Reminiscent of both the Emperor’s New Clothes and Heart of Darkness, this book takes the reader on an exploratory and revelatory, sometimes dark, journey through the heart of the machine world which now dominates our economies and so much of our lives. At the heart of this world is an entity which Jaron calls the siren server – just as in the time of Odysseus, a siren server is a “sower of illusions”. These elite servers are the root of the severe inequality introduced to today’s world as part of the information age we live in. Essentially, siren servers gather data from networks for free, and use the results of the analysis of that data (which they do NOT share, despite claiming information is free, for example) to manipulate the world as they see fit. They are also extremely risk-averse – think for example Google, Amazon, Facebook. These big three siren servers fit the described characteristics to a tee – Jaron has a multitude of examples to back up and illustrate this thesis.

The impact this risk-averse, winner-take-all approach taken by massive corporate entities has on the world is shown to be devastating. Wealth, fortunes of which have never been seen in the history of the world before, are being accumulated by a select elite few – those with their hands on the reins of the siren servers. Middle-classes, and as Jaron calls them middle-class levies, are being eroded to the point of non-existence, resulting in a shockingly skewed wealth-distribution pattern. Middle class jobs are being lost on an enormous scale to siren  servers – one stark example, is Kodak, who employed 140,000 people. Those jobs are now gone, replaced by for example Instagram – who at the time of writing employed 10 people. Of course, the music industry and the book industry are two of the more well known examples of middle-class industries wiped out by siren servers.

Jaron moves on to offering his vision for the future, and his solutions for addressing the inequality and social issues prevalent today from siren servers. His main thrust seems to be a democratic compensation scheme for everyone who contributes data to siren servers. E.g. why should Facebook not compensate you, if your data contributes to them making money? Without your (and everyone’s) data, they would make zilch. This micropayments theory, linked with a web implemented from true network principles (i.e. two-way linking instead of the Tim Berner’s Lee implementation of one-way linking) seems very reasonable. The problem will be, how to convince siren servers to give up their dominance and monopolies?

For me, the only way to achieve this is government intervention. Some siren servers are already too powerful it seems, and a true oligarchy is unfolding in the world. I think the world should take a leaf from President Truman – he broke up General Electric, who were becoming too powerful an entity in the early 20th century. There is a precedent there, and laws in place in the American Constitution to do so – if the political will existed.

Overall, a fascinating and worrying read – I would even go so far as to say an essential read. Essential that is, if you don’t practice the old maxim of ignorance being bliss. I would suggest it is worth your while re-evaluating the world of Facebook, Google, Amazon et. al – it is your world after all, and your data.

This is a fascinating and exciting read, which genuinely will change your opinion of scientific endeavor – it certainly has mine at least. It is essentially a collection of well-told true stories of some of the most prominent and scientific minds of recent (as in approx. 500 years) history, and their exploits and trials on the road to scientific heroism. These stories usually involve drugs, Machiavellian deceit, lunacy and un-explainable genius.

The stories themselves are best left in the telling to Michael Brooks, but suffice it to say we have a lot of reasons to be thankful for LSD! This book gives the lie to the notion of the rational logical methods of the ‘scientist’, a being who is thought to be a slave to empirical evidence, the consummate wise man or woman exercising their brains in the pursuit of unlocking the secrets of the universe. Empiricism, however, is to many of the even most world-renowned scientists, evidently an irritating obstacle to be maneuvered around. Also, its not always hours in the lab, or indeed sober reflection that lead to scientific discovery – quite the opposite in reality.

This book also demonstrates how frighteningly slow the scientific community is to accept new theories, even when the proof is literally under their noses. Conversely, at least to some degree, I would suggest after reading this that you would be foolish not to be skeptical of some (or most) of the prevailing scientific theory, on any given subject.

But the most striking aspects of this book are two-fold: the denuding or defrocking of scientists as wise, honorable and inherently trustworthy people, and secondly, just how fleeting and translucent truth can be.

So the next time some wizened boffin is lauded by the scientific community for having found some new amazing particle or such, stop! Be skeptical. After all, is skepticism not at the heart of the scientific method?

