In The Politics of Memory in the Italian Populist Radical Right, Marianna Griffini examines Italy’s political landscape, following the roots of fascism through to their influence on contemporary politics. Skilfully dissecting nativism, immigration, colonialism and the profound impact of memory on Italian political identities, the book makes an important contribution to scholarship on political history and theory and memory studies, according to Georgios Samaras.

The Politics of Memory in the Italian Populist Radical Right: From Mare Nostrum to Mare Vostrum. Marianna Griffini. Routledge. 2023.

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Marianna Griffini’s The Politics of Memory in the Italian Populist Radical Right stands as a thorough examination of Italy’s political landscape, weaving together historical threads and contemporary realities. The book provides a nuanced analysis that dissects the roots of Italian fascism and charts the trajectory of its influence on present-day politics, offering a solid exploration of the nation’s political memory.

Griffini sets the stage for an exploration of how collective memory shapes political ideologies

The eight chapters form a cohesive narrative that progressively deepens the understanding of Italy’s political milieu. Chapter One serves as a poignant introduction, capturing the current state of the Italian radical right and framing the central theme of memory. Griffini sets the stage for an exploration of how collective memory shapes political ideologies, a theme that reverberates throughout the subsequent chapters.

Chapter Two delves into the concept of nativism, contextualising it within both the broader European framework and the specific nuances of Italian politics. This nuanced exploration lays the foundation for comprehending the intricate dance between nativism, populism and the enduring echoes of Italy’s fascist past. Chapter Three, clearly outlines the research methodologies, establishing the scholarly background underpinning the entire work.

Chapter Four posits the emergence of the nation-state and examines the impact of otherisation, offering a lens to comprehend the dynamics of Italian politics. Otherisation, as a concept, illuminates how politicians endeavour to portray certain societal groups as different, often excluding them from the national identity. In this chapter, the analysis effectively traces, in a historiographical manner, the gradual development of this phenomenon over several decades, establishing a connection to fascist movements.

Otherisation, as a concept, illuminates how politicians endeavour to portray certain societal groups as different, often excluding them from the national identity.

The book takes a pivotal turn in Chapter Five, addressing the weighty topic of immigration and the multifaceted challenges it poses. This chapter serves as a bridge, connecting historical narratives with contemporary realities, offering a comprehensive understanding of the role immigration plays in shaping political discourse.

Chapter Six unfolds a detailed analysis of colonialism and its impact on attitudes toward immigration. Griffini’s exploration of colonial pasts and their connection to collective memory, as presented in Chapter Seven, adds a further layer of historical depth, illustrating the enduring influence of historical legacies on present-day political ideologies. The theoretical approach of memory underscores the colonial exploitation of other cultures by Italy. Notably, Griffini highlights how memory could be approached from a different angle in order to humanise and confront Italy’s colonial past, instead of supressing it.

Griffini highlights how memory could be approached from a different angle in order to humanise and confront Italy’s colonial past, instead of supressing it.

The zenith of the book occurs in Chapter Eight, where Griffini articulates the central argument concerning the profound influence of memory on shaping political identities. This segment stands as the magnum opus of the analysis, persuasively contending that the historical omission of specific memories related to both embracing and challenging Italy’s colonial past serves as a catalyst for the resurgence of fascist attitudes. This provides a critical insight into Italy’s seemingly inescapable political patterns.

The historical omission of specific memories related to both embracing and challenging Italy’s colonial past serves as a catalyst for the resurgence of fascist attitudes.

The book not only navigates the complexities of Italian politics but also engages with theoretical debates, contributing valuable insights to the understanding of populism. By elucidating the links between emotionality and the radical right, Griffini demonstrates how political ideologies, when fused with emotional undercurrents, can yield extremist outcomes.

