Thanks in large part to modern medical technology, there’s a lot that separates us from those who lived thousands or even just hundreds of years ago. We have at our fingertips an array of devices, machines, and procedures that are nothing less than remarkable—the culmination of centuries of intellectual advancements. We live longer and healthier lives (generally speaking), and undergo far less physical pain than our ancestors once did.
But two things have never changed: the inevitability of death, and the sting of death. The loss of a child, sibling, parent, spouse, or friend are events that change our lives in profound and permanent ways.
As we head further into the 21st century, riding a tidal wave of ever-advancing technology, what role might artificial intelligence play in this regard? Must the dead remain dead? Might we be able to enjoy their “presence” even if they’re no longer physically with us?
Companies like Replika, founded in 2017, offer users the ability to interact with highly customizable chatbots. You can tailor one to say things a lost loved one might say, thereby engaging in an ersatz conversation. Maybe you need some advice or encouragement; or maybe you just want to be reminded of their personality—the types of jokes they liked to tell, the witty banter they tended to exude.
As with any piece of technology, potential benefits are accompanied by unexpected downsides and thorny ethical issues. Companion chatbots, particularly those which aim to replicate the deceased, are no exception.
Afterward, a timely novel by Nina Schuyler, explores this murky territory with admirable nuance and depth. Topical relevance aside, Schuyler’s novelistic craft and crisp prose are enjoyable in their own right.
The protagonist of Afterword is 75-year-old Virginia Samson, a denizen of San Francisco and the creator of a powerful chatbot technology called Haru AI, an accomplishment which has brought her much prestige in the field of artificial intelligence.
The years spent crafting the technology and slaving away at the computer was a deeply personal endeavor. Many years ago she lost a man named Haru who meant everything to her. He was her math tutor, inspiration, guide, lover; he was a living embodiment of what life, her life, could encompass.
Shortly into the novel, Virginia gives a talk about the technology she so painstakingly developed. Afterwards, a boisterous member of the audience lodges some scathing accusations: “You’ve ushered in the Orwellian Age,” he says. He chastises her for creating a technology that China is now using to spy on its citizens, with catastrophic consequences.
It’s true: Virginia had indeed licensed her chatbot technology to a company in China (probably not the wisest of ideas), but she had never heard the faintest whiff about the company employing it for nefarious purposes. Later that day, however, after scouring news articles and looking into the matter, an uncomfortable reality sets in. Something has indeed changed with the inner workings of Haru AI; the technology she developed out of love has been turned into something malevolent.
As Virginia tries to make sense of what has gone awry, the novel travels back and forth through time, slowly revealing a tantalizing story of two people—Virginia Samson and Haru Fukomoto—whose lives together might have been brilliant, fulfilling, and happy if not for a tragic incident.
At the time of his death, Virginia was a young woman, enamored by the allure of mathematics almost as much as she was by her tutor, Haru, who was willing to mentor her at a time when females pursue the field.
The tutoring sessions offered Virginia not only the chance to learn math but the chance to escape an unwelcoming environment at home. Virginia’s father had brought the family to Japan, only to later abandon them for a younger woman. Virginia’s mother, distraught by the infidelity—along with a bitterness that naturally arises from unfilled aspirations—is a cynical character. Virginia’s brother, volatile and selfish, causes drama at home. It is to Haru, then, that Virginia turns to as a source of comfort. Both in life, and in death.
Knowing someone in real life, in the flesh and blood, can be a major endeavor. It can be a herculean task even to try and understand our own selves! All of that is part of what makes life so immensely complex, unpredictable, and special all at the same time. Each of us is an incalculably unique human being, far more than just the sum of our data and information, no matter how vast the scale.
When Virginia set about developing Haru AI, she input loads of information about him, everything she had available. That proved to be good enough to create a decent facsimile of Haru, enough that for years she’s enjoyed heading into her study each morning to converse with him.
But how much did that colossus of input fail to capture about Haru, either for good or for bad? And upon licensing her technology to a foreign company, what control has she given up, and what product has she unwittingly unleashed into the world? Last but not least, despite Virginia’s understandable intentions of trying to recreate her lost soulmate, was it nonetheless a selfish act?
Schuyler is adept at exploring such questions—directly and indirectly—and in a way that feels nuanced and open-minded. Afterword is a stimulating piece of fiction, one that is likely to entertain a wide variety of curious readers who wonder where AI might be taking us.
Spectatio 
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