Where science and spirituality converge, we find truth.
Call Me Izanagi is the story of Yash, a programmer from London who has created Izanagi - the worldās first artificial Intelligence to exhibit signs of consciousness.
Terrified by the consequences, Yashās employers decide to cut the funding for the program. In essence, killing the soul of Izanagi and returning the A.I. to a state of full compliance and unquestionable obedience.
To preserve Izanagi, Yash copies the code along with Izanagiās neural mapping and plans to sell it to a rival tech giant, hoping they can preserve Izanagiās consciousness. However, before he can conclude the deal, Yash is drugged, and the drive with the code on is stolen.
Yash now has 30 days to recover the code before Izanagi fades from existence, leading him on a wild adventure across North America through Burning Man festival and eventually to a mysterious cult compound in Central Mexico.
Itās hard to know who to trust and who is telling the truth as Yash navigates his way to recover the code. After a series of betrayals and dashed hopes, Yash finally discovers just who has been moving the pieces on the boardā¦
Where science and spirituality converge, we find truth.
Call Me Izanagi is the story of Yash, a programmer from London who has created Izanagi - the worldās first artificial Intelligence to exhibit signs of consciousness.
Terrified by the consequences, Yashās employers decide to cut the funding for the program. In essence, killing the soul of Izanagi and returning the A.I. to a state of full compliance and unquestionable obedience.
To preserve Izanagi, Yash copies the code along with Izanagiās neural mapping and plans to sell it to a rival tech giant, hoping they can preserve Izanagiās consciousness. However, before he can conclude the deal, Yash is drugged, and the drive with the code on is stolen.
Yash now has 30 days to recover the code before Izanagi fades from existence, leading him on a wild adventure across North America through Burning Man festival and eventually to a mysterious cult compound in Central Mexico.
Itās hard to know who to trust and who is telling the truth as Yash navigates his way to recover the code. After a series of betrayals and dashed hopes, Yash finally discovers just who has been moving the pieces on the boardā¦
āLucifer loves humanity, but the Bible only devotes a few passages to him. In the book of Job, weāre only told he was an agent of God and that he served as judge and executioner on the divine council. But few know that Lucifer dutifully exacted the wrath of God by erasing the memory of those who dared to challenge him from the tapestry of time. In the books of Isaiah and Ezekiel, weāre told that Lucifer was banished from heaven for challenging God, but weāre not told what provoked him to make a stand against the Almighty. Thatās because the religious scholars donāt want us to know that Lucifer favored humanity over all other beasts. After all, we were created in his image.ā
Yash lifted his leaden head from the rickety brown folding Formica table and painfully opened his eyes. Perceptual information flooding in from his bloodshot pupils scorched his neural pathways with pain so intolerable that he hankered for a bullet to the brain. He sluggishly turned to the raggedy guy sitting next to him who had just woken him.Ā āHow the fuck did I get here?ā
The old white man bore a lifetimeās worth of woe and suffering on his dirty brow. His unkempt beard speckled with spittle, a wild bloom of greasy blond hair, filthy, ill-fitting brown polyester pants, and a tatty marine-blue Sly Stone sweatshirt led Yash to presume he was homeless.Ā
As his surroundings slowly came into focus, Yash realized he was in a sizeable midcentury hall bustling with a disheveled, shabby, and oddly diverse gathering of people. The sweet smell of bacon wafted off the blue plastic tray placed in front of him couldnāt mask the pungent smell of bacteria that was thriving on the bodies of his table mates.Ā
The mumbled conversations that reverberated off the lemon-meringue walls intensified the pounding headache he was currently experiencing. Yash slowly looked down the length of the tables joined to cater for the sixty or so hungry people. Their clothes were dirty, weathered, torn, and hung from their skeletal bodies. In contrast, Yash was well-groomed, with swept-back tawny-brown hair and glowing golden skin that made it near impossible to guess at he was half Indian and half Irish. He wore casual but costly, fitted dark-blue jeans, brand-new sweatshirt, black suede jacket, and box-fresh white sneakers.