A noteworthy strength of the book is its emphasis on ethnocultural ideas and the notion of belonging to the nation, especially in the context of increased migration within the European Union. The examination of otherisation as a phenomenon serves as a profound analysis, unravelling how Italian voters perceive the intricate role of the nation and how this perception catalyses the rise of radical right movements.

While the discussion between colonial and political theory may initially challenge some readers, it ultimately contributes to the richness of the analysis. The book successfully navigates the fluid boundaries of these theories, illuminating historical concepts that persist in the shadows and continue to shape contemporary political landscapes. However, a clearer bridge between those two concepts would have been useful for readers who are not entirely familiar with all the technical terms explored in the book.

[The book] provides key findings that not only shed light on the surge of the radical right but also offer a template for understanding the intricate political dynamics in other European countries.

The Politics of Memory in the Italian Populist Radical Right emerges not only as an exploration of Italian politics in 2022 but as a timeless contribution to scholarly literature. It provides key findings that not only shed light on the surge of the radical right but also offer a template for understanding the intricate political dynamics in other European countries.

Griffini delves into Italy’s colonial past, shedding light on its historical neglect and the deliberate concealment of past atrocities. This collective memory has been influenced by the infiltration of fascist tendencies into contemporary Italian politics. While the rise of far-right parties was noticeable up until 2022, none matched the achievements of Meloni with her election that year. Griffini’s examination of Italy’s colonial history offers a partial explanation for the limited comprehension of the nation’s past, intricately intertwined with its fascist history.

While the rise of far-right parties was noticeable up until 2022, none matched the achievements of Meloni with her election that year

Also, the book’s refusal to indulge in unnecessary predictions is a testament to its commitment to historical rigor. Given the unpredictable nature of Italian politics, this decision aligns with the broader theme of acknowledging the complexity inherent in the nation’s political trajectory.

In conclusion, despite the potential challenge for some readers in navigating between colonial theory and the concept of memory, the book constitutes an important contribution to scholarship on political history and theory and memory studies. Further research in the field is important for a more profound understanding of the intricate political dynamics unfolding in other European countries, illuminating how the normalisation of the radical right often stems from historical complexities. This book is highly recommended for students exploring Italian politics in 2022 and academic scholars seeking familiarity with historical perspectives shaping the extremes of the political spectrum in Italy.

This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science. The LSE RB blog may receive a small commission if you choose to make a purchase through the above Amazon affiliate link. This is entirely independent of the coverage of the book on LSE Review of Books.

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In The Plastic Turn, Ranjan Ghosh posits plastic as the defining material of our age and plasticity as an innovative means of understanding the arts and literature. Joff Bradley welcomes this innovative philosophical treatise on how we can make sense of the modern world through a plastic lens.

The Plastic Turn. Ranjan Ghosh. Cornell University Press. 2022.

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There are few books nowadays in which you can find expansive discussions on everything from the aesthetics of polymers and molecules, Indian poetics, and sculpture, to the lineage Umberto Eco-Aristotle-Dante-Kant-Borges-Foucault-Deleuze. Not only that, but this fine book for humanities students and scholars juxtaposes crystalline structures, thermoplastics and thermosetting, alongside treaties on critical thinking, T. S. Eliot, the poetics of flow and globalisation, the non-metaphorical nature of plastic, as well as Polyvinyl Chloride (PVC) and Indian philosophy.

The way Ghosh’s book does this so cleverly throughout is to ask after the nature of plastic and, well, the very plasticity of the term. Ghosh structures the book in a manner that combines free-flowing exploration with organised thematic sections. The narrative moves seamlessly between different ideas and works of literature, creating a dynamic reading experience which moulds the intellect. Additionally, the book is divided into sections, each with specific themes concerning plasticity (turning, the literary, tough, literature, affect) that provide a structured framework for understanding the diverse range of topics covered.

Ghosh asks his readers: How has plastic come to infiltrate so many aspects of our everyday lives, and why must we turn or bend toward it?

