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It's apparently a nom-de-plume. He's a young British novelist, whose first book, Shibboleth, has been well-received.I'm sorry, but what is the thesis of this (looks at name) "Thomas Peermohamed Lambert?"
(Is that name A.I.-generated?)
He's wondering -- along with a lot of other people -- how on earth The Serpent in the Grove came to win a literary prize when it gives every indication of having been written (at least in part) by AI, and goes on from that to consider the way its critics have outsourced their judgement by relying on AI to decide whether or not the short story in question is the work of AI, and on the sort of people who sit on panels that award prizes for works of literature.
ETA: More on the same topic: AI stories aren’t inevitably ‘not art’ (Evernote link because paywall) -- the problem isn't that it's written by AI but that it's so dreadfully written.
In Nazir’s story, which is centred around a struggling farmer in rural Trinidad and Tobago, we are told a woman “moved quiet as if sound were taxed”. Another has “the kind of walking that made benches become men”. A third, and this is my favourite, is “big in the way of women who never apologise to furniture”. I have to be honest, none of the women in my life have ever apologised to furniture, and as such I am uncertain what size of woman we are talking about here. The lowest point in the text, though, was surely the following sentence: “shame is a substance he felt on his skin. It itches. It doesn’t rinse”. A sentence that gave me an insight into what it must be like to experience a stroke, if nothing else.
Of course, it is true that generative AI often bears an uncanny resemblance to an obnoxious teenager wrongly convinced of their own writing ability. (Or, at least, to my work as an obnoxious teenager.) But as I read The Serpent in the Grove, my concern wasn’t “did a human really write this?” but “did a human really judge this?”
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