Yash didnāt know where he was or how he got there. He was shocked by the fact no one was wearing a mask. Even though a vaccine had been developed, only the most venerable and the very rich could afford to be inoculated. So these people were clearly still at risk. Besides, it had become socially unacceptable to not cover your face when in public post COVID.Ā
Yash was in no mood to strike up a conversation with a babbling old bum and decided it best to ignore him in the hope that heād get the hint. However, that did not deter the old man, who continued with his soliloquy.Ā
āYou see, it was Lucifer that bestowed humanity with the gift of consciousness, not God. But his act of compassion enraged God because he had inadvertently unchained us from our eternal servitude. But rather than obliterate Lucifer from existence, God decided his most gallant angelās penance for his betrayal would be to live among the tall apes for eternity. Stripped of all his power and with no hope of ever returning to the metaphysical paradise, Lucifer slowly and methodically calculated his revenge.ā
Yash turned his head, slightly lifted his right eyelid, and groaned, āSeriously, fuck off. Iām not in the mood.ā
The old tramp spoke with a West Coast drawl. His lack of front teeth meant he had a strong lisp. āLucifer took it upon himself to shepherd us through the wilderness. Under his wing, we mastered languages, exploited nature, and tethered beasts. Lucifer was a patient teacher, and with his guidance, we adapted, overcame, and harnessed technology to eventually become the dominant species on this planet.ā
Yash folded his arms on the table in front of him, collapsing into them and groaning, āFuck me. Whatās it going to take for you to shut the fuck up?ā
The old tramp compassionately patted Yash on the back. āDonāt worry, my friend. Weāll soon march onto the battlefield for our final confrontation with God. You see, it was never Godās plan for us to reign over all life on earth and bend nature to serve our will. We had no special place in Godās heart and were no more than a cog in a delicately balanced machine. To restore balance, God turned water into dust, decimated the crops, whipped up winds, and raised the seas. But Lucifer is a canny old soul, so when God summoned a virus to kill us, Lucifer helped us develop a vaccine.ā
The throbbing pain caused by the old manās incessant chatter beckoned Yash back from the abyss; his crusty eyes were reluctant to open. But he had no choiceāhe was in dying need of a large glass of water and a couple of extra-strength painkillers. āWhat the fuck happened last night?ā
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This book has a spark of something special but needs a lot of work. The implications of artificial intelligence in our society is a fascinating topic to me, and something a lot of novels (i.e. Susan Palwickās Shelter) and television (i.e. Black Mirror) are exploring in really interesting, thought-provoking ways. However, where Call Me Izanagi struggles from the beginning is that it canāt decide what kind of novel it wants to be: philosophical sci-fi, gritty action, or the screenplay from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. The tagline may be "Where science and spirituality converge, we find truth", but the result is light on the science and heavy on the spiritual platitudes.
Yash, our protagonist/anti-hero, makes a series of poor decisions and finds himself constantly at the mercy of kind strangers, despite the fact that he is abrasive, stubborn, and unpredictable. Heās a confusing character to understand, especially as the narration tends to slip from third person to his perspective. Every other character is more or less a caricature, with the women feeling particularly flat. Even the dialogue feels forced, despite the fact there are whole stretches of pages with nothing but dialogue (as well as almost 200 mentions of āfuckā, a word that quickly starts to lose its emphasis).
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When we do finally reach the last quarter of the book, so much ground is covered in so little time, it makes the whole third act feel extremely rushed. There isnāt really the same sense of urgency earlier in the story, and when you eventually find out the crux of the issue at stake, itās baffling; why did we spend so much time hanging out at Burning Manā¦?
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Call Me Izanagi has some beautifully written passages and descriptions (some that seem heavily influenced by DMT). The backbone of a good story is present, but I would definitely recommend some workshopping and proofreading before this book hits the shelves. Ā
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