Ghosh asks his readers: How has plastic come to infiltrate so many aspects of our everyday lives, and why must we turn or bend toward it? For many readers, this may not be a question that usually springs to mind, but once we immerse ourselves in Ghosh’s prose, we learn that the plasticity of “plastic” has a versatile reach and applicability, as it allows us to explore the aesthetics of material and materialist aesthetics.

The book is not a straightforward, inflexible treatise on environmental waste pollution per se, though it does nevertheless touch upon ecological issues; rather, its stance is something akin to a philosophical material science of plastic. It is more aesthetico-ecological in that sense. A key trope is the materiality of plastic, its codification, its expressive potential, its inspiration. And with this, the turn to plastic raises our eyes to its futural possibility. What can plastic do to transform the world, to mould and conjure new futures?

Thinking can never be without plastic material. Plastic matters in its materiality, in its affective-aesthetic power, in its technology.

What we learn much about from this mould-breaking (iconocl(pl)astic) book is the plasticity of poetry and how we must address language as the house of being’s plasticity, to reshape Heidegger’s words. Indeed, thinking can never be without plastic material. Plastic matters in its materiality, in its affective-aesthetic power, in its technology. Plastic offers a new sensibility and sensitivity. Plastic makes us think of moulding and malleability and the possibility of infinite shapes and forms, the nth degree of concepts. As the author says, plastic remodels, crafts and carves thinking, habits, lifestyles, emotions, economy, and passion. Ghosh shows the asymmetric connection between the material of plastic and the aesthetic and makes a pathway from denotation to deduction, to representation, and to asymmetry because, for him, plastic is such a malleable material form.

The materiality of plastic shows this through its dimensions of visibility, the haptic, the figure. And so, as we come to understand the way that plastic softens and solidifies, moulds and remoulds; we learn of the aesthetic hidden in the material; how the structures of plastic can be transferred to the structures of poetry and literature; and how material crystalline natures are somehow expressed in the crystalline textuality of poetry. The plastic offers new readings, joins chains of meaning and bonds ideas together, demonstrating that poetry, philosophy, language and literature are megamolecules or polymer in nature, in the way they open themselves to multiple interpretations, different meanings. Plastic helps us to understand the flow and movement of text, to understand, how plastic’s lubricity can be passed on to the text itself, how “plasticisers” open up the text, disturbing its stasis.

The plasticity of text doesn’t mean anarchy or structurelessness, because plasticity functions through plasticisers. This is how and where something can begin to gel, to take on form, structure, meaning

But more than this, the plasticity of text doesn’t mean anarchy or structurelessness, because plasticity functions through plasticisers. This is how and where something can begin to gel, to take on form, structure, meaning. Meaning-making is only possible with and through the operations of the plasticisers of the text. As Ghosh brilliantly shows, The Waste Land is PVC; it has its own polymeric status. Without the plasticisers, poetry would be rigid and strict in its meaning-making abilities. What this book so cleverly contends is that plastic’s formation and deformation not only suggest the endless remodelling of the term, but the very meta-modelisation or meta-moulding of the concept, that is, creating models that represent other models with the task of revealing new radical and revolutionary potentials.

Plastic has ‘unmade us’ and ‘ungrounded’ us, and the way we think, express, and love. Plastic gives sense to the question of new modes of extinction.

The qualities of plastic – durability, flexibility, and moldability, cohesiveness and consistency – suggest that the concept will linger and outlast us all. We need to know this, because as the author argues, we moderns have already unconsciously embraced deep forms of plasticity. The author adds to this description by suggesting that plastic is inherently connected with the quest of modernity, that it is essentially disruptive and oppositional. And now, in this time of the plastisphere and the plasticene, and with the Earth encrusted and entangled in plastic, and as plastitrash abounds, the concept should not be without criticism. We come to appreciate Ghosh’s congeries of performatives: the thanatopoetics (or death-poetics) of plastic, “the history of our inheritance,” the way plastic has “unmade us” and “ungrounded” us, and the way we think, express, and love. Plastic gives sense to the question of new modes of extinction. Plastic discloses the life-in-death of humankind. As Ghosh says, contorts the image of humankind: “[P]lastic has stunned the anthropos, threatening to morph them within a circuit where human comes to surprise human” (36).

