A Psalm for the Wild-Built

This is the first book I discovered through Bookwyrm. Its reviews here were overwhelmingly positive, and the spoiler-free comments and reviews were just too intriguing to ignore. I’m glad I took a chance on it, because this was such a joy to read.

What first stood out to me was the tone and diction; they felt oddly familiar. At first I couldn’t shake this peculiar thought that the narration and dialogue sounded like something I would write! It turns out that the author is close to me in age, was raised in LA, and is currently based in Northern California (where I am from). It is kind of a funny coincidence, and an interesting sensation to have on the outset of a novel. Beyond the writing itself, though, there are also numerous philosophical themes woven into this story that overlap significantly with things I have researched and written about somewhat extensively. To say the least, I felt weirdly at home in Dex and Mosscap’s world.

Even though this book is relatively short, it is jam packed with fascinating observations about the human condition, commentaries about social and ethical problems, and thought-provoking insights and wondering out loud about what it means to exist. Looking back on all the passages I highlighted, I am impressed by how well the author gestures toward so many profound topics and themes without smothering them with tedious explanations. For example, when Dex realizes that robots refer to themselves as objects and use “it” as a pronoun, they and Mosscap have this exchange:

“So, it is correct, then? You wouldn’t prefer they or—”

“Oh, no, no, no. Those sorts of words are for people. Robots are not people. We’re machines, and machines are objects. Objects are its.”

“I’d say you’re more than just an object,” Dex said.

The robot looked a touch offended. “I would never call you just an animal, Sibling Dex.” It turned its gaze to the road, head held high. “We don’t have to fall into the same category to be of equal value.”

What I love about this is you are already immersed in this neat world where the main character is (apparently) completely accepted as a non-binary person, and here they are not only learning about identity and personhood from another non-gendered being (a robot), but this episode climaxes in a wonderfully open-ended assertion about the nature of existence in general. The author gives the reader a sign post, but it is up to them to wonder on further. Having space to let my imagination run with these thought-provoking scenarios allowed me to immerse myself further in the story’s world.

The whole book is peppered with these sorts of scenarios. Being the first encounter between humans and robots in an unknown but significantly long period of time, Dex and Mosscap naturally have lots to talk about. Their interactions continually prompt them to re-examine their fundamental ideas about the world and their place in it. For example, contrary to what Dex, and presumably humans generally had assumed, Mosscap and the other robots are, in a sense, surprisingly human-like:

Dex chewed on this for a while as Mosscap continued cooing at birds. “You are nothing like I expected,” Dex said at last. “I mean, I didn’t expect to meet any of you ever, but…” They shook their head. “I wouldn’t have pictured you.”

“Why not?”

“You’re so … flexible. Fluid. You don’t even know how many of you there are, or where you are. You just go with the flow. I figured you’d be all numbers and logic. Structured. Strict, y’know?”

Mosscap looked amused. “What a curious notion.”

“Is it? Like you said, you’re a machine.”

“And?”

“And machines only work because of numbers and logic.”

“That’s how we function, not how we perceive.”

Mosscap struggles with math, and in fact, counts on its fingers. Robots in this world are not just avatars of some super-intelligent hive mind, nor are they glorified Swiss Army knives with an inventory of go-go-gadget-whatevers to save their human counterparts in any given situation. Robots in this world became conscious long ago, for reasons not even they understand, and left the factories and human civilization peacefully to inhabit the wilds undisturbed. What have they been up to out there for all that time? A lot of wondering and wandering: observing insects, watching stalagmites and stalactites form over centuries, cavorting with wolf packs, listening to birdcalls, etc. Y’know, robot stuff.

