‘bare sky’ myself? Maybe, maybe not.” If AI can assist an author, could it not become one as well?
I’ve always wanted to be a writer. But, alas, my future is looking pretty grim. Soon, an AI machine will be writing a novel in a minute when it would have taken me years; it will be crafting a style of prose that would have demanded a college degree and a library read through and through. It will be forging stories in the crucible of literature that dwells within its labyrinth of knowledge, stories that would typically take hours of brainstorming and a superb aptitude for world-building; it will co-opt the brilliance of Didion, Morrision, and Atwood in just the blink of an eye.
In a February 2023 article titled “In the Age of AI, Major in Being Human,” David Brooks, an American political commentator, idealistically posited that the “humanistic core” of true literature would invariably outperform the lukewarm, inexpressive word-vomiting machinery of AI technology. AI, Brooks confidently asserted, “often churns out the kind of impersonal bureaucratic prose that is found in corporate communications or academic journals.”
However, as of July 13, Brooks seems to have had a startling change of heart: He wrote an article titled “Human Beings Are Soon Going to Be Eclipsed,” in which he acknowledges the profound abilities of AI. While AI doesn’t possess emotions, authenticity, sentience, or self-awareness, Brooks notes, it’s lack of sentimentality does not preclude it from cogently mimicking the very essence and nature of what it means to be human; it seamlessly synthesizes its repository of knowledge into intelligible, coherent thought. We must give credit where credit is due: AI does, in fact, possess “some degree of consciousness,” as Brooks concludes.
And before I’m dubbed a luddite or scolded as a traditionalist, I hope to make a few things clear. I understand that technology is mutable; it is constantly evolving, progressively becoming more equipped to better suit the needs of its human beneficiaries. Not to mention, the “plagiarism” brought about by AI is nothing new. For centuries, writers have been borrowing the style and prose of their contemporaries. But I suppose the convenience is what concerns me the most.
The phrase “bare sky” was not written by Sloan, but it could have been. In fact, it seems like no challenging feat to simply brainstorm a phrase comparable to “bare sky”: prosaic sky, ashen blue above, a veil of celestial desolation. The nature of literature demands its writers to be composers, to conduct an orchestra of creativity, prose, syntax, plot, dialogue, characters, and a welter of other more nuanced instruments. But AI technology strips writers of that responsibility, making them mere spectators of an orchestration they had little to no part in.
This is, in part, why so many actors and writers unions are on strike. A salvo of counter-defenses have been launched against media companies by the literary world. This is because AI poses two disastrous risks for writers and actors alike. Foremost, it is far cheaper than actual writers, prompting many television companies to underpay writers and replace their work with AI-generated material. Second, AI is using the work of writers, unsolicited and uncompensated. Seeing as AI culls through the entire internet to accumulate data, it is essentially availing itself of the words and content of writers.
You see, I’m not some malcontent adversary of AI technology. I understand the profound potential of AI work in medicine and research. But when it comes to an industry that has long thrived off of the creativity and innovation of talented, dedicated, and seasoned writers, AI takes on a more insidious identity.
Given that AI sits in the willful hands of private companies, regulation is of the utmost importance, and it is incumbent upon the Biden-Harris administration to spearhead this intervention. As a matter of fact, the White House is currently embarking on a legal crusade to regulate AI technology; the administration has already assembled seven leading AI companies to voluntarily commit to safer, more secure AI policies. These moves by the administration have put the pressure on private companies to help safeguard American rights and employment.
Perhaps I’m stuck in the antiquated and muddy waters of yesteryear, pinned as the hapless advocate of classicalism and a captious critic of modernism. Or, perhaps I’m more frightened of my own future as it seems that my long-held vision of my career is becoming ever more blurred and elusive. Or, maybe I’m wrong about all of this. Just as there are sought-after craftspeople for handmade jewelry, furniture, appliances, and whatnot, perhaps human writers will be deemed “higher-quality” and carry more currency in the future.
But, then again, perhaps my fears are warranted, and perhaps the very artistry and talent unique to human authorship is on the brink of extinction.
I suppose only time — and Joan Didion — will tell.
