Christopher Owens 🔖 has just completed reading a potboiler.
I know. Who farted, right?
Universally hailed on its release earlier this year (even winning the Orwell Prize for Fiction), this 145-page book has been sitting on my shelf for most of the year. It’s cover ever so slightly reminiscent of HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey, the combination of mounting praise and HAL trying to hypnotise me into reading the book finally broke my resistance.
And you know what, it’s ok.
Split into three parts (an interview between the narrator and his old mentor, Thomas; an argument with a curator after the narrator reveals he didn’t record the interview; and a conversation with Thomas’s son Max) the book skips along at a steady pace but with little weight (at least not until the end) nor with any particularly engaging characters. The end result is a collection of vaguely interesting ideas that never quite come together in a meaningful sense but you recognise the author’s intent and still go along with it.
Take this excerpt for example:
As you can probably guess, technology and our ambivalent relationship to it are a driving theme. While you can appreciate the ambition and the very skilled prose that does a lot of the heavy lifting, it ultimately feels like it has nothing to say while suggesting otherwise.
Such contradictions could be fascinating but in this case it’s akin to a potboiler.
Ben Lerner, 2026, Transcription, Granta Press. ISBN-13: 978-1803513805
A writer returns to his college town, where he is to conduct what will be the final published interview with Thomas, his ninety-year-old mentor. But after he drops his smartphone in the hotel sink, he arrives at Thomas’s house with no recording device – a fact he is mysteriously unable to confess.What unfolds from this dreamlike circumstance is both a brilliant meditation on those technologies that enrich and impoverish our connections to each other, that store and obliterate our memories, and a moving exploration of the relationships that make us who we are.
I know. Who farted, right?
Universally hailed on its release earlier this year (even winning the Orwell Prize for Fiction), this 145-page book has been sitting on my shelf for most of the year. It’s cover ever so slightly reminiscent of HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey, the combination of mounting praise and HAL trying to hypnotise me into reading the book finally broke my resistance.
And you know what, it’s ok.
Split into three parts (an interview between the narrator and his old mentor, Thomas; an argument with a curator after the narrator reveals he didn’t record the interview; and a conversation with Thomas’s son Max) the book skips along at a steady pace but with little weight (at least not until the end) nor with any particularly engaging characters. The end result is a collection of vaguely interesting ideas that never quite come together in a meaningful sense but you recognise the author’s intent and still go along with it.
Take this excerpt for example:
The man in the old-fashioned hat came by to check the tickets. I enlarged the little QR code and he scanned it. Then I put my earbuds in and began to listen to a talk, recorded in Paris in 1973, that Thomas gave about translation. I took a photo of the win-try, postindustrial landscape through my masked reflection as the train picked up speed, and then I checked and deleted the photo and shut my eyes and faced the past. My mentor paused, fifty-one years ago, and poured water into a glass. Someone in the audience coughed twice.
I was in Paris. (I don’t know how else the recording influenced the dream.) I was getting Eva from what must have been her school. I stood outside a tall and ornate wrought-iron fence, waiting for the gates to open. There were other parents and caregivers around, whispering to each other or into their phones. I don’t speak French, but it was clear that people were anxious. The wind was picking up. I heard sirens in the distance. I looked at my phone, but there were no alerts.
As you can probably guess, technology and our ambivalent relationship to it are a driving theme. While you can appreciate the ambition and the very skilled prose that does a lot of the heavy lifting, it ultimately feels like it has nothing to say while suggesting otherwise.
Such contradictions could be fascinating but in this case it’s akin to a potboiler.
Ben Lerner, 2026, Transcription, Granta Press. ISBN-13: 978-1803513805
⏩ Christopher Owens was a reviewer for Metal Ireland and finds time to study the history and inherent contradictions of Ireland. He is currently the TPQ Friday columnist and is the author of A Vortex of Securocrats and “dethrone god”.




