This book could have been a contender, and you can at least see what the author was aiming for – a bunch of lads out for a fun-packed weekend in a rural setting, run foul of the “only cop in town” and discover all is not as seems in this supposedly sleepy town. Think Deliverance meets Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, and you wouldn’t be far off the author’s intent I feel.

Adam is the central character in this weird romp, and is a likable chap really: harmless, bit awkward with the ladies, and a real whiskey nerd (if such a thing exists).  Roddy then, his “best friend”, is the opposite – thoroughly obnoxious, a complete lady killer, and a whiskey know-nothing. This asymmetry between the two lads forms the basis of this book essentially, and believe me, it gets old quite quickly. What Roddy lacks in taste, he makes up for in money – he is loaded (in comparison to Adam’s skint character), and this too we are constantly reminded of. This constant contrasting of the two central characters is surely deliberate by the author, and perhaps it is meant to be allegorical or clever, but alas, it is in effect merely repetitive and annoying.

The development and detailing of these two guys is important to mention, because it leads us nicely to the main flaw of the book – its lack of believability. The ground work for this is laid in the fact that although we are to buy into this as a lads weekend for four guys, the other duo of the foursome, although present in most scenes in the book’s first half, are never developed character wise, to the extent that they may as well be planks of wood travelling around with Adam and Roddy. This lack of characterization lends to the general air of unbelievability about the tangled web the author is spinning.

The nail in the coffin however, is the descent half way through this book into a completely unbelievable (and probably impossible) Rambo-esque orgy of insane violence and injuries, that leaves the reader in need of a stiff whiskey just to get over the shock of it. The book never recovers, and to be honest, you may as well stop reading half-way through, as its impossible to make any sense from the haze of lunacy and stupidity that descends over the latter half of this book, let alone glean any enjoyment.

I did say earlier on that whiskey aficionados would take something from this read, and that is certainly the case. The first half of the book is undoubtedly enjoyable in places, as the author clearly is a dram-head, and the myriad descriptions of whiskeys throughout is mouth watering. The distillery tours are enlightening, and many famous whiskeys get name-checked. That’s about the kindest thing I can say about this novel unfortunately, and needless to say, it isn’t saying much.

This book could have been a Talisker or Glenmorangie, but thanks to its degeneration into an ending as unbelievable as an Irish politician, it is instead a Chivas Regal. It looks the part and is critically acclaimed by some, but the reality is a terrible drink and an even worse after-taste.

Obviously I won’t go into the plot too much, as the devil really is in the detail in Harry Hole novels, and I wouldn’t want to risk ruining it for anyone. Suffice it to say, this is a typically very tightly written plot, as you would expect from Jo, and he proves once again to be a true master at manipulating his readers, by inducing them to believe in the guilt of a wide number of suspects, usually at the same time. Its amazing really how the book is written so that you could reasonably argue for the guilt of so many suspects, and yet at the same time leave people guessing as to what the definitive motive in the killings is.

There are some very interesting new characters introduced in this novel, of whom we will see more of in the future I am sure. Also, one particular favorite of mine, Katrine Bratt, was rehabilitated in this outing, but yet her characterization was a bit poor in terms of being one-dimensional and a bit predictable. Also, and without giving away too much plot, the whole “internet search engine” plot device was laughable and extremely naive, as well as seeming to act as a very cheap “way out” or plot enabler for Jo – quite disappointing. Jo does not have to be nerdishly tech-savvy of course, but using some fantastical and ridiculous oracular device to advance your plot is a bit much, especially for a writer such as Nesbo.

But for me, the most interesting thing about this book was the further progression of Harry along the path of becoming a seasoned killer – ironic, considering this is the guy who literally lives to catch killers. I’ve heard it discussed that Harry Hole is akin to Dirty Harry, but for me he is much closer to Hannibal Lector. I used to love the Harry Hole character, his determination to apprehend killers and to generally do right and good, arising I suppose from his yearning for justice. But now to be honest, I think I fear him. Fear him, as you would fear a person capable of making a decision to kill another human based solely on their own judgment, which lives outside of, and is usually contradictory to, societal norms.