With seas already full of plastic, a book like Ghosh’s demands that we open ourselves up to the concept of plasticity in the hope of transforming, remodelling another way to be

With seas already full of plastic, a book like Ghosh’s demands that we open ourselves up to the concept of plasticity in the hope of transforming, remodelling another way to be, to speak, to think, to see, and to feel. The future is plastic, bendable but not breakable. This is the hope of Ghosh’s methodology. The book in this respect sets out a new language, a new code and discipline; indeed, it demands a new politico-philosophical vision and for this reason, it is an original and worthwhile reading experience for all those concerned with the humanities, the Anthropocene, the written word and the ecology of good and bad ideas. Ghosh’s Plastic Turn not only breaks the mould of literary criticism but asks others to refashion critical literature in elastic, versatile and plastic ways.

This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science. The LSE RB blog may receive a small commission if you choose to make a purchase through the above Amazon affiliate link. This is entirely independent of the coverage of the book on LSE Review of Books.

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In Art, Science and the Politics of Knowledge, Hannah Star Rogers challenges the traditional dichotomy between art and science, arguing that they share common approaches to knowledge-making. Drawing on Science and Technology Studies and using compelling examples, Star Rogers illuminates the overlapping characteristics – such as emphases on visualisation, enquiry and experimentation – of the two knowledge domains, writes Andrew Karvonen.

Art, Science and the Politics of Knowledge. Hannah Star Rogers. The MIT Press. 2022.

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Art and science are often described in oppositional terms. Artists engage in subjective, creative, right-brain activities to produce beautiful objects while scientists use their left-brain skills in objective and methodical ways to improve our collective understanding of the world. In Art, Science and the Politics of Knowledge (The MIT Press, 2022), Hannah Star Rogers challenges and disrupts these dichotomies through a detailed examination of how art and science intermingle and influence one another. She argues that we should set aside the long-standing assumptions about the differences between art and science, and instead recognise their common approaches to knowledge-making.

[Rogers] argues that we should set aside the long-standing assumptions about the differences between art and science, and instead recognise their common approaches to knowledge-making.

Rogers draws upon Science and Technology Studies (STS) theories and methods to interrogate the overlapping knowledge communities of art and science. Just as STS has been used to destabilise scientific and technological knowledge practices since the 1970s, she argues that it can also be directed towards art and art-science practices. Her social constructivist lens draws upon well-known STS concepts such as Trevor Pinch and Wiebe Bijker’s notion of interpretive flexibility, Geoff Bowker and Susan Leigh Star’s emphasis on the power of classification, and Bruno Latour’s immutable mobiles to reveal the multiple ways that art and science are indelibly intertwined. She follows scientists and artists in their laboratories, studios and exhibition spaces to develop ethnographic evidence of the commonalities and synergies between their knowledge practices.

 Just as STS has been used to destabilise scientific and technological knowledge practices since the 1970s, she argues that it can also be directed towards art and art-science practices.

Rogers’ first two case studies are based on archival studies of artists who contributed to scientific knowledge production. From the 1880s to the 1930s, the father and son team of Leopold and Rudolf Blaschka used their artisanal expertise in glassmaking to represent wonders of the natural world, notably sea creatures and flowers. Rogers argues that these models were not simply representations of the natural world but contributed to scientific knowledge in substantive ways. As she writes,

To create three-dimensional, detailed representational objects, the Blaschkas had to do their own studies and observations, and in doing so they were creating new ways of knowing sea creatures that would otherwise have been represented by flaccid specimens in jars or two-dimensional drawings. The knowledge that these artisans created was a method of displaying the salient features of marine life to the satisfaction of the scientific community (47). In other words, the Blaschkas positioned themselves as co-producers of scientific knowledge and their models provided new ways of seeing and knowing the field of natural history.