There is something profoundly moving about the nature of robots in this story that is hard for me to place. In some sense, the robots in this world feel more relatable than the humans, who have a society that is more-or-less everything we could ever dream of for ourselves; a solarpunk paradise, really. They have a society where everyone is cared for, everyone is accepted, computers are built to last forever, nothing is wasted, they value relaxation and leisure but also appreciate work (as opposed to labor). As great as all this sounds, the life of a robot in the wilds is strangely appealing and inspiring. Perhaps it is because they have the time, the patience, and the focus to just deeply immerse themselves in whatever it is that they are doing: even just watching stalactites grow… slowly… painfully slowly! Or, in the case of Mosscap, checking out everything as much as possible:

“So, if Two Foxes is into bird calls, what about you? What’s your thing?”

“Insects!” Mosscap cried. Its voice was jubilant, as if it had spent every second prior waiting for Dex to broach the topic. “Oh, I love them so much. And arachnids, too. All invertebrates, really. Although I do also love mammals. And birds. Amphibians are also very good, as are fungi and mold and—” It paused, catching itself. “You see, this is my problem. Most of my kind have a focus—not as sharply focused as Two Foxes or Black Marbled Rockfrog, necessarily, but they have an area of expertise, at least. Whereas I … I like everything. Everything is interesting. I know about a lot of things, but only a little in each regard.” Mosscap’s posture changed at this. They hunched a bit, lowered their gaze. “It’s not a very studious way to be.”

Being a hyper-sensitive, insatiably curious person myself, I feel like I would get along well with Mosscap. But here it seems to imply that its lack of focus is undesirable. I think the way it states this is significant: “It’s not a very studious way to be.” At the end of the book when Dex is despairing over a feeling that their life lacks purpose, Mosscap explains to them them that its current mission of finding out what humans need is simply something it is doing not its reason for being. This shows us that, like us, Mosscap is imperfect—not some all-wise sage-of-the-woods. Earlier in the book, Mosscap confided that it shares a similar anxiety, but here it is providing insight, encouragement, and support in spite of that fact:

You are not separate or other. You’re an animal. And animals have no purpose. Nothing has a purpose. The world simply is. … You keep asking why your work is not enough, and I don’t know how to answer that, because it is enough to exist in the world and marvel at it. You don’t need to justify that, or earn it. You are allowed to just live. That is all most animals do."

Is Dex just anxious because they are an animal whose existence is impermanent? “[That’s] what scares me. My life is … it. There’s nothing else, on either end of it.” But even if there were something before or after, would that anxiety go away? Or would it just delay the inevitable? The robots, understanding that nothing in nature is permanent, realize that they are not an exception. Rather than rebuilding themselves and sustaining the consciousness of individual robots, they repurpose the parts of older, “dead” robots to build new ones; wild-built robots. Of course, they could just repair existing robots, but not indefinitely. Everything degrades and changes. Rather than delaying the inevitable, robots chose to accept the impermanence of existence. Like humans, like Dex, robots may face the same anxiety about life being meaningless. As Mosscap puts it, there is no point to life, though; it is what it is. It is for its own sake. “‘Then how’ Dex said, ‘how does the idea of maybe being meaningless sit well with you?’” Mosscap responds with what I like to think could be the refrain of the metaphorical psalm for the wild-built: “Because I know that no matter what, I’m wonderful.”

Mosscap isn’t bragging vainly. It’s statement is literal. Mosscap lives in a constant state of wonder. That is all there is to do; the best anything can do:

Dex turned the mug over and over in their hands. “It doesn’t bother you?” Dex said. “The thought that your life might mean nothing in the end?”

“That’s true for all life I’ve observed. Why would it bother me?” Mosscap’s eyes glowed brightly. “Do you not find consciousness alone to be the most exhilarating thing? Here we are, in this incomprehensibly large universe, on this one tiny moon around this one incidental planet, and in all the time this entire scenario has existed, every component has been recycled over and over and over again into infinitely incredible configurations, and sometimes, those configurations are special enough to be able to see the world around them. You and I—we’re just atoms that arranged themselves the right way, and we can understand that about ourselves. Is that not amazing?”

It sure is, Mosscap. Gods around, it is.

and crickets began to sing.