Yes, Harry Hole I feel over the last few books has possibly developed a bit of a taste for killing, or at the very least of assuming the role of arbiter of life and death for a person, and thus definitely has a touch of the Hannibal Lector off him. There are definite echoes of Silence of the Lambs right at the end of the book, ala the “I’m having an old friend for dinner” classic Dr. Lector quote. Was this intentional by Jo Nesbo? Judging on the precise weight and meaning he seems to attach to every line of plot he writes, I would guess it is. The curious thing for me is that although I have a great affinity for the vile Dr Lector and his murderous escapades, the more murderous or blase Harry Hole becomes about killing, the less I find myself liking him.

This book is curious in that although the plot is fairly obvious and sometimes ultimately unsatisfying, the main point of interest (for me at least) is the escapades and ruses that Mock gets up to, as he carouses his way around Breslau. He is a legendary (in his own world of course!) drinker and “ladies man”, and he regularly gets away with behavior you could only have gotten away with 80 years ago or so. In fact, that is really the main advantage of this book – having it set in the period it is, Mock has a license to go around doing the things he does!

By the way, here’s a quick and relevant history lesson – Breslau was part of Germany until the end of WWII, when the Russians annexed this part (and other parts) of Eastern Germany, and they became part of the new borders of Poland. This was what the Russians did “in return” for annexing massive swathes of Eastern Poland (present day Ukraine, Byelorussia, Lithuania etc). Having been to Wroclaw a number of times, I can attest to it being a beautiful city, especially the old square with the 16th/17th century German-style architecture. The author really does a good job of bringing this area to life within a different era, and it is a fascinating, even if fictional, insight into what pre-Polish Wroclaw was like.

The plot of this novel is outrageous, to say the least, involving ancient rituals, sects and Freemasons. That’s not to say it isn’t fun though! Best not to forget the endless drinking and smoking, the overindulgence in food and the bacchanalian sex sessions and antics, all of which combine to make a very satisfying read. But then again, for the aforementioned carnal and sensuous reasons I enjoyed the book, it might not be everyone’s cup of tea, so to speak.

So reader beware, this book is not for the faint-hearted or easily offended – and its all the better for it, in my opinion.

In Travels With Herodotus, Ryszard explains to some degree the role he sees himself playing in the world, a role similar he feels to that played by the legendary Greek historian and scholar Herodotus. It is essential for him to live among the “real” people of the land, and experience life exactly as they do. No living in fancy hotels for him – indeed, usually no living in hotels! The result of this technique or approach is that you get an authentic non-judgmental vision of what life is like in the places of his visits. Non-judgmental, yet wholly sympathetic.

In this particular case, the place of visit is the lands encompassed by the former Soviet empire, or Imperium as he calls it – wide, vast and usually cold lands. There is such an incredible variety of life and culture in the former Soviet states and Russia, and Ryszard ably brings them to life for us. As you might expect, a constant feeling of sadness or past hurt pervades most of these places, as is usually due to the terrible deeds of the past of the Imperium. He visits Kolyma for example, the infamous Siberian polar death-camp, and lays commemorative flowers on a stretch of road-side where tens of thousands were buried – dumped might be a more apt description. There is almost nothing in Western culture or history dealing with Stalin’s death-camps where he butchered millions, compared to Hitler’s death-camps. I naively could never understand why Stalin was not as infamous and reviled as Hitler, until of course I was old enough to realize that the Soviets “won” WWII, appeased by the allies in their crimes (such as Polish annexation and deportations, the actual abandonment of Poland to Stalin despite the fact the invasion of Poland was the reason the Allies went to war in the first place), and therefore they got to write their own version of history, or rather, write out of history what was unpalatable to the victors.

Often stark, bleak and tough images of the Imperium lands emerge from the pages. Nonetheless, focused as Ryszard is on the people, it is heart-warming to see the good-naturedness of people emerge as they interact with him, even in terrible or bleak situations. Overall, you can’t help but get a sense of the epic failure that the Soviet system was, in terms of negative (not to mention lethal) impact it had on the lives of so many people.