The Blaschkas positioned themselves as co-producers of scientific knowledge and their models provided new ways of seeing and knowing the field of natural history.

The power of visualisation is reinforced in Rogers’ second case study of the renowned 20th-century photographer Berenice Abbott. In the 1940s, Abbott developed a photo-realist technique that could accurately depict physical science laws and principles. She worked in close collaboration with scientists to stage images of soap bubbles, magnetic filings, light traveling through prisms, and falling objects such as balls and wrenches. These images were prominently displayed in science textbooks and were used to inform the scientific literacy of the general public. The realist photos of Abbott and the lifelike glass sculptures of the Blashckas extend earlier STS scholarship by Latour, Michael Lynch, Steve Woolgar, and others on the centrality of images and models to scientific knowledge making while also highlighting their aesthetic achievements. These artefacts are simultaneously works of science and works of art.

The fourth case study of tactical media is an outlier in the book. Tactical media is a social activist movement that emerged in the 1990s as subversive individuals began to employ the World Wide Web for political messaging. Rogers describes various performative, ephemeral interventions to critique capitalism and challenge authority through disinformation, humour, playfulness, and creativity. The case study provides fascinating insights about how technical artefacts can be used to promote alternative ways of knowing, but the work of tactical media practitioners has tenuous connections to the art-science thesis in the rest of the book.

Bioartists shared laboratory space, techniques, and materials with scientists to do science while also critiquing it.

Rogers’ fourth case study returns to the art-science knowledge nexus with an ethnographic study of SymbioticA, a laboratory for the biological arts at the University of Western Australia in Perth. She shadowed the activities of bioartists who collaborate with biotechnologists to develop interactional expertise and expand the knowledge domain of biotechnology. The bioartists shared laboratory space, techniques, and materials with scientists to do science while also critiquing it. As she notes, “Bioartists have seen themselves not as the mediators of scientific knowledge to the public but as the producers themselves” (145). The case study provides vivid examples of how artists and scientists contribute to the hybrid field of art-science in novel ways.

[Rogers] makes a compelling case for using exhibitions in art galleries and libraries to promote STS ways of knowing and to frame research activities as a collective intervention.

In her final case study, Rogers transforms from observer to action researcher by curating an art-science installation titled “Art’s Work in the Age of Biotechnology: Shaping Our Genetic Futures” at North Carolina State University in 2019 and 2020. The exhibition included objects with accompanying videos to create an open-ended, iterative, and interactive space where scientists, artists, and the general public could come together in a shared dialogue on biotechnology and society. She makes a compelling case for using exhibitions in art galleries and libraries to promote STS ways of knowing and to frame research activities as a collective intervention. As she notes, “Curators create new knowledge around objects by analyzing the layers of meaning added to them in different context[s]” (245).

While Rogers’ description of the curatorial process provides a titillating glimpse on how STS ideas can be mobilised in new ways, it also raises important questions about the role of the public in knowledge production processes. In the case study, she frames the public as critics rather than pupils of art-science knowledge production, but her description of the curated exhibit includes no evidence on how the public contributed to this shared dialogue. This omission highlights the long-standing challenge of transcending the boundary between experts and non-experts to co-produce knowledge through more democratic forms of engagement.

Rogers provides a wealth of compelling examples to reveal the networked production of art-science knowledge that enrols people, artefacts, and ideas in studios and laboratories through complementary modes of questioning and experimentation.

Overall, the case studies in this book illustrate how art and science are distinct yet overlapping knowledge domains with multiple commonalities. Rogers provides a wealth of compelling examples to reveal the networked production of art-science knowledge that enrols people, artefacts, and ideas in studios and laboratories through complementary modes of questioning and experimentation. The findings make a compelling case for how an STS perspective can be used to deconstruct and critique knowledge domains that extend far beyond scientific and technological development.

