I finished reading The Circle by Dave Eggers a couple days ago. It’s after reading books like this that I really, really wish I was part of a book club. I have so much to say, and so much I’d like to hear from others. Unfortunately, I’m not in a book club, so I have to content myself with this one-sided blog entry. If any of you want to talk about this more, please let me know. Coffee will be on me.
Reviews of The Circle have been decidedly mixed. Some were somewhat flattering, others less so. In terms of literary merit, I have to agree with the latter. I think this novel fails as a novel: the characters are flat, barely more than caricatures. The story, in some crucial ways, doesn’t make sense. Most of all, the symbolism is so heavy-handed that the Circle corporation is mirrored by a *literal* killer shark and a character is made to jump off an *actual* cliff to escape scrutiny.
Ok, enough with the piling on. I think this book does succeed in two ways: it is an interesting dystopia, and a great catalyst for discussion of our digital lifestyle.
Anyone who knows me knows I *heart* dystopias. I think they show us things about our culture that are otherwise easy to miss. Of course, compared to the greats, like 1984, Brave New World, or We, this book isn’t much. However, I can’t think of another decent recent dystopia. Most these days are derivative YA fantasies. [full disclosure: I loved The Hunger Games and enjoyed a few others, but I liked them for their narrative and characters, not innovation in terms of the dystopia pictured therein.] Snow Crash is the most recent compelling dystopia that pictures our culture, but it’s woefully dated in terms of its depiction of the internet. It’s still definitely worth reading – it’s one of the most entertaining books I think I’ve ever read, and its vision of sprawl is chilling – but Stephenson wrote it decades ago.
In this context, The Circle presents a much more up-to-date critique of our internet era. The arrow aimed at google is shot true. As I mentioned above, I think the critique is undermined by some of the preposterous story choices, but the fact is some of the basic assumptions of the book did make sense to me. Companies that know tons about us? Check. All our data stored, collated, analyzed? Check. An increasing difficulty in opting out? Check.
The credible dystopia presented makes even more sense as a starting point to discussing our digital lifestyle. For one, it means the heavy-handedness of the book no longer gets in the way and instead lights specific avenues of discussion.
It was weird to read passages criticizing social media and then taking a break to check my twitter feed, yet I did exactly that. While reading the book, I even signed up for instagram, at my sister’s request. She doesn’t use twitter and wanted to stay in touch with me more. The strange thing is, as an artist, she knows she looses control over her work when it’s posted on Instagram. Nonetheless, she’s an avid user. In part, it’s because she is more comfortable in the visual realm: instagram fills that niche for her in a way that other sharing sites can’t.
The proliferation of screens and quantifiable tasks in the book are only exaggerations of current reality. Most people I know chase some form of recognition, whether it be comments, likes, followers, thumbs-up, whatever. There is real if fleeting pleasure in crossing off tasks, getting instant, quantifiable feedback. The Circle‘s protagonist, Mae, is unfortunately completely uncritical in her consumption. In reality, however, are people so blindly accepting? I think not.
Personally, I’m an early adopter and admitted fangirl. Yet I found that Facebook brought out the worst in me: competitiveness, neediness, short attention span, judginess. As a response, I just quit. Similarly, I tend toward the data hoarding, as the characters in the book do as well: I like the feeling of knowing, of having things under control. When I saw the Feltron Annual Reports, my first reaction was slightly jealous awe. But the reality is that keeping all that data really is just hoarding. Looking at the Feltron, is it really that interesting to know what he wore every day? What does that really add to the world except a meaningless number? I’m all for keeping a diary or an art journal, but that is qualitatively different: there is something added, whether it’s creativity or simply reflection. The ceaseless flow of numbers, however, means very little. That’s not to say it isn’t enjoyable to collect those numbers. I know first hand that it is. As a new mom, I collected the information about my baby’s feeding, sleeping, etc. as people are encouraged to do for the first few weeks. Except I did it for 7 months. It felt reassuring. Just like keeping old newspapers or boxes feels reassuring to a hoarder, probably. As far as I’m concerned, that’s not behavior that should be encouraged.
Privacy is another central concern of the book, as illustrated by its transparent buildings and transparent shark and people “going transparent” (wearing a camera around their neck all day, with live feed to the internet). Again, story-wise, this wasn’t convincing. Hard to believe people would measure *everything* but not their scatological bodily functions (the cameras are turned off in the bathroom). Nonetheless, it raises interesting questions about where being honest and “sharing” stops and when it becomes TMI.
Bringing those two concerns together – logging every piece of data and sharing everything with the world – the characters end up loosing their humanity. Everything is done for an audience, and to calm down, the protagonist revels in reassuring rankings and other meaningless numbers. This book isn’t exactly innovative in fearing the Facebook-driven life, but this is still worth observing.
More and more, in my own life, I have spoken to people who are stepping back from Facebook et al. and/or given serious thought to how much they collect and how much they share. Some stop putting up pics of their kids or at least think of what pictures they’re showing the world. Others create different personas on twitter for different audiences.
Anyway, this book isn’t going to make me change my use of social media or data collection behaviors, but it made me think about them again. Personally, I’m comfortable with how much I collect and how much I share. That’s not to say there isn’t pressure: friends and family have asked me to get back on Facebook, for the pictures of my kid if nothing else. But I think I will stay off. The false sense of closeness wasn’t doing anything for me, and that way we have more to share when we see each other. In person.