John Perry Barlow’s Book, A Non-Review

I’m not reviewing Mother American Night. If you want to read a thoughtful analysis of the book, try Chris Jennings’ take in the Wall Street Journal or Jesse Jarnow’s piece in Wired. They got paid to ruminate on this tissue-thin memoir, but Hatchette didn’t even send me a free book, so fuck it. As you might imagine from the venues of their reviews, Chris concentrates on JPB’s politics, which were so shallow it took him a decade to realize Dick Cheney was a fucking monster, and Jesse on his connection to the computer machines, which JPB loved almost as much as when the makers of the computer machines paid him to give speeches and go to parties.

So I won’t talk about those topics, instead relating to you the rhythm of the book. The first half is a series of Mentos commercials.

• John Perry Barlow finds himself in a wacky and slightly dangerous situation.
• Through verve and pluck, JPB extricates himself from said situation, often tossing a witty bon mot over his denim-clad shoulder as he exits.
• The authority figure in the story chuckles, shakes his head, waggles his finger.
• Repeat.

The second half is a lip-chapping selfsuck about the EFF, the Electronic Finger Fuckers or whatever that stands for, which is a grassroots lobbying group started by Barlow to protect the rights of internet users. You remember the manifesto:

Governments of the Industrial World, you weary giants of flesh and steel, I come from Cyberspace, the new home of Mind. On behalf of the future, I ask you of the past to leave us alone.

That’s the Declaration of Cybertronian Independence or whatnot, and the version you know has been bowdlerized. That quote you just read? Originally, it was longer.

Governments of the Industrial World, you weary giants of flesh and steel, I come from Cyberspace, the new home of Mind. On behalf of the future, I ask you of the past to leave us alone. Leave us to be digitized, monetized, and collateralized by our non-elected betters. The internet industry, unlike every other known to man since time immemorial, will morally and righteously police itself without governmental interference and you can’t tax us, either. I called it. No taxes on the internet, that’s a thing now because I put it in my manifesto. 

Upon learning of the edit, John Perry Barlow fired his pistols indoors and stormed off to Gstaad to ski with Jackie Onassis.

So, anyhoo, read it or don’t. But now I don’t have to feel guilty about not writing about it.