This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science. The LSE RB blog may receive a small commission if you choose to make a purchase through the above Amazon affiliate link. This is entirely independent of the coverage of the book on LSE Review of Books.

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In More than a Glitch: Confronting Race, Gender, and Ability Bias in Tech, Meredith Broussard scrutinises bias encoded into a range of technologies and argues that their eradication should be prioritised as governments develop AI regulation policy. Broussard’s rigorous analysis spotlights the far-reaching impacts of invisible biases on citizens globally and offers practical policy measures to tackle the problem, writes Fabian Lütz.

More than a Glitch: Confronting Race, Gender, and Ability Bias in Tech. Meredith Broussard. MIT Press. 2023. 

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As the world witnesses advancements in the use of Artificial Intelligence (AI) and new technologies, governments around the world such as the UK and US the EU and international organisations are slowly starting to propose concrete measures, regulation and AI bodies to mitigate any potential negative effects of AI on humans. Against this background, More than a Glitch offers a timely and relevant contribution to the current AI regulatory debate. It provides a balanced look at biases and discriminatory outcomes of technologies, focusing on race, gender and ability bias, topics that tend to receive less attention in public policy discussions. The author’s academic and computer sciences background as well as her previous book Artificial Unintelligence – How Computers Misunderstand the World make her an ideal author to delve into this important societal topic. The book addresses algorithmic biases and algorithmic discrimination which not only receives increasing attention in academic circles but is of practical relevance due to its potential impacts on citizens and considering the choice of regulation in the coming months and years.

[More than a Glitch] provides a balanced look at biases and discriminatory outcomes of technologies, focusing on race, gender and ability bias, topics that tend to receive less attention in public policy discussions

The book’s cornerstone is that technology is not neutral, and therefore racism, sexism and ableism are not mere glitches, but are coded into AI systems.

Broussard argues that “social fairness and mathematical fairness are different. Computers can only calculate mathematical fairness” (2). This paves the way to understand that biases and discriminatory potential are encoded in algorithmic systems, notably by those who have the power to define the models, write the underlying code and decide which datasets to use. She argues that rather than just making technology companies more inclusive, the exclusion of some demographics in the conceptualisation and design of frameworks needs to stop. The main themes of the book, which spans eleven short chapters, are machine bias, facial recognition, fairness and justice systems, student grading by algorithms, ability bias, gender, racism, medical algorithms, the creation of public interest technology and options to “reboot” the system and society.

Biases and discriminatory potential are encoded in algorithmic systems, notably by those who have the power to define the models, write the underlying code and decide which datasets to use.

Two chapters stand out in Broussard’s attempt to make sense of the problems at hand: Chapter Two, “Understanding Machine Bias” and more specifically Chapter Seven “Gender Rights and Databases”. Both illustrate the author’s compelling storytelling skills and her ability to explain complex problems and decipher the key issues surrounding biases and discrimination.

Chapter Two describes one of the major applications of AI: machine learning which Broussard defines as to take

“..a bunch of historical data and instruct a computer to make a model. The model is a mathematical construct that allows us to predict patterns in the data based on what already exists. Because the model describes the mathematical patterns in the data, patterns that humans can’t easily see, you can use that model to predict or recommend something similar” (12).

The author distinguishes between different forms of training a model and discusses the so called “black box problem” – the fact that AI systems are very often opaque – and explainability of machine decisions. Starting from discriminatory treatment of bank loan applications, for example credit score assessment on the basis of length of employment, income or debt, the author explains with illustrative graphs how algorithms find correlations in datasets which could lead to certain discriminatory outcomes. She explains that contrary to humans, machines have the capacity to analyse huge amounts of datasets with data points which enable for example banks to make predictions on the probability of loan repayment. The mathematics underlying such predictions are based on what similar groups of people with similar variables have done in the past. The complex process often hides underlying biases and potential for discriminations. As Broussard points out,

“Black applicants are turned away more frequently than white applicants [and] are offered mortgages at higher rates than white counterparts with the same data […]” (25).

