Category Archives: Non-fiction

Going Infinite: That one time I decided to be a crypto investor

In case you need proof that I ought not to be responsible for large sums of money, it was the winter of 2021 that I decided I’d become a crypto investor. Indeed, that was just before the giant crypto crash: good memory. Thankfully my risk tolerance is that of a hospital administrator or air traffic controller, which is to say: low. And if I hadn’t lost my $50 in the crash, I’d have lost it because I misplaced the book where I’d painstakingly written down all the passwords to the many layers of security I’d installed – because, you know, someone was going to hack me for my $53-turned-$13-turned-who-knows.

All this to say it was with some sense of proximity to the crime – what with being a crypto investor myself – that I read Michael Lewis’ Going Infinite which describes the rise and fall of crypto-investor-turned-exchange-turned-convict Sam Bankman-Fried. Lewis does a fantastic job of grabbing hold of the reader and making clear just how bananas crypto investing was (is?). A casual two billion here, an easy three billion over there. And while the descriptions of outrageous wealth are, of course, fascinating, I found the turn toward trying to understand Bankman-Fried the most compelling part of the book. What were his intentions? What were his aims? How did he come to be in charge of such riches? (I think the short answer is math camp).

Oh and the intentions of the effective altruists. What a bunch! Taking the idea that the purpose of an individual life is to save the most human lives / reduce the most suffering (at least that was my read on their movement) they figure the best route is to make as much money as possible so that money can be invested in different domains (AI research, pandemic planning, etc) where it can do the most good. (I’m sure there’s an argument for why this EA approach is better than a redistribution of wealth that would see investments in these worthy aims made by government rather than the billionaire class, but I digress).

Anyway, thanks to C. and M. for suggesting this one. Non-fiction FTW. I think C. told me there’s also a good accompanying podcast about the trial and sentencing, so if you get fully hooked on SBF you can listen to that, too.

As for me I’m on to reading about forest fires because ’tis the season for angst.

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The Talk: Excellent

I hadn’t heard of Darrin Bell before my mum suggested The Talk, but I can’t wait to spend more time with his work. The Talk is Bell’s memoir of growing up in amid racist structures and people and of his path to becoming a Pulitzer winning editorial cartoonist. A Künstlerroman for those collecting their literary terms. I wish I’d had it to recommend in a recent conversation with a white man who told me there were no racist police officers. Or that I was teaching a course that I could put it on the booklist for so that more white young people could hear early: racism is real and white supremacy is not an accident and you have responsibilities for change. And as Bell ends the book, so that more black young people could hear early: you are not alone. Alas, all I have is this humble platform on which to echo mum’s recommendation: go read The Talk!

Oh and if you needed more reason: it’s visually stunning.

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All the Frequent Troubles of Our Days: What a bad title for an excellent book

Rebecca Donner’s biography of her great-great aunt, Mildred Harnack, All the Frequent Troubles of Our Days, is great (though the title is impossible for me to remember thus making it terrible when I try to recommend it). It has a thriller vibe as the resistance forms and fights in Berlin leading up to and during the Second World War. The cast of characters (I know, I know, they’re people) feel sharp and present – the best kind of biography for me is one where you can forget its non-fiction. And how wonderful to have recovered the story of Harnack, all but forgotten, from fragments and trace references, and to bring her heroism to the contemporary moment.

Harnack’s heroism is her bafflement that those around her are quiescent amid the rise of Hitler. Everyone, she thinks, seems to think someone else will solve the problem of Hitler, someone else will put a stop to the madness.

Most pressing to a reader in 2023 are the questions of what we do ourselves amid our parallel moment. Bravery is not my strong suit, and so I’ll simply suggest you read this one, and think about accrual of silence and shrugs. Sort of like how I approach choosing take-out on Friday nights, and then find myself annoyed that we’ve ended up with shawarma. Once again.

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Chance: Good thing the 5 year old didn’t read it.

R. who is (somehow) now 5 picked out Uri Shulevitz’s memoir Chance: Escape from the Holocaust from the library which was (I suppose appropriately) shelved in the children’s section as it is pitched at an older young adult reader. Anyway, I’m pretty shrug shrug to whatever the kid brings home to read – we’ve read a lot of garbage Little Critter books and a lot of much to adult books about dragons as a consequence – but in this case I thought I’d give it a quick go over before reading it to him (something I have truly not done before – which results in a lot of adapted stories let me tell you).

And not that I won’t read it to him, but maybe not at 5. He is still, after all, afraid of giants and requires illustrations with ‘angry eyes’ to be covered up, so not sure he’s ready for the steady description of a family of Jewish refugees from Poland through Soviet Russia (and back again) during WWII. Like the descriptions are never super graphic, but the relentless hunger, terror, uncertainty and sudden death of loved ones… might be a lot.

It does make me wonder when the right time might be to read books to him (or the other kid) that are… difficult. Like we’ve been reading books that explore racism, or violence, or death or other manner of hard stuff forever – in (I like to think) age appropriate and supported ways. But eventually he will be ‘ready’ for a book like this one – where the fate of the author is genuine chance (or maybe God, but you know, chance) and he’ll have to sit with that. I guess I’ll just leave it to school to figure it out. Ha ha.

But seriously – how have you figured out when to read something with a younger person that might be Hard? Or when have you yourself approached a challenging topic and what did you need to read through it well?

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