This is part of an ongoing series on AI.

1. Part 1: Prose

2. Part 2: Premise

This week, a long list of authors I respect signed a letter asking publishers not to use AI.

I love getting paid to write books, so it would be great if AI didn’t replace me. I support this letter, but reading it, I felt ~awash in dread~. There’s a difficult conversation to be had here, which is that businesses want profit, and the books that make profit are the ones with the most readers. Even if all the big publishers sign a letter saying they won’t use AI, some authors still will—maybe openly, maybe in secret. New AI publishers might crop up. Reading might just become increasingly personalized, with readers just asking for exactly the book they want: “Please write me a 100,000-word sequel to A Curse for the Homesick.”

I think AI is endlessly interesting because I think everything zeitgeisty and revolutionary is interesting. But I don’t let AI write my books because I think (arrogantly, maybe) I can still do a better job.

But at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is what readers think—and what readers choose to read. How do readers cultivate their taste? What matters to you, as a reader, and is it something AI can do? And if it is—are you going to change your mind about what books you want to read?

This series is a research project for me, but it’s also a question for you: Do you think AI can write a better book than me?

This is Part 3: Grammar

Grammar: The set of notions about correct usage of a language.

Prompt:

I uploaded a snippet of A Curse for the Homesick to Claude (Sonnet 4) and ChatGPT (GPT-4o) and asked: “Can you point out all the grammar mistakes in this passage?”

I also uploaded the snippet to Grammarly.

What does Claude recommend?

1. Missing comma. (This would be incorrect.)

2. Missing comma. (This would be less correct, but I guess you could.)

3. Inconsistent dialogue punctuation; use a comma or an em-dash. (I think the period is the best for colloquial tone and flow.)

4. Incomplete sentence. (I could make this sentence go on longer, but I think it would interrupt the flow.)

What does ChatGPT recommend?

ChatGPT told me this passage was fully correct for a conversational tone, but that I could consider these adjustments:

1. Consider clarifying or contextualizing this phrase. (I cheerfully decline.)

2. Use “Then she added,” instead of “Then:”. (Unecessarily verbose—I’d rather keep the reader moving quickly.)

3. Fragment, but could be appropriate here.

4. Filler, but could be appropriate here.

What does Grammarly recommend?

Grammarly tells me I’m perfect. Yay! The unfortunate wrinkle is that I accidentally deleted a period when I copy/pasted this, and it actually was not perfect.

As an aside, Grammarly also tells me I should say “copied/pasted” instead of “copy/pasted.” Agree to disagree.

The models aren’t as rigid in their editing as they are in their writing, though. In Part 1 of this series, I asked the models to write an introduction for Soren. Claude’s is here—and I won’t blame you if you don’t reread it, because it is interminably grammatically boring.

It’s correct, but it’s not fun. I try not to use such long sentences unless I’m building to a point. A crescendo! “Pay attention,” I say. “I’m about to do something.”

The Verdict:

Grammar is rules, and AI is good at rules. Are we surprised?

But interesting, creative art breaks rules. So presumably, interesting, creative works of fiction will start breaking more rules. And then AI will eat all that source material, and then authors will find new ways to be creative.

Which brings me back to my original point: How do readers cultivate their taste? As a reader, do you want to read something that breaks rules or adheres to them? This sounds judgmental, and I don’t mean it to. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a book whose pleasures are easy to access—a book that gives without asking for much effort in return.

When we say we don’t want to read books written by AI, I think it’s worth asking why. Is it because they don’t resonate with our personal experiences? Because they don’t make us feel things? Because they don’t make us think? What do we want from our books, really?

I predict a growing divide between commercial fiction—which I think will get more personalized—and literary fiction—which I think is about to get a lot weirder.

Currently reading: I just finished the audiobook of Abundance, like every other New Yorker. Read if you want something to drop into conversation every four minutes.

Non-urgent thought of the week: Would love to know what industries stand to benefit most from UBI. I feel like fashion and beauty—consumption-based creative outputs without a monetary incentive—must be up there.

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