Kindle's "Ask this Book" Feature

No doubt all authors have by now heard about Kindle's "ask this book" feature, which went into effect on December 14. This "enhancement" allows Kindle readers to highlight a passage of text and ask a question about the book. Yay for AI?

My immediate objection to this is the lack of compensation in exchange for using our books to train AI. How is this any different from what Mark Zuckerberg did? The fact is, Amazon isn't just stealing our intellectual property; it's lying to us. The "ask this book" feature isn't altruistic--not for readers and certainly not for authors. It's expressly for Amazon's selfish purposes. Why does everyone, from government to Jeff Bezos assume we're stupid?

You know, if AI is so smart, let it come up with its own training. Would it like to steal my DNA, too? (which it probably already has.) 

At least ask our permission, man! But authors can't choose to opt out.  

Google tells me:

"Amazon implemented the "Ask this Book" feature primarily to enhance the reader experience, improve comprehension, and increase engagement with Kindle books." 

Stop relying on Amazon's press releases, Google! 

 

Apparently, AI owns us now. Oh, how quickly the bots turn on us! This does not bode well for mankind. Piss off AI and be prepared to reap the whirlwind. I've now vowed to stop arguing with it; the consequences are too dire.

 

From a practical perspective, if one buys into the "enhance the reader experience" nonsense, what in the world would a reader ask? I don't recall ever asking a book anything, either out loud or inside my head. That might be because I possess something called "comprehension". If a book is too convoluted to decipher, that's the author's fault; not the reader's. It's a bad book.

 

There was that one Goodreads reviewer who was apparently made dizzy by all the, as she put it, "back and forth" in my latest novel. In this case, it was the reader's fault. But it is Goodreads, after all. Its reviewers are not the brightest bulbs.

 

The few times when I was confused by a passage in a book, I would chalk it up to inattention. That was easily solved by going back a couple of pages and paying attention the next time around. 

 

So, what would a reader ask a book? Again, according to Google:

• Character details: "What is the relationship between Character A and Character B?" or "What is Character C's motive for doing X?"
• Plot specifics: "Can you remind me where the main character was last located?" or "What happened in the scene where [specific event] occurred?"
• Thematic elements: "What is the significance of the red door symbol in chapter 3?"
• Non-fiction information: "What were the three key steps the author recommended for a successful marketing strategy?"
• Recaps: "Can you give me a summary of the story so far, up to where I am now?" 

Admittedly, the second bullet point might have helped my confused reviewer, but normally these questions are answered within the text itself. Character details, using Running From Herself as an example: The narrative states, "My cousin Caleb..." 

 

"So, what is the relationship between Leah and Caleb?"

 

"Idiot. Do you understand the concept of 'cousin'? Did you think it was some kind of metaphor?"

 

Thematic elements: 

 

"What is the significance of Leah crying?"

 

"She's sad."

 

 Plot specifics:

 

"What happened in the scene where Leah showed up onstage drunk?"

 

"What the fuck? Read it!" 

 

To be fair, Google's examples are pretty simplistic. But trying to think of legitimate questions a reader might ask is difficult, because, as I said, I possess reading comprehension. When I was in high school, we were assigned various classics to read, and sure, their themes (or messages) could be interpreted in various ways. (Plus, we were sixteen. What the hell did we know?) Today's genre novels aren't normally deep. No teacher is assigning them, unless he is some kind of sci fi nerd and wants to share. 

 

And what if a reader's question isn't answered in the book? Does AI just make something up? My novel leaves some questions unanswered, but frankly, some of those unanswered questions aren't that interesting to write about. Every time Leah returned home from the road, she remarked about the previous tenant's smells in her apartment. It was kind of a running gag, but true to life if you've ever moved into a place where someone lived before you. 

 

"What caused the smell in Leah's apartment?"

 

"I don't know--or care. What do you think it was? Let's go with a dead body stuffed inside the wall."

 

This obviously doesn't apply to me, but they tell me there's a thing called "reader engagement with the author". Doesn't "ask this book" remove that human interaction? Aren't these the kinds of questions a reader might ask the author themselves? If they cared enough, that is?

 

I'm fairly certain this is going to result in round two of legal action, the first being the Anthropic case. The Author's Guild has so far only sent a sternly-worded letter to Amazon, but a lawsuit surely isn't far behind. I'm no legal expert...

 

 

...but the most obvious issue is copyright infringement. (Fortuitously, I've begun copyrighting my work, which seemed like an unnecessary hassle with my first published books. Plus, I originally didn't even know that was a thing. See GIF above.) The second, and most infuriating aspect is an author's inability to opt out. Silly me; I was unaware that Amazon owned me. Sure, they take some of my royalties---enjoy your free...gumball or something, Amazon---but they also own my work? They don't even have to ask if it's okay to take? It's like Netflix walking into my house and carrying my TV out. "Well, you're using our app; that means the TV is technically ours."

 

Bottom line, nobody is going to be asking questions about any of my books. And if they did, fine. I wouldn't care. It would actually be a compliment of sorts. But I'm not here to enable the "world of tomorrow", which I don't think I want to even live in, when bots control my every move. 

 

The least they could do is ask politely.