The book also demonstrates convincingly that the owners or designers of the model wield a powerful tool to shape decisions for society. Broussard sums up the chapter and provides crucial advice for AI developers when she states, advice for AI developers when she states,

“If training data is produced out of a system of inequality, don’t use it to build models that make important social decisions unless you ensure the model doesn’t perpetuate inequality” (28).

Chapter Seven looks at how databases impact gender rights, starting with the example of gender transition which is registered in Official Registers. This example illustrates the limitations of algorithmic systems as compared to humans, not only in light of the traditional binary system for assigning gender as male and female, but more generally the binary system that lies at the heart of computing. Both in the gender binary and computer binary framework, choices need to be made between one or the other leaving no flexibility. Broussard describes the binary system as follows:

“Computers are powered by electricity, and the way they work is that there is a transistor, a kind of gate, through which electricity flows. If the gate is closed, electricity flows through, and that is represented by a 1. If the gate is open, there is no electricity, and that is represented by a 0” (107).

When programmers design an algorithm, they “superimpose human social values onto a mathematical system.” Broussard urges us to ask ourselves, “Whose values are encoded in the system?” (109).

The resulting choices that need to be made within AI systems or forms used in administration often do not adequately represent reality. For people who do not feel represented by the options of male and female, such as gender non-conforming people, they are asked to make the choice in which category they fall even though this would not reflect their gender identity. Here again, Broussard reminds us of the importance of design choices and assumptions of coders which impact people’s everyday life. When programmers design an algorithm, they “superimpose human social values onto a mathematical system.” Broussard urges us to ask ourselves, “Whose values are encoded in the system?” (109). The chapter concludes with the challenge of making “technological systems more inclusive” (116) and argues that computers constitute not only mathematical but sociotechnical systems that need to be updated regularly in order to reflect societal change.

Computers constitute not only mathematical but sociotechnical systems that need to be updated regularly in order to reflect societal change.

The book successfully describes the invisible dangers and impacts of these rapidly advancing technologies in terms of race, gender and ability bias, making these ideas accessible through concrete examples. Ability bias is discussed in Chapter Seven, “Ability and Technology”, where she gives several examples, how technology companies try to provide technology to serve the disabled community in their daily jobs or lives. She gives the example of Apple shops where either sign language interpreters are available or where Apple equips employees with an iPad to communicate with customers. For consumers, she also highlights Voiceover screen reader software, auto-captioning and transcripts of audio or read-aloud functions of newspaper sites. Broussard points both to the advantages and the limitations of those technological solutions.

She also introduces the idea of tackling biases and discrimination with the help of audit systems

Readers are invited to reflect on concrete policy proposals and suggestions, on the basis of some ideas sketched out in last chapter, “Potential Reboot” where she shows her enthusiasm for the EU’s proposed AI Act and the US Algorithmic Accountability Act. She also introduces the idea of tackling biases and discrimination with the help of audit systems and presents a project for one such system based on the regulatory sandbox idea, which is a “safe space for testing algorithms or policies before unleashing them on the world” (175). The reader might wish that Broussard‘s knowledge of technology and awareness of discrimination issues could have informed the ongoing policy debate even further.

In sum, the book will be of interest and use to a wide range of readers, from students, specialised academics, policy makers and AI experts to those new to the field who want to learn more about the impacts of AI on society.

This post gives the views of the author, and not the position of the LSE Review of Books blog, or of the London School of Economics and Political Science. The LSE RB blog may receive a small commission if you choose to make a purchase through the above Amazon affiliate link. This is entirely independent of the coverage of the book on LSE Review of Books.

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