Parts of his travels documented in this book read like a Boy’s Own adventure: flying into an isolated Armenian mountain-top city, or getting lost in ferocious snow storms in Siberia. In fact one quality that shines through is his utter fearlessness and bravery, something that if you have read any of Ryszard’s other works, you could undoubtedly attest to.

As I mentioned earlier, this is something of a personal voyage for Ryszard, being a Pole as he was, and experiencing first-hand the invasion, deprivations and deportations suffered on the Polish people by the Soviet state. In fact, the opening chapter of this book offers a truly unique glimpse into the Russian invasion of Poland, of which there is little known even in the West nowadays about this.  You get an eerie and uncanny sense of what an invasion feels like – it seems like an utterly alien feeling, and I can just imagine how people would even have a hard time believing such events are actually happening to them. The disappearances of school mates and teachers, neighbours, family and friends at the hands of the Russians is truly staggering to read about – shocking stuff, but making this book all the more valuable through its documenting of it.

In summary, this truly is a rare beast of a book, offering as it does hard-won and incredible insights into life in and post the Soviet Empire, and told through the late Ryszard’s inimitable brilliant style. A true classic of modern literature.

Each chapter in this work deals with events in different countries, over the period mentioned above, and you really get a  feel for the incredible range and depth of Ryszard’s experiences, each of which seem really worthy of a book in themselves. In fact, I think this book is really that – a collection of experiences and reportage that he never had time to author into other works. The titular Soccer War is such an example, being a fascinating event, and could easily be a whole book in itself, instead of a single chapter. This was kicked off over a World Cup qualifier between Honduras and El Salvador, for the 1970 World Cup. Now, that’s taking your football seriously! El Salvador were the aggressors here, and in typical Ryszard fashion, he finds his way to the front line of the fighting, literally face to jackboot with the troops. Also as is typical of Ryszard, although this is but a single chapter, he still gets to the heart of the matter here, with his usual razor-sharp insightfulness. The heart in question here being the El Salvadoran Latifundia’s greed and desire for the land of Honduras.

Ryszard was clearly fearless, or maybe not fearless – instead recklessly brave, in the pursuit of his stories or reporting. I don’t say “recklessly” lightly either. Take for example, my favorite chapter or anecdote in this collection – his experiences in Civil War torn Nigeria. Upon hearing of a road in the rebel heartland down which no white-man could return alive, Ryszard’s immediate reaction was that he HAD to go down that road – alone and unarmed of course. How many people would have that sort of reaction, and also the courage to actually act on it? For the few who would react as he did, surely one must wonder if they were sane? Ryszard seems sane, he must have feared for his life, so all that remains is a stubborn bravery, in explaining what he subsequently did, which was to drive down that road as dusk turned to darkness, one hot night.

I won’t ruin the story for you, but I would like to just take an excerpt from it, to whet your appetite for adventure and suspense, assuming you have one, and also as proof of his foolhardy bravery. At one of the burning roadblocks he encountered down the road he chose to travel, he was taken from his car and badly beaten by the UPGA, before being completely doused in kerosene – a precursor to them incinerating him where he stood. As the UPGA chief lectured him, lighter in hand, before he set Ryszard in flames, the chief began to find his own speech amusing (fueled by the heavy hash he was smoking), and this amusement led to general good-feeling among him and his armed men. So much so, that they never flicked the lighter at Ryszard, and with a few more thumps, set him on his way. Now, if that is not a close shave, I don’t know what is. Its also worth mentioning, that was only one of the three armed and burning roadblocks he encountered that night!

As mentioned in other reviews I have written of Ryszard, he is really one of a kind in his practising of “travel reportage”, and this would serve as an excellent introduction to his world for any newcomer, being as it is a collection of short stories/escapades of his. If you are not new to Ryszard, you know what to expect and you will not be disappointed: this book offers a window into many of the most dangerous places in our modern world, and plenty of glimpses into the human soul.