AI companies are missing the entire point of writing or reading a book – The Irish Times
The word “wordsmith”, which originated in the late 19th century, is derived from the term “smith”, a craftsperson, and describes someone who crafts words skilfully. Our imagination and creativity are the tools of our trade. However, time-honoured traditions of apprenticeship and honing one’s craft are being undermined by a technology that seeks to replace us altogether.
It’s almost impossible to escape the bombardment of generative AI companies, who hope to convince with the poisoned promise of churning out artworks in seconds. It’s inevitable, the messaging tells us, you don’t want to get left behind. It speaks about the creative process as though it were something getting in the way of our creativity, slowing us down, rather than being the path that leads us to it. Then again, it’s no surprise that a capitalist venture focuses on the product and speed to market, rather than the process. They are missing the entire point, the reason most of us pick up a pen in the first place: the act of doing the thing, the devotion to it, is where the meaning lies. It is this act of human endeavour, our urge to make things, that, as the poet and philosopher John O’Donoghue put it, “brings our invisible world to expression”.
When it came to light that my books (along with millions of others) had been essentially torrented by Meta, allegedly from a pirate site in what was the largest copyright theft in history, I felt furious. I didn’t want my words, my intellectual property and everything I had experienced in my life that led to me writing them, trapped in some nightmare machine. It is completely unethical and devalues the profession.
I also felt powerless in the face of this juggernaut that is smashing through copyright and privacy laws, while the data centres that power it are having an untold impact on our environment. A recent UN report described Ireland as a “cautionary tale”, stating they were already using more than 22 per cent of our electricity. This, at a time when the European Commission has referred Ireland to the European Court of Justice for failure to comply with EU rules on environmental impact assessments over peat cutting. The hypocrisy is galling. Aside from these immediate concerns and the fact that it is all being done without consent, there is something more insidious going on.
As author and critic James Bradley said back in 2024, “AI isn’t about unleashing our imaginations, it’s about outsourcing them”. And he was spot on. Sam Altman said the quiet part out loud earlier this year when he shared that he saw “a future where intelligence is a utility like electricity or water and people buy it from us on a meter”.
What a chilling, dystopian view. However, you can’t shortcut creativity without stripping its soul. Ever since generative AI began trading in stolen emotions and invading the art world, I have been wondering why? What is the goal? I can understand how it could be useful in time-consuming tasks such as number crunching, but why try to undermine our most basic instinct of storytelling? I think of this quote from Brenda Ueland: “Why should we all use our creative power …? Because there is nothing that makes people so generous, joyful, lively, bold and compassionate, so indifferent to fighting and the accumulation of objects and money.”
Perhaps naively, we used to believe in a future where robots would do the housework, not write novels. With each new day, a new AI controversy hits the literary world. It began earlier in the year with Hachette pulling a debut novel for alleged AI use, which was apparently detected by … AI. Granta Magazine ended its partnership with the Commonwealth Foundation and will no longer publish the winner of the Short Story Prize following accusations of AI use. The “Expert Review” launched by Grammarly, offering AI-generated writing advice imitating famous writers, both living and dead, all created without their permission, has been removed and is facing a lawsuit. But it’s the lingering doubt created by AI use that damages all of us.
The only solution brought forward by The Society of Authors was to put a sticker on your book saying “Human Authored”. Shouldn’t it be the other way around and the AI books should have a sticker warning the reader? The bigger question underlying all of this is: if you don’t enjoy writing in all of its messy glory, then why write at all?
I have yet to see how any of us benefit from AI. So far, it seems to be putting people out of work, pushing up the cost of living and guzzling all our water. Even the pope is worried, calling for AI to be “disarmed”.
[ Spotify chief defends AI-generated musicOpens in new window ]
It’s not just about the normalisation of taking things without asking (ie theft) but the quiet erosion of respect for the artistic process; a process that works on us as much as we work on it. Writers need belief to write, publishers need to believe in the work in order to get it on to shelves, and readers need to believe that what they’re reading is authentic. This is the ecosystem that makes the book world work. Trust. Trust that when you read a book, you are truly stepping into the author’s world, not a predictive text version of it. There is a visceral sense of betrayal out there when it becomes clear that, as consumers, we are being convinced to accept slop and be okay with it. Perhaps then, it’s no surprise to see a growing nostalgia for simpler times, with analogue bags, dumb phones and a newfound appreciation for real art.
If I am going to ask people to hand over their hard-earned money to buy my book, then I am going to keep my side of the bargain and work night and day to produce something worthy of their time. That’s the deal.
For my part, I’ve been writing since 2005 – long before I ever signed a publishing contract. It wasn’t a get-rich-quick scheme. It was something I needed to do – an outlet for my creativity, a mirror to explore my view of the world, a refuge and a form of connection with my fellow humans. And now, it’s a platform for me to express my talent that I’ve worked hard to nurture. Writing has been the most rewarding experience of my life and I don’t want to see that taken away from the writers coming up behind me. Authors cannot build a career in the shadow of a technology that convinces them they aren’t good enough. In the end, it robs all of us, one way or another.
On a more hopeful note, the backlash against the use of AI, especially by the younger generation, gives me so much hope that we can still influence how our future is shaped, rather than being haunted by the ghost of one that risks being stolen by the Broligarchs. Perhaps they underestimate us. For as long as I can remember, someone somewhere has been declaring the death of the novel. And yet, its heart continues to beat. I believe Doris Lessing, the Nobel Prize-winning author who lived through wars, dictators and every manner of social change, said it best: “It is our stories that will recreate us, when we are torn, hurt, even destroyed. It is the storyteller, the dream-maker, the mythmaker, that is our phoenix, that represents us at our best, and at our most creative.”
Evie Gaughan, writing under the name Evie Woods, is author of The Lost Bookshop. A deluxe edition of her latest book, The Violin Maker’s Secret, will be released in October.
